Growing up in Australia, I learned that Latina women were allowed to be two things: a punchline or a fantasy. If we were visible at all, it was usually through someone else’s caricature: cheap labour, spicy girlfriend, or exotic extra. By the time I was old enough to understand what representation meant, I had already absorbed the message: my culture was welcome here, but mostly as flavour.
I feel like for a long time I have been searching for Australia to accept my culture in a real way.
Australia has always had a complicated relationship with non-white migration. My grandmother grew up in the shadow of the “White Australia Policy”, a racially discriminatory era that strictly limited non-British immigration. It wasn’t until the 1970s that Latin immigration significantly expanded to Australia through occupational programs. By the 1990s and early 2000s, increased media visibility offered hollow, sexualised caricatures that became cultural imprints.
Now, the contradiction is impossible to miss.
On the one hand, anti-immigrant rhetoric still gets airtime through political parties. On the other, Latin culture is seeing a massive commercial boom. However, a GYG burrito or Bad Bunny global hit does not substitute belonging, because cultural consumption is not the same as genuine cultural engagement.
We still need our own communities to provide the platform for our real stories to be told and celebrated. Luara Brandão, founder of INBRAZA, says ‘Back home [in Brazil], the party isn’t confined to a venue, it’s an extension of daily life. That sense of spontaneity, of collective energy, is something I’m constantly trying to translate here’. Her words remind me of my mother’s personal grievances.
