Before I move on to the issues I’m more interested in covering, I have to tackle this question. The lack of an easy-to-explain answer to it has kept me from beginning this project for too long. It’s not because I don’t have a preference (look at the name of this project) or because I’m afraid to take a side, but because I can’t adequately put everything I want to say about this topic in a few sentences. This means this probably isn’t the last time this question will come up. In a few weeks or months, I’ll probably read something that will make me want to revisit this topic or even change my point of view.
The reason it’s so hard to come up with a term to describe all Latinxs in a way that pleases all Latinxs is that there is no single Latinx identity. “Hispanic” was in many ways a manufactured term that was later replaced by “Latino,” (for some people) which then expanded to “Latinx.” It brings together people with origins in over 20 countries and with cultures that, while often linked, vary.
The ambiguity of who qualified as “Latino,” and now “Latinx,” was built into the terms to ensure that stakeholders of Latinx interests had the flexibility to pursue their own interests. The Spanish media, the government and Latinx advocacy groups learned to talk about Latinxs vaguely to ensure that their separate interests could be accommodated. Narrow definitions based on geography or Spanish-speaking ability would have left too many people out and weakened this new group.
“Latinx” and “Latine” are now the most inclusive terms that have morphed from the ever-changing Spanish language.
Is Latinx imperfect and clunky? Maybe. But the same has been said about so many terms that have defined Latinxs in the past.
The term “Mexican American” was scarcely used after it was created in the early 20th century, and it had its share of detractors. Similar to criticisms of “Latinx,” criticisms of “Mexican American” from a century ago accused the new term of being overly Americanized. A generation later, the term “Chicano” was adopted by some young Mexican Americans but was met with hostility by older Mexican Americans who labeled it everything from foolish to insulting.
Another generation later, “Hispanic” was created to bring together disparate people under one ethnicity, receiving pushback from many Latinxs that more strongly identified with their countries of origin or race. A decade later, the term “Latino” gained popularity as “Hispanic” came to be seen as too conservative. People made it more inclusive by changing it to “Latin@” or “Latino/a,” a change that feels outdated now but was considered inclusive in its own time.
Now those terms have once again evolved to “Latinx” and “Latine.” This latest change didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s the latest stop in the ever-changing language Latinxs use to talk about ourselves, and it’s unlikely to be the last stop.
Every change to how we identify ourselves has been met with resistance by those who already felt identified by previous terms, and those who viewed any change away from the traditional as a threat to their identity. But the history of Latinxs is one of change, and too many of the criticisms directed at this pursuit of change towards better representation are rooted in stubborn compliance with the status quo.
It’s true that the term “Latinx” will not single-handedly remedy the Spanish language’s systemic issues that make it patriarchal and noninclusive. But that is not a reason to completely end the pursuit of more inclusivity within this one term. If we are going to wait (and anyone who uses the excuse of the lack of top-down systemic change is usually doing nothing but waiting) for a systemic change to the Spanish language before we address the impacts of its flaws, we are effectively doing nothing.
The evolution of language has to be down-up, meaning changes will not come from the guardians of tradition but from the people using the language and stress testing the fluidity of the words that make it up.
Another criticism of “Latinx” is that it’s too American-centric and a form of linguistic imperialism. This leaves out important facts about the origins of the term and ignores that language does not live within the binary of needing to be either the oppressor or the liberator. Linguistic imperialism did not begin with the Latinxs living in the United States, it began with Columbus, the European genocide of Natives and the countless languages that were systematically eradicated. Saying that “Latinx” disrupts the Spanish language assumes that the language is what unifies Latinxs when history (and the intense lobbying efforts of major — sometimes problematic — Latinx organizations) has proven that is not the case.
It also centers mestizos and erases Black and indigenous experiences, all while giving into the colonialist force of a language that was imposed upon the Americas. (Latinidad is another topic that I can write about endlessly, and I’m sure I will soon).
All this to say that I will be using “Latinx” throughout this project, and hopefully, this will be the entry where the term appears most within quotes. Maybe after all this time spent debating “Latinx” we’ll end up using “Latine.” It definitely feels more natural when spoken. And that would be fine. I even claimed the “Latine Notes” substack URL in case I ever need to make that pivot.
There are countless other criticisms and defenses of “Latinx” but I wanted this post to focus on the fluidity of the language we use because it’s important to see how we arrived at “Latinx” and it’s important to be open to changes within our language, whether it be Spanish or English, when the pursuit is a better representation of people.
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