Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo

Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo

 

Abstract

This paper examines how the natural hair care movement all across Latin America has influence views on “pelo bueno” and “pelo malo,” which translate to “good hair” and “bad hair.” Pelo bueno/pelo malo represents a mode of racial classification in terms of proximity to whiteness in the Dominican Republic and Latin America as a whole. Recently, the natural-hair movement has uplifted mainly Afro-Latin women, personally and culturally, leading them to love their natural hair. Narrowing in on the Dominican Republic, I ask: To what extent has the natural hair care movement in the Dominican Republic shifted ideas about pelo malo/pelo bueno? What do these conversations look like in the media? This paper examines a public service announcement by Sinergia films and reactions to it via YouTube posts and newspaper coverage. This conversation of natural hair has been studied in Latin America, mostly focusing on women’s journey to accepting their biological roots and getting in tune with cultural aspects connected to their hair; African practices rooted in their culture, identity issues, and normalizing wearing natural hair in professional and academic settings. With this knowledge, I am able to narrow into the Dominican Republic and inspect the change the pelo bueno/pelo malo conversation has changed due to the rise of natural hair care being popularized.

Introduction

All over the world, natural hair has been stirring a variety of emotions among different Latin communities. With the most recent natural hair-care movement, many people, specifically Afro-Latina women, have been inclined to explore their racial and ethnic identities and express their newfound knowledge by embracing their natural hair for what it is culturally and racially, an experience through which to grow closer to oneself. This paper focuses on the natural hair care movement in the Dominican Republic and how it has shifted conversations in the workplace, schools, and media. I begin with a content analysis of a public service announcement that encourages students to embrace their natural hair. Then I analyze people’s responses to it via their comments under its YouTube post. I also analyze the effect the PSA had on the career of Marianela Pinales, the director of Gender Equality and Development at the Ministry of Education, who initiated the campaign and was featured in it, as covered in newspaper articles  “Natural Hair Is Still Under Attack in the Dominican Republic” by HipLatina and “This Dominican Educator Was Fired After Releasing A Video For Youth That Celebrates Natural Hair” by Mitu.

Literature Review

Scholars have long studied racial and ethnic identity in connection to hair. In the books Black Behind the Ears: Dominican Racial Identity From Museums to Beauty Shops by Ginetta Candelario, Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, African American Women by Noliwe Rooks, and Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America by Ayana Byrd Lori L. Tharps enrich my analysis of the primary sources. These texts further the discussion of the good, bad, and ugly stereotypes that come with embracing natural hair as black women.

Jacqueline Lyon’s “Pajón Power: Styling Citizenship and Black Politics in the Dominican natural hair movement” puts forth the idea that historically, hair, no matter the texture, had a major significance in the Dominican Republic. One of the main factors was having the power to determine your rank within the world because hair texture and colorism is so closely linked to class in the Dominican Republic. This text dives into the separation and combination of race and hair in the Dominican Republic and how you could be boxed into a “lesser-than” identity if your hair was kinkier or your skin was darker. This social hierarchy left the majority of the Dominican Republic struggling in underdeveloped societies because of the chances they were denied based on appearance. Lyons argues that the natural hair-care movement has shifted the pelo bueno/pelo malo discussion tremendously because of that ideal. The conversation shifts to why “old school” (i.e. chemically straightened) hairstyles are still accepted and preferred in the Dominican Republic over natural hair. Lyons links that thought to anti-Blackness and anti-Haitianism: a strong urgency to wash Blackness from Dominican culture, ignoring its Afro roots. One major takeaway from this text was how the elevation of Blackness within the Dominican Republic and its school system would help remove the stigma around natural hair and Blackness, where it is associated with criminality and laziness. Normalizing Blackness within the school system would ultimately help more children with Afro hair to be educated in the system without learning to associate themselves with the negative implications of hair in the Dominican Republic. Because Blackness is associated with Haitians or Dominicans mixed with Haitian, the natural hair movement in the Dominican Republic is also unifying Blackness within the island as a whole. Allowing Black hair textures into the “normal” world again was just the start.

Lyons’s article connects to Candelario’s Black Behind the Ears regarding the racial beauty standards within the Dominican Republic. Pelo bueno/pelo malo, as Calendario covered it, is something people live by in the Dominican Republic, so working to dismantle that idea with the natural hair care movement means more than just change; it means realization. Candelario states, “For Dominican women, it’s not just straightening, but transforming it into white hair and by extension, themselves into whiter, but not white women,” which adds to how pelo malo was always being modified to resemble pelo bueno.1 So allowing the natural hair movement would enable hair to be seen as it is and not be changed to fit into a certain proximity of whiteness.

Other scholars, like Kia Lily Caldwell, author of “Look at Her Hair: The Body Politics of Black Womanhood,” focus on the discrimination expressed so freely towards Afro-Brazilians and their curly hair. This emphasizes the struggle for acceptance and beauty within the natural community because of how easily distaste can be expressed and not seen as hate because Afro-Brazilian women were often shelved and seen as other because their racial identity is so visible physically. It also describes how racial classification has been subjected to determining where your hair fits in the “white or black” conversation and avoids any ambiguous category. If you were to fit into the Black variety, other Brazilians would use it negatively against you and add to the negative connotation of blackness present in Brazil. For instance, even in music, the song mentioned “Veja os cabelos dela,” openly made fun of Afro-Brazilian women and made fun of them because of their proximity to Blackness. Caldwell writes, “By focusing on physical characteristics such as hair texture and body odor, the song perpetuated popular beliefs that Afro-Brazilian women are unattractive and lack proper hygiene”; 2 The stereotype of being unruly or unhygienic is only brought up when determining how clean Black women and their hair is. The unattractive perspective on natural hair made women shy away from natural hair and conform to the dominant, white standards of beauty in Latin America. The only view in the natural hair movement that holds importance is women with natural hair. Later on, Brazilian women would unchain themselves from the anti-Black aesthetic surrounding hair and be viewed regularly instead of being seen as rebels because of their natural hair.

Regarding Black womanhood in Brazil, Caldwell’s research has a lot in common with Rooks’s Hair Raising, simply because of the many barriers put in place to silence Blackness. The same way Blackness was shamed publicly to keep natural hair hidden in Brazil corresponds to the way products like hair straighteners work. According to Rooks, relaxers were supposed to change the appearance of “handicapped Black women who didn’t fit the standard because of race.”3 This connects to how advertisements publicly shamed Black women, silencing their natural beauty and asserting that they do not fit the beauty standard. Caldwell’s article documents women who break away from this shame with the natural hair movement’s help and by experiencing an intimate relationship with their hair to understand themselves more internally and as more like Black women.

Equally important, “Restored Roots: Muntu as a Healing Agent in Pelo Bueno, Pelo Malo” by Carmen Montañez starts very strongly when she brings up the recurring notion that Black women in the Caribbean straighten their hair to cling to the whiteness once inhabited by their island. She states that they did it as a ritual to signify a marker of womanhood. She continues to expose the negative associations that whiteness has cast on Black women’s hair, creating specific terms that lead to the conversation of good hair and hair as a racial classification. Montañez writes, “Hair became the major factor to determine one’s social class. A wide range of terms appeared to describe different blackness levels, based on hair texture and skin tone.”4 This further explains the drift from Black practices and desire for whiteness. The classification of hair and blackness categories reemphasized Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo because of the benefits reflected when having Pelo Bueno. This article mainly connects to Byrd and Tharps’s research, which discusses how good hair was kind of shoved under the rug with weaves and wigs, making it seem like good hair could be anything: “With the hair of her dreams just a purchase away, why should “good hair” really matter anymore?”5 The definition of good hair became flimsy because of the many ways good hair could be achieved instead of just looking at the natural window. Lastly, the texts show how the natural hair movement made Afro-Puerto Ricans drift from their wanting to be white and explore their hair leading them to understand their culture and African influences within their culture better.

Methods and Data

For my case study, I conducted a content analysis of the 2019 PSA “Ni Pelo Bueno Ni Pelo Malo,” released by Sinergia films and the head of the educational ministry in the Dominican Republic Marianela Pinalez, an Afro-Latina. The PSA centers on Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo and national discourse around allowing natural styles to be accepted within the classroom setting. To  to document the different reactions the country had to the PSA’s promotion of the natural hair and Blackness within professional settings and the video’s aftermath, I analyze the reactions to this PSA from different media outlets: viewer comments on the YouTube post and two news articles, “Natural Hair Is Still Under Attack in the Dominican Republic,” published by Hiplatina and “This Dominican Educator Was Fired After Releasing A Video For Youth That Celebrates Natural Hair” published by Mitu.. This case study will document the old or new sentiments regarding Pelo Bueno/Palo Malo within the Dominican Republic and reflect how ideas have shifted throughout time.

Findings

In “Ni Pelo Bueno, Ni Pelo Malo,” the Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo binary is deconstructed in a natural way by students themselves. This PSA seemed to get the idea of the natural hair-care movement across in a light-hearted manner by including children appreciating their natural hair in any form they want it. The director, Marianela Pinales, also made an appearance stating “no boy or girl should be discriminated against because of their physical appearance,” this connected to students saying “live your life and leave my hair alone!,” which expressed how the natural hair care movement moved even a director to look into the discrimination students of color were going through because of hair.

The “Ni Pelo Bueno Ni Pelo Malo” YouTube comments reflected two perspectives. Many of the comments shared similar points of view. One wrote, “The fact that the Ministries of Education fired the director of that division, the one who appears in the video, would have been interesting to see what things they would have implemented. I hope the next person on the job is as competent as the one before.”6 The energy and attitude shown in this comment reflect that the people are angry and mad that the government, again, blocked an opportunity for change. Some people were just excited that this PSA was created, “Excellent!!! This is the best job the Ministry does !!! educating with this campaign !!! wao incredible !!! <3 the country needs more of this !!! more inclusion !!!!”7 The happiness in this comment does show the part of the Dominican Republic that is underrepresented. The PSA helped to promote diversity within the Dominican natural hair community.

On the other hand, some YouTube comments showcased a different perspective. For example, someone responded,

 “Only women notice another woman’s hair. For men, it does not matter if the woman is bald or with hair as she wants to have it. We like women, be that as it may. Everyone knows that women criticize each other, and therefore, all women who complain about their hair is because at some time in their life, they received criticism from other women. Men eat even a skeleton with skirts, that’s the least of it. If these women complain that they have ever been told something about their hair, it is because some other woman criticized them. It is not the whole of society that is against this type of hair. It is women who do not leave a salon and always criticize others.”8

This reaction sexualizes little girls that show off their natural beauty and blames women more than anyone else for the issues within the natural hair community. Other comments were more vocal with their anger, “I do not like this. AT SCHOOL, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO FOCUS ON TEACHING NOT HAIRSTYLES.”9 This reaction led to the idea that embracing natural hair would distract children from school instead of showing them how to love their true identities, reflecting internalized standards drilled in by the government.

The PSA also received formal news coverage.  Johanna Ferreira’s “Natural Hair Is Still Under Attack in the Dominican Republic,” published in Hiplatina, describes hair discrimination and texturism is used to not upset the white balance of the world and keep anti-Blackness present in high forms of education, work, and society. Many reactions were similar and showed a mutual outrage over Pinales being fired and appreciation for the growth of the natural hair care movement. Reactions to the article, in the comment section, included:

“The consequences of the video being released led to Marianela Pinales being fired right after the video release and the ministry of education denying that they fired her because of the video but providing no extra reasoning for it.”

“The fact that the Dominican government fired the black woman minister of gender for pushing a pro-black ad about accepting different hair types cuz black girls getting denied education over unstraightened hair. That shows you the riff between Dominicans who get and want shit to change and the actual ruling class.”

“Even though the video had negative consequences, the message transcended that and ultimately showed the young generation to embrace their heritage, natural hair, and skin color.”10

These reactions illustrate how the media is willing and open to broadcasting change to the public, but the government is holding back on exploring “change” in regards to accepting Blackness. The second reaction emoted a lot of anger and dislike towards Marianela Pinales getting fired, but acknowledges how there is a divide between people who are trying to understand the anti-blackness within the country and those who ignore it. Lastly, the last  commenter expressed disappointment at how the head of education at the ministry was fired for doing something that would enact positive change in schools all around but appreciated how her efforts would lead a future generation to love themselves because of the PSA that publicly denounced pelo bueno/pelo malo.

Raquel Reichard’s article “This Dominican Educator Was Fired After Releasing A Video For Youth That Celebrates Natural Hair,” published in Mitu, illustrates how the PSA was able to reach many audiences and even reach television channels in the Dominican Republic. Mitu also goes into how as the attraction of the audience grew, Marianela Pinales ultimately ended up losing her job. Reactions captured within this article were:

“Much like the roots of anti-blackness in the country itself, the people in power seem to stop at no cost to maintain white supremacy. This confirms that even as consciousness grows, the problem is systemic.”

“This form of control over our hair, our clothes and how we carry ourselves in the Dominican Republic comes from the era of Trujillo. We are still fighting against the aggressions set from before…”

“Marianela Pinales from the Dominican ministry of education was fired for making this video which encourages acceptance of all hair types in the Dominican Republic. What a shameful consequence for such a beautiful video. Shame on the ministry of education.”11

These reactions are very similar to those presented in the first article. They restate how the issue does not lie within the country’s people alone, but more significantly with the government and people passing legislation, showing that the main point is getting the government to accept change. The PSA aired during a popular TV show, La Cosa Como Es, publicizing their support for the natural hair movement adding to the idea that Dominican people are ready to grow from their pelo bueno/pelo malo past and accept change. The second reaction was filled with emotion and you can see that this response is loaded with sadness and pain because of how the actions that occurred after the video made this person think about the past and how things haven’t changed. The third response shares complementary feelings; the mention of Pinales getting fired just enhances how people see that change is put on pause because she was voicing the people’s opinions, and now her voice is severed.

Discussion

My analysis suggests that the natural hair-care movement in the Dominican Republic has been amplified by the media and change is underway. This corresponds to existing studies and their ideas of natural hair being accepted more within Afro-Latina populated countries. However, my research also finds that some people are still holding onto their ideas that hair should be “kept” and not be “unruly.” The reactions held a distaste towards the government to silence the pro-black natural hair campaign, recalling Rooks and Caldwell and how Black women were publicly shamed for having Black features and natural hair textures—typically, a form of silencing that people did not respond well to in the Dominican Republic. The only difference is that the advertisement was initially created to uplift diversity within the natural-hair community in the Dominican Republic whereas Caldwell showed how the media in Brazil was used to shame women with natural hair. Surprisingly, it shows the rate of natural hair-care movements increased in the last ten years or so and has left a major impact on Latin America. Similarly, Caldwell’s piece and the government’s reaction show the shame people still have regarding pro-Blackness being openly accepted.

Furthermore, the Candelario and Lyon articles showed how Dominicans have shifted from ideas of pelo bueno/pelo malo and how pelo malo was always being modified and changed to resemble white/eurocentric women. Connecting to the reactions very well, this is what the head of the education ministry was attempting to change with the commercialization of normalizing natural hair within professional settings. This outlook ultimately challenges the video’s reactions because of how normalized pelo bueno/pelo malo stereotypes are in the Dominican Republic. The PSA challenged the higher-ups’ norms, opening the door for new voices and conversations.

Montañez relates to the outcomes showcased in the same fashion because of how deeply rooted hair changing/straightening practices were in Puerto Rico for women that were more presentably Black. Setting the example that the same approach will occur for them appearing the same way—traditionalizing pelo bueno practices into natural beauty. The PSA again challenges this idea of beauty amongst black women by offering a video with young girls embracing their natural hair. The children being involved show that pelo bueno/pelo malo’s practice is taught young and can be undone. Thus, showing these young women breaking away from unequal racialized standards emphasizes that anyone can change the way they view their natural hair and join the movement as well.

One finding I chose not to explore under the scope of this paper but found extremely interesting is how Marianela Pinales, the education ministry director, was fired for promoting this pro-Black PSA that made people think of hair, race, and class differences within the Dominican Republic. The video’s aftermath led people to assume she was fired because of her choice to promote natural beauty instead of Eurocentric standards, and this did not sit well with her colleagues. Investigating this would be difficult as the ministry denied that she was fired because of the PSA but didn’t offer any additional evidence against it.

Conclusion

Throughout this conversation, pelo bueno/pelo malo has been revisited and viewed differently in terms of the Dominican people. The change administered within the comments and reactions is an opening for change to occur and be understood in a country where hair determines the people’s values. Even though some people still felt strongly about hair and its unfavorable perception in professional settings, most people were ready to change and accept the natural hair movement and pro-black campaign. This leaves us with hope for future generations to break through the government and implement more diverse regulations regarding race and hair within the Dominican Republic. I see a potential future where people can wear their hair in its natural state without it appearing as a rebellious act to the media.

  1. Ginetta Candelario, Black Behind the Ears: Dominican Racial Identity From Museums to Beauty Shops (Duke University Press, 2007), 185.
  2. Kia Lily Caldwell, “‘Look at Her Hair’: The Body Politics of Black Womanhood,” Negras in Brazil 3 (2019), 101.
  3. Noliwe Rooks Hair Raising: Beauty, Culture, African American Women (Rutgers University Press, 2000), 36
  4. Carmen Montañez, “Restored Roots: Muntu as a Healing Agent in Pelo Bueno, Pelo Malo,” Hispania 100, no. 4 (2017): 626.
  5. Ayana Byrd and Lori Tharps, Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America (St. Martin’s Griffin, 2001).
  6. Comment by Johanna Reyes on “Ni Pelo Bueno, Ni Pelo Malo,” free translation.
  7. Comment by Frank Buenon “Ni Pelo Bueno, Ni Pelo Malo,” free translation.
  8. Comment by Esoj on “Ni Pelo Bueno, Ni Pelo Malo,” free translation.
  9. Comment by Melsede Paula on “Ni Pelo Bueno, Ni Pelo Malo,” free translation.
  10. Reader comments on Johanna Ferreira,“Natural Hair Is Still Under Attack in the Dominican Republic,” Hiplatina, March 28, 2019.
  11. Raquel Reichard and reader comments, “This Dominican Educator Was Fired After Releasing A Video For Youth That Celebrates Natural Hair,” Mitu, March 28, 2019.
 
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