Driving through South Texas, you might notice a striking demographic feature: a population that identifies deeply with their Mexican heritage while also being visibly white. This observation, initially puzzling to many, especially in the context of modern racial discourse, leads us to a crucial question: What does it mean to be “White Mexican”? This is not just a matter of skin tone, but a complex interplay of history, identity, and social positioning, particularly in regions like South Texas.
My own exploration of this concept began with a story from my grandfather, a man of Mexican descent with fair skin and blue eyes, who grew up in Laredo, Texas. He recounted tales of his childhood, of rescuing animals during Rio Grande floods with his Mexicana mother, Francisca. His experiences and his self-identification sparked a journey to understand the nuances of Mexican identity, race, and the often-misunderstood term “white Mexican.”
The catalyst for this deeper dive was the shifting political landscape of South Texas in the 2020 election. Zapata County, a region with over 94% Hispanic or Latino population, surprisingly swung Republican, a phenomenon that caught national attention. This political shift seemed paradoxical, particularly given then-President Trump’s rhetoric towards Mexicans and Mexican immigrants. The question arose: How could a community with such strong Mexican roots seemingly embrace a figure who had, in many ways, denigrated their heritage?
One hypothesis emerged: “They’re trying to be white.” This assertion, often heard from Mexican Americans elsewhere and online, suggested a form of self-denial, a rejection of their Mexican identity in pursuit of whiteness. While some South Texans laughed off these accusations, it was evident that these labels stung. They held onto their cultural heritage – their Spanish language, their culinary traditions – but firmly distinguished themselves from recent Mexican immigrants, especially the undocumented. This distinction highlights a critical element in understanding “white Mexican” identity: it’s not about rejecting Mexicanness, but about navigating a complex racial and social landscape where “white” holds a particular, often legally defined, position.
To understand this better, we need to unpack the term “white” itself in the context of South Texas. My grandfather, for instance, rarely used “white,” preferring “Anglo” when referring to non-Latinx white people. This linguistic choice reflects a historical perspective, acknowledging the Anglo settlers who displaced both Mexicans and Indigenous populations. Yet, my grandfather, with his fair features, was himself often called “bolillo” or “guero”—terms used in Mexico to describe light-skinned individuals. He was, in a sense, a white Mexican American.
Traveling through South Texas, I encountered many who resembled my grandfather – “bien guero.” The region, while broadly Latinx, often appears “whiter” than Latino-majority areas elsewhere, reminding me of states within Mexico like Jalisco or Durango. This observation aligns with census data. While the US Census is imperfect, it reveals that a significant percentage of those who identify as Hispanic or Latino also mark “white” as their race. Nationally, this figure is around 53%, but in South Texas, particularly in Zapata County, it’s much higher. In Zapata, over 98% of residents identify as “white” while 94% identify as Hispanic or Latino. This makes Zapata County both highly Latinx and, statistically, very white.
This isn’t to suggest race is a rigid determinant of political affiliation. However, understanding the role of whiteness is crucial to grasping Mexican American politics in South Texas. The political leanings of Zapata County might appear less anomalous when viewed through the lens of a rural, majority-white county, where racial identity could influence political alignment. The Republican Party’s increased focus on Latinx voters in South Texas during the election cycle raises questions about whether the perceived racial identity of these voters played a role in this outreach.
Discussions around whiteness within Mexican identity can be sensitive. There’s no universal definition of what it means to be “white and Mexican.” Many Mexican Americans identify their race as simply “Mexican” or “Latino.” This identity negotiation is something deeply personal and historically rooted.
My grandparents’ experiences during the Jim Crow era in Texas offer a stark historical perspective. Despite facing discrimination as Mexicans, they recounted using “whites only” facilities. Legally, Mexicans in Jim Crow Texas were considered white, a consequence of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo after the Mexican-American War in 1848. To ensure the annexation of Mexican territories, Mexican citizens living in these lands were granted US citizenship and, crucially, legally classified as white in the racial framework of 19th-century America.
Texas, being the largest slave state among former Mexican territories and later part of the Confederacy, solidified this complex racial positioning. While facing prejudice and violence, including lynchings, Mexican Americans in Texas occupied a peculiar space: legally white, yet socially marginalized. This legal whiteness, however, did afford certain privileges within the Jim Crow South.
My grandmother recounted stories of darker-skinned cousins who, despite Indigenous features, would use “white” facilities, navigating the ambiguous color line of the era. This illustrates the core of white supremacy in the US: its foundation in anti-Blackness and its fluid boundaries. Historically, groups like Irish and Italian immigrants, initially discriminated against, were eventually absorbed into whiteness to reinforce a white supremacist order, particularly during the Civil Rights movement.
Historically, some Mexicans, even while facing discrimination, have participated in upholding white supremacy. During the Civil War, Mexican Americans in Texas fought for the Confederacy, including one of my own ancestors. This uncomfortable truth reveals the complexities of identity and allegiance within a racialized society.
For me, acknowledging this history includes confronting the potential for white supremacy within my own heritage and community. Growing up, my racial identity was confusing. Called slurs like “spic,” yet able to “blend in” by anglicizing my Spanish surname, I experienced the fluidity of racial perception. Later, in more inclusive environments, embracing my Mexicanness became a source of pride, often equated with being a “person of color.” However, through ethnic studies and conversations with Black and Indigenous Latinx individuals, I came to understand a crucial point: Latinxs can be white, and white supremacy can operate within Latinidad.
This realization connects to my childhood experience of racial ambiguity. The ease with which I could “blend in” by altering my name reflects a larger historical process: the assimilation of groups into whiteness. Just as Italians and Irish were integrated into the white majority, a similar process seems to be occurring with some segments of the Mexican American population. From facing overt discrimination, some are now being assimilated into the very system that once marginalized them, a system still rooted in racial hierarchy.
Driving through the mesquite hills of South Texas, listening to Son Jarocho, I felt a deep yearning to understand this intricate web of identity, culture, and lineage. I longed to discuss these questions with my grandfather. In San Ygnacio, I called my father, seeking his perspective.
My father shared his own experiences growing up in Texas, recalling how Mexican American kids would use derogatory terms for recent immigrants, creating a distinction between themselves and “real” Mexicans. “Mexican” itself was often used as a pejorative. Many older South Texans, he noted, preferred “Hispanic” or simply “American.”
A turning point for my father was California’s Prop. 187 in the 1990s, a law targeting undocumented immigrants. This legislation, he explained, underscored a harsh reality: “When someone says they hate Mexicans, they’re not going to bother to find that fine line.” It blurred distinctions and revealed the underlying prejudice that encompassed even those who considered themselves distinct from recent immigrants.
Standing by the Rio Grande after our call, watching cows graze on the Mexican side, I reflected on my own identity. I am a proud Mexican American, yet I also recognize the privileges associated with my white appearance. Acknowledging this whiteness is not about rejecting my heritage, but about understanding my position within a racialized society. My aim is to resist assimilation into structures of white power, to stand in solidarity with Black, Indigenous, and undocumented Latinxs, and to raise future generations to understand that “white” is a construct of power, not just culture.
The challenge for Mexican Americans in my position is to navigate this nuanced space – to acknowledge whiteness while actively rejecting its inherent power structures.
