Why does any race deserve restitution for their hardships? Every race has been enslaved, yet today’s discussions only ever focus on the Atlantic Slave Trade, i.e., the black slave. Hell, the Irish slaves were more plentiful in the English Empire, they were cheaper and treated far worse since they were Catholic, no thanks to Oliver Cromwell. If you go back far enough in history, you can find the dark pasts of every civilization and of every group of people. People of all races and all backgrounds will never be able to achieve peace if all they ever do is focus on the past and demand restitution for ancestors that are long dead from “perpetrators” who are also long dead. My family, both adopted and biological, come from all over Europe. I have blood from Germany, England, France, Czechoslovakia, Ireland, Poland, Italy, Romania, Serbia, and Ukraine. My ancestors came to America on a boat in 1915, when German and Hungarian forces invaded their village in Serbia during WWI, Serbia having been part of the Allied Forces. But you don’t see me at the German Embassy demanding restitution for the hardships that my family went through. Some of my ancestors were kidnapped, enslaved, and murdered by Barbary Pirates, yet you don’t see me demanding restitution from Muslims and North Africans? You see me focusing on the present and the future, using the opportunities given to me by my ancestors to succeed today, as well as continuing to see people’s character and not their color.
I was born in Costa Rica, raised in Paraguay, Ecuador, Bolivia, El Salvador, Suriname, Japan and Chile (3 to 4 years in each country). I didn’t notice any difference between my friends and I until the
“So where are you from”
“Do you have a foreign name too?” and
“Where did you grow up?”
started popping up a lot since I was 13. My sister was born in Paraguay and my brother in Bolivia. My father is Japanese and my mother is Chilean so imagine how I need to respond to these questions.
Normally I give a full explanation, which takes about 2 minutes and give a short one if I am tired, but I don’t mind because the person is asking out of curiosity and wants to learn more about me.
But I also notice that with questions like “do you have a foreign name too?”, people usually want to have a more exotic explanation of who they see in front of them. Depending on what I wear or how I act that day, I can be more Japanese or more “latino”, meaning that I can camouflage to a full “national” sometimes so when I start to speak, the person tries to look for that foreign part of me. During my teens, it was something that bothered me so much. I had found out that I am a foreigner wherever I went. I was a Latino or gaijin in Japan, and a “Chino” or “Japones” in Latin America, and a Hawaiian or Native American in the United States.
But after a while I also noticed that I had a choice. To see this difference as a negative thing, or to see it as a great potential to become the bridge between my two cultures. I chose se second one and feel very good every time I have to explain Japan to Latin Americans or American Latina to the Japanese.
Looking at this website and on so many half, double, mixed roots groups on facebook, I see that we are many now and the numbers will go higher and higher, until we all become beige regarding to skin color, but to understand cultures and ideas of “foreign lands” I think we are the ones that can best do it if we want to and am making this my life goal.
That is why we started an organization called Nikkei Youth Network and a crowdfunding site called Samuraidea, but that is another story.
I was adopted. My Dad is Irish, raised in Texas and then California. Mom is a retired nurse. I was raised around Protestants, Catholics, Mormons, and Jews. My friends in elementary school were white. Race was never an issue. Or if it was, I have long since forgot about it. I even speak with a slight southern draw if you listen carefully. You can thank dad for that. Even in the mirror, all I saw was me. Wide curious eyes, and awkward smile, and a few scars from some cystic acne. It’s gone now. All I saw was a person, and that is how I saw everyone else; as people. Do you see people like I do? Or are you still wondering what race I am?
As an U.S. diplomat serving overseas, my job is to represent American society, with all of its varied nuances and complexities. However, I often find myself facing these very words in both my personal and professional spheres. Unfortunately, due to the nature of diplomacy, there’s often not much more I can do other than put on a smile and answer them with “yes, I am American”.
My parents were both first-generation American Jews — their parents moved to New York from Romania and Russia. Before I was born, they moved to South Florida, another “promised land” of sorts, in the hope of giving their children a better life. They were the first to move into a new neighborhood in Hialeah. The modest houses quickly sold, and my parents quickly realized we were the only Jewish family. The neighbors were suspicious, hostile, and occasionally frightening. But my parents stayed. One day, when I was about 6, I was playing in the back yard while my mother hung laundry on the clothesline. A woman who lived next door came outside. When she saw us, she yelled, “Go back to Russia!” Of course I had no idea what it meant. My mother, who had fled her mother’s refusal to speak anything but Yiddish and what she called “old-world ways,” looked like she’d been slapped. She had never even been outside the U.S. This was her home.
Not Really Indian, American Born Desi is what could be used to describe me.
Not Really Indian (NRI) is a term that is often coined to describe people of Asian Indian background who were born outside of India. The actual legal term used by the Indian Government is Nonresident Indian (NRI). American Born Desi refers to my background. “Desi” being a colloquial term in India meaning “of the mother land”. Indians refer to the Indian homeland as “Desi”.
This classification does fit me. I am born in Chicago. I am an American. I am a Midwesterner. I attempted to join the USAF at one time. I behave like an American. I speak English like a Chicagoan. I have absolutely no trace of an Asian accent. My name is typical Indian. I am an Engineer.
To a person that does not know me, they are often surprised when the call me. I remember in a professional setting where I was on a conference call with others where I work. There were people on the line from Belgium, and elsewhere, in addition to the USA. When I was addressed, I spoke. I guess my accent floored them. They were expecting an Indian sounding accent when I spoke English. Instead they heard a Midwestern American accent. This is the stereotype that is placed on me.
The same can be said for how I look. If asked where I am from, I answer, “Chicago”. Those around me never seem to let go, forcing me to reveal, “My parents immigrated from India in the 1970s.” I find it strange, as when I travel to Bombay, I am mistaken for a local, yet in the USA I am mistaken for an Indian.
“I love Asian girls”
“I love Japanese people”
“Konnichiwa”
“Ni hao”
“Sayonara”
“Kamsammida”
‘Your a bad Japanese. You don’t know Japanese.’
“Are you Chinese?”
“I don’t think people in Osaka speak Kansaiben”
“I know Chinese”
“You look the most Japanese”
“You could be an other Asian too”
One Caucasian man approached my friends and I at a local pizza place and in a matter of 10 minutes, he say every problematic thing ever to us Asian Americans. We told him that we were born in this country and that we speak English, etc. But that didn’t stop the “konnichiwa’ or “nihao.”
Who is he to say that we were bad Japanese for not knowing how to speak Japanese? Who is this person who thinks he can measure our authenticity? He is nobody. This experience similar to the “where are you from?” question that always pops up, is the struggle of Asian Americans who are still seen as the Perpetual Foreigner.
Yes, I’m from a tobacco-pickin, Southern white trash family, and I mean that in the most endearing way. Some stereotypes my family breaks: we were Southern but poor sharecroppers rather than slave-owners. Other stereotypes my family embraces: using discriminatory language in equal measure across all those who are not white Southerners. Yes, I’m mortified, but it leaves me wondering: is it more honorable to be a closeted racist or one who is out in the open? As for me, I believe we are all Africans in origin (ultimately — from the Rift Valleys), my sharing of which almost caused my family to choke on their turkey one Thanksgiving. I can only hope that my daughter finds her own authentic voice in all of the cacophony.
REPOST FROM NPR:
NPR continues a series of conversations from The Race Card Project, in which thousands of people have submitted their thoughts on race and cultural identity in six words.
When Tracy Hart says she’s from “a tobacco-pickin’, Southern, white trash family,” she says that she means that in the “most endearing way.”
“Some stereotypes my family breaks. We were Southern but poor sharecroppers rather than slave owners,” Hart tells NPR special correspondent Michele Norris, founder of The Race Card Project. “Other stereotypes my family embraces, using discriminatory language in equal measure across all those who are not white Southerners.”
Tracy Hart’s great-uncle Reece Billings harvests tobacco on a North Carolina farm. Lyntha Scott Eiler/Library of Congress
The term “white trash” shows up fairly often in the six-word submissions for The Race Card Project, Norris says, as do words like hillbilly, redneck, hayseed and bumpkin. “People are sometimes writing about pain, sometimes they’re using humor to distance themselves from the pain, sometimes it’s associated with a kind of nostalgia,” Norris says. For Hart, it may just be all of those things.
Many people who have written to The Race Card Project have used jarring phrases to describe their roots.
Hillbilly White Trash? I’m Oxford educated — C. B., West Va.
“Appalachian” means “none of your business” — Amy Tanisha, Petaluma, Calif.
Hillbilly – the wrong kind of white — TR Kelley, Swisshome, Ore.
I’m Appalachian — it’s an invisible ethnicity— Catherine Vance Agrella, Asheville, N.C.
Poor white trash, not welcome here — Tracie Combs-Cantu, Austin, Texas
Do hillbillies have white privilege too?— Tony Van Winkle, Knoxville, Tenn.
But when it comes to “white trash,” she is probably on the fringe. Hart is a water resource economist at the World Bank in an intellectually elite environment where her colleagues might be surprised to hear her describe herself this way.
Raised outside of Houston, Texas, she spent summers visiting family in the South. Often, these family members were just getting by, like her great-uncle Reece Billings, who lived near Independence, Va.
“He died within the last 10 years, never having had indoor plumbing, never having had electrical wiring in his house, never having had a telephone line to his house,” she says. “The water for the kitchen came from the stream through a PVC pipe then dumped into a sink and then there was an egress PVC pipe that took it back to the stream downhill. And that was the only running water in the house.”
Hart’s grandmother grew up in that house. Hart has come some distance from that now. She’s one of the most educated members of her family, an education paid for in part from that “tobacco-pickin’ ” she references in her six words.
Tracy Hart’s great-uncle Reece Billings harvests tobacco on a North Carolina farm.
Tracy Hart’s great-uncle Reece Billings harvests tobacco on a North Carolina farm.
Lyntha Scott Eiler/Library of Congress
Her interests and ambitions have always set her apart from many members of her family. She’s a trained opera singer and went to school at U.C. Berkeley. She lived overseas for several years and she says that she speaks 10 different languages. She’s used to cultural bridges. But she says the hardest bridge for her to cross is when she returns home and faces the judgment of her rural, geographically isolated family.
The term “white trash” is something that she embraced. But she says her family “might think that I’m being a bit uppity in saying that. … I’m able to admit it because I’ve stepped out of it. … It’s where I’m from — but it’s not where I’m at.”
It is a pejorative term. It is harsh and it is a slur — but it can also be used as a shield. “I have members of my family who will say something about, ‘Yeah, that’s just because we’re white trash,’ and laugh,” she says. “And if someone else said that they would not be amused. But within the family using it is OK.”
For those in the Deep South, she says, the term has been embraced by a significant part of poor people who feel misunderstood. “They feel misunderstood because of the heavy legacy of slavery and segregation and poverty,” she says. “And I think part of their feeling misunderstood is to take on or embrace that term, which is self-denigrating but it also says, ‘We’ve been hurt, too.’ “
I was born in San Francisco on 15 Sep 1930. Dad was Scotch/English and Mom was Polish with a dash of German. Both 1st generation born in USA.
My neighborhood friends were Hispanic, Oriental, white and refugee Jews from Germany. In high school I liked to walk home through the Fillmore district and fell in love with Dixie and other jazz. I would stop in front of the Negro clubs to listen and was frequently invited in. Never a problem.
I excelled in Army ROTC and graduated a Cadet Major. I enlisted Army in May 1949 and had Basic at Fort Ord, CA. The armed services were integrated by order of President Truman in 1947, I believe. The Army was struggling with this, still is. I remember a few black Trainees and one in my Platoon. He and I became friendly enough for me to go to his home in Compton, CA for a weekend and he came to my home in San Francisco for a weekend. We both had asked for training as an automotive mechanic and travelled together to the Ordnance Automotive School in Atlanta, GA. We departed Los Angeles via UP and were not treated well because we were Soldiers. We changed crews somewhere in Texas to SP. What a difference. Very good treatment.
Our duffle bags were delayed and we only had the OD uniform we travelled in. The bags showed up in 3 or 4 days and we had clean clothes. We decided to look around Atlanta and took the civilian bus downtown.. The driver stopped just outside the main gate and ushered all black troops to the back of the bus. We were shocked. I had heard about Jim Crow, but new nothing about it. The two of us could go nowhere together. After graduation I was assigned to an Ordnance unit at Ft. Riley, KA and saw more Jim Crow, Not as severe as in Atlanta.
On 15 Sep, 1950 I celebrated my 20th birthday in Pusan Korea and spent the next 12 months serving with the 1st Cavalry Division as an Infantry man and eventually as a Squad leader. We had a few black troopers and I don’t think that anyone really noticed. I was too busy trying to live. I was pleased to have people I could trust on my flanks.
I spent my 3rd year of active duty at Ft Huachuca, AZ where I served as the Bn. Personnel Sgt. Returned home to San Francisco, Got married and re-enlisted in the Army Reserve and, eventually, the Calif. Army National Guard. I retired with the rank of 1st Sgt. in 1981. There was a large number of Hispanic soldiers in the National Guard. My unit had one black officer and one black Platoon Sgt. I don’t recall any problems with anyone. We had a job to do and we worked together. My personal concern at that time was Vietnam. We were not ordered into active duty
thank God.
My unit was sent to perform Riot Control in Watts during the race riot in 1965. We spent 9 days on State Active Duty. We were definitely in harms way. I recall an interesting event at the border between Watts and Compton in a strip mall. We had a few of us there as guards for 2 days. The shop owners set up tables with food and cold drinks for us. A very nice, white haired lady who was black came to me. She took my hand in hers and said “Sgt. you keep those G—D— N—– out of Compton. They don’t belong over here.”
My wife passed from a kidney infection after 45 years with me. I am re-married to a lovely lady who moved in across the street. The rest of my life has been pretty White. In Cambria I have several Hispanic neighbors. Hard working, good people raising their families. My daughters are doing well. My amazing granddaughters who are middle school age are doing very well. My grandson is a disabled Veteran with 2 tours in Iraq. He wanted to be like Grandpa so he joined the Army.
I am 87 and counting. I hope to pass 100. Disability and pain be Damned!
Biologically I’m Korean. Ethnically I’m Irish-German-Italian. I was adopted at 4.5 months old, at which point I flew from South Korea to the USA and into the loving arms of my parents who happen to be white. To put it plainly, I was raised by white people – My entire immediate family (and most of the extensions) are of European ancestry. I really hate having to go into the Asian enclaves of the city to do certain grocery shopping or go to certain restaurants. Conversations always start with questions. “You [insert East-Asian race here]?” (No to everything but Koreans.) “Oh, you’re Korean! You speak Korean?” (No, I’m adopted and my parents are white.) “Ah, adopted!” And then comes the polite nod, the comforting pat on the shoulder, the smile that’s supposed to tell me that it WILL be alright, even though it’s currently not. “You’ll find your REAL parents someday!” That’s the instant I’m reminded that race, what’s on the outside, is what’s “real.” Ethnicity is learned, culture is a side-effect of being around people. But race is skin-deep, which is as far as most people look at first glance. My parents can’t be real because we don’t look alike. Real is apparently over 6,500 miles away, in the faces of two people I’ve never really met. That’s race for you.
For the longest time, I’ve always tried to put both my Latin side and my African American side towards the end of job applications. Sometimes they would make you choose one or the other. so when that happens I would alternate between Latino and Black. But now I can finally pick the multi-racial option.
I have listened to the Race Card Project for some time on my NPR station and it has encouragd my own thoughts on the subject. I admitted to my self many years ago that I had thoughts and views that one could deem as “racist”. This smacked me in the face when I was in 8th grade and at a assembly of some sort. I was sitting in a row of students and on my left side was a classmate of mine who was African American. While watching the program I blindly turned to him and made what I thought at the time was an innocuous comment that was blatantly racist. I knew it, he knew it and I to this day am not sure if I have ever been so embarrassed and ashamed in my life, even at that middle school age I began to rethink how my actions affected others. I went on through my teens and early 20’s wrestling with my thoughts and beliefs as well. It was not until I entered the military and subsequently served in combat. During my career in the Army I was able to go overseas to Europe, the Middle East and throughout the USA. Seeing other cultures and worlds is a real eye opener, seeing the violence and devastation people can wreak on each other because of idealogical, racist and religious beliefs is astonishing to me. Seeing real suffering up close puts your own life in perspective. But, my biggest thought changing experience still is that how well my unit(s) worked together, overcoming obstacles together. Speding time in that vacuum together with people from all walks of life, differing religious, race and gender backgrounds, and putting everything aside to accomplish a goal or a mission, suffering equally together and rejoicing when we could. Now I’m not naive enough to think everyone feels the same as I do but for me anyway being in a position where one’s race, gender or religion ultimately did not matter brought a lot into perspective for me. That perspective was even clearer upon returning to the States and reading, seeing and interacting again and seeing and identifying the tendecies of people and discriminating behaviors. While I think there have been strides in race relations in this country, that there still exists a racial divide and some deep racism is apparent. My thought is “if these people (by that I mean people who harbor some ignorant positions) could look outside this country and see the plight of the rest of the world maybe they would have a different opinion” and that peoples true colors show through in times of austerity and difficulty and that should be the measure of a person, not a generalization based upon an incorrect belief. I make it a point not to look at each person I come into contact with for who they are an dlet their own actins speak as to what kind of person they are. This Project just makes me think more, to keep it in the front of my thoughts and to try and be a better person. Thank You.
There’s societal wickedness, and then there’s personal stupidity. We can all do something about the former, but the latter is beyond anyone but the individual concerned. There are many understandable reasons why people do things that harm themselves and their loved ones, but understanding the reasons for stupidity doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strongly criticize those who practice it. The bigots and racists are quick to criticize, and they do so with bad faith. But those of us with good intentions shouldn’t allow them to prevent us from speaking very strongly against the lifestyles that bind practitioners to poverty and failure.
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