Cis-Panic Heritage Month: Why the Scrutiny on "Latinx" Misses the Point

Let me start by responding to the recurring question: "Why use the term 'Latinx' when most Latinos don’t?" Research often highlights that the majority of Latinos don’t use "Latinx," but what we should be asking is, why is there such an obsession with proving its legitimacy? Identity terms are always shaped by power, exclusion, and who gets to decide what counts as valid.

It's worth pointing out that when terms like "Chicano" or "Xicano" emerged, we didn't see the same intense insistence on proving their legitimacy through widespread studies. These terms were accepted as powerful expressions of identity rooted in resistance and self-determination, especially within the context of the Chicano Movement. Yet, when it comes to "Latinx," there's a constant demand for research to justify its existence, often to undermine the term and, by extension, the people who use it.

This double standard speaks to underlying power dynamics: the demand for studies on "Latinx" seems more about questioning the validity of queer and trans people within Latinx communities, rather than genuinely exploring language and identity evolution.

With "Latinx," there's an insistence on proving its legitimacy, often through studies that focus on the majority who don't use the term. This raises questions about who drives this research and why. What’s often overlooked is the critical need for genderqueer and trans scholars in these conversations. Without their voices, the studies tend to exclude or marginalize the very populations the term "Latinx" seeks to include. The notion that because the majority doesn't use "Latinx," the term should be dismissed reflects a troubling trend of prioritizing majority views over the needs of minority communities.

"Latinx" doesn’t seek to eradicate "Latino" or "Latina." Rather, it adds to the richness of self-identification, offering a more inclusive option for those who don’t see themselves reflected in the gender binary. If someone’s commitment is to only serve cisgender populations, they may choose terms like "Latino" or "Latina." However, if they aim to include and serve queer and trans populations, "Latinx" or "Latine" become essential in signaling that commitment to inclusivity.

Just as we didn't need to justify terms like "Chicano" with research studies, we shouldn't impose the same on "Latinx." People have the right to choose the terms that reflect their cultural identities and expression of political consciousness. Institutions should respect and reflect that diversity if they are committed to truly serving all members of the community.

Again, we don't need studies on who uses "Latinx," their degrees, or their political affiliations to validate its importance. To me, it’s a waste of resources. If ten trans Latinx people use it, then we respect it. The value of a term is not in how many people use it, but in how it makes space for those who have been historically marginalized. Respecting that choice is part of our commitment to inclusion and equity.

I’d rather see studies that focus on how trans Latinx people and those who use "Latinx" are constantly burdened with extra labor—the emotional and mental toll of having to repeatedly justify their identity and defend their right to self-naming. The focus should be on the impact of this invalidation, rather than questioning the legitimacy of their chosen terms. It’s time we center their experiences and acknowledge the resilience required to navigate these constant challenges.