No Longer Brown?

When I was in Hawaii a couple weeks back, I realized something: I'm not brown, anymore.

In fact, I haven't been brown for the last 10-plus years.

But I used to be.

See - I grew up in California (SF Bay Area). Through most of my years there, I wore shorts and a t-shirt (even when the weather should have prevented me from doing so). I was on a swim team in the summer. I was exposed to the sun on a very regular basis. And, as a result, I was brown.

And when I say "brown," I mean brown. Brown-skinned. Not tan or darker-than-pale. Brown like folks that refer to themselves as brown look.

Then I moved out of California (to Michigan, first; eventually to Portland), and my brown days came to an end. I remember my shock the first time I got flat sunburnt when I came back to California one summer. Since I had never been pale enough to burn as a kid, I didn't ever think about sunscreen. So when my pale-ass came out of a Michigan winter to hang out at the beach in California, I went up like a torch. And it absolutely shocked me.

I remember thinking, "but I don't sunburn." It took me forever to realize the obvious: that being bundled up and out of sunlight for many months had caused me to turn pale. And pale skin is not equipped to handle large quantities of sunlight naturally.

Now I've become used to it. I wear sunscreen during the summer or am very conscious about my exposure. In Hawaii, I was doubly-conscious. I do get tan during the summer now, but in Hawaii, I realized how far from brown I end up these days, even in the summer. And it was an interesting thought.

Because, in many ways, I am much more consciously brown, in terms of political orientation, identity, and lifestyle now than I was as a child. It's been more or less a perfect inverse correlation - as my skin-tone got lighter, my mentality got darker.

Seems strange, at first, but it makes perfect sense when given a bit of analysis: as a kid, when I was actually brown-skinned, I lived in a place where other people like me were (relatively) common. I didn't stand out so much. My friends spanned a number of shades, my mix wasn't particularly shocking - I didn't really have to worry about it to a large degree (obviously, I never fully fit in, either, but it wasn't so blatant in the Bay).

So - as I began to spend time (and formative, conscious-raising years) in climes and regions where the overall skin-tone was pale, I found myself standing out more. I was very regularly "the only one" that looked like me. I didn't know people with common experiences of identity. People's understanding of race and "otherness" was a little less sophisticated. And so, as the sunlight left me, so did my ability to just "let things go" and feel comfortable.

I became more and more dependent upon the media to find people that represented me (and we know how that all ended up) as real-life representations ceased to exist. I became more and more conscious of my real place in the world.

And so here I stand: no longer any darker than "tan" in skin-tone, but "brown" in mentality. Maybe it's some weird yin-yang balance thing for mixed folks like me: the white and the non-white side must be in balance, somehow. So my skin must be paler if my mind is going to get darker, or else my whole life-force will get too out of whack.

It's not completely crazy: because I was at my most unbalanced (mentally) during those first few years of transition; the years when my skin-tone lost its pigmentation, but I wasn't conscious enough to fully understand what was happening to me (and around me). As a kid - when my skin was darker - I was relatively happy and what-not with some folks like me around, while still taking little issue with the general white world around me. Now, I am relatively happy and what-not with my mind darker - but more focused - and my skin lighter.

Maybe I'm on to something here. Maybe if I moved to Hawaii, I would have to lose a little bit of my political edge to compensate for my darkening skin. Maybe if I moved to the Arctic, I would have to become militant to handle permanently-pale skin. Who knows?

You readers will have to tell me - do I chill out a little bit on the rage during the summer months? Are there other instances of skin-mind color-balancing for the other mixed folks out there?

And what would ever happen if I were to artificially tan?! Now there's a thought-experiment for the ages . . .

* No, I don't actually think it works like that, by the way.

Me, a Role Model?

When I think about what my future kids might be like - in terms of their racial identity - if I were to marry a white woman, I often think back to a student of mine:

Three years ago, this student joined my school as a 6th grader, we'll call him "S." From appearances alone, he seemed white - light skin, blue-grey eyes, general "white" features. He hung out with all white kids, and he identified as white when it came up (which was seldom, because it seemed so obvious). However, I was surprised to learn that he was a quarter Japanese when he mentioned that his mother was half-Japanese during a conversation when students were talking about my racial/ethnic background.

S. and I established a pretty good relationship over the year, one of mutual respect (as far as that goes in middle school), and he seemed to trust me. So, one day, he comes up to me at the beginning of the school day to ask me what a word meant. I didn't understand when he said it, but it was clearly a vaguely Asian-sounding word, so I asked him where he had heard it. He said, "some gook said it to me on my way to school."

I had a little record-scratch moment, and I said, "Do you know what you just said?" And I saw this look of confusion on his face, as he realized that I wasn't so happy about it. But he didn't understand - he thought I was referring to the "Chinese" word he had asked me to translate. And so I found myself explaining to a quarter-Asian kid why he shouldn't refer to other Asian folks as "gooks."

And I thought to myself: that's how disconnected from his Asian identity this kid is. And that is how it would be for my kid. I thought this story would end there.

But it didn't. It's three years later now. S. still goes to my school, but he's an 8th grader now, about to head on to high school. We've know each other for three years, and I have watched him grow, and we have established a really positive relationship (he recently said he's going to be a math teacher when he's older). He's often been in classes where I've talked about race, and my own background, etc.

So - the other day, he's sitting at a table playing dominoes with a bunch of kids in class (dominoes is probably one of the best games for having kids practice basic math skills without the kids realizing it), and he jokes with one of his friends, "Hey - are you lonely at this table because you're the only black kid?"

The other kid laughs it off and S. says, "I'm just kidding. Besides, I'm the only Asian kid at the table. But I'm not alone, because - insert the CVT's real name - is here."

I didn't say anything. I was caught too off guard. At this point, I always have something to say when race comes up in class, but this time - nothing. I just looked at S. And thought back to three years ago. And smiled.

Because S. claimed his identity so casually - yet clearly - right in front of my eyes. He claimed an identity that is an overwhelming minority at the school I teach (and in the area where these kids live). He claimed the identity of a race that is commonly ridiculed and mocked by the kids and adults that he is exposed to regularly. And he did it proudly.

And I can't help but feel an extreme sense of satisfaction about that. I definitely can't claim sole responsibility for this change (I'd hope his mom played a major part), but I don't really think it's a coincidence, either. I feel that my presence and way of being in the classroom and willingness to talk about my own identity must have had some influence on him. I'd like to think that the respect I've earned from the kids I teach - while simultaneously proclaiming my Asian-ness - has made "Asian" less foreign to them. A little bit less "other." More acceptable.

Maybe even something for those few with Asian blood to be proud of.

I've tried my best to be a positive, conscious racial (and otherwise) role model for the kids, and I think I mostly achieve that.

But I never saw this coming. I never expected to see S. identify himself as "Asian." And I never would have expected those around him to accept that so easily (not one kid said, "no you aren't" or "what are you talking about?").

Which makes me have to ask the question: if that's what happened with one of my students, what would it be like for my own kid?

Sometimes the world changes, and it starts like any other day.

Of course, this is by no means the end-all, be-all moment. He might change his mind in the future. He might never claim his Asian-ness outside of my classroom. My students probably think of me as "the exception" to the "Asian rules." Or maybe I reinforce them, somehow.

Be that as it may - I got to see a kid and his relationship to his own racial identity change (in what I believe to be a positive way). And I played a role in it. And no matter what else happens, that fact remains.

And it feels good.

And it gives me some hope for my kids (if they ever exist) - no matter the background of their mother.

And that's kind of reassuring.

On Being Asian

So what the Hell does it really mean to "be Asian"? Honestly?

I just came back from a meeting with one of the main organizers for an Asian-American youth conference - the ONLY Asian-American youth conference in this city - and it brought up a lot of different thoughts and insecurities for me.

My part in this meeting was to basically take over the operations and planning for the small-group workshops at this conference, as well as a number of other details that play a large role in the overall picture of this conference for high school students. And I went into it full of confidence because I have a lot of experience working with kids as a teacher, and also as a facilitator (which is the role I would be in for this conference). No big deal, I thought. I'm Asian, my identity is important to me, and I have no problem facilitating activities and discussions with kids of all backgrounds.

Seemed simple, right?

Not really. Because this meeting reminded me of something that I am always aware of, but that doesn't play a large part in my life: "Asian" can mean so many different things. "Asian-American" can mean even more. It can be people with Indian, Japanese, Chinese, Malaysian, Mongolian, or Eastern Russian backgrounds. It can be first-generation, second-generation and beyond. It can mean all sorts of mixes with all sorts of other races. It can encompass overachieving "model minorities" and "at-risk," gang-affected youth. It can mean me. And it can mean kids with backgrounds and experiences totally different from me.

And that's the funny thing - because I feel like I'm pretty damn good working with kids of all sorts of backgrounds. I can reach out and establish relationships with white kids, black kids, Latino kids . . . all no matter their economic background. And I do it all the time - that's what I do for a living.

But the fact of the matter is - ironically enough - that I have never worked with a large population of just Asian kids. Never.

And I suddenly found myself wondering if I can connect. If all my ideas and plans that work so well for all the other youth I work with would work as well with this group of kids. And I know - logically - it shouldn't make any difference. It shouldn't. But, somehow, it does.

Because I've always had a strange relationship with my Asian-ness. In school, I was accused of being the "Asian sell-out" at times. It really bothers me that I don't speak Chinese. It bothers me that I've never been to China and don't carry out many "Chinese" traditions. I wonder how "Asian" I really am.

Because, in some ways, I identify more with brown hip-hop culture than Asian-American culture. I know more about indie-rock than I do about Malaysian, Thai, or Korean culture, for that matter. My upbringing was far from "traditional," and I love exploding Asian stereotypes that many Asian communities like to uphold (in regards to academic success and expectations, more quiet, passive demeanor). And I wonder how much I can really represent these kids whose conference I'm about to shape.

In my gut, of course, I realize that nobody - no matter how "Asian" they are - can really represent the hundreds of kids that will be there because "Asian-American" is such a broad category. A first-generation Vietnamese girl who grew up struggling with poverty will share little with a third-generation Japanese male who grew up upper-middle-class. Neither of them can be represented by a recent Indian immigrant. And that is part of the farce that is "Asian-American." That is being "Asian" at all. A quasi-racial category that spans such disparate ethnicities and cultures and religions - and yet is still accepted as a valid way to categorize people - by other races and "Asian" folks, themselves.

It's so ridiculous. To the point that it is practically a crime. Of course, we all know how seriously the dominant white culture takes crimes against other cultures, so I won't hold my breath waiting for a response.

And so I realize that my specific background is not that important when it comes to being part of this conference's organization. I identify with being "Asian" to a degree, and my confusion as to exactly what degree and how connected I am to that broad category only makes me more like all the other "Asian-Americans" out there (I presume). Which makes me perfectly suited (and qualified) to lead it.

And so I will. Because I'm Asian, and I think talking and thinking about all of these things is important. And that's that.

* On a sad (but not surprising) note - I learned that the budget for this conference is significantly lower than that of the African-American and Latino/a youth conferences in this city. Once again, I am faced with the sad fact that such a broadly-identified community either cannot or will not come together to try to effect change on a larger level. So many thoughts run through my head about the how and why (culturally, logistically, etc.), but the fact remains that - if I want to see something done right, it looks like I'm going to have to do it myself.

On the Right to Claim One's Own Identity

It seems appropriate that I found the picture for this post on a police site in reference to "identity theft." Obviously, they meant it in terms of fraudulently using another person's information to steal, whereas this post is about race - but is there really that much difference in how people see it?

As a bi-racial person that walks in the "gray area" between races, I have elected to choose how I identify myself, racially, based on my various experiences and how my life has played out as a result of those experiences. On a general level, I call myself, simply "mixed." Being more specific, I will tell people I am "bi-racial, with a white dad and Chinese mother." If really pressed on the issue to decide my final word on my racial identity: I am a mixed-race Asian-American.

Just to clarify - that last "identity" I wrote up there? That's one thing. It's a specific racial experience. The "mixed" part of it speaks to my physical ambiguity and the subsequent variations in racial treatment I have received from others. The "Asian-American" part of it speaks to my specific cultural connection to my Chinese side (and my subsequent "priority" of representing and bringing up Asian-Americans in this country). Put it together, and that's what I am.

Because, of course, neither one on its own fully speaks to who I am/what my experience has been. I'm mixed/bi-racial, but so is Barack Obama, and I would hesitate to say that we share a whole lot in terms of racial experiences. Sure, we could probably have a nice chat about the "gray area" and all that, but there would be a huge piece lacking for both of us in that conversation. And that's where the included "Asian-American" aspect comes in. Because that's what changes the experience from a generalized "mixed" blanket (which is so very wide) to my more specific situation.

And there have been debates upon debates in the media and elsewhere about this: is Obama "black" or "bi-racial"? All I can say to this is - obviously, all the people having this "debate" (I'd argue that it's pretty one-sided by both parties) are no mixed or bi-racial. Because there is no debate at all - he's a bi-racial black man. Period.

This "one or the other" crap is so decidedly mono-racial and close-minded. It again illustrates how hard it is for people to believe in or trust an experience different from their own. Mono-racial white folks think that this claim denigrates Obama's white mother. Mono-racial black folks think his claims to bi-raciality are "selling out." As a result, both sides mistrust his "intentions" in the claims he makes. All I can say to those folks is: yours is not the only racial experience. There is so much more out there that you have no clue about, and I respectfully ask you to open your eyes and mind to other possibilities.

Because Obama has clearly paid respect to his white side. And he has equally made clear that he is aware - personally - of the black experience and means to do something about that. It's not one or the other. It's both. That's the beauty of those of us in the middle - we have no need to "play sides" or "have it both ways" because we can't. We're equally of both sides and fully neither at the same time.

It never fails to blow my mind how often mono-racial people (of any race) like to try to tell me how I should identify. Those very same anti-racists that would tell others never to assume or pretend that they "know" what another racial experience is like are the same ones who - often - tell me "what I am." Nobody wants to claim us mixed folks until it's convenient - and to that, I say, "back off."*

Now, am I arguing that anybody can choose to identify themselves however they want, racially? Hell no. I had a conversation with a white friend once, and he asked me how I thought of myself, racially, so I replied, "Well, I definitely don't consider myself 'white.'" To that he responded, "I totally know what you mean - I don't consider myself white, either." Record-scratch - WHAT!!!???

If you're white, you're white. I don't care how many different "mixes" of European ancestry you have - you're still "white." If you live and breathe white privilege, it's not okay to take that privilege one step further to try to take on a different race. There is white culture, and just because it's not "exotic" enough for some people doesn't give them a right to steal other ones.

Whoo! And that general rule applies to everybody else - if an ethnicity isn't in your blood, then you can't claim it. I've been thought to be Latino many times - but I sure as Hell wouldn't claim to be Latino, even if that was the majority of my experience. I blend in with native Hawaiians and some Native American tribes more so than my actual racial precursors, but that doesn't make it mine.

So - racial claims must be rooted in blood and experience. It is an insult to all people of color to think it works otherwise. Stealing is no way to respect another way of being.

And so we bring it back full-circle to the issue of identity theft - in short, if it's not yours, don't claim it. If you have to make a circuitous argument to back a racial claim, then - likely - it's not yours to claim. As for us mixed folks - as our mixed-blood dictates, we are a combination of racial experiences, so let's just put an end to non-mixed claims to the contrary right now, okay?

Okay. Thanks.

* I'd actually use more choice words, but I'm feeling "teacherly" right now and don't feel that swearing is appropriate.

On the Gray Area in Between

And so we continue to slug away at the identity of this particular mixed kid.* So we've knocked off the white side. Took care of the Chinese side. So that leaves us right here: somewhere in between. Somewhere hazy and non-concrete. Somewhere with no easily-attributable label. Somewhere that makes A LOT of people (generally mono-racial folks) uncomfortable.

For me, though? This is just the path I walk.

So what is this "gray area" all about? The first aspect of it is this strange situation where I find myself coming from two races - white and Chinese - without really being part of either of them. My life and experiences have not been truly either one. So that leaves confusion in its wake. At least to those that have never walked this path. It's the path of a permanent "other." The path of somebody who knows that there is nobody out there (racially, at least) waiting to claim him.

It gets lonely, sure. Hawaii has the largest population of mixed folks, at 24%. That's the largest population. So the best I could hope for in my life is to walk around and have one out of four people share my general physical appearance. To me, that actually seems like a ridiculously high number, but the fact that it feels that way is equally ridiculous.** And a bit sad.

I had a black friend who went on a trip to Senegal. When he came back, he was just beaming. Telling everybody about it, showing pictures, and urging all his friends of color to go visit a place where "everybody looks like them" because it was the best feeling imaginable. It's also a feeling I can't have.

So is the gray area just a place of self-pity and loneliness? Not at all.

No. Because walking the gray area of race has given me a perspective on race that other people can never have. I have seen race, smelled it, heard it, tasted it, and felt it from all angles. Primarily white and Asian, of course, but also - due to my ambiguous features - a bit of Native American, Latino, Pacific Islander. A few times, I even was thought to be (and treated as) part-black.

And that range of experience has led me to lay claim to a wider swathe of humanity. I think it's made it easier for me to actually listen to people. To connect with people of all different types, persuasions, and experiences. I don't get as caught up in one singular issue of oppression at the expense of all others - because I live in the gray area. In the gray area, it all affects me. In the gray area lie connections - and I sit here, following all these strings to see how everything is tied together.

Other people haven't been blessed with the opportunity to see it this way - and so I often see people of color who only know, and care about, the experience of their own race. They talk about fighting oppression, but what they mean is that they want to fight against oppression against THEM. Not everybody. They accept allies as long as the allies will fight the battles they choose for them. And they are closed to taking on their allies' battles, as well. It makes sense to me. I get it. But I just wish they could walk in the gray area for a minute to see why they should just cut that out. And if white people could walk in the gray area? Celebrate the end of white privilege and institutional racism.

And I have been lucky to walk in a gray area that includes two different nationalities and cultures. From childhood, I have known how to walk respectfully in two very different cultural worlds. I have had the opportunity to take the good from each and bring them together in myself. I have respect for my elders - and the wisdom experience has brought them. But I also do not fear to actively make my life happen. I understand what it is to be a foreigner - from two sides.

It is the gray area and my comfort with being of two cultures that made me get along so well living in Tanzania. It was so easy for me to figure out "how it is" there, and people were telling me that I had "become Tanzanian" long before I had to leave. That seemed like a result of immersion alone until I started opening my eyes to other expats in the country. Even those that were trying so hard (all white folks, but I think that was not necessarily a reflection of race - just who happened to go there) had hang-ups. Had struggles with concepts and cultural norms that they just "couldn't get."

The gray area helps me as a teacher. Again - it is easy for me to connect to people, to find a level of ground that we share, so my kids trust me. They don't consider me as taking any particular side. My racial "otherness" enables kids of every race to connect to me on that level, as well. And regarding middle schoolers, in general, my life of being an "outsider" to some level or other helps me easily understand their constant insecurity.

So is this gray area a universal place for mixed people? I doubt it. That's the other interesting thing about being mixed. Although there are plenty of shared experiences between myself and other bi-racial people, it ranges wide, depending on the races involved, our coloring and appearance, etc. And then there are the multi-racial folks who walk in an even broader gray area than we limited bi-racial 'tweeners.

Who else walks in the gray area? My answer will rely a bit on conjecture, but American immigrants are definitely here. I have bonded with many non-white immigrants over the bi-cultural experience and not fully identifying with either side (once they've been here for a while). My mom is very Americanized, and that has had her step a bit in the gray area. I would imagine homosexual folks (both genders) walk in the gray area at times - as they likely do not gain full acceptance (often) from people of their own race because of their choice of partners. American Jews also walk that gray area a bit - being accorded levels of white privilege, yet still being mindlessly stereotyped, hated, and left out of Christian America. I'm sure there are others (and I would like to hear stories of my readers' "gray areas"), but I'll leave it at that for now.***

So - I'm not truly alone here. In fact, in a way, walking the gray area expands my world to be more inclusive. And I kind of like that. It gives me a quiet confidence in the company of strangers. It enables me to walk in the world with my head held high. Because I know exactly where I stand:

Right here. In the gray area between racial understanding. I hope you all get to join me sometime.

* For some reason, I still tend to refer to myself as a "kid," even though I'm - what some have called - a "grown-ass man." That's probably some psychological fodder for some people to play with.

** When I spent a week in Honolulu last spring, I felt like I could relax and blend IN for the first time in years. I can't even begin to explain that feeling.

*** I know there's all sorts of you readers out there - but you're not commenting! Come on - join in the fun. Get your piece in and start a conversation. I'd love to hear some outside takes on all this.

On Not Being Chinese

So. We've established that I am not white. Good for me, right? Which brings the follow-up question for a bi-racial (white/Chinese) guy - then am I Chinese?

The short answer? No.

Now let's get into the long answer.

We'll start off by handling semantics real quick. Obviously, being born in the U.S., I can't possibly be literally Chinese. Therefore, for the sake of expedience, when I say "Chinese," I actually mean "Chinese-American."

By blood, then, I am Chinese. My mom was born in China. That makes my blood (half of it) Chinese. But, as I argued with my "Not White" post, we all know that blood doesn't really have that much say in regards to race in this country. A large part of it is experience, and that's where my answer lies.

Granted, I grew up with some Chinese influence. My grandmother tried to teach my brother and I to read and write Chinese (to my knowledge - it was a long time ago - Mandarin, although my family is from Shanghai). For most of my conscious life, my grandparents lived in Oakland Chinatown, where we would visit them somewhat regularly. My grandmother taught Tai-Chi and I was given her sword after her death. As she got older, my grandma would forget that I didn't speak Chinese and would hold "conversations" with me in Chinese (I think Shanghai-ese). At home, we ate tons of rice and used chopsticks relatively often. I got somewhat used to seeing "strange" things eaten around me (although, I was mostly picky about eating the same).

There's a little bit more to it, but not a whole lot. Because I mainly grew up in white American culture. My schools were largely white (although, being the Bay Area, there was still a decent number of Asian - mostly Chinese - folks around). My friends - when I was little - were mostly white. It wasn't until I grew older that my circle of friends stopped being so dominated by white kids. My home life was mostly a white way of life with a dash of rice, soy sauce, and chopsticks. I failed to learn to read or write Chinese characters, and I never learned the language (any dialect thereof).

So many of the experiences that tend to connect a person to some sort of true "Chinese-ness" were denied me. My appearance didn't really help, either, as - to full-blood Chinese folks - I didn't look "Chinese" at all. My grandmother's friends would often question her about me and my brother when we were in Chinatown. I always felt tall and white while visiting her. Early on (this was before my conscious memories), my grandmother referred to me and my brother as "the shame of the family" because of our mix.*

Due to this, I have never felt fully connected to my Chinese blood. I have found myself trying, in recent years, to bridge that gap, but it is difficult.** Because of my ambiguous look (I'm just as likely to be thought of as a number of other races other than Asian - let alone Chinese), I've never been fully accepted by "real" Chinese. Sure, I can connect on some levels, but there are a number of ways that I am the "third-rate Asian sell-out" that some Asian kids at my high school accused me of being. I'm working to remedy that, but it's not so easy to do, considering my background.

And so, when thinking about my Chinese-ness, it really comes to the culture. I am not white from experiences generally based on my physical traits and how that makes people interact with me. But, with my Chinese side, I feel "not Chinese" because of my limited connection to Chinese (and now I'm talking more of "true" Chinese and not just "Chinese-American") culture. I think the lack of language plays a HUGE part of that (as I strongly believe no true understanding of a people can take place without being able to speak their language fluently).***

I also think my visual disconnect in appearance greatly contributed to my internal disconnect. Since I felt like I didn't "look Chinese,"**** since I so often was mistaken for something else, since I received numerous messages telling me I wasn't "really Chinese" - it all led to me not embracing it as my own. To keeping distance between myself and a full effort to incorporate Chinese culture into my way of being. And that created a "vicious circle" situation that fed upon itself.

And so only after my Chinese grandmother's death (she was the last of my grandparents) did I make the conscious decision to start becoming "more Chinese." To start really making Chinese culture part of who I am on a more "real" level. Now, I actually know a little bit of what Chinese New Year is about - and I celebrate it in a way I never did as a kid. Again - I'm learning the language and planning on living in China sometime soon (within the next year or two). I've considered learning a Chinese martial art.***** And I believe that if I follow through on all these things, I may actually become more Chinese. Not fully - not ever can I be fully Chinese, due to my mix - but much more than I am now.

And I am excited for that prospect. To understand that half of myself and my family in a way that I never have before. To honor that side. And, as I am somebody who follows through on things once I've made a decision, it will happen.

But - until then - I'm not quite Chinese, either. More Chinese than white, for sure - but still with a lot further to go.

* She got over it, becoming fiercely proud of our accomplishments in later life. I think the fact that all of my married cousins have white spouses contributed to that.

** Finally trying to learn Chinese (Mandarin, simply because that makes the most sense), planning a long-term visit to China, etc.

*** When living in Tanzania, it was the mastery of Swahili that made my mind switch into "Tanzania-mode." Automatically using various turns-of-phrase and expressions and exclamations changed not only how I spoke, but how I looked out into the world. I still find myself slipping back into a "Tanzania mind-set" when I speak (or, much more often) write or read Swahili. And yes, I am fully aware of the irony that I speak Swahili fluently, but am barely a beginner in Chinese - that's for another day.

**** Personally, I feel like I look more Japanese in terms of body-build and overall facial appearance (especially when I have my quasi-facial hair going).

***** I told Ah-Boo (my grandmother) once that I was going to start learning Tai-Chi, and she responded with shock, "Why would you do that!? Tai-Chi is for old people!" And that effectively ended my Tai-Chi drive (once I'm much older, though, I plan on returning to it).

On Not Being White

I am not white.* Nope. Not so much. This is something I've known (to some degree or another) since early childhood. Something that I am glad for (not trying to bash white folks here, just saying) and something that has caused some grief, at times.

However, I recently got involved in an online discussion about bi-racial folks (in the context of Obama) not "claiming" their white side - and there were those that argued that mixed (white and non-white) kids are "just as much white" as the race of their non-white parent. I would like to, respectfully, disagree.

Now, obviously, my inheritance - literally - is as equally white (from my father) as Chinese (from my mother).** No question there, and I'm not going to argue against that. So, if we're talking about blood, then - sure - that's the case.

Problem is, blood doesn't really have a lot to do with race in America (or outside, either). Plenty of science refuting claims of "race" being genetically traceable is out there, so most of us won't argue that blood and genetics don't physically make up race. When we talk about "race," we're talking about what somebody looks like, and that is not strictly linked to genetic background.

More importantly, race in America is an experience. Although it's great to say "other people should have no say in how a person identifies," that is not realistic. My EXPERIENCES (not me, personally, but my specific experiences) are based on how people perceive me. If somebody treats me as Latino, for instance, it really doesn't matter what my actual background is - because, for the duration of that EXPERIENCE, I will bear the brunt of Latino stereotypes (for good or bad). Now, those experiences certainly don't MAKE ME Latino (and give me no right to claim that heritage), but they give me a taste - one moment - of Latino racial experience, which then goes on to color (literally) how I walk in the world.

So -as somebody who has never been treated as white by other people - I have had little of the white racial experience. Thus, that part of the world has been largely locked out from me, in spite of my father's background.

Of course, racial experience is also built on a continuum of privilege in this country, which is more of a cultural phenomenon than anything else. All those arguing that there is no white American "culture" are deluded - white American culture is walking through the world with the privilege that comes with it. Class plays into it, of course - few poor white Americans are going to feel very "privileged," but they still have the privilege of physical representation. They don't have to seek out white faces in the media, in power. White folks will never have to try to find "their channel" or "their radio station" and fall short, frustrated. They won't ask why the books they read and the movies they watch don't have major characters that look like them. They may not be represented in a number of other ways, but - racially, physically - that's one major source of stress that won't hit them on a nation-wide level.

So, as far as white culture goes, where do I fall? To some extent, I have been a recipient of the pleasures of white privilege. My parents met in college, a bastion of white privilege (no matter what people argue). My father's successes in life were helped along by the fact of white privilege (sure, he worked hard as Hell, but he got higher than he may have otherwise without white privilege), and those successes trickled down to me in terms of (relative) financial stability. That stability gained me entrance into the white privilege of being college-educated. My steady exposure to white culture growing up enabled me to be able to master standardized tests to be academically successful, etc.

However, my experience was one of a fish-out-of-water, racially. One of my first real fights in school was with a white kid who told me to "go back to where you came from." As a child, kids told me to "speak Asian".*** When I was good at math, it wasn't because I worked hard, it was because "I was Asian." Playing football, I watched other Asian teammates stop playing; when I was really good at it, it was as a racial exception. In college, people assumed that I must be an Engineer or math major. People constantly asked me, "what are you?"

I was lucky enough to grow up in the SF Bay Area, so - although my high school was predominantly white - I was able to surround myself with a racially diverse group of friends (RIDICULOUSLY so, as I mentioned before - almost every skin-tone represented). I was comfortable in that social group in my school not because I "felt white" but because I didn't stand out, racially, with them.

When I lived in Tanzania for a year and a half, I was called out as "Mchina" ("Chinaman," more or less) in distinct counterpoint to the other ex-pats, who were called "Mzungu" ("white person"). I had to explain that I was still American, even though I was so obviously "Chinese" to them.****

And then I moved to Portland, Oregon. At last count (2003, I think), Portland was the whitest city in the U.S. (in terms of "major" U.S. cities). And it's pretty obvious if you stay here for a little bit. It's also ridiculously segregated. So here, above all other places I've been, my non-white-ness has stood out. I am ALWAYS the only mixed person in a room. Generally, the only person with Asian blood. Mostly, the only non-white person.

And Portland is so "liberal," so it stands out even more. When I hear people talk about "diversity" and see no other non-white people around. When I watch liberal white folks appropriate all sorts of different aspects of different non-white cultures without even thinking about it. When, working at a "liberal, progressive" non-profit, I have been mistaken for the other Asian employee multiple times.

And, oddly enough, I am thought to be Latino (specifically, Mexican) here more often than any other race or ethnicity. I have had random (white) strangers speak to me slowly in English, asking if I speak Spanish (and if you ever saw me in person, you would immediately understand how ridiculous this is). I've had Latin@ students bond and connect with me and then become shocked when they hear my actual racial background.

So here, more than any other place, my non-white racial identity has grown. Grown to encompass more than Chinese and Asian culture, but a more generalized "mixed," and - sometimes - "brown." This is where my politicized racial self has been mostly formed - in direct response to the naive, "liberal" whiteness I see all around me.

I can walk into a room of people of color (of any racial background) and relax my shoulders, instantly understood on a certain level - no matter the other variables that would have us be different. When I walk in a room of white people, no matter other commonalities, I don't fully belong. I get ready to hear something that's going to make me cringe.

And so - I am not equally "white" and "Chinese." In fact, I am more "non-white" than I am Chinese, in some ways (that's for another post). That is the fact of this particular bi-racial experience. And it may not be other people's experiences, but I have a feeling that - in this country - it largely is for other mixed folks with white blood.

So - what does it all mean? Where do we go from here? Nowhere specific. Just a place of better understanding. Somewhere where white folks will be able to understand why there's an automatic barrier between us (at the beginning) even though my father is white. And why my lack of claim to "whiteness" is neither self-hate nor some sort of "reverse-racism." Nor is it a denial.

For I fully acknowledge my white inheritance. I rooted for Russia in EuroCup this year. I celebrate St. Patrick's Day. And I love my father and would accept no substitute.

I'm just "not white."


* My skin-tone is closer to "russet" (bordering on "henna") in the summer months, fading to "sweet honey" or "creme caramel" in the dark winters, for those interested.

** A simplistic look, but we don't need a genetics discussion here.

*** I had a routine with one white friend in elementary school where I would make up all sorts of sounds and tell him I was speaking Chinese (although I knew almost none), and he totally bought it. I would say something in my made up language, and then translate it into English for him. When he had me do it for his mom, I thought my cover was about to be blown . . . but she bought it, too.

**** Interestingly enough - in Tanzania I showed some kids a National Geographic that had an article on Mexico. When the kids saw the pictures, they shouted out "Mchina" and pointed at a photo of a Mexican man. Since they had no experience with Latin@ people, non-white folks with black hair were automatically "Chinese" (which more or less stood in for all Asians).