Always the Foreigner in Latin America, and What Helps

Some newcomers feel caught between guilt and defense, and I understand both.

By Neil Solomon · 3 min read

Picture a couple named Dolores and Frank. They moved to a mid-sized city a few years ago. At the market, the vendor calls them "los güeros" with a grin. Frank laughs. Dolores, some days, does not. She says, "I would like one day when nobody remembers I am from somewhere else."

That is the question for this piece. If you may always be the foreigner, can you be at peace with it? From what people describe, the answer depends a great deal on where you are.

How it differs by place

These are my readings of accounts, not facts about the countries.

Ecuador. One account describes being stared at and unable to follow what was said, and still the writer called it home. I find that striking. The staring was real, so was the confusion, and so was the feeling of belonging. The feelings did not cancel each other.

Paraguay. One writer said that people kept asking whether they were German, and that they kept answering "No, I'm not German." It reads to me as both funny and tiring. Another account from Paraguay is about feeling like guests for two years and then, after that, a sense of relief when the feeling lifted. That second story suggests that "guest" may be a stage, not a permanent state.

Chile. One person wrote about always being the foreigner, and the tone was weary. They did not blame anyone. They were just tired of explaining. I think that is a very human feeling, and it does not mean the place was wrong for them.

Mexico, in Mexico City. This is a place where the question is sharper. Several writers describe neighborhoods such as Condesa changing. One account tells of a small shop that disappeared overnight. Some newcomers feel caught between guilt and defense, and I understand both. Other writers remind readers that foreigners have lived in these neighborhoods for a long time, long before the recent wave. I think both things can be true. A neighbor who feels pushed and a newcomer who feels judged can both be honest.

A small exchange

Dolores and Frank at the market.

"They called us los güeros again," says Frank.

"I know," says Dolores. "Today I did not mind."

"What changed?"

"She gave me an extra lime."

What I make of it

The pattern I notice is that the people most at ease did two things. They stopped trying to look local, and they started being specific. They became "the couple from the corner" or "the one who brings the bread." A narrow identity feels warmer than a wide one. A foreigner is a category. A neighbor is a person.

I also notice that being stared at, being asked an odd question, and feeling like a guest are not the same. The first is curiosity, the second is repetition, and the third is a sign that you have not yet been invited into the room. Each wears on people differently.

In places where many people from abroad have arrived at once, there is another layer. Neighbors may feel the cost in rent or in the shops they lose. I do not think it helps anyone to argue about who is to blame. It may help to be a person who is easy to talk to about it.