Yes, I DO look Latina.
Anonymous,
St. Louis, MO
Not white enough for some, not Latina enough for others. Create your own space.
The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Anonymous,
St. Louis, MO
Not white enough for some, not Latina enough for others. Create your own space.
Anonymous,
Los Angeles, CA
The drawing my current 25-year-old did as a 4 and a half year old, is a beautiful illustration of the way our children see color. She saw us, her Brown family members in full color. No – we are NOT born color-blind! Talk about skin color and race labels with your children. They need us to get over our anxiety about race so we can stop passing it along to future generations.
Anonymous,
Houston, TX
I’m Palestinian and Muslim, but I was born and raised in the United States. I’ve bumped into a few people who’d make terrorist jokes towards me but I learned to laugh at the hate.
Anonymous,
Miami, FL.
Though I was born and Raised in a suburb a few miles south of Miami, Florida. My mom and dad are from Ethiopia and Sudan respectively. As a child, I’d say about 99% of the community were “white”. During middle and high school it shifted to about 49% “white”, 49% Hispanic and now it’s 99% Hispanic.
Over the years, there have been several occasions talking with friends, parents of friends and honest strangers, where I’ve had the opportunity to hear “The Truth Spoken Behind Closed Doors”.
During these specific conversations, friends, parents of friends, and strangers have made statements such as “you’re a smart black guy” and “you’re not like the other [blacks]”, then proceed to criticize the ‘other’ blacks, like it was nothing. A girl I was dating in high school, said her dad wanted to talk with me (we were on the phone). He wanted to speak with me because he knew I was black. After a few seconds on the phone he questions “You don’t sound black?”, then goes on to explain to me how his wife (who was Cuban) didn’t like the idea of her daughter dating a black man, but that he (Italian) had no problem with it.
What I’ve found over the years is that many people are not racist per se, but instead, perhaps those who are not black (and even blacks themselves) are somehow convinced that blacks are inherently less than. In other words, it seems people simply distaste darker skin. In order to protect their image of themselves as “good people”, it seems as though they either subconsciously or intentionally convince themselves that blacks are “bad” as to support their line of thinking.
Here’s why I say that. I put a couch up for sale on Craigslist. Three students from the University of Miami came to pick it up. They were three girls from China who just came the the United States for the first time. I’m 6’4″ and dark, they came in the house (on the bus) and asked if I can help them bring it to their apartment. So here we all are, driving in my SUV. We start talking about the weather and they remark how it’s too hot in Miami. One girl said “There’s too much sun. I don’t want to get dark”. I proceeded to ask why she didn’t want to get darker (basically a tan). She said, that being dark is bad. She said in China if you have lighter skin people show you more favor, get better jobs, etc…. mind you, this had nothing to do with black people! As a matter of fact, once we got to the apartment we all chatted a bit and they made some snacks.
I guess the question remains, Are you a ‘bad person’ if you do not like or want to be associated with those having dark skin? Are you a ‘bad person’ by making statements such as “blacks are lazy”, “blacks are (fill in the blank)”? Apparently not.
From my experience, people are pretty comfortable talking about blacks in a negative light. I know, because I’ve had the truth spoken to me, from behind closed doors.
Anonymous,
Northampton, MA.
He’s a white European, and has never considered black women to be attractive, apparently until he met me and we got to know each other. Since he is curious about interracial relationships, he’s often on youtube watching videos on black and white couples/babies/marriages. Yesterday, he proudly told me that he watched an interracial couple where the woman described herself as a caramel. He then casually added that he would have preferred it if I was caramel, not 60% chocolate or whatever it is I am. I replied that I’m in fact 80% dark chocolate. I was horribly upset at his ignorance, although I have since forgiven him for the comment he made and explained why what he said was hurtful to me.
Anonymous,
Des Moiones, IA.
Drake University
This is what my mom was told in 1954 when social services came into her home and removed her and all of her siblings from her mom. At that time they were truly poor and were having a hard time finding enough food to eat. Her mother had a dysfunctional relationship with her husband and her younger children did have different fathers. My mom’s father was black. All of her older siblings were white and her two youngest siblings had a hispanic father. My mom did not realize that she was racially different from her siblings until the State of Iowa told her “that they were going to find her real family”. Four of her siblings were able to stay together the twins were adopted by family and her two brothers directly under her were adopted together. Over time, my grandmother did regain custody of three of the 8 children that were taken by the state once she married the hispanic man who was the father of her two youngest children. My mom however, was in an orphanage waiting for her real family. She did have occasional visits with her family until she was sent to live with the THomas Family who were and respectable, and black. My mom did not know that her siblings missed never stopped looking for their sister. It took 40 years but in 1994 my mom was reunited with her “Real” Family.
Someone, maybe many people, in my family took on the persona of mixed race Black/Native Americans so they could be, what? Less Black? I don’t know if it was my father’s generation, or his father’s, or even farther back. I grew up thinking I was Indian and consequently less connected to my Black friends and family. All because someone in generations past thought it would be best to create a lie for their family than make them live in what they knew as the pain of truth. Now I am deconstructing my own story as I try to create a true and strong narrative for my children.
Anonymous,
Madison, WI.
To Fred down the street I’m half-Asian; to Nick the bus driver I’m from southern France; Veronica thinks I’m obviously Native; McKayla says I’m White; to Esme I look like one of those pochos who thinks he’s too good to be associated with “them.”
Sometimes it’s okay for me to talk about my experiences, but usually no one wants to hear it because I’m automatically wrong. I can’t know what it’s like to be stared at in public, for instance, because I don’t look non-White enough. Never mind that I get stares and rude looks not just at the grocery store, but at the mercado too.
No one wants to hear it so I keep my mouth shut and do my best to accommodate them. It’s not so much that I think they know more about my experiences than I do, but that the people in this state generally aren’t ready for such conversations. Also I value my time too much to give someone who I’m never going to see again a talking to about how not to be a dic*.
Everything’s so black and white here, that those of us who don’t fit so neatly into one of two categories are used to being scrutinized for every little thing we do. If we rightly take pride in our non-White ethnic and/or racial heritage, we’ll have to continually defend ourselves against the people who tell us we’re too White; if we give in and try our best to assimilate, then we’ll have to defend ourselves against the hordes of people who ask us why we’re so ashamed of our non-White heritage.
Much like cuttlefish, many of us change our skin when the need arises, to prevent something bad from happening -by “bad” I mean that unbearably awkward moment when someone tells you that you can’t be “Hispanic” because you look too “American” (or that just as intolerably awkward moment when someone tells you to buck up because other people have it worse). We get a lot of flak for that too. It’s not my fault I was born this way; no es mi culpa haber nacido al otro lado del Bravo. By the same token, it’s not my fault that you don’t understand and probably never will.
Ya se despide este pocho, hasta luego y ay los watcho.