The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Lynn Delgado,
CO
“But you don’t seem Puerto Rican”- growing up and even now I have fairer skin than my Puerto Rican mother. My mom has darker skin, more of a brown sugar color skin tone while I have no melanin. I grew up looking whiter than the rest of both sides of my family, not to mention I would speak like a valley girl even though I’m from Colorado. I would get judged by my skin color and the way I talked.
Beatriz McConnie Zapater,
Jamaica Plain, MA.
I am Puerto Rican with white, indigenous, Spanish, and African ancestry. When I hear that I do not look Puerto Rican, I ask the person, “How many Puerto Ricans do you know?”.
Dania Abreu-Torres
San Antonio, TX
My husband and I are Puerto Ricans. I am more “white” than he is -He usually was mistaken as a muslim-. We have a blonde, blue eyed girl. In Florida, he use to take her to the supermarket. He was followed by a lady and asked if the baby was really his daughter. He looked at her confused and then understood. He just replied: “Yes, don’t you see the resemblance? Especially the eyes?”, and then laughed. The woman was more confused, but did not replied and stopped following. I was so surprised, but, of course, race in the US is read from the color, never from ethnics.
Daniel A. Ramos
Columbus, OH
The story ran about Alisha on 5/23/13 really struck accord with me. I was born in Ohio to a family that still held a very strong Puerto Rican identity in a very large Puerto Rican community west of Cleveland. When I was young I didn’t know the difference between my culture and mainstream American culture. I grew up knowing what Spanish was and understanding my parents and extended family, but didn’t think it was any different from my Italian or Eastern European friends whose families spoke their native language. Only when I went away to college did it hit me that I was considered a minority. As I gained a greater understanding of what that meant, I naturally developed a strong dual identity. I was no longer just American. But I was Puerto Rican American.
But like Alisha I also have problems speaking Spanish. After my younger brother was born, my parents stopped speaking Spanish in the household. Over time I lost my ability to speak Spanish. So in high school and college I made it a point to re-learn my parents’ language. However, while even re-learning my Spanish I still was reminded of the duality that is my cultural identity. Once in a higher level Spanish class in college my professor made a statement using me as an example that still is stuck in the back of my mind. The class was Latin American history and civilization and we were covering the section on Latin American immigration into the United States. My professor was Puerto Rican herself, and used my identity to contrast to hers, stating that while she was Puerto Rican because she was born and raised in Puerto Rico and that I was American, and not truly Puerto Rican, because I was born in the U.S. – despite being raised in a family that still kept many of the traditional Puerto Rican cultural activities and the Spanish language alive, where my grandparents and many of my aunts and uncles, including my father, were born in Puerto Rico.
Now, because Puerto Rico is an American territory, that adds an additional complicating factor on all of this. It raises several questions in my own mind. Am I less Latino because Puerto Ricans are born American citizens? Because Puerto Rico is so Americanized, what is the true Puerto Rican culture? Will Puerto Rico possibly becoming a state change my cultural identity?
Mayra Velez
Buffalo, NY
Picture of us, a Belarussian and Puerto Rican, soon-to-be-married, couple. When we started dating, every time I said he is belarussian to my friends and family, I heard the “oh improving the race amiga”. I think is our colonial mind, in which status in society was determined not by wealth but by skin color. Marrying an european (or anybody of whiter skin) meant improving our status and family lineage (See “Regla del Sacar “or “Gracias al Sacar”as opposite to the “one- drop-rule”. ). Sometimes I wonder, is it possible that we are racist against ourselves? Can it be that the Spanish colonial social-structures are still deeply engrained in our minds, even if we want to deny it? We complain racism we face in USA, but we forget the racial dynamics we face in own countries.
Brenda Enid Mejias,
Honeybrook, PA.
True Puerto Rican girl…..
I am the one with all the family recipes…
And I love being her.
Wepa– According to Urban Dictionary
A word of jubilation that is uttered by mainly Hispanics, especially within the Puerto Rican community. It normally is yelled at high volumes in a nasal manner, especially after something that is celebrated. “Wepa” normally means, “All right! Good job! Congratulations! Yeah!”
When saying, “Wepa!,” you must hold the “e” for the longest amount of time, and “a” for just as long. Variations are also acceptable.
Pronounced: Weh – pah; you must say it nasally or there is no true jubilant effect.
Student 1: I just a 98 on my Chemistry final!
Student 2: All right, man! WEPA!
Puerto Rican singer: ¿Estamos listos? (Are we ready?)
Audience: WEPA!!!!
Priest: I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.
Attendee: WEEEEEEEPAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (applauding the couple as he says it)
Indy,
Melrose, MA
The University of Massachusetts Chan Medical School
Paulina Persson,
San Clemente, CA.
People love to make assumptions by skin color. I love to see people’s facial expressions when they find out I was born in Stockholm and that I am half Swedish and Puerto Rican.
Cascada Blanca,
Troy, NY
For over half my life, I thought I was Puerto Rican. My grandparents lived in Puerto Rico, they spoke Spanish, they were engrained in a local community and knew a lot about the island. My family visited them at least once a year. My grandparents started teaching me about the island and I jumped in headfirst. I was excitedly learning Spanish, making friends there, and learning everything I could about the history and culture. It was so wonderful and I was so happy to be able to be a part of it. Until my identity turned out to be a lie and I was an idiot for believing that. I’m just a basic, racist white girl with no culture at all. I took a DNA test to see if there was anything I could fill the void with, but it just made me feel even worse. I can’t talk about this to anyone so I just keep lying to the people who know me.
Ruby Marlowe,
Brooklyn, NY.
Italian-Irish mom, Puerto Rican-Mestizo dad, never met dad’s family as his side was pretty bad along with dad who was never around. Me and my little brother look and act “Caucasian” (laughing at the now PC whites who treated us like crap in the 80s and now identify us with people who emigrated from the former Soviet Union because they feel bad) and I changed my name to stop getting harassed by Hispanics and blacks who accused me of being a typical hipster white person that treats race as a fad.
Matthew Palavido
Beaumont, CA
My family’s background is Polish and Swedish and the town I grew up in in New Jersey was predominantly “white”. Like a lot of Americans, I grew up rather sheltered and culturally insensitive/ignorant. While on a camping trip with my family and friends from my wife’s side of the family, we recounted the story of one of the first time’s that my wife and I met. Rather than asking her what her family heritage was, I asked her if she was Puerto Rican. My wife immediately corrected me and explained that her family is from Mexico. While sharing this story with family members and friends while camping, someone in the group commented that “White people group always try to lump Latinos into the same group, they don’t understand that we come from different countries and have different heritages that we are proud of.” I was at first offended and said “Tell me where the country of ‘White’ is.” It was at that moment we all realized we are more alike than different, and our cultural biases were similar, just viewed through a different lens. We ended up having a great group discussion about all of our individual backgrounds and what our different families experiences were emigrating from their respective countries.
Brian Parra,
Oxnard, CA.
Without fail, the first thing a person remarks on, upon seeing my kids, is that they are blonde and I am not. I’ve gotten used to odd looks and the consistent recitation of a poor understanding of genetics, “Mom must have some strong genes!” Some have literally questioned whether they are truly my kids. When my daughter strays from me at a place like the grocery store, as kids do, I can always tell that the store manager or concerned stranger helping reunite her with “daddy” is a bit surprised to see that it’s me. My Mexican and Puerto Rican relatives are very fair on both sides and I inherited a blonde recessive gene from my father’s side. My hair color genes are BROWN-blonde, thus my hair is brown, and paired with my wife’s BLONDE/blonde genes, a random grouping of each half from each of us make the entire gene of our offspring a possible BROWN/blonde or BLONDE/blonde. Each offspring had a 50% chance of being blonde, same as any family with blonde and brown-haired siblings from blonde and brown-haired parents, and yet me being obviously Hispanic makes that harder for some people to grasp. I think people assume that Mexicans or Puerto Ricans are all brown-haired, but the truth is that there are variations throughout the genome that make all sorts of coloring possible and there is a long history of racial mixing that challenges our notion of what races are. Because people’s assumptions about race are heavily based on “color,” I endeavor every day to make my children’s understanding of their race based on heritage and culture, independent of color. It’s very important to me that they understand they are a mix of Mexican and Puerto Rican descent, even though the world will see them as white. I don’t want them growing up with de facto white privilege and lack the appreciation for what others, who share their heritage, have to do to achieve the same treatment and benefit of the doubt my children will get for what was a genetic roll of the dice.
Diana Gonzalez,
Franklin Square, NY.
I am an adopted person. I’ve been searching for my past all my life. I’m 60 now.
One of my adopted parents was Austrian and one was Italian. I was raised to think of myself as Italian. In the early 1970’s I searched and found out I was born in Brooklyn and my name at birth was, Female Gonzalez.
I was of Spanish descent. It was a big shock. I continued searching and around 2000 I found out I am 100% Puerto Rican.
I have issues about what race I am. For instance when my adoptive mom was in the nursing home and I was pushing her around in a wheelchair, I always felt people must think I’m her aide. (My adoptive mom, being Austrian, was light skinned and had green eyes.) I am dark skinned, brown eyes, dark hair. You would never pick us out as mother and daughter.
When she and I were out and about when I was growing up I sometimes felt awkward when we were introduced as mother and daughter. The awkwardness came because we were so different. If I was out with my father, it wasn’t an issue because, being Italian, he was dark like me.
I’m trying to figure out if my adoption would be considered a transracial adoption. Not sure.
Santana O.,
Philadelphia, PA.
I’m asked by new people commonly, “Wow, you look so Asian! Are you Asian?” I’m also asked, “You’re really pale, are you Caucasian? Are you sure you’re black? WOW! You’re Puerto Rican & black. That explains it.”
Jolie Anne Chevalier,
San Jose, CA.
This is me at eight years old back in 1979, the daughter of an African-American/Seminole Indian mother, and a Irish-French-American father. Growing up, I was faced with contradictions in a world of opposites; although I was multiracial my mother told me I was Black, and to identify as such due to the “one-drop rule”. My father was silent on the matter. I was mistaken as Puerto Rican by my paternal grandfather, and was called “tanned” by some of my White classmates. Grammar school was an alienating time for me; all of my classmates had parents of the same race, except for me. I was deemed to dark to really fit in with the White kids and too light to fit in with the Black kids. So I ended up making friends with two friends who looked past my background; one was White and the other Guyanese/Indian. In high school, most of my closest friends were Latinas since I seemed to look more like them, and once I entered college, I found liberation in open-minded friends who came from all around the country and world. During this time, in my search of my identity, I became somewhat militant, immersing myself into African American culture, and speaking disparaging about White people in general. As I matured out of that phase, I decided to eschew my mother’s influences; that it was okay to listen to “White” aka pop/rock music, that speaking properly did not equate with “speaking White” and that I was free to embrace all branches of my family tree despite my skin tone. I was overjoyed to check the “Other” box on forms once they were finally implemented rather than just “Black”, and even happier that nowadays, I am free to check all races that apply to me. I am proud of my heritage, and will never make allowances or explanations for it ever again. When asked of my background, I simply answer “Triracial” or “multiracial”.
Lauren McEnerney,
Norfolk, VA.
ODU
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