What Cardi B Has Taught Me About Defending My Black Dominican Identity
Being Dominican and being Black were never contradictions—Cardi B has been saying it for years
Jordan Strauss/Invision/AP Credit: Associated Press
As a Black Dominican American woman myself—someone who is often perceived as “racially mixed” or “racially ambiguous”—I’ve spent much of my adult life defending my Blackness. I’ve also been criticized for consistently speaking out against anti-Haitian rhetoric.
This year alone, I received a few unkind comments on an article I wrote about now-Congresswoman Darializa Avilés Chevalier, after critics accused her of not being “Dominican enough.” Some took issue with her support for solidarity between the Dominican Republic and Haiti, and some even pointed to her French last name—wrongly using it as “evidence” that she must be Haitian. That backlash sparked countless conversations within my community about the persistent confusion around race, ethnicity, and Latinidad, and the role Dominican nationalism continues to play in those misunderstandings.
As I reflected on those conversations, I realized that one of the most high-profile Dominican celebrities I’ve consistently seen publicly engage with these issues is Cardi B. For years, she’s repeatedly used her platform to clarify the differences between race, ethnicity, and Latinidad that schools, media, and even our own communities often fail to do. She has repeatedly used her platform to explain that Blackness and Latinidad are not mutually exclusive while also challenging anti-Haitian rhetoric. As someone who has spent years navigating these same conversations, seeing a Dominican woman with Cardi’s visibility articulate what I’ve long felt has been deeply validating.
In 2019, after people questioned whether she was Black, Cardi went live on Instagram to explain the difference between race, ethnicity, and nationality.
“A lot of people don’t know the difference between nationality, race, ethnicity, and that’s not nobody’s fault,” she said. “That’s actually the school’s fault because schools don’t be teaching this s— to people.”
She explained that her father is Dominican and her mother is Trinidadian, emphasizing that being Dominican is a nationality and ethnicity—not a race. She identifies as Black because of her African ancestry and features, pushing back against the widespread misconception that being Latine somehow excludes being Black. She also challenged the assumption that being light-skinned automatically means someone isn’t Black.
That is a conversation I’ve had countless times myself. Like many Dominicans, my ancestry reflects centuries of colonization and racial mixing. My caramel complexion, hazel eyes, looser curl pattern, and mixed-race features have often led people to question my identity. But being multiracial doesn’t negate my Blackness. Black is part of my racial identity—not something separate from it.
As Cardi put it: “People just don’t be understanding s—. It’s like, ‘Cardi’s Latin, she’s not Black.’ And it’s like, bro, my features don’t come from white people…I have Afro features.”
During that same Live, she also pushed back against people insisting she should represent Mexicans simply because she’s Latina. “I’m not Mexican at all. I’m West Indian, and I’m Dominican. I speak Spanish because I’m Dominican.”
Her point was simple but important: Latines are not a monolith. A year later, following the murder of George Floyd, Cardi once again found herself educating the public—this time about anti-Haitian prejudice. After posting a photo of protesters holding Dominican and Haitian flags together with the caption, “Unity is what I stand for, and it’s what I’m about,” Dominican nationalists accused her of advocating for the political unification of the two countries.
In a lengthy Instagram Live conducted primarily in Spanish, she pushed back.
“Yo puse esa foto porque es un símbolo de paz (I posted that photo because it’s a symbol of peace),” she wrote. She followed that by saying, “Yo me sé mi historia (I know my history),” making clear that acknowledging the complicated history between Haiti and the Dominican Republic should never be used to justify dehumanizing Haitians today.
Cardi went on to say: “Hay que tratar a los haitianos bien, como gente también (Haitians need to be treated well, like people too).” She also pointed out that, in the United States, Dominicans and Haitians are often racialized in similar ways. Whether because of our accents, immigrant status, or Blackness, both communities experience discrimination. Her argument wasn’t that the two countries are the same—it was that shared experiences of racism should foster empathy rather than division.
In 2021, she again defended her identity after critics questioned whether she was really Afro-Latina. She responded by posting photos of her Dominican father, Trinidadian mother, grandparents, and extended family, noting that she had always been open about her roots.
More recently, in a 2025 interview with CBS News, Cardi again described herself as Afro-Latina while discussing the Dominican musical influences woven throughout Am I the Drama? Even years after those earlier debates, she has remained consistent in how she describes herself and her identity.
That consistency is what resonates with me. For years, Cardi has been doing the cultural education that so many of our institutions have failed to do—reminding people that race, ethnicity, and nationality are not interchangeable, that Blackness and Dominican identity are not contradictory, and that standing against anti-Haitian discrimination isn’t anti-Dominican. If anything, it’s an affirmation of our shared humanity. I share her belief that our shared African ancestry and immigrant experiences should be an opportunity to build solidarity—not only with Haitians, but across the African diaspora.
Ultimately, this is why conversations like the one sparked by Darializa matter. They force us to confront the myths many of us inherited about race, Blackness, and Latinidad. For too long, we’ve treated these discussions as divisive when they’re actually an opportunity for growth.
People like Cardi B have spent years reminding us that being proudly Latine and proudly Black are not competing identities. And that as Dominicans, standing against anti-Haitian rhetoric isn’t a rejection of our culture—it’s an affirmation of our shared humanity. I hope that the next generation of Dominicans and other Afro-Latines won’t have to spend as much time defending their Blackness or explaining that race, ethnicity, and nationality are not the same. They’ll have the language, the history, and the representation to know they’ve belonged all along.
