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Asian descendent so is it wrong??

Ian Shi C
Malaysia

I’m Malaysian and some people classify me as other other races. It’s just silly. Just because I don’t look or act like a Malay or Chinese. There’s even a race column on my ID. It’s stated ‘Chinese’. Anybody had something like this? Plus I don’t get it why people are still racist nowadays.

“But you’re not ‘really’ black, right?”

Danielle Petterson,
Tampa, FL.

I have light brown skin and I consider myself to be mixed. Most people have a simple-minded belief that “mixed” means that one parent is black while the other is white. To me, it runs so much deeper than that. I have 4 grandparents from 4 different countries: Puerto Rico, Curaçao, Guyana, and the US. Therefore, my background is a mix of Puerto Rican, Dutch Caribbean, and Native North and South American Indian: THAT’S what I mean by mixed. However, I don’t speak Spanish, Dutch, Papiamento, or any other languages my ancestors may have spoken, I was born and raised in Florida, I check “African-American” on applications and surveys, and since race and ethnicity are two separate things, yes, I really am black. I am not obligated to answer the question “What are you, really?” with a full explanation of my family background and my many ethnicities. My mother, with skin lighter than me, considers herself to be black and my father, who is darker, considers himself to be black, thus I am black. Yes, really.

Don’t think of you as Asian…

Dan Ellerman,
Baltimore, MD.

I was adopted from S. Korea at the age of 3 by a German/Irish couple. I grew up in a white household and neighborhood and went to predominantly African American schools in Baltimore city. The words I chose were told to me by my family and friends with the best intentions and I never knew how it affected me until adulthood. Now I think about race and Diversity every day, as a parent of mixed race kids and a Director of Diversity and Inclusion in a major corporation.

Wait… how is he your brother?

381724_10100474158030469_1600248848_nBrenna,
France.

When my brother was born, my mom told my sister and I that she hated the word “half.” She didn’t believe that the tiny little baby boy who looked like an Eskimo was half anything– he deserved our full love no matter what our relationship was. She didn’t like the idea of half a family. Since then, I have never once considered calling him my half-brother. We were raised together, after all. That said, I am constantly forced to call him my half-brother in order to explain our relationship to people. You see, my brother is dark-skinned. His father is from the French island of Mayotte, which is just off the coast of Madagascar. My father is British and I am blonde and light-skinned. When people see photos of us, they immediately feel compelled to ask: wait… how is he your brother? Recently, I went to a lecture at the American Library in Paris given by Ta-Nehisi Coates, the famed African-American writer for The Atlantic. During his speech, Ta-Nehisi spoke about the Trayvon Martin case, which touches me personally because my brother, who is now ten, is quickly approaching his teenage years and the reality of being a black man in America. After the lecture, I got the opportunity a question. I asked Ta-Nehesi about the future for young, black Americans– like his twelve-year-old son or my brother. After the lecture, four different strangers approached me to ask me, not about the question I had asked, but how I happened to have a sibling who is black. Each of those four times, I was forced to call my brother my half-brother in order to explain. “Ahhhh,” they said, as if the light had dawned on a particularly disturbing question. One particularly insensitive women called over to her husband “HALF, Charles, he’s her HALF brother!” The women then told me that I must feel kinship with Ta-Nehisi because he has half-siblings, too. It was strange and rather inappropriate, but I am used to it. People have even corrected me when I am speaking about my brother– “you mean your half-brother?” I guess in some ways he is. But in my heart and in my family, half doesn’t exist.

I ate pasta, family ate rice.

Me-Ma-PopsMelanie Vanderlipe Ramil,
Sacramento, CA.

Growing up, I wanted to be as “non-Filipino” as possible and felt great achievement whenever a friend said to me, “You seem so white!” During my middle school years, I claimed to not like rice (the staple for every night’s family dinner). My mom, after rushing home from work to cook dinner for us everyday, relented and lovingly prepared pasta for me while the rest of the family ate rice and the evening’s accompanying meat dish. Today, I long to speak Tagalog, call my mom every week for advice on how to cook Filipino dishes, and look forward to the day when I have children and can share my rich heritage with them.

Learn more about Vanderlipe Ramil’s six words on NPR’s Morning Edition

You’re Dominican? But you’re Black, really.

JLW_BWJuleyka,
Oxford, CT.

This phrase is often said to me by African Americans and other (usually darker) people from the Caribbean who insist that though I am Dominican/Latina, I am Black in the United States because of its racial history and current xenophobic climate. It’s nullifying in so many respects, and usually leads me to lose respect for the person, who is doing to me–classifying, categorizing, boxing-in–what Whites have done to “others” for centuries.

But you don’t look half Mexican

Denise Shirley-Carter,
Hudson, WI

My father is white, Irish, Scottish, etc. My mother’s parents were from Mexico, Spain, then El Paso, TX. However, both my parents are light skinned, my mother very white, so I have a very pale complexion. I have always gotten “but you don’t look half Mexican” or “I don’t believe you” or even from my own (half) sister, “I always forget you’re half Mexican”. Although I am not in contact with my mother, I loved my grandparents and am proud to have that as part of my heritage, my race. However, when people tell you they don’t believe you, it does cut. I cannot even imagine what others have to deal with. My issue is so small in comparison. I am seen as white from people who would prefer I be white, and seen as white by everyone else, as well. I wish I could say it doesn’t matter, but it does.

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.

“You don’t look Iranian!” “I am.”

Rom Barkhordar,
Chicago, IL

This was a brief exchange with someone I just met who, to his defense, had a few beers and was feeling rather boisterous. I explained to him that I am an actor in Chicago, doing a theatrical production where I play a middle-eastern character. He is also an actor, but found it hard to believe that I could be cast as a middle-eastern person based on how “white” he thought I looked. He was drunk, I was sober, and so I really didn’t want to get into it with him at the time. What I really felt like telling him was, “You have no idea WHAT a middle-eastern person looks like, because I look VERY Iranian.”

“You don’t look Jamaican or Cuban”

Michael A. Caldas,
Miami, FL

I’m a Cuban and Jamaican descent mix. Most people when they look at me think that I am either Cape Verdean, Polynesian, or Middle Eastern. When I was at Tuskegee, on the road there, we stopped at gas station to make a rest-stop and when one of the older white women working the cashier, denied me service because they assumed I was Arab (Islamic) and thought I was a “terrorist”. I simply walked away because I was scared they gang up on me or get me killed by the police.

Being Asian, my Authenticity is Questioned

Colette,
Sacramento, CA.

“I love Asian girls”
“I love Japanese people”
“Konnichiwa”
“Ni hao”
“Sayonara”
“Kamsammida”
‘Your a bad Japanese. You don’t know Japanese.’
“Are you Chinese?”
“I don’t think people in Osaka speak Kansaiben”
“I know Chinese”
“You look the most Japanese”
“You could be an other Asian too”

One Caucasian man approached my friends and I at a local pizza place and in a matter of 10 minutes, he say every problematic thing ever to us Asian Americans. We told him that we were born in this country and that we speak English, etc. But that didn’t stop the “konnichiwa’ or “nihao.”
Who is he to say that we were bad Japanese for not knowing how to speak Japanese? Who is this person who thinks he can measure our authenticity? He is nobody. This experience similar to the “where are you from?” question that always pops up, is the struggle of Asian Americans who are still seen as the Perpetual Foreigner.

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