While Kayla’s work always mesmerizes me, another award recipient named Gabrielle Gorman brought me and many others to tears with her experimental film “Dear America,” for which she won the title of 2015 Student Honoree.
I just watched the live stream of Kayla’s film screening at the National Young Arts Foundation in Miami, and Gabrielle’s film screened shortly before hers. Watching it again made me question why this film touched me so personally. After all, Gabrielle’s film is about not loving herself as a dark-skinned black youth. She candidly discusses how she wanted to bleach her skin and shrink her large lips–how she wanted plastic surgery to look more like Michael Jackson. While I’d never had such desires, her film somehow resonated with me, and I wasn’t sure why.
I got to thinking, maybe it’s my white privilege that has made me feel comfortable in my own skin. Maybe it’s the fact that I look more like Michael Jackson once he’d reached the middle of his many surgeries than when he was in the Jackson 5.
I knew, however, that I’d wrestled with loving my body. Then I remembered why.
Growing up, I lived in the liminal space between two races. I had olive skin and “mixed race hair.” Instead of inhabiting this space, I wanted to look more like others. But not white others. I wanted to look more black.
I loved my skin in the summer months, when the back of my hand got darker than my palm. I loved wearing braids my senior year of high school and thought that would make me less ambiguous. (It didn’t.) In my late 20s, when I started gaining weight, I happily watched myself get increasingly curvy. My happiness didn’t stem from a desire to look sexy. I was happy because the curves made me feel more black. Like most youth and young adults, I wanted to look like I fit in somewhere instead of feeling watched–a desire that Gabrielle discusses as well.
Is my experience the same as Gabrielle’s? Definitely not. But Gabrielle doesn’t think this matters. Her video also features a mixed race youth who wears labels like “Oreo,” and Gabrielle says, “We can’t afford to say any longer […] ‘You have dealt with different struggles than me because you’re lighter skinned than me or because you’re darker skinned than me.'” And I think that’s why her video touches so many people. We all wrestle with self-acceptance, for varying reasons and in varying extremes. Gabrielle boldly speaks what many of us think but would not dare utter.
Thank you, Gabrielle, for being so brave. And so strong. And so beautiful. Thank you for now loving yourself just as you are, because you help all of us love ourselves a little better, too.
Soon after my For Harriet article was published, two women who’d just published a book on what it means to be Biracial contacted me to thank me for writing it. Almost immediately I became friends with Sarah and Bryony, and in October they asked me to collaborate with them on an academic book.
As new authors do, Sarah and Bryony are doing everything they can to promote their book. In addition to hitting social media heavily, they do interviews for radio and podcasts.
Sarah and I had the following harrowing experience on a radio show last week. The blog post will transition back and forth between our two voices:
I was really excited for the interview, because I first interviewed with this program in October and the host Marcus* asked me to return.
The show focuses on race and I was the first Biracial person to ever be interviewed. So naturally I was thrilled when I learned it went well and they wanted me back. This second interview, I was asked to sit on a panel and discuss race. Again, I would be the lone Biracial representative.
On the night of the broadcast I was informed that nobody from panel had shown up. I asked the woman whose name we never got, so we’ll call her Telephone Operator, if Shannon could to be on the program with me. “Sure! Why not!”
Despite being so light complected, I vacillate between self-identifying as Black and Biracial, which depends on the current situation.
My mom was Black and Japanese and my dad was White. Things were pretty different when I was raised. With Jim Crow laws still in effect in much of the U.S., it was pretty normal for interracial couples to raise their children to be Black. Of course today more of us have the freedom to self identify as Biracial.
Almost immediately after Marcus introduces us, a woman who called herself something bizarre like Lady Self Pleasure came out swinging and declared, “nah, Sarah ain’t even Black.”
As if on queue, Marcus immediately explained that it was his birthday and despite the fact that nobody showed up but Shannon and me, he promised it would be an unforgettable broadcast.
After, I introduced Shannon: Black father, White mother; academic writer and I tell them about her article.
Both Marcus and the callers seemed insistent on defining me, often disregarding how I define myself. Instead, they used my answers to their questions as evidence of their definitions, which seemed to change every few minutes over the hour and a half interview.
First I was labeled Black, not Biracial, because my father is Black. An unnamed male caller asked if I immerse myself in Black arts and someone else asked whether I’m married to a Black man. I was also asked which race I would choose if I were forced to. Each of these questions felt like an interrogation that was meant to gauge my level of Blackness.
The listeners seemed more satisfied with my answers than Sarah’s, even though Sarah was raised to be Black and self-identifies that way more often than I do. The aforementioned Self Pleasure disregarded Sarah’s story and insisted that the way one is raised doesn’t determine one’s ethnicity.
When the conversation came back to me, “Telephone Operator” began discussing the one-drop rule as the “law of the country,” which in her mind determined my Blackness despite my upbringing. However, having been frustrated by the listeners’ dismissal of Sarah, I confronted her, as I thought she was she who had insisted that Sarah wasn’t Black. “Wait,” I asked, “If the one drop rule is law, how can I be Black but Sarah isn’t?” Marcus jumped in and quickly cut to a commercial break.
“Because,” says Self Pleasure, “Look at her. She’s White! She’s not Black. I’m Black!”
“So you must not have heard what my racial makeup is or why I I self-identify as Black, did you?” I asked Self Pleasure.
“I did and because your father is White, that makes you White,” she replied.
Things went downhill from there with Self Pleasure, Telephone Operator and the unnamed man attacking me. Despite how I was raised, because I had never been DWBd, never been racial profiled or turned down for a job because of my race (as if any of them knows my life story), in their limited view of the world, I am not Black.
Hoping Marcus would actually moderate, he instead added his two cents by using mitochondrial DNA as proof for why I’m not Black. Now this went from insulting to downright idiotic.
By this point, Marcus and the listeners emphatically listed reasons why Sarah and I were misidentifying ourselves. Everyone, including Marcus, seemed to subscribe to essentialist thinking that left no room for cross cultural understanding or blurred lines. But even with their “evidence,” the reasoning seemed to fall short of true clear-cut definitions.
We were told that race comes biologically through the father, which made Sarah White and me Black. Self Pleasure said she and the others weren’t “feeling” Sarah, and Sarah therefore wasn’t part of the Black tribe. Marcus insisted that he could speak with authority since he had been racially profiled. Various speakers referenced a Black “curriculum” that was necessary for true Blackness but couldn’t define what this curriculum was. We were told that if races were separated on two sides of a room, Marcus would be one side and we would be on the other. Even though they had first decided that I was Black, not Biracial, my allegiance to Sarah had evidently changed their minds.
In my final attempt to stand up for Sarah and me, I questioned how four people could decide who was part of an entire race. I asked how I, as the daughter of a black man who worked for the NAACP, could be considered not Black. Loud guffaws emerged at this statement, as the listeners said no true black person would reference the NAACP.
At this point, I decided that it would be best for Sarah and me to leave the conversation. I needed to work in order to eat the next day, which took precedence over convincing someone that I was part of his or her “tribe.” As Sarah and I hung up, wishing the moderator a happy birthday and politely excusing ourselves, we felt confirmation in the necessity of our voices. Even though halfway through the radio show I had expressed frustration over the comments on my For Harriet article being largely focused on how I should self-identify, the moderators and listeners fell victim to the same narrow focus.
Although it would seem a logical reaction to the obvious lack of equanimity in the U.S. between the two races to embrace Black Nationalism, in reality it is actually illogical. Separating Blacks from Whites in an effort to create a strong Black economy, thus making Blacks more autonomous and creating more Black wealth, while romantic for those who live in big cities with heavier concentrations, is to forget that the U.S. is actually vast. Large swaths of the country have almost no Black presence—now what?
And given the fact that Blacks comprise only 13 percent of the country’s population, it’s inevitable that when stuff continues to hit the fan, riots like Baltimore’s will become more commonplace, and Blacks are outnumbered. If Black Nationalists think they alone can elevate the status of Blacks in the U.S. without the help of other racial groups, in particular Whites, who hold the economic power, they’re living in a fantasyland.
With a couple of days to let the whole thing soak in, it’s becoming clear that I was ambushed. That I brought Shannon along made things sweeter for them. Telephone Operator told Shannon and me that all members of the panel canceled at the last minute. However the next day when I was thinking more clearly, I checked the radio program’s Facebook page and Lady Self Pleasure became a co-host of Marcus’s two weeks after I was interviewed the first time.
Our guess is that she worked on Marcus for weeks about how he went against the Black Nationalist code by giving me an opportunity to promote inclusiveness and my (our) belief that we can all get along and work toward one race … the human race.
There was so much that could have been discussed on the radio show. We could have come together in understanding and discussed real issues that are present in the Black community. Instead, Sarah and I were roasted because of our mixed race identity, disenabling us from being able to discuss real Black matters.
However, with four days to think and do more digging into them, it’s becoming clearer to me why Marcus, Self Pleasure, Telephone Operator and Unnamed Man have no real interest in discussing real issues that could lead to healing and inclusiveness.
I couldn’t wrap my head around what these three things have in common:
The one-drop rule being the so-called law of the country
One’s race being determined not by upbringing and the race of both parents but only taking into account race passing from father to child
And what I unearthed throws insulting and idiotic out the window. What we’re dealing with is deeply disturbing.
*The name of the radio program has purposely been redacted and names of people have been changed.
My father was a proud paralegal for the NAACP back in the 80s and 90s. He marched in rallies for race equality and was actively involved in uplifting the Black community. When I was growing up, he often had me watch the PBS series “Eyes on the Prize,” which documented the events of the Civil Rights Movement. Nestled inside my baby book is an autograph from Black Panther leader Huey Newton.
When I was a little girl, my dad said, “People will want to label you as only black, but you’re biracial.” My dad wasn’t ashamed of his blackness. Just like many fathers, he loved that I resembled both of my parents. My dad knew the world would see me as more black than white, but he wanted me to identify in a way that honored both sides of my genealogy. This was true even after my parents split up when I was three-years-old…
Last Thursday I attended the Multiculti Mixer in Brentwood, California. The free event featured a reading by well-known actor Taye Diggs who read from his new children’s book Mixed Me, dedicated to his son Walker. This book follows on the heels of its predecessor “Chocolate Me,” Diggs’ children’s book about growing up black.
The Multiculti Mixer was a veritable utopia of mixed race belonging. A pretty even blend of adults and children, about 60 or 70 guests packed into Kidville Brentwood for a panel about raising mixed race children, a fashion show by some of the children themselves, and of course the celebrity reading and book signing. My (white) friend and I handed in our tickets — one general admission and one “blogger/influencer” — but once we stepped inside we realized everyone was on equal footing, and we loved it. Kids of all different hues and all different hairstyles ran in and out of rooms, including the arts and crafts room set up just for them. Parents appeared relaxed at not having to anticipate sideways glances or outright stares. Everyone smiled big, and often.
Taye Diggs walked through the front doors during the panel with absolutely no pretension. My friend and I had just taken a picture in front of the event backdrop, and as Diggs crossed the threshold, a little girl squealed and wrapped her arms around him. Diggs didn’t seem to mind. He stood around with everyone else during the fashion show, with his nearby bodyguard as the only visible indication of his status.
Diggs wasn’t the only celebrity present for the event. Biracial Grace Colbert, famous for the controversial Cheerios commercial (controversial merely for featuring interracial parents) attended with whom I assume to be her mother. “I liked your commercial,” I said to her as we stood in line for something or other. “Thank you,” she replied quietly, either tired of the statement or naturally reserved. Either one, of course, is completely valid in my opinion.
The Multiculti Mixer fashion show, featuring garments from Mixed Up Clothing, was the most positive and inspiring runway show I’ve ever seen. Family members and other onlookers snapped pictures, cheered, and clapped as children did spins and twirls down the tiny center of the room. The children pranced with confidence and jubilance that seemed to go beyond the attention they received. Instead, they seemed intimately aware that they were being praised for their appearance in a manner devoid of ogling or exoticizing. They were, in that moment, free.
When it came time for Taye Diggs’ reading, the children gathered together on the carpet as if it were just another library story hour. Taye Diggs sat himself down on one of the little chairs and began reading from Mixed Me:
They call me Mixed-up Mike
but that name should be fixed
I’m not mixed up,
I just happen to be mixed.
As someone of Taye Diggs’ generation, I couldn’t help but be amazed by both his book and the event. Mixed race adults didn’t have children’s books that explained their biracial experiences. We weren’t in commercials or on the cover of cereal boxes. There were no mixed race events, and no one to speak on our behalf like Diggs has for his son. The event left me with no feeling of envy, however. Only a swell in my heart that this gathering is just one of many to emerge in our bourgeoning nation. It’s my hope that these children will grow into adults who don’t realize how lucky they have it because mixed race inclusion will be the norm. It may be a naive hope, but events like these prove we’re moving in the right direction.
Last week, the NBC primetime show The Mysteries of Laura did something I’ve been waiting for in media. The episode centered around solving the mystery of a biracial character, and this character’s ethnicity had absolutely nothing to do with the plot.
Each week, the lead character Laura Diamond (Debra Messing) catches the killer responsible for a recent murder. The premise of the show is largely nothing new, but it has a simple charm that makes for good Hulu entertainment while sipping morning coffee.
In this episode, titled “The Mystery of the Locked Box,” a billionaire tech genius named Zac Romero is found dead in his upscale apartment. Christopher Reed Brown, the young man who plays Zac, is of course not really part of the episode and has no lines, since he’s, well, dead. But the show does have Debra and her colleagues speak with Zac’s mother and father. The fact that Zac is biracial isn’t even known to the viewers until the entrance of his mother Rosalie, played by Linda Powell. Sure, we’d pretty well gathered that Zac wasn’t lily white, since his last name is Romero and his dead body has a slight olive tone. But Rosalie’s darker skin signals to viewers that this dead body belongs to a mixed race man.
While mixed race characters on TV have existed for quite awhile, what set this situation apart was the fact that Zac’s ethnicity had nothing to do with the plot, and that the film crew still felt it valid to let him exist, and to purposefully cast a black mother and a white father. Such planning is quite rare in the TV industry, especially if there is no takeaway in terms of story arc. Laura Diamond considers Zac and Rosalie completely representational of any other mother and son. She makes no reference to race, and she seems completely unfazed by this interracial family unit.
This episode also did interesting things to thwart stereotypical representations of minority characters. Zac gets to incorporate a space that is often not granted to black characters: He gets to be not a basketball player, or a musician, but a tech genius. If The Mysteries of Laura had followed standard representations, Zac would have been played by an Asian or Indian character, if they had used a minority at all. Normally if a black man plays a tech genius, it’s only because he has some ominous dark side, but Zac planned to give away a new invention instead of making an kind of capital on his product. Additionally, it’s Zac’s white father who plays the deadbeat. A selfish, lazy character who has recently reached out to Zac, only in an effort to acquire his wealth through their shared bloodline.
The media has a long way to go in its representation of mixed race characters, but this episode shows me that one of my biggest wishes may come true. While it may seem unfeasible, my dream is to see a novel about a biracial character that has absolutely nothing to do with race. Instead, this character would get to exist just like any other, and he or she would get to tell a story from a place of full agency, where race doesn’t have to be the fabric that holds the plot together. Perhaps I’ll write my own book someday and fulfill my own wish. In the meantime, I’m glad to see these seemingly small but significant strides.