The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Jules M. Marquart,
Louisville, KY.
In Louisville during the pre-busing 1960s, this “screening” question was based on assumptions and generalizations about race and class. A high school in the West End of the city–African-American (Negro or Black back then) and poor; in the South End–white and red neck; and in the East End–white and privileged.
Kate Lee van Loveren,
Ann Arbor, MI.
I was born in New York, grew up in New York, and live in New York (when I’m not at school). I’m of half Chinese and half Dutch descent, but for some people that registers into me not being American for some reason. Just by looking at me, people will ask where I’m from. I will say New York and ask where they are from, knowing the question they’re going to ask next. Like expected, they ask where I’m REALLY from because I must have been lying to them the first time. I’m REALLY from New York. Did you know that people from other countries can immigrate into the United States and live in America and raise families in America and have American citizenship and be AMERICAN? Fascinating, I know.
Kasey Nichols,
Clemmons, NC.
I’ve known I’ve been adopted since I can remember and never questioned my ethnicity until I reached middle school age because we had to fill out cards with “check yes if Latino, African American, white or other.” Biologically I’m Mexican and Italian, but I was raised white with my dad being Greek and mom “white.” I kept asking myself what am I? I don’t speak Spanish well and I grew up with a white southern family, but my blood says Mexican and Italian. I worked in retail and Hispanic people would assume I was Latina from my short stature, olive skin, dark eyes and dark hair and started speaking Spanish, they would stop when they saw the confused look on my face. Especially when I go out with my Mexican boyfriend. However, I don’t resemble either culture. So what am I? I’m an American born and raised. I’m a mixture but I don’t need a label. I am ME. Just a person.
Jan Afonso
Ann Arbor, MI
Salimah Mohamed
Ann Arbor, MI
Christine R.
Ann Arbor, MI
Before I started dating my “black” boyfriend, I really didn’t think about race very much or the privilege I inherited with my “white” skin. There have been times that people have made rude comments or asked, what I would consider, overtly racist questions upon learning of our interracial relationship. However, I find the hot sauce question often posed to him interesting because I believe it is asked without malice. I have never been asked if I want hot sauce at a restaurant regardless of what I order. Never. I cannot count how many times my boyfriend has been asked if he wants hot sauce while dining out without much regard to his order. One time a waitress brought a bottle of hot sauce to him without asking if he needed it while saying “I know you will need this sweetie.” My boyfriend does not like hot sauce. I have dined at the same place in the same week with my brother, who ordered the same dish my boyfriend did earlier in the week, but there was never an offer of hot sauce. Some may think the question of hot sauce is an innocent one. However, assumptions have been made about my boyfriend’s preferences based on the racial category he is perceived as belonging to. What other preconceived notions are being generated about my boyfriend in addition to his love of hot sauce?
Jean M. Hebrard
Ann Arbor, MI
Understanding Race Project – University of Michigan
Jill Epstein
Ann Arbor, MI
Understanding Race Project- University of Michigan
At a family gathering years ago, a relative of mine inspired me. He told me that each time he came across a penny on the sidewalk that was heads-down, he would flip it over to bring the next pedestrian good luck. The next week on a school field trip, I bent down to do the same, and was met with a snide comment from a classmate insinuating that my Jewish ethnicity prompted me to reach for the penny. To this day, I avoid coins that I see on the sidewalk.
Anonymous
Ann Arbor, MI
Alexandra Naski
Ann Arbor, MI
Alexis Ford
Ann Arbor, MI
Understanding Race Project- University of Michigan
As an African American, I have several generalizations placed upon me.
Some people just assume who I am. I am rarely asked. While a lot of
these assumptions hurt, I know the truth. I know only my own actions
and words define me. I know that I am an individual. I know who I
really am and ultimately that may be all that matters.
Anna Goldstein,
Ann Arbor, MI.
Understanding Race Project=- University of Michigan
Gladys Pressley
Ann Arbor, MI
Alisa Rose
Ann Arbor, MI
I didn’t know that until recently. My aunt found my grandfather’s robes in a trunk when he died. My grandmother was a little embarrassed. The times have changed in my home town–the KKK is not active anymore that I know of. But the town is still less than 2% African American.
Thomas Larsen
Ann Arbor, MI
I have said it over and over, that I actually am not Jewish, but every time I say so they give a start of surprise.
Pilar Parish Koopman
Ann Arbor, MI
Amazing Project!
Debbie Taylor,
Ann Arbor, MI.
My mother passed away on December 14, 2012 of liver cancer at the age of 80 and she spent her last afternoon and night in Ann Arbor Hospice.
The staff was loving, kind and professional. One nurse in particular examined my mother with such tenderness and care that I was moved beyond measure.
It was such a contrast to the experience she’d had at the hands of another medical professional as a middle school child. While playing with her brothers in a small town near Columbus, Ohio, she fell on a piece of glass and was carried by my uncles to a white doctor’s house. He stitched up her wound WITHOUT any anesthesia, leaving a scar to carry the rest of her life. She never shared that information herself — my uncle was the first to relate the story. Progress in some areas of health disparities has surely been made, but I am concerned about others who have no access to the kind ministrations of a St. Joseph’s Hospital or a fine hospice.
Sharing the words came easily and quickly because my mother raised us to have respect for EVERYONE, including ourselves. All of her children and grandchildren were taught that race was a strange, artificial construct and that “people are people.” So my six words were not the result of a personal revelation, but rather a sigh—one that I wished to share with others. I appreciated the opportunity to do so.
Thank you for your interest.
Debbie Taylor
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