![\"22](\"http:\/\/kalamu.com\/neogriot\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/global-voices-logo.png\"){kind=logo}
<\/a>22 May 2017<\/p><\/div>\n
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An Afro-Colombian <\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\nModel on <\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n\u201cSocial Bleaching\u201d<\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n![\"Juliette](\"http:\/\/kalamu.com\/neogriot\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/Juliette.jpg\")
<\/a>Juliette Minolta, as photographed by Paloma Fuentes.<\/strong><\/span><\/p><\/div>\nThe following is a testimony written by the Colombian model, Juliette Minolta<\/a>, originally published by the site Afrof\u00e9minas<\/a>, based on her reflections on the Afro-descendant experiences and racism in Colombia and in other parts of Latin America. More than 10% <\/a>of Colombian citizens\u00a0are Afro-descendant, and they make up more than 90% of the population in regions like the Pacific\/Choc\u00f3 region<\/a>. Today, they are one of the most empowered and dynamic Spanish-speaking Afrodescendent communities.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\nI was barely\u00a0eight years old when I realized that I was different. When you’re young and enter into a school full of kids, that’s all you see\u2014kids. I didn’t perceive any differences, until one day someone screamed \u201cBlack girl!\u201d at me, and everyone laughed.<\/span><\/p>\nI didn’t get it at all, but that experience caused me to see a\u00a0psychologist for the first time. Afterwards I understood that I was different. I didn’t like that.<\/span><\/p>\nLater, when I was in high school, I remember all my classmates having\u00a0straight hair. I thought their hair was pretty. Meanwhile, teachers talked about black ancestors as slaves. I figured I had come from slaves, and nothing more.<\/span><\/p>\nI was never told about Garvey<\/a>, Mandela<\/a> or King<\/a>. No one ever told me about la Negra Casilda\u2014<\/em>a former slave and leader in the 19th century\u2014and her stories about helping her people reach the palenque, a secret location where black people who had escaped enslavement could hide. There were never discussions about Rosa Parks<\/a>, or that everyone came from Africa.<\/span><\/p>\nI was taught about Columbus<\/a>\u00a0and\u00a0Washington<\/a> and had to write many papers about people that. Honestly, I no longer remember. No one talked about the histories of black women in my classroom.<\/span><\/p>\nAnd I continued on to high school, straightening my hair and trying to appear as white as possible to gain social acceptance.<\/span><\/p>\nI remember a teacher who, every time he’d call on me, would use \u201cblack mannerisms\u201d. I would tell myself that it was nothing, that it was only a joke,\u00a0and that I should move on. And so I started trying to erase my way of speaking, my own black words.<\/span><\/p>\nI’m from\u00a0Bogot\u00e1, Colombia, a city of white people. Back then, there weren’t as many black people as there are today. I started using chemicals to straighten my hair and I abandoned my traditions. One day I even bought bleaching cream.<\/span><\/p>\nIt didn’t\u00a0work.<\/span><\/p>\nI was desperate\u2014I had to whiten my skin. I hated that I was always the darkest one\u00a0in the family.<\/span><\/p>\nMy views hadn’t changed upon entering the university.\u00a0Whenever people called\u00a0me \u201cblack girl\u201d I’d say I didn’t like it.<\/span><\/p>\nI grew up in a socially white environment, where being black is a bad thing, having kinky hair isn’t considered pretty and where people think that being black means having a big butt and tits.<\/span><\/p>\nAnd well, you now\u00a0know I\u00a0have neither.<\/span><\/p>\nWe didn’t come from slaves, we came from human beings.<\/span><\/h3>\nOne day I was listening to music and the Barrington Levy song \u201cMandela Free\u201d came on. That song encouraged me to investigate my ancestry. I\u00a0realized that society had forced me to bleach myself. Taking \u201cblack girl\u201d as an insult is something that so many Afro-descendant women deal with daily. Changing one’s hair color just to be socially accepted is bad.<\/span><\/p>\n
\u201cSocial Bleaching\u201d<\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n\n<\/a>Juliette Minolta, as photographed by Paloma Fuentes.<\/strong><\/span><\/p><\/div>\nThe following is a testimony written by the Colombian model, Juliette Minolta<\/a>, originally published by the site Afrof\u00e9minas<\/a>, based on her reflections on the Afro-descendant experiences and racism in Colombia and in other parts of Latin America. More than 10% <\/a>of Colombian citizens\u00a0are Afro-descendant, and they make up more than 90% of the population in regions like the Pacific\/Choc\u00f3 region<\/a>. Today, they are one of the most empowered and dynamic Spanish-speaking Afrodescendent communities.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\nI was barely\u00a0eight years old when I realized that I was different. When you’re young and enter into a school full of kids, that’s all you see\u2014kids. I didn’t perceive any differences, until one day someone screamed \u201cBlack girl!\u201d at me, and everyone laughed.<\/span><\/p>\nI didn’t get it at all, but that experience caused me to see a\u00a0psychologist for the first time. Afterwards I understood that I was different. I didn’t like that.<\/span><\/p>\nLater, when I was in high school, I remember all my classmates having\u00a0straight hair. I thought their hair was pretty. Meanwhile, teachers talked about black ancestors as slaves. I figured I had come from slaves, and nothing more.<\/span><\/p>\nI was never told about Garvey<\/a>, Mandela<\/a> or King<\/a>. No one ever told me about la Negra Casilda\u2014<\/em>a former slave and leader in the 19th century\u2014and her stories about helping her people reach the palenque, a secret location where black people who had escaped enslavement could hide. There were never discussions about Rosa Parks<\/a>, or that everyone came from Africa.<\/span><\/p>\nI was taught about Columbus<\/a>\u00a0and\u00a0Washington<\/a> and had to write many papers about people that. Honestly, I no longer remember. No one talked about the histories of black women in my classroom.<\/span><\/p>\nAnd I continued on to high school, straightening my hair and trying to appear as white as possible to gain social acceptance.<\/span><\/p>\nI remember a teacher who, every time he’d call on me, would use \u201cblack mannerisms\u201d. I would tell myself that it was nothing, that it was only a joke,\u00a0and that I should move on. And so I started trying to erase my way of speaking, my own black words.<\/span><\/p>\nI’m from\u00a0Bogot\u00e1, Colombia, a city of white people. Back then, there weren’t as many black people as there are today. I started using chemicals to straighten my hair and I abandoned my traditions. One day I even bought bleaching cream.<\/span><\/p>\nIt didn’t\u00a0work.<\/span><\/p>\nI was desperate\u2014I had to whiten my skin. I hated that I was always the darkest one\u00a0in the family.<\/span><\/p>\nMy views hadn’t changed upon entering the university.\u00a0Whenever people called\u00a0me \u201cblack girl\u201d I’d say I didn’t like it.<\/span><\/p>\nI grew up in a socially white environment, where being black is a bad thing, having kinky hair isn’t considered pretty and where people think that being black means having a big butt and tits.<\/span><\/p>\nAnd well, you now\u00a0know I\u00a0have neither.<\/span><\/p>\nWe didn’t come from slaves, we came from human beings.<\/span><\/h3>\nOne day I was listening to music and the Barrington Levy song \u201cMandela Free\u201d came on. That song encouraged me to investigate my ancestry. I\u00a0realized that society had forced me to bleach myself. Taking \u201cblack girl\u201d as an insult is something that so many Afro-descendant women deal with daily. Changing one’s hair color just to be socially accepted is bad.<\/span><\/p>\n
<\/a>Juliette Minolta, as photographed by Paloma Fuentes.<\/strong><\/span><\/p><\/div>\n The following is a testimony written by the Colombian model, Juliette Minolta<\/a>, originally published by the site Afrof\u00e9minas<\/a>, based on her reflections on the Afro-descendant experiences and racism in Colombia and in other parts of Latin America. More than 10% <\/a>of Colombian citizens\u00a0are Afro-descendant, and they make up more than 90% of the population in regions like the Pacific\/Choc\u00f3 region<\/a>. Today, they are one of the most empowered and dynamic Spanish-speaking Afrodescendent communities.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n I was barely\u00a0eight years old when I realized that I was different. When you’re young and enter into a school full of kids, that’s all you see\u2014kids. I didn’t perceive any differences, until one day someone screamed \u201cBlack girl!\u201d at me, and everyone laughed.<\/span><\/p>\n I didn’t get it at all, but that experience caused me to see a\u00a0psychologist for the first time. Afterwards I understood that I was different. I didn’t like that.<\/span><\/p>\n Later, when I was in high school, I remember all my classmates having\u00a0straight hair. I thought their hair was pretty. Meanwhile, teachers talked about black ancestors as slaves. I figured I had come from slaves, and nothing more.<\/span><\/p>\n I was never told about Garvey<\/a>, Mandela<\/a> or King<\/a>. No one ever told me about la Negra Casilda\u2014<\/em>a former slave and leader in the 19th century\u2014and her stories about helping her people reach the palenque, a secret location where black people who had escaped enslavement could hide. There were never discussions about Rosa Parks<\/a>, or that everyone came from Africa.<\/span><\/p>\n I was taught about Columbus<\/a>\u00a0and\u00a0Washington<\/a> and had to write many papers about people that. Honestly, I no longer remember. No one talked about the histories of black women in my classroom.<\/span><\/p>\n And I continued on to high school, straightening my hair and trying to appear as white as possible to gain social acceptance.<\/span><\/p>\n I remember a teacher who, every time he’d call on me, would use \u201cblack mannerisms\u201d. I would tell myself that it was nothing, that it was only a joke,\u00a0and that I should move on. And so I started trying to erase my way of speaking, my own black words.<\/span><\/p>\n I’m from\u00a0Bogot\u00e1, Colombia, a city of white people. Back then, there weren’t as many black people as there are today. I started using chemicals to straighten my hair and I abandoned my traditions. One day I even bought bleaching cream.<\/span><\/p>\n It didn’t\u00a0work.<\/span><\/p>\n I was desperate\u2014I had to whiten my skin. I hated that I was always the darkest one\u00a0in the family.<\/span><\/p>\n My views hadn’t changed upon entering the university.\u00a0Whenever people called\u00a0me \u201cblack girl\u201d I’d say I didn’t like it.<\/span><\/p>\n I grew up in a socially white environment, where being black is a bad thing, having kinky hair isn’t considered pretty and where people think that being black means having a big butt and tits.<\/span><\/p>\n And well, you now\u00a0know I\u00a0have neither.<\/span><\/p>\n One day I was listening to music and the Barrington Levy song \u201cMandela Free\u201d came on. That song encouraged me to investigate my ancestry. I\u00a0realized that society had forced me to bleach myself. Taking \u201cblack girl\u201d as an insult is something that so many Afro-descendant women deal with daily. Changing one’s hair color just to be socially accepted is bad.<\/span><\/p>\nWe didn’t come from slaves, we came from human beings.<\/span><\/h3>\n