More italics abuse and rambling about mixedness (original) (raw)
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I suddenly remembered an old rhyme/game from elementary school the other day. I don't know where it originated, but maybe some of you are familiar with it:
"My mother is Chinese." (pulling corners of eyes up)
"My father is Japanese." (pulling corners of eyes down)
"And I'm all mixed up!" (pulling one eye up and one down)
This is not something I remember as traumatizing me as a youngster, this is something I clearly remember participating in. We used to do it on the school bus. Now, plenty of things I did when I was younger embarrass me, but this- I'm more just. Comically appalled. What was going through our little heads? Clearly, nothing much. This is a prime example of kids having no idea what they're saying. Didn't it ever occur to me that I am "all mixed up"? That I was essentially making fun of my very existence?
Perhaps more important: where did we kids get it from?
*boggles*
My experiences with race are very much colored, no pun intended, by my own perception of what my race is. This probably goes without saying. If I look back on my life and don't remember any racist behavior directed towards me, is it because there really was none or because I didn't even think of myself as belonging to the race in question? When and how did I learn that Mom was Chinese and Dad was white, and that made me half of each? If someone made a racist comment about Chinese people in my presence before I knew I was Chinese, would I even have noticed it?
I wonder about these things, because there are times when I feel very "white", and it doesn't always occur to me that other people might see me as something else. Sometimes when I use the term "white" I include myself, sometimes I don't. This is all unconscious on my part; it's generally only after the fact that I might think, "Huh, which meaning of 'white' was I using there?". For instance, when talking about America's long history of racism, its very foundation resting on the oppression and exploitation of Native Americans and African-descended people by the dominant white group, I'll say, "We did this, we did that..." unconsciously including myself in said dominant white group. This makes sense to me, because I am conscious of my own privilege--and not just my own white privilege, to whatever extent I have it, but the fact that the lifestyle I enjoy now owes a lot to my ancestors' white privilege. So I include myself in that dominant group, because I do feel a sense of responsibility, a sense that I'm in a position of power and need to be conscious of that.
On the other hand, there are times when I talk about white people and I don't mean myself, because I don't just mean people who are white, but people who have no experience of being non-white. And if you don't believe that there can be a difference, I'd...well, I'd ask you to trust me.
I often find myself analyzing people's behavior towards me in terms of my appearance: Do I look Asian? Do I look Asian enough that they think I'm Asian? Do I look white enough that they have no idea I'm Asian?
I guess, based on the fact that so many strangers, both Asian and non-, have asked me, "Hey, are you [Asian ethnicity x]?" I should be satisfied with the conclusion that Yes, I look Asian. But I guess what I really want to know is: Can they tell I'm mixed? Because I don't think I look Asian Asian, but in my experience, the concept of "mixed race" doesn't enter most people's minds unless it's explicitly pointed out to them. So do they really think I look 100% Asian? Or do they know there's something "off" about the Asian-ness (or white-ness) of my features, but they can't quite put their finger on it? (And I'm not trying to point fingers at anyone, because I do this too--only in my case it's a little more, "Huh, I can't really tell what ethnicity that person is. ...could they be mi- Nah, that's just wishful thinking.")
For most of us, "mixed race" is not really a mental option until we've failed to categorize the person in one of the other, default categories.
I guess I'll end by recounting an incident that happened back when I worked at Target. I was cashiering one day, and an older woman came through my line with some makeup products, including a couple of different shades of foundation. She held them up and said, "Can I ask you which of these you think is a better match for me?"
"Um," said I.
Quoth she: "It's just that I credit the Oriental race with such a good eye for color."
"..." said I.
I just. She was so genial. What do you say to that? First of all, she must have been about a hundred years old, because who says "Oriental" anymore? "Oriental" is a flavor of ramen. Second, if she'd just asked for my color advice, I could have disclaimed any special color sense, but since apparently she asked me because I'm Asian, the only way to wriggle out of answering would be to deny being Asian, or to confront her weird ideas about Asians and their mystical eyes. Third, what if I gave her bad advice? I would be letting down my entire race, apparently. Oh, the pressure!
In the end, I fought stereotype with stereotype. "I can't help you," I said, "but why don't you go ask the cashier on nine? He's gay, and as such has an innate sense of color."
...OK, I didn't, really. That's just what I wish I had done.