Zoe Saldaña Just Said What Every Woman of Color in the Room Is Thinking

During a recent conversation at the Locarno Film Festival, Oscar-winning actress Zoe Saldaña spoke about the frustration she experiences when she’s the only woman or person of color in the room—fielding the political questions about representation in Hollywood instead of being asked about her craft. She pointed out that the pressure to address representation in film and television is too often placed on marginalized people rather than on Hollywood’s gatekeepers. “I’m sorry, you don’t ask the only person that comes from the marginalized community. You ask the other 80 of them that are part of the gatekeepers, and you ask them if they know the answer because I think we’re making people of color work double to be in the room,” she told Variety.

If you’re a brown or Black woman, you probably know exactly what Saldaña is referring to, because the double work often doesn’t stop once we get through the door. It follows us everywhere. Many of us don’t just show up to do the jobs we’re hired to do; we also feel pressure to explain our culture, represent our communities, translate our experiences, and educate others about systemic issues affecting our lives—issues we were never responsible for creating in the first place.

As a Latina—especially as a Latina journalist who has dedicated my career to telling stories for my community—I’ve found myself in this situation far too many times. I’ve even had to explain to leadership that I don’t think every interview I do with a Latine celebrity needs to be about representation.

There’s a name for this: cultural taxation. Experts define it as “the extra and often unpaid labor expected from people in the workplace with marginalized or underrepresented identities, to handle diversity tasks outside of their normal job duties.”

I had a brief stint in a public relations job shortly after graduating college, when I was still struggling to find work outside magazine internships. I left within weeks after realizing I was basically hired to be the company’s Latina representative. The company—all white women, with me as the only non-white hire—made it clear in my first week that I was there largely because some of the brands they represented wanted to reach Latina editors and publications.

I’ll never forget the day my direct report asked me, “How do you think Latina skin reacts to a brown sugar scrub?” I couldn’t believe what I was being asked. I remember responding, “You know that Latinas consist of individuals who vary racially and have different skin tones, skin types, and skin textures, just like any other group, right?” She looked like she wanted to kill me, immediately brushed off my response, handed me a sample, and said, “Try this over the next couple of days and let me know what you think.” I don’t think I’ve ever quit a job so quickly in my life.

Identity doesn’t give anyone the authority to speak for everyone who shares it. Even as a Latina who has overseen Latina media sites and verticals, I’ve had to explain that to people I’ve reported to. As a Dominican American from Queens—considering all the nuances of my life that have shaped who I am—I can’t represent all of Latinidad. I can’t even be a spokesperson for Dominicans; our experiences are different. When we expect this of people, that’s where the dehumanization comes in: you stop being perceived as a person and start becoming a symbol for your culture.

In my case, when this happened, it suddenly felt as if I were no longer Johanna—the individual who happens to be Latina—but “the Latina in the room who’s expected to have an answer.”

Saldaña made an important point when she said this labor should fall on gatekeepers rather than on marginalized communities. When the burden is placed on a person from a marginalized group to represent that group and address the issues it faces, those in power are let off the hook and stripped of responsibility—even though they’re often the only ones with enough power to create the change needed. Why is the person with the least power suddenly made responsible for solving an industry’s or institution’s problem?

Saldaña was speaking her truth: don’t ask me to solve Hollywood’s representation problem—ask the people who actually have the power to change Hollywood. To be clear, I don’t think she was saying, “Don’t talk to me about my identity or heritage.” Saldaña has always expressed pride in her culture and in being Latina. What she seemed to be saying is that the problem begins when our identities become the only lens through which we’re allowed to be seen. Saldaña is an Oscar-winning actress—she’s so much more than her identity. If she’s promoting a film, there’s so much more she can talk about than the diversity issues that exist within Hollywood. Her Latinidad is part of who she is; it’s not everything.

We talk all the time about wanting more people from marginalized communities in the room. In my case, I’m constantly talking about how we need more Latinas in the big, important rooms—but we rarely talk about what happens once we get there, as Saldaña has. If we’re immediately expected to represent everyone who looks like us, are we being invited into those rooms for our skills? Or are we being asked to be there as representatives of our communities? Because, as I’ve explained, those are not the same thing.

Over the years, I’ve learned there’s a real difference between representation and personhood. I’ve been in far too many rooms where being the only Latina meant everyone saw me as a symbol of representation while forgetting I’m a human being who happens to be Latina. I’m glad Saldaña used her platform to call out this issue, because it’s long past time people stopped asking this of us. We deserve to take up space in rooms—regardless of our profession or expertise—without being expected to represent everyone in our community. As Latinas, I’d love to see a world where we’re invited into rooms as whole people rather than expected to carry an entire community in with us. I’d love that for us.