What Are You?
On Being Racially Ambiguous In America.
One day, like countless others, I was at a bar with a friend when a man approached me and asked “What are you?” This is the single most common icebreaker I encounter so we went through the whole conversation that I have scripted to explain myself on such occasions. After he left, I turned to my white friend and the thought struck me for the first time:
“Wait, what do people say when they approach you?
It occurs to me that no matter how seamlessly I am able to move between cultures, there is still something that stands out as different enough to be the first thing anybody wants to know. While other girls are asked about their interests or receive compliments their clothing choices, I end up going through the motions of explaining a history that is hundreds of years in the making.
This question never makes me angry. For starters, it would be a waste of energy to feel anything negative when people ask me this due to the sheer frequency of the question alone. More importantly, any innocent question from a place of human curiosity is an opportunity for people to learn from each other. It is my nature to prefer someone to ask than assume, particularly when it comes to people with different experiences. I always answer as honestly and clearly as possible without trying to put anyone to sleep with a long genealogy lesson.
“Well, my dad is mostly black and my mom is mostly Irish”
What happens next is the part most people I tell find really strange. Typically the face of the white person who initiated this conversation falls and they begin to argue with me. I have never had this experience with a brown or black person, as they are often more familiar with this huge spectrum in their own families.
No, you don’t look black. You aren’t that dark.
No, I think you are more Brazilian/Moroccan/Puerto Rican/Something Else. You look like this person I know that is one of those things so that is what you are.
I have to admit, this part does get a little frustrating. I find insisting on a heritage from South America, North Africa, or the Middle East especially odd because these are places with mixed African populations, some from the very same trans-Atlantic slave trade that produced me. I am sure I have much in common with a Brazilian who has mixed African and European ancestry, but how exactly does that negate the same ancestry in myself?
Nobody has ever told me I don’t look Irish despite the lack of light eyes, red hair, or freckles. So what is this obsession on my claim to blackness?
It is a personality flaw that I often try to apply rationality to irrational situations. Because of this, I tend to see this as a teaching opportunity and there are three points that I usually make whenever this happens. As the person continues to argue that I am not black, the following points often make an appearance in the conversation. Sometimes I mix up the order, as it is important to put your own spin on tired speech to make it feel fresh.
- Many of my ancestors were the product of slaves and slave owners. The history of slavery in this country is one of racial mixing, often as the result of rape. This is why American black people come with so many different shades and features. In this tradition, black people in America often look different than Africans like Idris Elba or Lupita Nyongo (Though Africa is diverse to begin with). On that note, I would certainly have been a slave and considered wholly black in that time by every test and measure; I have more than a drop of African blood, and a comb would not fall effortlessly through my curly hair.
- My parents grew up under segregation in this country so I come from two cultures that were divided by that line. Certainly my father was black enough to use a separate water fountain. Later, he was black enough to be sent home with death threats from time to time when he was the first student to integrate his school. They were married in a courthouse without family present, and it is naive to believe that the legacy of race has had no effect on my life. These cultures are distinct and both are important to me.
- Half-black does not have to look a certain way. When all else fails, I just start rattling off a list of well-known half-black celebrities that have darker or lighter skin that I do to try and familiarize the point. These may include Mariah Carey, Rashida Jones, Nicole Richie, Alicia Keys, Halle Berry…
But why did they get so upset with me in the first place? Why is this person talking to me like I deliberately deceived them when they started this conversation? If my ancestry is so obvious in my looks then why ask the question at all?
It does naturally upset people when the categories that hold their perception together are called into question. In one fail swoop I removed the fantasy of something far away and intriguing and conjured up the reality of something painful and confusing. I think, sometimes, people are just upset to realize that they could have been tricked and found themselves attracted to a black person; a burden they never wanted to bear and have been taught their whole lives in culture and media to turn away from.
Nobody wants to be the one to have to burst the bubble. But that bubble does not trump my ability to define myself. Nobody else has that right. I am Irish and German and African and Native American and all kinds of other things that tell the beautiful and painful history of human voyage and relationships.
So ask me what I am, I would love to discuss my heritage - but don’t get angry when you find something different than what you were looking for. Open your mind to all the beautiful and diverse versions of humanity this world has to offer. I should never be asked to back down from the things that made me in order to keep some fantasy alive. There are plenty of beautiful places that make room for a shared mixed heritage, and I hope one day my identity will not seem like an attack on those looking to define me.
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