A friend once joked that he was revoking my “black card.” He was simultaneously being playful and a little judgmental in saying that I wasn’t black enough because I hadn’t seen The Wiz – Motown’s answer to the Wizard of Oz.
On a more serious note, I’m hoping that my sisters in the struggle for women’s rights won’t pull my “feminist card” because of this next admission. Until recently, I was completely oblivious to the painfully obvious gender gap in Salsa music.
Now, I’m doing something about it — after all, that’s what we do here at AAUW. On Saturday, I’ll be at the Smithsonian’s Anacostia Community Museum for a talk about the glass ceiling that women face in the male-dominated world of Salsa.
A young Celia Cruz, the queen of Salsa
It is easy to name the mambo kings. For starters, there’s Tito Puente, el rey de los timbales (king of timbales); Oscar D’León, faraón de la Salsa (the pharaoh of Salsa); and El Maestro Johnny Pacheco. It’s a small group, but it’s a fraternity nonetheless. And yet speaking in plurals is barely possible when it comes to women in Salsa. There is only the Queen — La Reina — of Salsa, Celia Cruz.
While my Latin music collection includes La India, La Lupe, and La Reina, truthfully all of my favorite songs are performed by men — D’León’s “Llorarás,” Joe Arroyo’s “Rebelion,” Willie Colón’s “El Gran Varón,” and El Groupo Niche’s “Etnia.”
To expand that playlist, I reached out to experts to learn more about the interaction of feminism and Salsa. Carlos Quintana from About.com’s Latin Music Guide offered up a track by Son de Azucar, the female Salsa band from Cali, Colombia, called “No Soy un Juego,” which challenges the idea of the classic male “player” as in a man who plays with women’s hearts.
Frances Aparicio, author of the award-winning book Listening to Salsa: Gender, Latin Popular Music, and Puerto Rican Cultures and director of Northwestern University’s Latina and Latino Studies program, mentioned Cruz’s “Usted Abusó ,” a tune that could be seen as addressing domestic violence.
Aparicio told me she was motivated to study Salsa because she felt these contradictions as a feminist listening to patriarchal and misogynist lyrics while having a strong need to remain connected to her heritage.
I’m not Puerto Rican, but I understand the draw to Salsa and the need to listen responsibly. So a big thanks to the Smithsonian for opening my eyes. And a shout-out to Baratunde Thurston, author of How to be Black, which was described by one critic as a hilarious blend of razor-sharp satire and a memoir —he has the “black card” application on his website. Gracias, bro. I may reapply.
AAUW Dialog 
A delightful post! I, too, am a lover of salsa music and avid salsa dancer who’s greatly concerned about issues of equality for women. Like you, I had never really stopped to listen closely to or analyze the lyrics – which is a shame! I’ve been pondering lately about the “politics” of dance and debating with others about whether or not the dance itself is empowering, but I had neglected to address the music itself! I’m very interested and will definitely add Aparicio’s book to my “to read” list.
Thanks so much for posting your comment. You raise an interesting point that’s definitely worth exploring – the “politics” of dance. In fact, there’s that great line that goes – Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.