My Life as a Mixed Race Person While Supporting the BLM Movement Pt. 1

The first Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s set the ground work for needed racial change. Sadly, it did not change as much as we hoped when it comes to how people of color, no matter what that color is, are accepted. One thing that did change was the removal of the law saying that people of color could not marry outside their race. This was thanks to the Lovings in 1967. Nine years later my own parents got married, and in the 1980s, they had me. But while all of this was legal, society was not, and still does not know what to think or do with multiracial/mixed race people, especially ones who are part black.

Through most of my K-12 years of school, I was the only non-monoracial person around. At least the only self-proclaimed one. Probably didn’t help that until I was almost 13 I lived in Bel Air, CA. No, not the side talked about in the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. For people who don’t know, there’s an East and West side to Bel Air. The huge estates, like the Playboy Mansion, are on the East Side. Where my 3000sqft house was was on the West Side. Nothing to sneeze at, and I knew I was very fortunate to be there. But I never saw anyone like me. I was raised with White, Asian (all East Asians at that) and Jewish people. So, I associated myself from a young age as as…White. It wasn’t until later in life that I accepted and now love being multiracial.

My parents are boomers, so there’s a huge gap in age and mindset between us, well mainly my mother. My mother is black mixed, dark complexion and proud to be an East Coast, Christian black woman. Except, years later, after we reconnected in my 30s, she admitted even she never fit in with her black family or black community. She was constantly told she was too proper, too educated, too “white washed”. Made sense she ran off to Los Angeles and married my father. He is a geeky, extremely non-politically correct, Masters in electronics and engineering wielding, street car racing, tech loving white guy who had never set foot in a church until her. Talk about opposites in every way. But they married anyway and had me. And there’s where the real trouble started, at least for me.

In my entire 30 something years on this earth I’ve never been accepted by Black people. I’ve tried time and time again, no luck, be it in school, through events or online (online tends to be the worst because of the mighty keyboard warriors). I’m too white to be one of them, but tan skinned to be white passing. I did the DNA tests, and it turns out my mother was part South Asian. Yup, seems one of her grandparents was at least half or even whole and hid it. Keep in mind not all slaves in America were African. Also, it was interesting that my DNA was coming up way more European than anything else. Turned out we had proof one of my great-great-grandmothers was a willing mistress to her slave owner. She could read, write and had photos taken with the father of the kids! Shows how high up there she was for the 1800s. Either way, my mother’s family hated these facts. Then she willingly married a White man, and the child came out more like her father than her mother. It was like my very existence was an attack on them, and I found out how they felt pretty early on.

People talk about the racial backlash that’s going on right now. I know I have some luck in how I look. But it’s a double-edged sword. At the last family function with my mother’s family when I was 8, it was over 100+ people in a very large house in Ohio. I was the only lighter skinned person in that house. All of my cousins and their parents were dark. I knew there was a difference, but I didn’t know what it meant, but I quickly found out. My cousins locked me in a closet the first moment they had and started yelling mixed race slurs like Oreo, half breed, freak, muddy blood, mulatto… and I just curled into a ball and cried. Finally, one cousin, after getting beat up turned out, ran to my mom and told her what was going on. There was a sign on the door saying I shouldn’t exist. My mom said nothing to me, went to her older sister to ask if we could stay with her the rest of the trip. Then the adults started saying things like “If you had stayed with your own this “mistake” wouldn’t exist.” “She’s too much like her father, she’s too white.” “What were you thinking having that halfie!?” My mom still said nothing, never defended me. My aunt, bless her strong and loving soul, explained it all to me, what racism was and why my family felt the way they did. An 8-year-old shouldn’t have to learn these things, especially not like that. I cut everyone from that side of my family off but her. I told my dad when we got home, my mom tried to cover it up. Decades later he listened again and cried, apologizing for the damage he helped cause by not listening then. Sad part is, this was just the beginning of my struggles, especially with self-acceptance.

As mentioned, I’d tried having black friends, adding them into the group of school friends I had. They never really fit in and I never fit them. Also, if they did try to bring me to their home, the parents made it clear they didn’t want me there because of being part white, and usually the next school day that person wasn’t my friend anymore. I also noticed how people viewed my family. If I was out with my father: “Oh look at that golden skin!” “She has your eyes!” “She’s so proper and well kept!”. But then when I was out with my mother: “Oh is that your nanny?” “Where’s your momma sweetie?” (Points at her). “Oh.” “How did your daughter turn out so light with you being so dark?” I wanted to be seen with her less and less because she started taking anger she had at those people out on me. Took years to get over the mental abuse she threw at me from age 5–17 when she left me and my father and moved back to Ohio. Problem is, I still hear people saying these things.

I realized, after hearing stories of other multiracial people, that I’ve never really had any terrible run-ins with police. I’ve been racially profiled one time in my life. Thing is these cops weren’t white. They were Hispanic. In 2017, I was riding my bike home from the university (I returned to college later in life) very late due to a group project we’d been working on. Cops saw me in the bike lane and put on sirens. I stopped and politely asked how their evening was going. It threw them off right away. They ask why I was out late. I say why. Offered to show my university ID. They asked what was in my backpack and bike saddle bags. Books and food storage containers. One got out to check, and I got off my bike and offered it along with my backpack, staying polite and smiling the whole time. The cop didn’t even get to me, shook his head, and said to have a good night and be safe. I assumed they thought I was nuts with how relaxed I was. But truth was, I had fear of cops like most people do, but not fear of cops based on my race. That didn’t occur to me until far later that I was likely profiled.

Here’s the thing. Have I been racially profiled by every other race? Yes, and yes including white, though very rarely after thinking about it. The hate and confusion has been skewed. We now, see and discuss white racism because of the much-needed Black Lives Matter Movement. Because, for people who don’t seem to understand, this movement is about equal rights and acceptance. Across the board. Black Live Matter IS All Lives Matter because the same BLM people are supporting everyone else who has been hurt. I love that, and it’s why I support it. But, can we talk about the black racism? In my desire to point out that mixed race people like me want to be a part of this, this was the response: “You’re only part black, so you don’t get a say.” “Check you mixed privilege.” “Your momma betrayed us having you!” “You don’t understand what it is to be black.” “The cops will see you as black so just say you are and shut up!” “Why is everything you like “white stuff”?” “Mixed race isn’t a race!” “Just pick a box or we’ll pick one for you.” “What you identify as doesn’t matter!” “You have self-hate issues for saying you’re not black.” “You’re too white adjacent to count as black.” “Whatever else you’re mixed with doesn’t matter.” It’s 2020 and since the social media boom, this is the stuff I’ve been hearing for years. But most recently, I have heard all of these things by black people in the past week, and likely will even after posting this until people start accepting us more. What does that say about acceptance right now though? Does it mean all black people feel this way? No. The hate is usually the loudest, though. But it doesn’t stop me from expressing who I am as a multiracial person, and that technically I am a person of color and keep supporting the BLM Movement. I know there will be black people upset that I’m mainly pointing out black racism, or you can say colorism if it will make you feel better, though technically colorism is a form of racism. Either way, I tried to think of any major times I dealt with white racism and it’s so rare I can’t remember any. I don’t know why either, maybe because of how I associate compared to other mixed people. But I am me. I am proud to be part black. But I am not black, that’s the difference. Because I’m just a proud of everything else I am mixed with. And that is the important thing for people to accept of mixed people.

With all this said, the hate, fear, and confusion against people like me needs to stop. We matter too. How we identify matters and should be respected. We are not like everyone else. And that’s fine. We mixed/multiracial people are a race of our own at this point, and that’s fine, because times change. We were created because people stopped listening to the old ideologies of their parents or even grandparents that they should only be with their own and wanted to try something new. We are not a mistake, we are…us. And we accept you. Accept us back.