The Black in Me

I am a mixed chick, and because of that racial identity has always been something I've struggled with.

Who am I? What category of people do I fit in to?

If we didn't have phrases like, 'acting white' or 'acting black', I'm sure it wouldn't matter much to me, but as our society is so focused on race and how it relates to our personalities and our lives, racial identity is often tied to our core.

I would like to say that race always matters, and it does if you're a person of color. When you're white, you have the privilege of not being burdened with thoughts about race. You are who you are, and your race is often invisible to others. You can be whatever you want. You can go pretty much anywhere, and feel like you belong, but for many of us that isn't the case.

For me, since I am a writer, I'm not just a writer. I'm a multicultural writer, meaning that I choose to write about more than just the white experience, and I do that because I know little to nothing about what it means to be white.

Of course the majority of books, TV, and film depict the white experience, so I know some in that sense. But my identity for much of my existence has more or less been tied to the black experience, and yes, I realize that I'm not black, but I really don't think that matters because as people of color, we should all be focused on the social hierarchy that exists in this country and that often places black lives at the bottom.

My grandfather was black, my mother is mixed. I grew up in south Atlanta, in a predominately black neighborhood. I experienced racism, poverty, and ill treatment firsthand because I was treated as someone who was black, and I saw myself as black, even though I am not.

And here is where it gets tricky, once I left my hometown for college and was confronted with the whiteness of the collegiate system, I came across many people; students, professors, who did not expect me to be black.

They wanted me to be something else.

They told me that acting like I was black would put me at a certain disadvantage my entire life, and that by claiming to be something else, anything else, I would be better off. That's pretty fucked up. And it was pretty hard for an 18-year-old to understand, but I did because I experienced it everyday.

I noticed the way white folks would look at me, judging me, asking me where I'm from. And if I were to say south Atlanta, I'd get the cold shoulder from most people I came in contact with, so I started saying California instead. I started telling people that I was mixed, and I would omit the fact that my grandfather was black, and you know where it got me? Absolutely nowhere, because people still saw me as different, as the 'other', not a whole person, not a complete person because I wasn't white.

But around that time, I was ashamed of the black in me because I let so many people's opinions dictate how I felt about myself. And it's hard because people will tell you that you're skin's too dark, or they'll say things like "you only got that scholarship because you're Latina," or they'll wonder why you're so articulate and they'll question your intelligence because someone who looks like me couldn't possibly be smart or hardworking.

I'm ashamed of the fact that I didn't own my blackness and that I was afraid of offending white people by mentioning it. I'm ashamed that I ever thought to omit a part of who I am, and in light of the intense amount of racial injustice taking place in parts all over this country, I just want to say that I'm proud of the black in me. I'm proud to be a person of color, despite the disadvantage that it puts me in.

Love,
Kris