Submitted by Caleb Norris
I don’t know how to write this. The amount of times that I’ve backspaced on my MacBook should be explanatory enough of how it’s just hard to articulate. How do I present a people group that society doesn’t really discuss? A whole new world, without magic carpets and exotic views, because it’s not black or white. It’s both.
I’ve always told people that I have the best of both worlds. At least inside my home, I did, but it’s the world where biracial people struggle. Growing up biracial in America, with a white dad and a black mom, provides me a perspective and worldview few will ever see — two different ways of doing church, two different ways of disciplining children, two different ways of cooking and two different ways of loving.
When I say my dad is white, I mean, like, white-white. I mean listens to Billy Joel constantly, wears jean shorts with white Nikes and white socks, drives a Ford F-150, responds to “what’s up?” with “chicken butt” and thinks ketchup is spicy. I don’t know how to describe my mother other than to say that she’s the spiritual version of Loretta Devine and Jennifer Lawrence combined — sweet yet firm, proud, with an amazing sense of nurturing. My parents’ love must have been the main theme of a 90s R&B song at one point. The radio in our Honda Odyssey typically would shift between Charlie Daniels, Prince, Hank Williams Jr., Patti LaBelle, Lynyrd Skynyrd and then Al Green. I loved every moment of it.
Now I know that at some point in life, we’ve all felt pretty insignificant. I remember taking standardized tests growing up and stopping on the first page for five minutes because I didn’t know what to bubble in — black, white, Asian, Latino, Native American or other. “I could select white, but is that a lie? I could select black? But am I really black? Or am I an ‘other’?”
It’s hard to know how to respond when people say things like: “You’re so white,” or “So what are you?” or “Let me guess, you’re Hawaiian? Puerto Rican? Brazilian? Phillipino? Arabian? Latino? Native American?” or “That’s so cool that you have a white dad,” or “I expected you to be able to dance since you are half-black,” or “You have such nice hair for a black person.”
How do you respond when you’re in high school and you ask a girl to homecoming, and she says yes, but then the next day she says no because her parents don’t want her dating or dancing with a “half-breed”? Or what should I say to the family of my little sister’s fiancé who tell him their children will be more prone to disease since he’s marrying a mixed girl?
These questions and comments are dehumanizing. They support racist ideologies that whites are superior; blacks are inferior; and if you’re both, well, society hasn’t quite figured out how to master that one yet. Because being biracial doesn’t really put me in one category, I end up on the cultural misfit island — like a returned clearance item that’s beat up and eventually tossed out because no one wanted it.
Most recently, when gathering signatures to run for vice president of Student Intercultural Programs, I had people ask questions like, “Shouldn’t you be all the way black to run?” or “Shouldn’t you at least be a foreigner?” It wasn’t until this most recent interaction that I actually began to think about what it means to be biracial.
I don’t mean to be dramatic when I say this (and yes, all of my above examples are real), but in a way, being mixed is being constantly on the fence. You’re white but not quite. You never actually feel a sense of belonging in most crowds. There is a constant internal tug of war — only you’re the rope, and the two big kids pulling on you are the stereotypes perpetuated by both people groups. To sum it up in a single sentence: No matter which culture you gravitate to, you experience a sense of cultural appropriation.
While being biracial may have you questioning your identity, you have privilege that those who are darker don’t have. The societal stereotypical view is that because you’re lighter, you’re a more sensible, kind, law-abiding individual than your darker counterparts. “But you can’t be all that black; I mean, you are half-white.” This translates to: “You can’t be all that bad; you’re half-good.”
Personally I feel a certain responsibility to gravitate to black culture, in a way, to counter my “inner white evil.” If I’m being truthful and candid, American history when told from a modern perspective doesn’t exactly make for a heroic and honorable dynasty for white people. Looking backward is painful for all parties. So to all of the white people reading this who struggle with white guilt, I feel an incredible amount myself — as if my own existence is the embodiment of colonization. These are internal issues and facets that I’ve only recently begun to flesh out. Because I refuse to be defined by the ideologies, ignorance and internal games of chess that the overlords of my mixed cultures would like to play, I smile. Because it’s not all that bad.
According to the Pew Research Center for Social & Demographic Trends, 1 in 100 children were born multiracial in the 1970s. The statistic was 1 in 10 as of 2013. The numbers are expected to increase as interracial marriage rates continue to increase as well, which I’m thankful for, since technically we’ve only legally been allowed to exist from married parents since the Loving v. Virginia case in 1967 (a mere 52 years).
Our minority within the minority will increase, and biracial people will understand that either side they gravitate toward is fine. They don’t have to fully understand one culture because who they are is enough. They don’t have to overcompensate or hide to make others around them more comfortable with their existence. Stepping outside of stereotypes and checked boxes frees all of us to do the same. Combining cultures, ethnicities, nationalities, languages, foods and music is a beautiful thing — a beautiful thing that I get to be a part of.
