The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Susanna Lee,
Roanoke, IN.
I have lived in a world of “white privilege” my entire life. I didn’t ask for it, I did nothing to earn it; my skin is white, but my blood is Cherokee Indian, French-Canadian, Mediterranean-Italian, German, and Irish. As a youth of the Reagan era, I benefited from this “white privilege”, naively. I fully reject it. I love all people, but don’t always feel this love in return because they don’t see me, they see the color of my skin – white.
Arturo Hull,
Anchorage, AK.
My mom is Syrian, Iraqi, Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Swiss-German, Austrian, South German, English, Norwegian and Danish. My dad is English, Scottish, Irish, Swedish, German, Polish, and Russian. I am light-skinned and can easily pass as French or Italian, but I embrace my Arab roots to the fullest and enjoy foods like Falafel, ful medames, and baklava. I also celebrate Arab holidays, such as Syrian Independence Day and Syrian Revolution Day. When I go to synagogue for Shabbat, I try to attend a Sephardic Synagogue and I eat qitnyot on Shabbat.
Jordan Mix,
Versailles, KY
I have a strong background of German in my family because it is on my dad’s side and mom’s side. In 1855 my great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents, on my dad’s mom’s side, immigrated from Switzerland and Germany to Louisville, KY. As soon as they got to Louisville Bloody Monday happened. It was an Election Day and a lot of Germans had moved to this area (they were now 1/3 of the population). The issue grew out of a bitter rivalry between the democrats and the Know- Nothing party. The know-nothing party, who was anti-catholic and nativist, did not like the fact that the Germans vote has such power over the election so on Election Day they had armed guards at the poll. Then after the poll closed they went and destroyed homes in the German community and the Irish Catholic Churches. Also they fired and attacked people, dragging them out into the street. After it was all said and done 22 people were killed. My family had just moved to Jefferson (a place in Louisville, KY) and had to suffer this. This event made a lot of the immigrants pack up and leave, but not my family. Some of them still live there today. I chose these six words because these people prosecuted the Germans just because they were different. What if I had lived in that time? I would’ve been the one scared after just moving there and being attacked just because of my culture. My family had to deal with a lot of difficulties just moving to the U.S, let alone being attacked and having their lives ruined just because they were German.
Nelly Shulman,
Russia
I am Jewish, Russian. Finnish and German. I have a very strong Jewish identity and no less strong Russian identity and they have always been very difficult to reconcile. Living with two cultures inside is incredibly difficult. I teach both Russian and Hebrew and can never say what am I at the moment. I guess it will remain unsolved.
Mary Ann Paris
Philadelphia, PA
Except for my brother, there were never any children who looked like me. I am black and white, more specifically Black, Jewish, German, Irish, Italian and polish and my brother and I have European features. We grew up in a segregated part of Philadelphia among black children. They never wanted to play with us, made us inferior with their words like “Light bright, damned near white”. As we grew older, my white friends would ‘compliment’ me by saying, “You know, you look white!”
My brother told his first wife’s father that he was Italian because she was from deep in the south and her father and brothers were Klansmen. I was twenty-seven years old before I saw another woman who shared my coloring, my features, parents of opposite races. I stared, so hard for so long, memorizing her features and wondering, as she met my gaze if she’d walked the same path I had. If she were a victim of circumstance. Since then, I’ve seen several inter or bi-racial adults and children, but the experience of recognition.
That “Wow, someone like me.” hasn’t faded and I always stare, always wonder what road they’ve crossed to get where they are. When I was able to check off ‘bi-racial” for the first time, I cried. For once I didn’t have to choose. I was allowed by the government just to be me. A person of unknown origin who doesn’t have to shun an entire side of her family just to maintain the illusion of human. When I found out our president was of mixed heritage, I cried again, “finally”, I thought, “people like me are ‘good enough’. Praise the Lord.” and then when I heard all the naysaying and race bashing, inter race bashing, I had to turn a blind eye or risk sinking into a depression. The nation debating his race was debating and discrediting mine.
Maybe one day in my life, the sight of one like me will be such a common occurrence that I will be able to stop staring. Maybe one day the census paper won’t have a race box at all. That is my prayer.
Claudia Martin
Thailand
Thai-German-French-Cambodian. In Asia people always assume I’m white, and am treated like an outsider, telling me I’m not really Asian, but in Europe, it’s the opposite. So if I’m neither accepted as a white, or an Asian, I can’t help but feel like I’m always excluded.
Hunter Jaymz Harris,
Lakeland, FL.
I’m mixed with a bunch of things. Yet it’s best never to forget the people and places you come from.
Anyssa Strauss,
Temple City, CA.
Petra Snowden,
Virginia Beach, VA
As a German-born immigrant I always felt this to be a sensitive question, especially when asked by my Jewish friends. I usually responded with a long story of his life , pre and post WWII , explaining that he was not a Nazi! The collective guilt of the German people I somehow carried with me my entire life.
Janice Cooper,
MN.
My newly married parents immigrated to the U.S. from Germany via Ellis Island during the mid 50’s to follow the American Dream. Growing up in small town Michigan and attending Catholic school, my younger brother and I were constantly accused of being Nazis during our grade school years. Even though my parents spoke English well, their German accents were enough ammunition for our classmates to think that my parents, and their unborn children were responsible for WWII. I will always remember seeing a drawing, along with that sinking feeling in my stomache, when I saw the confiscated piece of notebook paper on my 4th grade teacher’s desk with drawings of American bombers striking our clearly-labled German house).
Many years later, I can laugh at it now, since the race card stopped following me once I hit high school…But I also I think about how the race card does affect those young and eager families who still come to Ameria to chase their own American Dreams.
Emma Cate,
San Jose, CA
We have four grandsons who are half black, one adopted grandson who is brown, two great-grandkids who are half Chinese. In our extended family, we have people who speak the following languages fluently: German, French, Chinese, Haitian, and Spanish. I think in another generation there will be many families like our family that are very racially diverse and speak multiple languages.
Gina Barclay,
USA.
People are aware that Japanese Americans were placed in internment camps during WWII. What most do not know is that German Americans were interned in both WWI and WWII. Considering that Germans are of European descent, it can’t be because of racism. It was because Germany was hated and feared as an aggressor–just as Japan was feared and hated as an aggressor. I wish that people who spout rhetoric about the Japanese Americans would consider that there were plenty of “whites” who shared the same fate.
Bodo Diehn
Scottsdale, AZ
When I came to the U.S from Germany in 1960, I had never met a Jewish person. Pete Lieberman became my best friend. I was too ignorant even to conclude his ethnicity from his name. How inhibited I would have been had I known early on, even though I was 10 when WWII ended! Probably never would have dared ever to talk to him…
Skylar Blechner,
Mineola, NY
When people ask me the question “where are you from”, I usually respond that I am a 5th generation Jewish New Yorker. Then I get the follow up question of “Okay, but where are you from? Like your ancestors.” I answer the same way and usually get weird looks, but in my mind that is the truth. I am a Caucasian woman who follows the Jewish faith who lives in New York. I don’t actually know where my ancestors came from. My mother is adopted and we have no idea who her birth parents are and where they came from. My mom was adopted though by an Ashkenazi Jewish couple. Ashkenazi Jews are those who originated in Eastern Europe (which is many different countries). Two years ago she took one of those DNA cast and the results said she was Irish. I don’t know if I fully believe in these tests, but it does explain why both my mother, myself and my younger brother do not have the stereotypical large Jewish nose like my father. My dad is the only birth child of three children. His older sister was adopted from Seattle and his younger sister was adopted from South Korea. Despite the fact that they don’t look like each other, they still love each other and my grandparents love them all equally.
Adoption is something that’s been very big in my family. I plan on adopting some day. But adoption leaves a lot of questions about yourself. Where am I actually from? What illnesses might I have in the future? What culture and experiences could I be missing out on? Who am I? Being the daughter of an adopted person can be confusing. I don’t always know how to answer the question where are you from. I know that I’m from a loving family. I know that both sides have been in New York for many generations. I don’t know what European country I come from, because as Jewish people my family has been kicked out of many different countries. My last name comes from the German word Bléch, which means Tin; the job that we believe my ancestors had was a Tinsmith. Despite the fact that my last name comes from a German word, I have my great-great-great-great grandfather’s passport from Russia (he was the first to come to the USA but used a Russian passport to emigrate here). We think we are from Austria, Hungary, Poland, and Russia (maybe Germany too, but no one actually thinks that). I may never know and I am okay with that. I have no idea what race I truly am, but I know who I chose to be. I chose to be a proud Jewish New Yorker!
Christina Martinez-Williams.
Seat Pleasant, MD.
My mother is German and English, at least third generation American born, and my father is Cuban, first generation born. Much of my life I tried to identify with my Cuban side, because that is the side that people cannot usually physically see, especially according to stereotypes of what Latina’s look like. I was envious of people whose skin was darker than my own and developed hatred toward my own skin color. I wanted so badly to be seen as also Cuban and not have to prove through my easily tanned skin and last name that at home I had an abuela who would visit for a month at a time, speak Spanish, talk our ears off in broken English, laugh constantly, and cook picadillo and black beans and rice. When I was invited to a special graduation for Latina college graduates, I cried on the phone to my dad saying that I felt like they just sent me the invite because of my last name, Martinez, and that when they saw me, they wouldn’t want me there.
My dad reassured me that my blood was Cuban, and that I resembled my abuela in the way I danced and through my love for life and others. After graduation, I moved to Ecuador, South America, and it was there that I was forced to confront my hatred of my skin color, which had become a habitual hating look at my arm since the 7th grade. I was surrounded by people who were darker than me and confronted the reality of who I was, a beautiful blend of two cultures and ethnicities. God started to heal me during this time and change my perspective toward my skin color from one of envy and hatred to thankfulness. Over time in the almost 10 years since that time, I have engaged in many experiences where I have had the opportunities to live and work with other multiracial individuals, in whose stories I heard my own for the first time. Now, though I still struggle at times when people continue to ask questions, seeking for a way for me to prove my identities, I am also thankful for opportunities to engage in conversations that might help educate others about how people are not always, more often usually, who you think they are – there is more to all of us than you can see. I have become more proud of who I am, all of who I am, embracing it.
Lynn,
Great Falls, SC.
I tend to look white; especially when not in the sun. I’m actually a mix of: European (German, Irish, & British), Native American (Seminole, Cherokee, & Muskogee Creek), Black (African -sub-sahara regions- and Melanesian), and Middle Eastern (Syrian, Turkish, Indian (India) & Iranian)…….Somehow I ended up looking more European instead……I hate being called racist, bigot, and white supremacist…I’m not. Just because my genetics chose to appear more of European than my other ethnicity doesn’t mean I’m against anyone of any race, creed, sexuality, or religion. I’m a human being. I would love if we could have HUMAN to choose as a box for race instead of all the other stuff…..It’s hard to check one box because I’m so mixed…..But I have to go with what I physically look like.
Lisa Craig
Washington, DC
It’s a bit complicated. My father’s family consists of Scottish, Swedish, French, German, English, Mexican, and two different Native American tribes. My mother’s family consists of French-Canadian, English, Inquit (Alaskan Native Americans), and some other ethnicities that I am not aware of (I am not close to them). All of my family easily passes as white. Except me. Some people think I am mixed Asian. I frequently get asked if I am adopted. My father openly tells me that I must convince people that I am pure white because he was and is still embarrassed that his daughter doesn’t look like anybody in his family race-wise.
Josie,
Houston, TX
Most of my life, I had not given much thought to my racial identity. I never really thought about myself as a “white person” or what it meant to be white, unless I had to fill out a form for school, a job, or standardized tests. It was just a label with very little meaning to me. What I did think about what my identity as a great-grandchild of Norwegian, German, and Italian immigrants. My grandparents on both my maternal and paternal side shaped our family cultures around their experience as the children of European immigrants.
My grandma would talk about how her parents had to change their name upon entry to the US because there were too many families in their boarding house with the surname “Olson.” My grandpa would talk about the objections their parents had to him marrying my grandma. His German Catholic parents and her Norwegian Lutheran family did not like the idea of intermarrying. My paternal grandparents would talk about growing up in the Italian neighborhood of Chicago with stories about my great aunt knowing a famous mafia member’s child. We ate sweet apple roasted ribs on Christmas with anise cookies for dessert. My thick brown hair was attributed my Italian heritage by my dad. All of these little experiences shaped my identity as an American with European ancestry, but we never talked about whiteness.
I cannot think of one time that my family talked about our whiteness. We never really talked about race at all. Now, as a more informed adult, I can recognize racial attitudes that were covertly disseminated in conversation or political discussions, but I would not have been able to identify it if I had not learned what I now know. In the past couple of years, I have learned more about race, racism, and cultural identities than I had in the previous 23 years. I am learning about others and myself, trying to be a more compassionate, fair, and just individual. I am learning about more than just my ethnicity. I am learning what it means to be white in America, the good, bad, and in between.
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