“You’re definitely not black. At least, not African American black. And you’re not West Indian either. Whatever country is not in the West Indies.” “Maybe you can be fake West Indian. Or are you Indian? Mexican? Native American?” “Where’s Suriname? Africa?” My generation is the first in our family to be born in America. Both my parents were born in the smallest (and only Dutch-speaking) country in South America, of which I can assure you the majority of the population does not know exists. I was raised in the suburbs of Atlanta. My father was a black foreign man living in the south. The issue of race was always hovering. My mother, on the other hand, is extremely pale, but is of mixed descent. I can recall countless conversations with strangers when I was young and out with one parent, laughing and saying “Oh, your mom must be white,” or “You’re dad is black, right?” I’d just smile and nod, not thinking much of it. When I was young, I didn’t see race as much of an issue. It never posed a problem until middle school. When we began standardized testing, I could never identify as just black, and my mom couldn’t be considered white. Mixed was never an option. Friendships were no longer based on who you had the most fun with, but on your …show more content…
background, and the experiences that were expected to come along with it. Surinamese culture didn’t fit in anywhere. I was never black enough. I was never white enough. My classmates told me I was too “light-skinned” to be black, but to dark to be white.
I didn’t have the curl pattern of a black girl, and my hair was far too big and frizzy to be considered another race’s trait. No one knew exactly what group I belonged to, and that’s when they’d throw any ethnicity at me. Eritrean, Brazilian, Guyanese. I’d try to explain that I was Surinamese, but when no one had ever heard of the country, I’d give up and say it was “one of those three small countries at the top of South America. Next to Guyana.” Sometimes it’d ring a bell, but more often than not, people would just agree in hopes of moving on from a subject they’d lost interest in. No one wanted a history/geography lesson from a little
girl. My family moved to New York the summer before my freshman year. My father always spoke about how much more accepting Northerners were, but I only felt more disconnected. Everyone was so sure of their heritage - West Indian, Greek, West African, Croatian. The more I looked into my family tree and into Suriname’s history, the more confused I got. My father had a Chinese great-grandmother, my mom had a Jewish grandfather that no one knew much else about, and Suriname itself couldn’t be classified with the majorly Spanish-speaking South American countries or the West Indian traditions of its neighbors like Guyana or Trinidad. Suriname is a developing country - a mixture of many African, West African, Dutch, and Indonesian cultures still facing political corruption and economic instability. The country knows what it needs to do to better itself, but needs to make the right decisions to achieve its goals. I am still coming into myself. I’m beginning to find who I am and where I want to be, it’s now just about figuring out what it is I have to do to get there.
One of Beverly Tatum's major topics of discussion is racial identity. Racial identity is the meaning each of us has constructed or is constructing about what it means to be a white person or a person of color in a race-conscious society. (Tatum, pp Xvii) She talks about how many parents hesitate to talk to their children about racism because of embarrassment and the awkwardness of the subject. I agree with her when she says that parents don't want to talk about racism when they don't see a problem. They don't want to create fear or racism where none may exist. It is touchy subject because if not gone about right, you can perhaps steer someone the wrong way. Another theory she has on racial identity is that other people are the mirror in which we see ourselves. (tatum pp18) 'The parts of our identity that do capture our attention are those that other people notice, and that reflects back to us.'; (Tatum pp21) What she means by this is that what other people tell us we are like is what we believe. If you are told you are stupid enough you might start to question your intelligence. When people are searching for their identity normally the questions 'who am I now?'; 'Who was I before?'; and 'who will I become'; are the first that come to mind. When a person starts to answer these questions their answers will influence their beliefs, type of work, where they may live, partners, as well as morals. She also mentions an experiment where she asked her students to describe themselves in sixty seconds. Most used descriptive words like friendly, shy, intelligent, but students of color usually state there racial or ethnic group, while white students rarely, if ever mention that they are white. Women usually mention that they are female while males usually don't think to say that they are males. The same situation appeared to take place when the topic of religious beliefs came up. The Jewish students mentioned being Je...
My parents were proud of being African American Guyanese immigrants, and they often speak about their grandparents who were Portuguese, British, and from St. Vincent. My parent’s sibling didn’t all look alike and their ancestors didn’t either and I never once heard them speak badly about them being lighter or darker. In fact, my father would boast about having ancestors that are White, Spanish and Indian. Gaining a sense of ethnic and racialized self both worked in my favor and against me. I live in a neighborhood surrounded by many different ethnicity, nationalities, and race. Along the years it changed, less and less Caucasian people lived in the neighborhood. I was raised around people of many different racial identity and ethnicities, this allowed me to accept them because I was exposed as an adolescent. My parents shared friends of various races in which they spoke highly about and they never instilled in me that I shouldn’t accept a certain race. However, I wish they taught me how to deal with those that are not so accepting of African
When I was a sophomore in high school the first black family moved into a house just outside of Plymouth, where I grew up, and I recall my parents telling us that we should “stay away from their kind”. As a teenager I did not pay much attention, the children were younger than I was, I certainly did not have any reason to seek them out, so I didn’t. I do always remember that conversation with my parents, mostly because I did not quite understand why we should stay away from them. After graduation I moved to Appleton to attend school, this was my first personal experience with a person of color.... ... middle of paper ... ...
I wanted to wear brand clothes/shoes they did, I wanted to do my hair like them, and make good grades like them. I wanted to fit in. My cultural identify took a back seat. But it was not long before I felt black and white did not mix. I must have heard too many comments asking to speak Haitian or I do not look Haitian, but more than that, I am black, so I always had to answer question about my hair or why my nose is big, and that I talked white. This feeling carried on to high school because the questions never went away and the distance between me and them grew larger. There was not much action my family could take for those moments in my life, but shared their encounters or conversations to show me I was not alone in dealing with people of other background. I surrounded myself with less white people and more people of color and today, not much has
This cognizance really ensued when I first started work as an educational therapist in a residential placement for severely emotionally disturbed teenage girls. Being in such a arbitrary position of power was difficult enough with people who have issues with control and lack of respect from elders but I also happened to be the only male ever in this position at the facility and a "white guy" to boot. Ninety percent of my clients happened to be Latina or African American. This ethnic flash point did not initially bother me because of my lack of awareness of its existence and my naive determination that it was not important for my therapeutic and educational goals. However, of course I had not really considered at that time what being 'white' really entails in this society. Consideration of one's identity is obviously key to successful educational and therapeutic interventions but it took the actual experience of being what I call "white-washed" to make me realize that skin color may actually have something important to do with one's perceived identity.
One of the most destructive forces that is destroying young black people in America today is the common cultures wicked image of what an realistic black person is supposed to look like and how that person is supposed to act. African Americans have been struggling for equality since the birth of this land, and the war is very strong. Have you ever been in a situation where you were stereotyped against?
The narrator was unaware of his “colored” origin early on in his life. He was observant of his surroundings, but never...
As a kid, I didn’t understand what race meant or its implications. I was pretty much oblivious to it. Race meant getting some kids together and running a foot race. The one who made it to the end of the block won. I never felt that I was special because of my race. Nor did I feel discriminated against. Of course, I was sheltered from race and racism. I never knew any people of color because I grew up in an all-white, lower-to-middle-class blue-collar neighborhood. I never encountered someone of another race, and my parents made sure of it. I wasn’t allowed outside of our own neighborhood block, as my mother kept a strong leash on me. Not until I was much older did I wander outside the safety net of our all-white neighborhood.
Race has been a controversial issue throughout history and even more so today. The idea of race has contributed to the justifications of racial inequality and has led to the prejudice and discrimination of certain racial groups. Race and racism were constructed to disadvantage people of color and to maintain white power in America. Today, race has been the center of many political changes and actions that have affected people of color. The idea of race has played a role in how people from different racial groups interact amongst each other. Interactions within one’s own racial group are more common than interactions among other racial groups, at least in my own experiences. Therefore, because I have been positioned to surround myself with people from my own racial group since a very young age, I have internalized that being around my own racial group is a normal and natural occurrence.
What does it mean to be Black in America? Is a question that has been brought up frequently in my life. Being of a minority in a country that was founded on independence and freedom doesn’t really apply to me. Well, at least the independent and free part. We are forced to dress, talk, walk, act, perform a certain way that fits the way the majority wants us to. We are unable to live up to who we truly are, in fear that we wont be accepted or miss out on opportunities. To be black is seeking balance between being conscious of the events unfolding around you, while not allowing them to compromise your moral integrity and the way you carry yourself.
As far as I am concerned, moving to the United States has taught me a lot
One day I wake up and you are in a war and you are getting yelled at to come help fight, but the white person next to you is just standing there and not getting yelled at so you go fight and you get a gun to fight but it is a pistol and the other people have AR.
Wait. Be still. Don't go over the line. Don't let go. Wait for it. "BANG!" My reactions were precise as I sprung out of the blocks. The sun was beating down on my back as my feet clawed at the blistering, red turf. With every step I took, my toes sunk into the squishy, foul smelling surface, as my lungs grasped for air. Everything felt the way it should as I plunged toward my destination. I clutched the baton in my sweaty palms, promising myself not to let go. My long legs moved me as fast as I could go as I hugged the corner of the line like a little girl hugging her favorite teddy bear. The steps were just like I had practiced. As I came closer to my final steps, my stomach started twisting and my heart beat began to rise. The different colors of arrows started to pass under my feet, and I knew it was time.
Growing up in a multi-cultural nation, I occasionally experienced opposition from my own peers. One of my most profound moments occurred in my first year of school. There were very few people of color, but all I wanted was to be accepted by my classmates. As the
When I talk about my black heritage or culture as a whole I very often get shut down or laughed off with people telling me that “claiming to be partially black is rude and racist”, which I always found offensive considering I would never do or say that to anyone of any race. Because of this, growing up I usually just identified as a white Canadian and dined my other half. I lived this way for nearly 14 years of my life until one day while I was out with my dad, I took a street survey for coca cola when I was asked my race. I answered the same way I had for the past decade, caucasian. As I answered, I could see my fathers face go from happy to