The Danger of ‘Colorblindness’
Every morning from the age of four to 18, I recited the Pledge of Allegiance beside my classmates and teachers. Every single morning, I finished the pledge with the words “with liberty and justice for all,” being told that I lived in a country where this principle was put into practice.
At the age of 10, I was taught that “with liberty and justice for all,” wasn’t always true — that at one point in American history, Black Americans, Indigenous peoples, and other non-European races were looked down upon. BUT, my (mostly white) educators assured me that in today’s America, we were past that; your skin color didn’t matter. If you worked hard, you would succeed.
I was taught a myth many kids are still taught: today’s America is, and should be, “colorblind.”
Although my experiences as an Indian woman hold privilege to others’ experiences, I grew up scared of being too Indian. I walked into school every morning with an immense amount of perfume to hide the “Indian” smell I was accused of having in 4th grade and made conscious efforts to hide any Indian mannerisms I may have had. I made my mom make me Nutella sandwiches for lunch to avoid any comments about my (delicious) Indian food. I let jokes like “Ishita, you’re the whitest brown person I know” slide, not because I was too scared to confront them, but because I saw “being white” as a compliment.
If color didn’t matter, why was I constantly reminded of mine? And if color didn’t matter, then why did I wish to be white?
It took leaving my small town and moving to D.C. to find the answer to those questions. I was finally comfortable with my culture and identity and started realizing how uncomfortable I was with the word “colorblind.” The problem behind “colorblindness” is that whiteness creates the standard for normalcy, and because of this, “colorblindness” perpetuates the myth that “white culture” is superior.
I love my skin color and culture — speaking in Hindi, eating Indian food, and everything in between. As I started to learn more about my culture, I made more friends of color, and it wasn’t long before I learned I was not the only person of color who grew up wanting to be white. As I began embracing my culture, I started questioning why so many of us grew up hiding it.
Was it because Shirley Chisholm wasn’t taken seriously in 1972 when she was the first woman of color to run for president for a major party? Or was it because for 219 years, until President Obama was elected, the top tiers of power were held almost exclusively by white men? Growing up, I never had anyone that looked like me to look up to.
Until 2020.
When Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were officially projected as the winners of 2020 presidential election, I was sitting at an outdoor cafe in Georgetown. I shut my laptop and took the news in, hearing honks of happiness and cheering in the background. I had to hold back tears because, for the first time in my life, there was someone who looked like me in this high office. And it wouldn’t be the last.
Kamala Harris is a Black and South-Asian American Woman who has been elected as the Vice President of the United States of America. She represents all the women of color who were told “no” their whole lives. And whoever chooses to ignore her identity for the sake of being “colorblind” is choosing to ignore the experiences and struggles of every person of color.
Our color matters. Our representation matters. Our experiences matter.
Ever since Harris’ win, I have become prouder than ever in my skin. I walk around with a confidence I have never held before, with knowledge that I don’t need to hide any part of myself. I’ve finally accepted my identity, something I never thought I’d be able to do.
