X

Lack of Language Doesn’t Define Me

Brianna Rodriguez.

Growing up as a Latina, I didn’t learn the language of Spanish. Instead I knew the language of Sign Language. My Puerto Rican grandmother was deaf and that was the language spoken in the house. When I would visit my fathers side of the family, I always got ridiculed on why a 100% Latina did not speak Spanish – weird right. My whole life I felt less than; not ‘Puerto Rican enough’ and absolutely not Latina enough. As I grew older, I went through many experiences that led me to understand and believe that ‘Lack of Language Doesn’t Define Me’. I am who I am because of my roots, my veins and my blood. I am and will always be Puerto Rican, Latina, Hispanic – all of it, with or without the Language.

Do they see woman or Asian?

Jen Zhao.

In my role, I feel like I bridge the gap between the stereotypes from me being Asian with me being female. I do a lot of emotional labor, which may be expected from me as my identity as female. I also am very technical for my role, which sometimes I wonder – which stereotype do they use? Do they see the Asian side of me and trust me, or do they see I’m a woman and doubt my technicality, is that what’s happening when they don’t listen to me?

Black Boy. White World. Perpetually Exhausted.

Esayas Mehretab

I grew up in the west end of Richmond, Va in a predominantly affluent white community. I was not white and I was not affluent. I had no space for myself to go to and talk about my experiences, my struggles, and what life was like for me as a black boy. Opportunities to discuss my shared experiences were rare. It was exhausting to conform to others’ perceptions of you, hold in uncomfortable emotions because it made others feel uneasy to be around you, to feel isolated even though I was surrounded by “friends”. As I grew older and began seeing the world for what it was, especially the injustices of being black in America. I learned that there were two justice systems, one for the privileged and one for the underprivileged. I learned that 95% of African American history wasn’t taught in schools. I learned that my skin color started conversations and ended them as well. I EXPERIENCED being pulled over immediately after getting in my car with some friends because my friend and I (the only two black men) fit the description of bank robbers. There was an inconceivable number of police officers pointing guns at us, yelling at us, threatening us, and then giving us absolutely no apology besides, “We didn’t mean to, we thought you were someone else and you fit the description”.

That was 6-8 months before “Black Lives Matter” started.

My friends and I still have not spoken about that traumatizing night in our first night out in downtown Richmond, Va. I was 18 and had just moved into my first apartment and was attending my first-year VCU. That’s how I was introduced to the city. My parents don’t know about this story. I always think how differently that night could have ended up. I could have been a statistic and become an unwanted catalyst to the black lives matter movement. From that point on I have seen countless black lives taken by police and “stand your ground” laws. It has made me exhausted. All of it. It’s draining but this time I have hope and a fire has awoken in me that was on the cusp of going out. Thank you for letting me share my story.

PS – Absolutely loved your exhibit when it was in the Black History Museum and Cultural Center of Virginia.

I am not an extra-special Negro.

,

Andrea Donnor, Williamsburg, VA, .

I grew up upper-middle class in leafy New Rochelle, New York outside of the New York City, in a historical Black neighborhood. Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee lived 3 houses down. My Dad was an ophthalmologist in Harlem. He made enough money so that my mom could stay at home with me until I was ten. New Rochelle was forced to desegregate and I was bused to the North End for elementary school. When I was in Mrs. Babbitt’s first grade classroom I realized that the Black children were treated differently and I had to be extra-special and work extra hard. This shaped the next 33 years of my life as I worked to prove that I “was not like those other Black people,” I was special. I went to Wellesley College. I went to Harvard Business School. I worked at a top tier consulting firm. I checked the boxes. It took me until I was 39 years old and was sanctioned for sharing my story in the workplace in conjunction with reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’ “Between the World and Me” to realize that “white” is not the standard. As much as I contort myself there will always be another bar or hoop. I am not an extra-special Negro. There is talent and light radiating from Black folks all around me. The world does not see it or appreciate it. I am contributing to blocking that light. It stops here.

I am not an extra-special Negro. Black people are all special and talented and worthy. You’re just too unenlightened and blind to see it.

Unsure of where I fit in.

Jingi Hairston

I’ve always been unsure of where I fit in among friend groups, workgroups, all of the above. I am a light-skinned African American woman and always told, “You sound white,” “You talk so proper” “You’ve got to be mixed with something.” Because of this it’s been hard for me to find my own identity but generally took pride in the fact that I could float between so many groups, and still do.

To this day I struggle to find my identity and The Race Card Project has shown me I am not alone.

“You accept me after we meet?”

,

Natalee,
Richmond, VA

I have experienced that over the phone on paper, people will perceive what they think I look like, I hear you sound white when they find out my race. Why is speaking intelligently, announcing words only associated with being Caucasian? As if to say African Americans, or a black person is unable to speak well, and sound educated.

Are your feelings and thoughts yours?

,

Peter Torres,
Fredericksburg,VA

My father is Puerto Rican, my mother is Italian. I grew up predominately with my mother’s family. Despite not having much growing up, it was bestowed upon my brother, sisters, and I that people are individuals. I joined the service because I wanted more, I left all I know and all I loved for the opportunity to do big, bigger than one self.

Growing up, graduating highschool was an accomplishment – something my father never did and something my mother did pregnant. At the same time, I felt not having a child while in highscool was a major milestone for my siblings and I.

I married my wife in the service. She came from a similar ‘low-expectation’ background being her family were naturalized citizens from Mexico. She was the first in her family born here. Oddly enough, she was the one in her family that ‘wanted more’ and joined the service.

I am a vet, a disabled vet. I have sacrificed, and clawed, and worked to get to where I am at. My wife the same. The tears our kids have when they leave their cousins to return home in another state – wondering why “they live away from everyone else”. We keep telling them how sacrifices are made for the greater good, for a better quality of life, for the family.

Circling back to my 6 words….I’m a mutt….my wife’s 100% mexican….my kids are 75% hispanic…..but who really cares, we are all basically mutts at this point. We lean conservative now. But I am constantly being told by people who didn’t walk in my shoes and didn’t experience the same life experiences as I that I need to fall into another bucket. That’s not cool.

So basically….I’m sick of the news, I’m sick of the one-size-fits-all mentality, I’m sick of the group think. Being more conservative leaning, when do my hispanic kids suddenly be labeled by their 25% of white-privilege because my wife and I have become “successful”. Why do I need to be coached by black people how to feel, by white people telling me they relate more to being a minority than me. It is basically exclusion under the guise of inclusion….and it sickens me.

My kids are being taught to judge people by their character. I refuse to have them be taught the racism, the crap on TV everyday telling them how they should act or respond, how they should feel. They deserve the chance to pave their own way with as little bias as possible, and this 24/7 hate baiting and constant identify politics is poison. They see the other kids in school as ‘other kids’. They are pure UNTIL we fill them with this poison.

I wasn’t around for slaves, most people I see protesting weren’t around for slaves, yet the unborn today are destined to pay for the sins of the past. How about we just treat each other like humans.

I will continue to walk through my life focusing on being selfless, and I will continue to help others all I can, and I will continue to raise my kids to believe in god, and I will continue to introduce them to different people that come from different backgrounds and offer different perspectives and experiences…..and I will do so because that’s how my wife and I were raised, and we are proud of the people we’ve become. Can we do better, absolutely. We strive to be better each and every day. But while we strive to be better, I don’t have to feel bad for things I’ve never done or don’t currently do wrong now.

May god/higher-power/whoever help individuals ensure their thoughts are theirs, and theirs alone….and not those being pushed on them by others (news, media, hollywood, politicians, neighbors, family members, etc.). It is of my opinion we’d live in a better world if people looked inside for guidance and improvement instead of outside.

My apologies if this is a bit sloppy. I didn’t proof-read deliberately. I wanted to speak from the heart and let if fly….

Sidenote – I was torn on the picture. I would have loved to post a pic of my kids and my wife and I, only. However, the picture I uploaded was of my friends and family, my chosen family, the people I have served with in the past and our constant retained connection. There is every race, gender, preference, etc. in play…but you know what, we are just brothers and sisters. We love each other…

Forms don’t fit my last name

Cristina Martinez de Andino.

My name communicates part of my race and identity as a Hispanic Latinx woman. But, my name is too long for American standards and doesn’t fit on most forms, documents, credit cards etc. It is comprised of three words and requires 18 spaces. As a result, every single credit card I own has a DIFFERENT (and often incorrect) version of my name, including my Capital One Quicksilver credit card, which can only fit the first word of my last name. Names are powerful. I’m proud of mine and want to see it spelled correctly.

Don’t assume. Get to know me.

Rohan Oberoi.

There’s so much more to me than what you can learn from looking at me, or reading or hearing my name. More than what you get from watching TV or painting me with a broad brush that is based on stereotypes.

Multiple Sclerosis didn’t End my Life

Catherine Weston.

Diagnosed with Relapsing Remitting MS at age 20, my life has been filled with many obstacles and plenty of turmoil. But MS didn’t end my life because of the challenges it presents, it helped it really begin. Being diagnosed with a heavy duty incurable disease at such a young age opened my eyes to what’s really important in life. It helps me hang onto the positive aspects of life, and to embrace gratitude every single day.

Do I look like a terrorist?

Shaun Webb.

I’m scruffy and brown. My friends used to joke and call me terrorist and I would explain how that hurt. That TSA and people at the airport already think of me that way that i don’t need my friends thinking that the same way. Some would get it but most would not. They didn’t get it and just dismissed me as being paranoid or making a big deal about nothing. It made me feel guilty if i expressed myself as i was usually was dismissed. That was years ago. I hope it has changed!

White, but Arab at the airport.

Michael Habib.

I am half Italian and half Arab (Lebanese & Syrian), and am very white-passing. I grew up in a conservative, white homogeneous suburb of Boston and have always claimed “White” on forms–mainly because there is not an option for Middle Eastern identities. As I grew older, I continued to claim a white identity because I felt it made the most sense–I benefit from white privilege, was raised predominantly by my mother (my Italian side), and never really worked to understand my Arab heritage/culture. It is only at the airport that I feel I am not white. “Random” searches while my mother (whose last name is Cuggino) walks through with ease. Being pulled off a plane to recheck my ID, being asked multiple times if I’ve been traveling in the Middle East. My last name is my closest tie to my Arab identity, and is highlighted when TSA checks my ID–suddenly realizing I am a bit tanner, the nose is a bit bigger, hair is a bit darker. I am ashamed that when I feel most closely connected to my Arab heritage is when I’m being scrutinized for potentially being a terrorist.

Load More

Join the Newsletter

Subscription to our newsletter open soon.

trcp-logo-hi-res-reversed

Info

Join our community

Indulge in timeless elegance with our hand-curated collection of luxury vintage men’s fashion. From classic suits to iconic accessories, our online store offers a premium shopping experience for the modern gentleman who appreciates quality and style. Shop now and elevate your wardrobe with our carefully selected pieces that celebrate the art of craftsmanship and heritage fashion.

  • © by WolfThemes
  • Privacy Policy
  • Returns Policy
  • Terms and Condition