“The Latin Question”
(Late 1980s – Sieli Family Saga)
Sofia dropped her backpack on the kitchen chair, still buzzing with frustration from what she’d just heard on campus. Michael was on the porch, feet propped on the railing, a beer in hand, enjoying the late afternoon light over the vineyard.
“Hey,” she said, stepping outside.
He tilted his head. “Hey, kid. You look like you’re ready to pick a fight with someone.”
“Maybe I am,” she shot back, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Why weren’t Italians included in the Latino student rally?”
Michael squinted at her. “What?”
“They’re doing a big Latino rally next week at Fresno State,” she explained. “Poets, speakers, cultural stuff. And I asked someone why Italian Americans weren’t part of it, since, you know—” she threw up her hands, “we’re the original Latins. And they laughed at me.”
Michael gave a short, dry laugh. “That’s because you’re not Latino.”
“Yes, we are!” she said, louder than she intended. “We’re literally from Latium. Rome. Latin. The whole word started with us!”
He took a sip of beer, amused. “Sofia… come on. When people say Latino, they mean Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, South Americans. Spanish-speaking. You can’t just stroll in and say ‘Hey, us too.’ That’s not how this works.”
She stared at him. “But why not? That’s what I want to know.”
Michael shrugged. “Because words change. It’s their word now. You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”
But for Sofia, it wasn’t complicated. It was personal.
She’d grown up in the 1980s surrounded by Chicano and Latino students — kids who carried their identity like a flag. Latino was something proud and loud. She’d admired it, even envied it. They had rallies, events, marches, dances. They were visible. Meanwhile, Italian Americans like her were told they’d “made it,” which was just another way of saying they’d disappeared.
“You don’t get it,” she said. “We gave the world that word. And now we’re erased from it. It’s like we don’t exist anymore.”
Michael leaned back, smirking. “Sofia, I don’t care where a word came from. I’m American. That’s enough.”
She folded her arms. “Yeah. I know. That’s your problem.”
🪔 A Family Divide
Michael had heard stories about prejudice from his parents — how Pietro had been called “dago” and “papist,” how Italians were treated like outsiders in the 1920s and 1930s. Back then, Italians were sometimes referred to collectively as “Latins,” and their urban enclaves were even called “Latin Quarters” in some cities — a label that mixed exoticism with exclusion. But Michael had grown up in the 1950s, when Italians were blending into the American mainstream. His identity was baseball, backyard barbecues, Sinatra, and the Stars and Stripes. He’d learned early that being too Italian only got you strange looks.
Sofia was different. She’d grown up in a California that was changing fast. She went to school with Mexican kids who waved their green-white-and-red flags with pride — but it wasn’t her flag. And somewhere in between, she started feeling like a ghost in her own story.
“Uncle Michael,” she said, calmer now. “The word ‘Latin’ comes from us. From Italy. From Rome. Latini. Pope Gregory didn’t invent it. We did. And we let go of it so easily. I don’t want to let go anymore.”
Michael popped open another beer. “Sofia, it’s just a word. Let them have it.”
“No,” she said. “I’m reclaiming it.”
🌮 Outside the Vineyard
A few days later, Sofia sat at a taco shop near downtown Fresno with Carmen and Danny, two of her closest friends. The tables were worn and sticky with decades of salsa stains. The jukebox hummed with old rancheras. They were talking about the upcoming Latino student rally at Fresno State.
“You should come,” Carmen said. “We’re bringing in Chicano poets, Salvadoran speakers… it’s going to be big.”
Sofia stirred her soda. “Why weren’t Italians invited?”
Carmen blinked. “Huh?”
Sofia leaned forward. “You guys call it a Latino rally, right? Italians are the original Latins. Rome. Latium. Latin language. How come that never includes us?”
Danny laughed softly, not maliciously. “Because you’re not Latino, Sof. You’re White. That’s different.”
“Is it?” she challenged. “The word Latino wouldn’t even exist without us. But now when I say that, people laugh.”
Carmen tilted her head, kind but firm. “Sof… words evolve. Here, Latino means Latin America. Spanish-speaking. That’s how people understand it.”
“I know,” she said. “But why should that mean we stop existing? Why can’t it mean both? Why can’t we claim our part of it, too?”
Danny grinned. “You sound like a history teacher.”
“I sound like someone who’s tired of being erased,” she shot back — but she wasn’t angry. Just fierce.
Carmen reached out and touched her hand. “I get it. I really do. And maybe it’s good that someone says that. Just… be ready for people to not get it.”
“I don’t need them to get it,” Sofia said. “I just need to say it. I’m not giving that word up.”
Danny raised his Coke bottle. “To the Latins who aren’t Latinos.”
They laughed. Even Sofia — but this time it wasn’t a laugh that folded in on itself. It was a laugh with a spark in it.
📝 Author’s Note: The Latin Question
The word “Latin” has a long and layered history.
Originally: “Latini” referred to the ancient peoples of Latium — the root of the Latin language and Roman culture.
Over centuries: “Latin peoples” came to include Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, and other descendants of Latin Europe.
In the 20th-century U.S.: “Latino” became associated primarily with Latin America — Spanish-speaking peoples of Mexico, Central and South America, and the Caribbean.
For many assimilated Italian Americans like Michael, this evolution didn’t matter — they were “just American” now. But for younger Italian Americans like Sofia, who grew up surrounded by Chicano and Latino pride movements, the shift stung.
Reclaiming “Latin” isn’t about taking anything away. It’s about remembering the word’s full history — and refusing to disappear from it.
🕯️ Sometimes, reclaiming a word isn’t about others understanding. It’s about knowing your own story — and daring to say it out loud.
📚 References & Historical Notes
Etymology of “Latin” and “Latini” – Derived from the people of Latium (modern-day Lazio, Italy), the cultural and linguistic heartland of ancient Rome.
Oxford English Dictionary; Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Latini,” “Latium.”
Expansion of “Latin Europe” – In medieval and early modern Europe, “Latin” peoples referred to Catholic, Romance-language-speaking groups (Italians, French, Spaniards, Portuguese).
Peter Burke, Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge University Press, 2004).
Shift in U.S. usage of “Latino” – Term became tied to Latin American immigrants and communities in the mid-20th century, particularly after the Chicano Movement and census reforms.
Arlene Dávila, Latinos, Inc.: The Marketing and Making of a People (University of California Press, 2001).
Suzanne Oboler, Ethnic Labels, Latino Lives (University of Minnesota Press, 1995).
Chicano/Latino identity movements – The political and cultural rise of Latino identity in the U.S. occurred primarily during the 1960s–1980s.
Ian F. Haney López, Latinos and the Law (West Academic, 2017).
Rodolfo Acuña, Occupied America: A History of Chicanos (Pearson, 2014).
Italian American assimilation & racial reclassification – Italian immigrants faced discrimination in the early 20th century, but by the mid-century they were absorbed into the “white mainstream.”
Thomas Guglielmo, White on Arrival: Italians, Race, Color, and Power in Chicago, 1890–1945 (Oxford University Press, 2003).
Jennifer Guglielmo & Salvatore Salerno (eds.), Are Italians White? (Routledge, 2003).
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