The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Tara Saltzman,
Evergreen, CO.
My teens arguing in favor of de-degrading(?) the word n*****, inspired by conviction that changing the influence of words (no longer receiving the word “n*****” as having negative intent or implication), changes relationships. wondering if they are empowered by the innocence of youth and lack of historic understanding AND regardless able to infuse real change through that space.
Amelinda,
New Haven, CT.
I am as white as they come… Blonde hair, blue eyes; English, Swedish, Irish, German, French heritage… I grew up in Nebraska, surrounded by the ‘whitest’ people you can imagine. The first ‘black’ person I saw was a professional photographer when I was a toddler, and I was absolutely shocked (I have the pictures to prove it, even though I was too young to remember). Now, I am embarrassed for my 2 year old self; but if you have never seen a different skin color, what do you see?
I was lucky enough to have an open-minded mother who taught me to look beyond skin color, but to this day my father is still surprised when he meets a ‘colored’ person who he thinks is decent. I can’t count the number of racist, bigoted, small-minded comments I have heard from him, and from some of the people I grew up around. I just count myself lucky that one of my parents tried to make me look beyond color. Until we can break the impressions/presumptions/assumptions of racist people, that word should be as dirty as any other cuss words. To be racist should be an insult, and if someone accuses you of that, you should take a sharp look at yourself before you judge someone else based on a superficial characteristic, such as their skin color.
Robert De Dios,
Sanger, CA.
I am a high school student who use to get the ” oh you were born here in America?” Back when I was in middle school I often got this question simply because I was intelligent and these group of people never really heard about a Mexican or Latino being smart. At first I was extremely angered by the racism, but then, I welcomed it because I knew who I was, a natural born citizen who means no harm. My advice to anyone is don’t give in too quickly, be reasonable, even if you’re being attacked with hateful words or actions, DON’T give in no matter what, show them that race is just a word.
Repeka Touli,
Murray, UT.
“Alien” is the one word I grew up hating because when I was old enough to carry an
Identification card (for having a job), I thought it was the coolest thing ever because it made me
feel like I‟ve grown up and I get to own one just like the adults did. Unbeknownst to me, I was
unaware of the impact it would have on me for years to come.
Every year for as long as I can remember, my parents and I would visit the Immigration office
which meant I had to miss a full day of school. Missing a day of school is like punishment to me
because it was my happy place as a child. In the Immigration office were a vast amount of
strangers sitting for the entire day, waiting for their turn to see the Immigration officer. I had no
idea why we were there to start with until I became a teenager. Nonetheless, it was a routine
thing in my mind because I have done it before, time and time again over the course of my young
years.
I sat and watched a number of people stand in front of a colored back-wall while their pictures
were taken to obtain their ID cards. I watched the next person get called up, take his/her picture,
but not before an officer walked up towards him and changed the color of the back-wall (for
point‟s sake…from blue to red) and I became confused and asked myself, “Why did he change
the color of the back-wall?” I quickly realized what that back-wall meant…One color was for
“Citizens” and the other for “Aliens” and suddenly, my world crashed and for the first time, I felt
like an “Alien” and an “outsider” in a place I called, “Home.” Sheer disappointment washed
over me and suddenly, the feelings of being ashamed hit me, followed by the agony of the reality
of my life‟s status: “So I am an ALIEN apparently.”
From that point on, I really took notice of the minute details on my ID card. Next to my name, I was referred to as “Alien,” and in those
moments, it hurt so much to come to the saddest realization and understanding of “why.” After
all my growing up years that my parents and I visited the Immigration Office, never did it occur
to me that it was to renew our “ALIEN” status in a place I have lived in for most of my young
life, a place I loved because it was my Home.
I started to question the purpose of such a harsh and derogatory term of identification because
as a youngster, the primary association of “ALIEN” I knew was: A tall, skinny, bald looking
creature with big grey eyes that by definition are, creatures from outer space, I used to see on
TV as a child. As a teenager at the time, I asked myself, “Who in their right mind would refer to
another human being as “alien” when there are better and more humane adjectives in the
dictionary to choose from?” What of “foreigner” or “non-citizen” “newcomer?” Surely there is a
better way to define the “other” other than “alien?”
“Alien” in short is “Alienated” or “Alienation” which by definition is: “To make indifferent
or hostile; to turn away; transfer or divert.” This is how I always felt or at least it made me feel
whenever I looked at my ID Card. What used to be something to be proud of became something
to be ashamed of, thus leaving me to feel segregated, looked-down at, frowned upon, demeaned,
an outsider, not belong just to name a few.
Last year I found some old Immigration forms and when I saw how I was referred to again as:
“Alien,” those ugly and degrading emotions came back to haunt me as an adult, therefore,
nothing has changed. The sad reality remains unchanged. If you are not from America, you are
simply labeled, ALIEN. The reality of this emotional nightmare happened in class one day. My
elementary teacher was marking something on her roll and called out to me, “Peka, where were
you born?” I did a quick justification in my young mind and said, “Here” referring to American Samoa. The feelings of „belonging‟ rather than being segregated came over me and for the time being, it felt so nice to be able to say: „Yes, I was born here, therefore, I am NOT an alien rather, I am just like everyone else. But then having been taught right from wrong haunted me for the
rest of that year until the following year when the next teacher asked me the same question again,
“Peka, where were you born?” to which I shamefully answered, “No.” Unfortunately, as an
adult, I still feel the same way. After living in another country for two decades before moving to
my “dream land” and to find the same description, “ALIEN” if you‟re not from America, it
becomes a scarring reminder that, “Oh that‟s right, you‟re still an „alien‟ because your ID card
says so.”
Who would have thought that one significant word like “ALIEN” could cause an explosion of
negative and alienated emotions to a young soul like mine? It is a subtle way to shun away the
spirit of unity in humanity, but not subtle enough for a young child “not” to notice. “So, I am an
Alien apparently.”
Anonymous.
Quoted from- “Justice” by Ziggy Marley
Justice, people say, justice
Justice, brother say, justice
Judge me if I am weak
Judge me if I am strong
Judge my days and all life long
They let the baby cry, let the mama cry
And youths like I and I have to cry
For justice, one, one, one word prayer
Justice, who yea, justice, justice
Is like a good friend
Who long time we don’t see
Why they taking liberty
Who, is like a good friend
Who long time we don’t see
Why they taking liberty, with I and I and I
Justice, yea yea yea
Justice, now not later, justice
Justice, people say
(solo)
For I and I, justice, justice
Justice, where are you
Justice, look what they do
They make the innocent cry
The innocent cry
Look what they do to Garvey
They make the innocent die
They make the innocent die
How dem lie on Steve Biko
Justice, justice, the one word prayer
Justice, who yea, justice
The poor man cry, why do they do the wrong
Justice, they make me sing this song
Justice, who yea woa, mmmh, yea, yea
Justice, justice, desert me not
Justice, they are on my back
Justice, the more the tears
The more, the more we want, justice, justice
Krislyn Real
Beaverton, OR
When I was younger race was something to be proud of. I grew up in central California where the Latin-American population is rather high. I was surrounded by my culture. I loved the man who would drive down the street and stop to sell you conchas and tamales – the strawberry conchas were my favorite. Fast forward some years later and I’m sitting in my summer school class. I realize most of the class is Latin-American. The kids would speak in Spanish and I understood a little of what they were saying, although I’m not fluent. They would discuss their plans after school, clearly all friends. One day they asked me, where am I from? I told them I was from California and all about my Mexican heritage, to which they replied “you’re not Mexican, you don’t speak Spanish.” I felt as though I needed to defend myself and my culture. I’d tell them about my grandfather, about all the Mexican food I’d eaten growing up and how every other member of my family spoke Spanish. We never talked about what brought me to Oregon, why I liked musicals or what my favorite music was. But to this day, those same people refer to me the same – I am a “gringa.”
Ashley Z.
PA
One of my white friends once asked me if anyone had ever been racist to me. I said no, but I tried to explain that racist was too strong of a word. I’ve certainly felt racial tension, and that awkwardness when people feel they’ve said something that might offend me but it”s their apologizing that unsettles me. I’ve never met, or at least talked to, a racist. I must admit, as a 15 year old growing up in a suburban Pennsylvania, my range of experience is limited, and odds are I will meet one, but it’s an experience that I’m not eager to have. In everyday life, I doubt most people encounter racists, although its a fact that they are out there. That’s not to say people don’t treat others differently based on their ethnicity, but I think racist is too strong of a word to brand the majority of people with. People have views that are ignorant and misinformed, and opinions that are made too quickly. As the child of Chinese immigrants, I’ve encountered many such people. Most of this comes in the form of jokes that have more of a sting than is intended or realized, or catty comments from lunch time conversations.
I’ve probably been part of the problem, making jokes with my Caucasian friends that make them think it’s okay. I’ve heard my friends say things like “There’s too many Asians at this party” or tell me they’re glad I’m not a “weird” Asian. In high school, everyone is labeled and sorted according to how they dress, act, and look. Kids think the Asian kids act a little different and tend to stick together. What most kids don’t realize is that they are different. Almost all of the Asian kids are the first generation children of immigrants. We grew up speaking two languages, eating with chopsticks, and living with very different family dynamics. Eastern culture emphasizes respect to elders and authority of males, ideas that are outdated in Western society. We grow up struggling to find a balance between two very different worlds, tradition versus modernization, east versus west. Racist is an ugly word, implying a person full of hate. It sounds like a chronic illness. You never hear someone say, “I used to be racist, but then I learned better”.
People who don’t understand the intricacies of growing up in a multicultural household aren’t racist. They just haven’t learned better. Yet.
Tina Sampson
Washington, DC
I don’t need six words. It all comes down to this one essential word.
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