Editor's Letter: We're Talking Code-Switching This Latine Heritage Month

"Pórtate bien; esta gente son blanca" is a line I'd often hear my mom say when I was growing up. It translates to: "Behave yourself; these people are white."

I was introduced to code-switching at a relatively young age — significantly younger than a lot of my inner-city Latine peers. I learned the skill before I even attended school because my parents were desperately trying to assimilate back into American culture after attending college in the Dominican Republic.

At the time, in the early '90s, my parents weren't even aware that there was an actual term to describe what they were learning as two college-educated Dominican immigrants trying to achieve the American dream. They didn't know that trying to mask their Latin American accents and attempting to reduce the volume at which they spoke was actually a form of code-switching. Back then, the only folks using that term were academics. But that's what it was. My parents were teaching my younger siblings and me how to speak, behave, dress, and carry ourselves in predominantly white spaces. They were teaching us an inherent survival tool.

What does it mean to code-switch, exactly? For many marginalized communities, particularly communities of color, it means assimilating to white-centric ideas around what it means to be "well-behaved" or "professional." It's shifting the language you use or the way you physically present or express yourself to make others more comfortable.

By the time I was in college, code-switching was so natural to me that I wasn't even always cognizant of when I was doing it. I learned how to do it everywhere, from school to jobs and even in friend groups where I was the only person representing both Latinidad and Blackness. Of course, I knew the spaces where I could authentically be myself — often those occupied by Black and Latine folks — but I had learned how to instantly tone myself down in spaces where the folks in the room were mostly white. I soon began to consider my code-switching to be a superpower. And in many ways, it can be. But I also learned that it could come at a serious psychological cost.

My perception of code-switching almost immediately changed when I started working for Latin media startups. My direct reports were all Latina women, and they often had either Latin American, Miami, or New York accents. Many of them were extremely assertive when they spoke — and unapologetically spoke loudly and in Spanglish. Not to mention everyone wore whatever they wanted: long acrylic nails, red lipstick, oversized hoop earrings, heels, and crop tops. There was no official dress code.

Going to work felt like getting together with family. To be clear, it wasn't perfect. Latine families can be toxic, too. But I always felt safe enough to be my most authentic self, and I've carried that into every role I've taken throughout my career. It made me realize that before that point, whenever I found myself in a white-dominated space, I was adjusting everything about myself, from my style of speech to how I express myself, in the hopes that I would be treated fairly and respectfully. Then it hit me: at what cost? At the cost of honoring myself? And don't I deserve to be treated fairly and respectfully regardless of my background or the color of my skin? It taught me that being myself and being able to embrace all the things that make me uniquely Johanna, including my Latina identity and Dominican heritage, has absolutely nothing to do with professionalism.

Coming to this realization early on in my career made me realize how much energy it takes for one to code-switch for eight hours a day, five days a week, and in some cases more. It became crystal clear to me how that can easily come in the way of one's creativity, confidence, and even productivity.

Research shows that code-switching often occurs in spaces where negative stereotypes of marginalized communities run high, and it is often the folks who subscribe to these stereotypes who lead and dictate what is considered "appropriate" or "professional behavior." I am proud to be living in a day and age when Latines not only have been unapologetically doing away with the code-switching — and the hiding, masking, and toning down of their Latinidad — but are also thriving as a result of it. Some of our biggest stars are perfect examples of that. Bad Bunny is the No. 1 artist in the world, singing Latin trap and reggaetón music while refusing to do it in English. Sofía Vergara proved she's an excellent actress in some ways because of her heavy Colombian accent with a recent Emmy nomination for her outstanding performance in "Griselda."

That's why there's no better time than this Latine Heritage Month to delve into how this generation of Latines are thriving and finding success from simply being their most authentic selves, regardless of the spaces they occupy. Through opinion pieces, profiles, and personal essays, we're exploring how Latines across industries drastically transformed their careers and their lives when they started to embrace themselves fully. You can start reading here.

For every Latine reader who comes across this package, I hope it reminds you that you should behave however you want!

Con amor,
Johanna Ferreira, Juntos content director

Johanna Ferreira is the content director for PS Juntos. With more than 10 years of experience, Johanna focuses on how intersectional identities are a central part of Latine culture. Previously, she spent close to three years as the deputy editor at HipLatina, and she has freelanced for numerous outlets including Refinery29, Oprah magazine, Allure, InStyle, and Well+Good. She has also moderated and spoken on numerous panels on Latine identity.