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Benefit and burden with being biracial

Ryann Williams,
Trinity University

In a lot of ways, having two parents of different racial/ethnic backgrounds allows a unique insight into both cultures. It can be extremely enlightening to see how both sides can be so different and yet so similar at the exact same time. However, there is always this feeling as if I am not fully a part of either because of my own interracial identity.

South Texas Born, Melting Pot Raised

Jerheme Urban,
Trinity University

I am very proud of the fact that I was born in south Texas, a location steeped with history and tradition. It is also an area that is a melting pot of race, culture, and economic diversity- with a heavy blue collar, agrarian influence. After traveling/working across the country, I have really grown to appreciate the fact that my area of upbringing really embraces other cultures and the races that usually embody those cultures. Like all areas of the world, there are still unfortunate stereotypes that need to still need to be talked about and broken down; however, all in all, I believe that I was heavily influenced by the melting pot I was exposed to during my formative years…an environment that encouraged acceptance of another’s culture, musical taste, and career choices. We honored hard work, and realized that race had no bearing on how hard you worked.

Turban, Assumptions, Fear, Perpetually Foreign, Resistance

Simran Jeet Singh,
New York, NY.
Trinity University

My visible Sikh and South Asian identity have shaped my experiences with racial and cultural identities. Upon seeing me, people mark me as different and make various assumptions about me. Associations assume (but are not limited to): foreign, violent, conservative, uneducated, terrorist, victim, uncivilized, and dogmatic.

Bicultural and Bilingual should be enough.

Megan Medrano,
Houston, TX.

Growing up Latina in south Texas, I have always been surrounded with rich culture. My home was filled with both the English and Spanish language and I was encouraged to live both my Mexican and U.S. Latina identities. I did not realize how important an ethnic identity was until I came to college. Discussions of “what does being a real Mexican look like?” and “am I more Mexican or more American?” really pushed me to search for my identity. The hidden criticism that people like me face begs the question of “Am I Mexican enough to be considered Mexican and am I American enough to be considered American”. I soon came to realize that striving to be one or the other is not who I should be, but instead embrace the heritage and the country that has made who I am. I am both Mexican and American, bicultural and bilingual, and that should be enough.

Biracial woman: strength, confidence, confusion, pain.

My Interracial Children

Melissa Flowers,
Trinity University

My mother is caucasian and my father is black. I have immense privilege in my life, and I feel that being a biracial woman gives me a sense of pride which leads to strength and confidence. But this comes at a cost. I am often referred to as “acting white” by colleagues, friends, and even family members. I also feel as though I am looked to to defend or represent the “black perspective” on a number of things professionally. This causes confusion. This causes pain.

Contemplating all of these emotions in the context of being a wife to a black man and a mother to two interracial children has made my identify exploration evermore challenging and complex. Being biracial is a lifelong learning experience – one I embrace proudly.

I will make reparations to you.

Jane Cavazos,
San Antonio, TX

I have been reading the stories of African Americans for several years–their struggles, triumphs, setbacks and progress…I feel badly about the immense suffering they have endured over centuries of injustice. I will make reparations by volunteering my service in a public library in the African American community.

Mrs. Thicklin was my best teacher.

Wyndee Holbrook,
San Antonio, TX.

Mrs. Thicklin was my 5th grade teacher. She was my best teacher and she was my first African American teacher. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She taught me unequivocally that race does not define people, regardless of what my dad said.

United yet unique, diverse yet connected.

Dana,
San Antonio, TX.

Around the world, my white skin and my blonde hair make me easily identifiable as an American. This superficial categorization has lead me to wish that people took the chance to get to now me for who I am, rather than making assumptions about my character. In return, I challenge myself to do the same with new people who I meet and interact with everyday.

Justice for all requires White awakening.

Albert Marten,
San Antonio, TX.
Trinity University

I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit how unaware I was as a white person about the hate, the daily indignities, and in many cases, the physical terror suffered by my fellow citizens because of the color of their skin. The failure of my country to live up to the ideals of equality and equal justice before the law is a source of constant pain. I want for all kids what I want for my own; a country making good on its promises.

Biologically baseless with immesurable social impact

Ta-Nehisi Coates writes in his book Between the World in Me that “racism is the father of race.” I teach that to my students every semester. Racism created race, not the other way around. The categorization of people according to a perceived racial difference was one of the worst mistake every to be called scientific, based on assumptions about “native” versus European peoples rather than empirical evidence. We now know that race is not expressed in our genes; in many cases there are more genetic difference between people of the same race that between people of different races. That’s a hard bit of knowledge to swallow, but it is essential learning. An idea that has impacted so many lives for so many centuries in the United States is without merit.

Damn, did you see that White girl?

Lisa Jasinsk,
Trinity University

In 2007, I spent a year working at The Apollo Theater in Harlem, NY. One day on my way into the office, I slipped on an icy sidewalk on 125th Street, and in a comic prat fall, landed on my bottom in a filthy puddle. A group of guys gathered outside the corner grocery busted up laughing, “Damn, did you see that White girl?”

In the moment, I was embarrassed, self-conscious, and humbled. I wanted to hide and to be anywhere else. I think I just ignored the guys, picked myself up, and walked on. At the time, I remember feeling especially vulnerable when my race was called out, recognizing that being White was something I rarely thought about (in my entitled, privilege way).

In so many ways, that year working in Harlem taught me so much. A decade later, I continue to build on what I was only beginning to figure out as I found myself in the racial minority for the first time in my life. I began to see how the “colorblindness” rhetoric of my suburban upbringing masked lived experiences and disguised hard truths. I began to see the complex ways that structural segregation, microaggressions, exclusion, implicit bias, class, power, and overt discrimination had played out in my own life and the lives of others. And once I saw it, I could never unsee it.

“You can only check one box…”

I got my driver’s application returned the first time because I chose boxes that aligned with both of my racial identities. The woman gave me one look and sort of laughed a bit, then pushed the clipboard back to meet my hands. I sort of looked over to my mom and erased the two boxes on the sheet, then moved the pen over to the box labeled “other.” To me, being Native and White, it’s sort of like being shoved in between dichotomies. I am both the oppressor and the oppressed, the represented and the not. Society says that you’re one thing or the other. You can only check one box.

From Unawareness to Critically Examining Whiteness

In my world, white was normal. I believed that race was something other than whiteness. The normalcy of whiteness meant I did not have to think about what it meant to be white. I grew up in a predominantly white suburb, which meant most of my friends were white and most of my schoolmates were white. In fact, all of my elementary, middle school, and high school administrators and teachers were white. This blanket of whiteness was not exclusive to school, however. I recall, as a child, sitting around the television with my family every Friday night watching TGIF programming. Most of the television shows (e.g. Boy Meets World, Step by Step, Full House) were comprised of white actors and white families. More subtly, the directors of these shows were also white and whose storylines reinforced white culture.

Another early childhood socialization experience to race related to my perception of the varying types of neighborhoods in the region in which I grew up. The suburban town I grew up in was close to 100% white. The town was small, crime was low, and kids were always outside riding bikes or playing games. My parents allowed me to venture off as long as I was home in time for dinner or by the set curfew. I learned, however, that not all towns were like mine. I was socialized to think that non-white majority neighborhoods were unsafe. I vividly remember sitting at a traffic light on the east side of the city near where I grew up and my parents hitting the lock button on the car doors. They claimed the area was unsafe. For we were not in the town where crime was low and white children roamed the streets unattended and playing games. What is compelling about this experience sitting in the car and then hearing the click of the locks was that my family and I were not in danger. Rather, it was the anticipation that something bad could happen simply because we were not in our small, white town. The message that I internalized as a child was that I could let my guard down in white suburban towns, but I had better be aware of my surroundings in communities where the people did not look like me. In other words, I conflated unsafe with people who were not white.

These early childhood experiences led me to internalize whiteness as something normal in friendships, in neighborhoods, and in mass media. The notion that white was normal followed me well into my young adult life. I was never prompted to think about whiteness or white privilege until I took a diversity course in my master’s program. I wrote a paper on my social location, and even in that paper, I could only write about whiteness and white privilege at an abstract level. I knew privilege was something I had, but it was difficult for me to discern what that privilege looked like in everyday life. Nonetheless, the social location paper was a catalyst for looking inwardly with a critical lens and exploring how I saw myself in society rather than looking outwardly at the other race, the other person, or the other neighborhood to justify social inequities.

No apologies for who I am

Stanton Lawrence,
San Antonio, TX.

Throughout my professional life, I have experienced efforts to devalue or negatively assess the contributions of blacks in the work place. These efforts are greatly elevated when the individual is strong and confident. It takes me back to the era when we had to “be put in our places” because we “thought too highly of ourselves.” The more things change, the more they stay the same.

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