To fit everywhere and nowhere.
Madison Le Lam Carter
Canada
Chinese/Vietnamese and Irish/Scottish
My privilege matters, not being Latino.
Emilio Cosgrove,
Ellicott City, MD
I am a mixed-race individual who is Colombian and Irish. While being Latino is more significant to me than the privilege I have because of my light skin, my white privilege is what matters in determining the opportunities that are available to me, the day to day interactions I have with other people, and my quality of life. The fact that I do not think about the very movements I make in public is evidence of the freedom I have because of white privilege. America’s cultural idea of race is also very limited and confines people to a handful of categories based almost entirely on skin color. As a mixed-race person, I have lived the pain of this truth because my white identity is assumed by people who look at me, but my Latino identity is not. Due to America’s narrow perceptions of race, a core part of myself is almost never recognized.
I get sunburned in ten minutes.
Christine Leach,
San Francisco, CA.
If the sun is intense enough, I can and have gotten sunburned in ten minutes, literally. I joke with my friend in Nigeria that I can’t visit him because it’d be too painful, physically. It’s a silly point, but one I’ve joked with friends about, who are black, hispanic, or just not as borderline albino (Irish genes) about how they don’t understand just how much SPF I need to apply to get through a vacation, or a day at the beach. Several have chuckled while saying they’ve never been sunburned.
Irish at Looks, American by Heart
Nevaehlee Crockett,
Grand Blanc, MI
p>I am fully American ethnically, and am White by race. Oftentimes, I joke about being Irish descendant due to my ginger colored hair, and my facial features common in Irish ethnicities. Oftentimes, I overlook my American culture, as I am the dominant group in society. However comparing other cultures to my own, I realize that it differers quite a bit, even if those differences I think are often just traditional “Friday night football” American activities.
Waiting for my caramel macchiato grandbabies.
Yvette Sandoval,
Riverside, CA.
I am Gaelic (Scottish & Irish), Celtic (Welsh), English, Scandinavian (Swedish), Native American Indian (if recently a discovered lineage holds to further research) – basically, a typical All American Heinz 57! When my daughter and her husband give me grandchildren, they will be all of that plus Mexican and other White ethnicities from my husband’s ancestors AND black from my son-in-love. Oh, I so can not wait – but I must. CBU HIS311 Minorities in America
Every Race Has Been A Slave
Jimmy Naughton
Colorado Springs, CO
Why does any race deserve restitution for their hardships? Every race has been enslaved, yet today’s discussions only ever focus on the Atlantic Slave Trade, i.e., the black slave. Hell, the Irish slaves were more plentiful in the English Empire, they were cheaper and treated far worse since they were Catholic, no thanks to Oliver Cromwell. If you go back far enough in history, you can find the dark pasts of every civilization and of every group of people. People of all races and all backgrounds will never be able to achieve peace if all they ever do is focus on the past and demand restitution for ancestors that are long dead from “perpetrators” who are also long dead. My family, both adopted and biological, come from all over Europe. I have blood from Germany, England, France, Czechoslovakia, Ireland, Poland, Italy, Romania, Serbia, and Ukraine. My ancestors came to America on a boat in 1915, when German and Hungarian forces invaded their village in Serbia during WWI, Serbia having been part of the Allied Forces. But you don’t see me at the German Embassy demanding restitution for the hardships that my family went through. Some of my ancestors were kidnapped, enslaved, and murdered by Barbary Pirates, yet you don’t see me demanding restitution from Muslims and North Africans? You see me focusing on the present and the future, using the opportunities given to me by my ancestors to succeed today, as well as continuing to see people’s character and not their color.
German, Irish, Native American, Black babies
Ryan Barrows,
Portland, ME.
There is only one color and this “Love”
No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs
Benjamin Christy,
Laguna Niguel, CA.
This is the title of John Lydon’s autobiography, which refers to his upbringing as an Irishman in London. He was reminded of how the Irish were despised and how there used to be signs in apartment buildings and hotels that expressed their displeasure with these three races. I used to have conversations with my grandfather about race, and he confirmed that, yes, the Irish were seen as less-than-human in their early days of assimilation in America. As a young man of Irish descent born and raised in Oakland, CA, I have felt everything from being ostracized, ridiculed, and physically abused, to taking full advantage of the invisible shield that is “white privilege.” I wouldn’t trade it, however, because this made me open my eyes to a world that likes to hide behind its subconscious hate and ignorance. By speaking on what has happened, we can educate others so that we are empowered with more information and intellect.
They only see the Asian half.
Katelyn Tsukada
Northampton, MA
My mother is of Irish and Italian heritage; my father of Japanese descent. Both of my parents were born in the United States as were their parents before them. Both consider themselves to be American as documented by their passports, drivers licenses and birth certificates. My mother and father speak English has their first and only language. And the American child they created and raised together? Well she constantly gets asked where she is “really” from because New York State is never the correct answer.
I learned to identify myself as Asian-American because that is how others categorized me. My classmates assumed Asian was the reason I got good grades. Asian was the reason I liked seafood and tanned like an islander. And Asian was the reason my grandmother was made to live in an internment camp directly following the attack on Pearl Harbor. My history. Asian history. The rich Irish-Italian culture of my mother’s family never stood a chance.
Somewhere between Salsa and Country!
Stephanie Connors
Eureka, CA
Music is one of my biggest reminders of the cultures that I grew up with. It fills me with nostalgia and pride, longing and love of the people who came before me. The people from: everywhere! I love all of it now. From day to day I swirl around in a delicious mix of American, Texan, Californian, Panamanian, English, Colombian, Scottish, Cuban, German, Irish and Woman!
Learned my truth. Did my DNA.
Candance W Reaves,
Seymour, TN
I may look like I’m only a Scots Irish woman. I’m not. There’s a story in my ancestry that says someone in the past was African American. I hope it’s not a sad one.
Father’s reflection, mother’s renewed hope, transformation
Christina Mayes,
Richmond, CA.
The constant revolving question in my life is, “What are you?” Let’s take care of this question now. My father is Peruvian and my mother is Irish-Italian. My father left when I was three, so for most of my life I felt like he left me with no culture or language. My brown skin did not appear to be a reflection of my mother. As a child I remember questioning her if she truly was my mother. When with her I felt a need to prove I was hers when others looked on. My mother has fair skin and large blue eyes. I envied her characteristics. She tried to assure me that I was beautiful in my own way.
Growing up with the last name “Jimenez” was challenging. Many teachers mispronounced my name and people expected that I spoke Spanish. Whenever I failed to speak Spanish or not meet other expectations such as being Chinese, Japanese, or Filipino because of my small eyes, I always had a sense that people just weren’t really seeing me. I was a constant reflection an reminder of a father who left his child without a clear understanding of what being Peruvian meant.
As it got older I began to appreciate the wonder and thought how amazing that I get to live in a world of blurred lines. My multicultural background is actually a gift. This acceptance of my identity embraced my mothers side of being third generation San Franciscan. Renewing my sense of self in terms of growing up in Berkeley, CA – a true Bay Area native. I felt recharged on life, but also determined to learn more about my fathers side and Peruvian history/culture.
This year my husband and I went on our honeymoon to Peru with my university. On this field biology class trip, I participated as a staff member among the students and faculty. Hidden away was my secret of this being a long overdue heritage trip. My husband held my hand as I cried on the bus through Lima, Peru. I knew that these were the streets that had taken my father two years again in a fatal car accident.
We saw the capital and then traveled the Amazon River. When stopping back in Lima I took a chance and reached out to my younger half brother I had never spoken to or met. You see, my father had a family before me creating a older half sister who is full Peruvian (speaks Spanish, raised in Petaluma, CA) and a younger half brother who is full Peruvian (speaks Spanish, raised in La Molina, Peru). I left a cryptic voice mail in Spanish for my brother who then quickly called me back. His voice was the sound of my father and he spoke excellent English.
We met that day. I had never been so nervous. I didn’t know what to expect and neither did he. When he walked in at. a height of 6’3” – I couldn’t believe it. We hugged, laughed, and cried. I never thought I would meet him in this life. I thought he would be a distant past like my father. I asked if our father was tall and he laughed and said yes. Turns out my 22 year old brother is a college rugby player in his last year of college stud eying international business. As a college advisor for his age group, it seemed oddly kismet as we launched in conversation. I understood exactly where he was in life and he had a greater understanding of where I was.
My brother is older than his years. Our father left him at three as well. We lived parallel lives constantly asking who we were. It’s much more than race.
He share with me that he learned our father was originally from the Amazon. He also shared that he forgave him. I knew as well in my heart that I agreed with this forgiveness and realized it wasn’t the history or culture that I desperately needed, but family. My brothers love is unreal.
All this time I hogue to was in search of myself, but it was actually the connection to another who would fully understand this internal longing of understanding.
As I stood atop Machu Picchu with my husband, I felt so alive and at peace. I thought of my brother and I wished I could be with him. He too is a reflection of our father. I could see clearly the value of what’s so important in life.
My mother has always been my angel in life. I see her as the strongest woman I know. I see her in my face more and more. It’s hard to believe I had once questioned that. Identify and self development can be difficult for those with an unclear family line. When someone asks, “What are you?” I say be bold and true. The conversations that follow are worth the time and educating others.
I’m “too white” or “too black”
Edison LaCour,
Orange County, CA.
I am a product of a biracial marriage, or now with my newfound knowledge from my Biological Anthropology class, a multiethnic marriage. While race is a social construct, this has not stopped me from feeling it’s effects from society. Biologically, it is said that behavior is influenced by mostly by biological factors innate to that person through their DNA. However, I feel like sometimes society can have a large effect on a person. In my case, I physiologically display African-American and Hispanic qualities. However, growing up in primarily the predominantly white suburbs of San Diego and Orange County, I believe I grew up to be a product of my environment, reflecting my surroundings. So I believe that people have stereotyped me based on my physiological ethnic characteristics and have treated me with prejudice because I don’t fit the cookie-cutter mold of the suburbs or the private catholic school I attended. On the flip side of that, people question my biological ethnic heritage by saying I’m not black because I act white or that I “don’t act black enough.” I have embraced my ethnic identity as a man of Creole (African-American and French), Mexican, Irish, and other European descendants and learned to brush off prejudices from anyone. I know what I am, and will stay true to myself as long as I live.
Nobody talks about my ancestors struggle.
Anonymous,
USA
I’m the great-grandson of Irish immigrants who came to this country to escape famine, persecution, and poverty. However, nobody seems to talk or care anymore about the struggles they faced when they arrived in the New World. My people were excluded from public life, forced into menial labor, and refused the same Constitutional protections as their White Anglo-Saxon Protestant neighbors. I mentioned this on a message board recently and was told I’m a “racist” and that I “probably have an Irish and Confederate flag in my yard” when bringing this up because Irish-American People were “allowed to assimilate unlike African-Americans”. Go to South Boston or Queens and then talk to me about “assimilation”. These folks continue to have their own unique cultural heritage and, despite disparaging remarks from others, the fact is that the Irish have helped make this country stronger, safer, and more prosperous. Our history should be celebrated not categorized as “racist”.
My mixed-race son looks All-American.
Emma Alvarez Gibson,
San Pedro, CA.
My husband’s heritage is Japanese/Portuguese/French. Mine is Mexican/Irish/Scottish. Neither of us fit in anywhere while growing up; both sides of each of our families considered us oddities at best. People never knew what to make of us. I was too white for the Mexican kids and too uptight about racist comments for the white kids. Our son is fair and blond and looks about as All-American (a term that’s always made me queasy) as it gets. He will never struggle the way we did — for which we’re grateful; no parent wants their child to struggle. But the irony isn’t lost on either of us.
