Has Latino capitalism made it fashionable to identify with indigenous spiritual roots? Browse Instagram and it’s easy to come across users discussing the importance of reconnecting with indigenous spirituality across the digital Latino diaspora. As decolonization narratives become increasingly popular in the U.S., there has been a growing movement in Latino mainstream media over the past three years centered around an online Latino movement reclaiming spiritual indigeneity.
But how much impact does it really have in the culture? There are still a significant number of Latino millennials in the U.S. who deeply believe that the roots of our indigenous spiritual embodiment are evil, dark, and have the power to summon demons. The misconceptions to which they pledge their allegiance are firmly borne out by the lack of anti-racism and decolonial activism in spiritual contexts.
While we may want to believe that decolonizing our spirituality in Latino culture is widely accepted, think twice. Privilege in this space exists in niche micro-communities online. Online dialogue is not always a safe space either. We have all experienced the occasional religious troll in the comments section. They need to take it upon themselves to do social media evangelism and seek the Word of God our Lord and Savior to save, hopefully, one rebellious soul at a time.
Centering my ancestral practices as a creative entrepreneur, bruja writer, and committed postcolonial spiritualist has been a form of actively embracing my authentic self. As an effort to cultivate ancestral healing, it is clear that we have made great strides in our capacity for individualism, but at the same time, there is still much to dismantle. As a collective, to continue to dismantle internalized racism and religious colonialist indoctrination within the diaspora, we must actively call ignorant elders and contemporary Latinx nonbelievers back to anti-indigeneity, especially for those of us who are mixed race and descended from colonialists.
To this day, I encounter resistance from family and friends who try to criticize our own ancestral origins. For the past five years, I have been privately celebrating the Day of the Dead and building altars for the dead, a practice not uncommon to me as I am of Mexican and Peruvian descent. I thought the perfect opportunity had finally come to open this private ritual to my relatives and invite them to join me in honoring the Day of the Dead. I wanted to organize a picnic in the park, somewhere even the most strangers would feel comfortable, where all the women in my family could come together and share memories of the women who came before us.
By now, I thought that speaking about the dead and honoring deceased loved ones at this time of year would be mainstream enough to convert even the most conservative of relatives. However, families were still hesitant and apprehensive about coming together to talk about the legacy of their deceased elders. I heard some family members misinterpret it as some kind of event where I would raise the dead from their peaceful resting place in the afterlife.
It was negative and they would pass because they didn’t want to summon spirits. That thought was too witchy and shaped a biased judgment on their part. My immediate thought was, ok, I understand the precautions. But I was saddened by that response. Honestly, selfishly, I wish I could see my grandpa again if I had that ability. When I heard this information, I didn’t take it personally. It’s interesting how the negative stigma that colonial religions have smeared on traditional indigenous spirituality gives it so much power through fear. This type of response will probably be something I will have to deal with for the rest of my life.
Actively decolonizing the mind, body, and spirit leads to the conclusion that some people refuse to understand the harm that Catholic indoctrination has done to their souls and people for so many years. Like bad Catholics, it is time to break with spiritual colonial terrorism. Catholicism has historically viewed indigenous spiritual activity as evil and stigmatized it as “black magic.” This mindset is also rooted in spiritual racism.
Fear is a powerful tool often used to subjugate others to harmful tactics. The Catholic Church claimed that any spiritual theology other than their own was demonic. In other words, it was a control tactic to convert Spanish colonial lands and weaponize religion against our ancestors. Christian conversion from ancestrally rooted spiritual forms was not by choice, but by coercion. Essentially, it evolved into religious terrorism. Catholic domination thrived on the spiritual erasure of the indigenous people, a kind of genocide.
How else can Latinos work to restore indigenous advocacy? As Latinos, we must do some tough confrontations within ourselves, especially now when we want to wholeheartedly support perpetrators of genocide like the Palestinians. But it also requires some brutal honesty within ourselves to address the internalized settler-colonialism that displaced the teachings and cultures of our ancestors, and what we may be avoiding when we want to claim anti-colonial oppression but do not confront injustices in the world.
As a Latino of Mexican-Peruvian descent, it is important for me to denounce the entanglements of oppressive colonial systems that have inflicted psychological damage on my ancestors by disassociating them from Indigenous theologies and, as a result, identifying their pivotal role in my generational trauma.
I grew up hearing this directly from my maternal grandmother who lived a very spiritual, witchy, unconventional life. She was a palmist, psychic, and tarot reader. My earliest memories are watching her read the tarot for people who sought her advice. She was shunned by her siblings because she lived a taboo life that was not blessed by Catholic standards. As a result, my mother and I were guilty by association.
My grandmother and her descendants were negatively perceived as the “problem child” and “bad guy” in the family due to the lack of a kinship decolonization program. This divided our family and created a three-generational cycle of toxic familialism. When my grandmother, my elder brother, passed away, my maternal family was barely present, thanks to a psychic ability to cling to conflict as if it was the air we needed to breathe.
In that moment, I was reminded that not even death can make a “good Catholic” forgive or repent. What a joke on religion, I thought, my family was a prime example of how religion cannot magically erase the hatred and evil that resides in people’s hearts. Because this intergenerational trauma ends with me, I have personally vowed to recognize and break the perpetuating harm. How? By working in energy healing, practicing brujería, advocating for sex magick, supporting BIPOC liberation from colonization, and reclaiming taboo misconceptions in Latinx spirituality, like my grandmother saying the Hail Mary prayer in extreme discomfort because of her internalized colonized views of spiritual work.
To actively decolonize ancestral spirituality means to assume the role of educator; to continually educate oneself and educate stubborn, fear-mongering Latinos. Explaining to Latinos who are critical of these teachings that they support white supremacist religious rhetoric through their hostile stance in denouncing our ancestral spiritual roots is an exhausting role to play. Deep down, these critical opponents know that such unconventional anti-religious views disrupt patriarchal authority. Coming from a lineage of three generations of women who have chosen to honor indigenous spirituality, I myself have been allowed to speak out within my family and against family members who support these white supremacist systems taught by colonial religions. Catholicism has taught me to feel shame when speaking out against oppressive authority and harm perpetuated even by my own family.
Culturally, we have been taught to find security in secrecy and to act in self-satisfaction to gain rewards and acceptance. My grandmother was a guerrera. Her personal courage disrupted the harmful Marianism within our lineage. Born in the 1940s, she spoke out against rape within her own family. In doing so, others tried to silence her truth because it would cause too much discomfort and disturb the Catholic order: “calladita te ves más bonita.” Whether my elders recognized it or not, she was an early educator in my family. I learned how to be bold, brave, and courageous from my grandmother.
This holiday season, as you gather with your non-believing Latino family against spiritual liberation through decolonization and advance each day on your collective spiritual liberation journey, advocate for the protection and respect of your ancestral spirituality, its teachings, and your indigenous communities. Speak up when you encounter people who seek to further colonialist and damaging ideas by violently destroying indigenous knowledge. The spiritual labor our ancestors sacrificed to assimilate and survive ends with us. To expand spiritual decolonization, we must advocate for the protection of indigenous peoples globally and within Latinos. And that’s it. Remember, your ancestors support you. And that’s a fact.
Jasmine Alejandre Prasad (aka Esoteric Essa) is an astrologer, psychic tarot reader, and bruja, and the founder of Souliminati.
