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Preface and Acknowledgments I first became aware of liberation theology as an undergraduate at Georgetown University in an “Introduction to Black Liberation Theology” course taught by Dr. Diana Hayes. I found the material electrifying. I was at the time a theology minor, and though I had a great interest in the discipline I had yet to find a dimension of theology that impassioned me. Black liberation theology—and Dr. Hayes’ teaching—changed all that. I went from “dating” theology to a lifelong commitment. My earliest rapture was stirred by the political praxis black theologians linked to their academic rhetoric, as well as by the centrality of concrete social issues, primarily racism, within the theological discourse. This initial access opened up the world of liberationist theologies to me, and I soon began exploring Latino/a, feminist, and Latin American voices within the academy. I was hooked, to say the least. Just as all provocative material changes the student, the world of liberation theologies precipitated a personal crisis that haunts me even today. As a CubanAmerican , the writings of Latino/a theologians on cultural marginalization, the importance of the Spanish language, and the ambiguity of life “on the hyphen” affected me profoundly. Yet stories of Guadalupe, indigenous religiosity, and the borderlands were completely foreign to me, and I read these much as an Anglo would. Black theology’s emphasis on African religiosity, the slave experience, and racial injustice resonated with me. I was well aware that while there is very little indigenous influence upon contemporary Cuban and Cuban-American religiosity, African religiosity and culture saturate the Cuban condition. Yet the Anglo nature of black theological discourse and its dualistic construction of race alienated me. As a Cuban-American born and raised in Miami, Florida, I was led to believe that I was white; a significant portion of the Cuban exile and Cuban-American community self-identifies in this manner. I was a trigueña (darker skinned) white, but white nonetheless. Therefore, Latino/a theology’s understanding of itself as a discourse from and by people of color and black theology’s reduction of the world to either black or white left me confused, frustrated, and mute. I came to realize that the only way to truly address Cuban religiosity was to apply a bifocal lens, using the insights and gaps within black and Latino/a theologies. I also recognized that to do so would entail a critique of the silences within these theologies. Today, after ten years of research, writing, and teaching on liberation theologies , I am ready for the task. While I now have many sophisticated tools of  / Afro-Cuban Theology analysis and an impressive vocabulary to explain my initial discomfort, that discomfort still remains. And today, despite a plethora of theologians of Cuban descent and a growing dialogue between black and Latino/a theologians, the black Latino/a and Latin American experience in general and the Afro-Cuban/ Cuban-American experience in particular remain glaringly absent from contemporary theological discourse. My study is an attempt to rectify these absences . This work represents a milestone in the personal and academic journey that will continue well beyond the final chapter of this book, a journey shaped by what I hope will be ongoing collaborations between black and Latino/a theologians . At the same time, this book is a mission marked by my desire to name and articulate a particular Cuban/Cuban-American religiosity, one that is deeply embedded in Afro-Cuban culture. Numerous people have assisted my path, and I would like to take a moment to thank them for their friendship and support. Cuban-American theologian Orlando O. Espín has been a constant support and intellectual resource. His knowledge of and passion for Afro-Cuban religions fueled my confidence to write this book. In a similar vein, Ada María Isasi-Díaz, through her teaching and Cuba-centered research, affirmed both the need for and import of this project. Members of the Academy of Catholic Hispanic Theologians in the United States (ACHTUS) have always created a space where the pursuit of deep and challenging theological questions is welcomed and encouraged. In particular, I would like to thank María Pilar Aquino, Alejandro García-Rivera, Roberto S. Goizueta, Francisco Lozada, Timothy Matovina, and Christopher Tirres. Benjamin Valentín and Daisy Machado offered wonderful personal and academic moments that have challenged and motivated my work. Black theologians Diana Hayes and James H. Cone inspired the questions and nurtured the discoveries...

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