I’m A Human, Not A Fruit
Gabrielle Guzman
San Diego, CA
Yes, I am Mexican. Yes, I know I apparently hold the same facial features as someone who would be considered Asian. No, I did not just cross the border. No, I do not speak Spanish, although I can understand it fluently and am taking classes to learn it. I am a human, I am not, as some of my friends and family like to say, a coconut. Brown on the outside, white on the inside. Just because I don’t fulfill your or society’s view of what someone of my background could act like, that does not mean that I am any less of a person, or any less proud, of my heritage. I am a human, not a fruit.
Marry white to dilute the brown.
Samantha ,
Submitted via Twitter: @dsc00
My mom’s advice to my sister and I while growing up. For the longest I resented my fair skinned mom for making us feel inferior. Time has healed some of the pain but not all. Funny thing is both my sister & I ended up with white partners. So she got her wish in the end.
Beautiful, brown, and Hawaiian every day
Kehaulani H. Minzghor,
Portland, OR.
Brown in summer, white in winter
Ronisha,
Laugna Niguel, CA
I am of mixed race. My mother is one hundred percent Filipino and my father is white. In the summer, my skin is dark due to extra sun exposure. In the winter, my skin is pale. In the summer, I get compliments such as, your skin is so beautiful and glowing, you are so exotic, etc. In the winter, I feel ugly because of stereotypes like “Becky”
Being Brown Makes Me Look “Hood”
Victor Vega,
Los Angeles, CA.
What troubles is on his mind? What’s he hiding from the camera? What’s in his jacket? That’s what I think when I see a picture of mine taken from several years back. If a white person was wearing street attire, one might think he’s cool, trendy, or might not even consider anything about the articles he’s decided to clothe himself in. If a brown person was wearing those clothes, one might think, “Oh, that’s the kind of street clothes he’s supposed to be wearing.” The meaning changes when the image is based on one’s background associations. When I wear a baggy t-shirt, can’t it be because it was all I could afford on a hot day, or am I guilty by association? Rather than victimizing myself, others think may I be the one facing the defendant in the county courtroom.
A socioeconomic story is subject to racial differences between those who wear the ‘hood’ or ‘thug’ clothes. And when other’s identities are based on their clothing—that may lead to an incorrect assumption because that story changes depending on which race is wearing those clothes. In my opinion, being black or brown skin colored already takes care of half one completing the street look. Just pop on the clothes and one has racially inadvertently fit the stereotype of looking hood or thug. The clothes tell a story about the socioeconomic standing, but race enforces that story. The accoutrements I wear are meant to convey a cultural recounting of my background, not the images my race is associated to. I’ve been perceived to wear gang-like attire, outside of my neighbored, but I’m merely trying to dress like everyone in my community when I’m at college. The stereotype is engraving throughout the minds of generations that a minority looking “hard,” is actually “hard” in personality as well, not feeling for the possibility he may be joyful, soft, or friendly.
My brothers and sisters of color have come a long way and beyond from being immigrants to this country. Please look beyond, see further, deeper than the phenotype of a person. All I hope others to consider is a death to the racialization of the dirty ghetto colored kid.
I compose music. But I’m brown.
Luis Enrique Jimenez Jr.,
Los Angeles, CA
IT’S TIME TO LET CLASSICAL MUSIC DIE
By: Nebal Maysaud
Western classical music depends on people of color to uphold its facade as a modern, progressive institution so that it can remain powerful. By controlling the ways in which composers are financed, it can feel like our only opportunities for financial success as composers are by playing the game of these institutions.
It’s time for us to recognize that engaging with these institutions, that contributing to the belief that our participation in composer diversity initiatives is doing anything to reshape the institution of classical music, and that classical music is an agent of cultural change instead of a placeholder to prevent composers of color from forming our own cultures, is ultimately furthering colonization and prevents us from creating artwork capable of real, genuine expression.
Writing for an audience of rich white people is no longer a priority of mine. Instead, I want to create music for my community. Instead of contributing to white culture and helping them erase my own narrative, I want to use my ability to create art to keep my culture alive.
As long as people of color are making art, culture stays alive.
This mission is entirely against the nature of white supremacy, which seeks to replace non-white cultures with their own fantasies. Therefore, I will not find support in this endeavor.
I’m not black, I’m actually brown.
Bionca Bryant,
Old Dominion University,
Norfolk, VA,
Black defined is the very darkest color owing to the absence of or complete absorption of light; the opposite of white. Melanated people are no such thing. We are all light and my skin is brown, not black.
Yo soy Tejano, not “White Washed”
Christopher A Hernández,
Corpus Christi, TX.
Growing up on the Gulf Coast of Texas, you can always smell the sea; after all: it’s practically in your backyard. But there’s also something else that is constantly in the air that one may not be able to smell, but it’s just as pungent: Stereotypes. I come from a family of proud Tejano heritage; my father is always talking about how we are 10th generation Texans, and should never forget about where we came from. I’ve traveled a lot around the US, and I usually get the “Oh, you’re Latino?” or “You’re like a ‘white-washed Mexican” question/response, very often. I feel like I have to prove myself worthy of my Mexican heritage often because I don’t necessarily ‘look’ like your ‘standard Mexican.’ But, there’s nothing ‘standard’ about any of us! I was very fortunate to learn about different cultures, to attend the opera, ballet, and see Rothko Chapel; just because I’m not ‘brown’, doesn’t mean that I’m not Mexican.
I’m brown, therefore I am invisible
Raúl Sánchez,
Seattle, WA.
Racial profiles are not AMERICAN, I am!
Your children really look like Americans
Renu Gehring
Portland, OR
I am an ethnically Indian woman married to a white man. Our two kids are a happy blend of brown and white. We live in a community that has a large number of recent Indian immigrants. I am surprised by their reaction when they see me with my children. When they say, “your children really look like Americans”, I wonder what their perception of American is.
Just because I’m brown, I’m different
Jessica Hernandez,
San Juan Capistrano, CA.
My little sister were born light skinned versus me who was born brown. My parents like to bring that up all the time, saying that because she is light skinned, she’s going to get all the guys. Because she is light skinned, she will be beautiful. So what about me?
Mixed heritage. Feeling strange growing up
Katie Moore
New Echota, GA
I used to hate the way I looked growing up. My mom & brother had fair skin & freckles & I had darker skin & hair. I like the way I look now. I’m proud of my heritage. I am of cherokee, creek, German,& African decent. I stand taller than most women & my hair is almost to my knees & very straight with several shades of auburn & browns. I have a daughter now that took after her father more; wavy hair, fair skin, & blue eyes.
We are all shades of brown.
Eileen Seigfried,
Greensburg, PA
As a preschool teacher, I would lay out black and white sheets of paper. The students would lay their hands on them. Wow! no one matched either. The lesson was that we are all the same and should be treated the same. I retired after 20 years and hope they all remember this lesson.
I Am Shattered Pieces Scattered Black
Lauren Anderson
Kansas City, MO
I’m not sure what I would consider myself. The only thing that I know is that I am brown-skinned, but light-skinned. Many believe I am mixed with another race or other race(s), but my parents are both Black. I’m not really sure what it means to be Black or where I come from originally besides America. The issue of race is interesting because I’m not sure what it means to be me- Black/African-American. I’m sure my ancestors came from Africa, but I’m not sure. I’ve never heard anything from my parents or grandparents about Africa. All I know and all we know is that we are Black. Whatever that means!
Adoptive parents see teachers judge brown
Lynn Schilaty,
Snohomish, WA.
when attending a teacher parent conference my husband and I didn’t expect what we saw on the faces of teachers when they realized WE were the (white) parents of our adopted daughter. We could see in their split second recalculation on their face as that they struggled to take our daughter out of a less favorable category into one that required them to acknowledge her actual circumstances. Whatever we experienced in that moment felt significant to us. It was then we realized race alone can put you in a”marginal” kid category. Something only people of color can know and, maybe, an adoptive parent can witness.
I’ll experience this, hopefully they don’t.
Takiyah L.,
Oakland, CA.
If all it takes for me is to take on the burdens of intersectionality, just so my brother and sister, and future generations of Black and Brown youth will not have to experience that, then I am all down for the cause. I would not want them to endure such things, I would not want this for anybody actually. Though, the trials and the tribulation are what adds a profound uniqueness to each culture of color. I feel like as society, we came a long way, however, we have an even longer way to go. I believe with time and effort, we will eventually get to that point where race is not an issue, but until then, we keep fighting. #BlackLivesMatter.
Wash your hands. Brown is dirty.
Michelle C-H
Dorchester , MA
When I was a little kid, in the 70’s, My family was the only black folks most of the people around us had ever seen. Everyday in my elementary school I got some ignorant comment. “Are you brown cuz you eat brown bread?” and the like. The worst was from the old lady who served us snacks. When it was my turn to help her, she made me wash my hands to get the brown off. Over and over and over. Wash your hands, brown is dirty.
