As Puerto Ricans we celebrate our heritage, taking pride in “la bonita bandera” statewide, nationally and throughout our Isla del Encanto and pearl of the sea. We are a proud island and people, so the celebrations we’ve enjoyed during this Hispanic Heritage Month have been timely.
But those of us with disabilities (and contributions) remain invisible in “el lamento borincano.” While we are inherently a close knit community, those of us with disabilities are often brushed under the rug or closeted, in order to put our best face, dinnerware and foot forward.
Puerto Ricans were the first Latino group to move to the states in large numbers, and faced discrimination in language access, education, housing and employment, along with gang violence. The socioeconomic determinants of health continue to amplify racial divides over half a century later. I was born in el Barrio of migrant parents from Puerto Rico. My parents were among those who came from el caribe to the mainland during the emergence of air travel. West Side Story’s fictional landscape definitely underscored the daunting experience of the Puerto Rican plight as second class citizens of the U.S.
I am also one in six. Two days after my birth, I was diagnosed with congenital defects that would affect my daily living with developmental and physical impairments indefinitely and invisibly. I have lived with limitations that required me to have a combination of lifelong special supports for extended durations.
Degrees of separation
One in four persons nationally is diagnosed with a disability which equates to nearly 30% of U.S. adults living with a disability or about 61 million people. More than 19% are children under 18, and one in six persons with a disability is Latiné. For some of us, disability is congenital; for others, it’s acquired at some point throughout our life course. Some of us disclose our disability as part of our identity; others do not. And although many of us may experience functional limitations, this is not the case for all of us. Our significant demographic presence is not accessible, inclusive and reflected in Puerto Rican/Latiné diaspora, leadership, media or celebratory representation.
Not finding census data to provide more local numbers of persons with disabilities, I dared the director of University of Connecticut’s Puerto Rican Studies Initiative, Charles R. Venator-Santiago, to put his data skills to the test. In UConn’s “Puerto Ricans with Disabilities in the State of Connecticut” research, findings estimate that in 2021 19% of Puerto Ricans lived with a disability compared to 14% of Latino/a/és and 13% of the total population in Connecticut.
Puerto Ricans were more likely than Latiné and the total population to have a disability. Among the most prevalent types of disabilities in Connecticut, there were 10% with cognitive disability followed by independent living and ambulatory disabilities. Almost twice as many Puerto Ricans (10%) lived with a cognitive disability compared to Latino/a/és (6%) and the total population (5%).
Only in recent decades have data findings finally acknowledged that Latiné with disabilities are significantly underrepresented, leading to a lack of focus on issues specific to our communities. This absence is reflected in policy-making, misleading narratives, research priorities, the allocation of resources and even in heritage celebrations.
While appearing to address intersectionality in data, we remain suspended in the implementation of, and participation in, meaningful inclusion. This superficial approach leaves many of us feeling tokenized rather than truly included. Although some voices from our disability communities are considered, we are frequently only included to fulfill a diversity quota — not to genuinely address our lived experiences and perspectives. Are Boricuas merely checking off intersectionality boxes all the way to the exit door once we’ve satisfied data sets? Or even forfeiting our collective Latiné power?
Let’s talk about and celebrate Bruno!
Most of us have heard Disney’s Encanto with its DEI attempt to cinematize a Latiné fairy-tale with a lyrical montage including the catchy song “We Don’t Talk about Bruno.” The song introduces the audience to Bruno, a prophetic phenomenon of the Madrigal family. His differences are enough to warn children to “live in fear of Bruno’s stuttering or stumbling.” After questioning her own belonging and identity, this misfit’s cousin, Mirabel, concludes, “I never should have asked about Bruno.”
While the enchanted and scenic plot is not staged in Puerto Rico, the premise echoes a generational taboo. We learn that there are things and people we should not speak of, even ones cast out to live in seclusion away from home and community-based living and fiestas. We remain out of sight and out of mind.
As a proud Puerto Rican born with disabilities, descendant of tribal African & Taino natives, I don’t practice fight or flight but instead, courage over complacency. Latiné with disabilities don’t benefit from the luxury of failing forward or being invited to the table. As a parent of children with disabilities, my children and I honor those who came before us, the villages that have embraced us and those that have sacrificed life in the name of liberty, justice and the pursuit of happiness.
While paying tribute to our American and Puerto Rican flags, we too sing “Preciosa” by Rafael Hernández Marin and “Que Bonita Bandera” by Florencio Morales Ramos with soulful pride. This is a Puerto Rican Latiné with disabilities credo.
Doris Maldonado lives in Andover. She is a member of CT Mirror’s Community Editorial Board.