It's Complicated
The phrase, It’s Complicated, has been going through my mind the last few days. I heard the phrase on one of the podcasts I enjoy listening to during my daily walk. The phrase seemed to embody my feelings at that moment. Today, the day I’m writing, is Juneteenth (June 19th). It’s a day that celebrates the emancipation of enslaved people. Today is complicated for me because as a first generation, biracial, Black woman, I don’t remember learning about Juneteenth in school or from my immigrant parents.
It’s complicated because race is so darn complicated. There is so much that I don’t know about my history. It’s an unspoken past that is tethered by an unclear genealogy. I can’t tell you if my ancestors were enslaved or not. But there’s a good chance they were or at least a significant number. I also have ancestors who weren’t enslaved. I don’t really know though. I’ve thought about subscribing to a company that can provide my genetic map, but haven’t decided yet. Or to be honest, I’m afraid of what the genetic map might show. Do I really want to know how much or less my genealogy is of African, European, Asian or Indigenous ancestry? I don’t know. I know a little of my biological family history and it’s very diverse. But it’s also filled with pain and shame.
There’s a shame of being thought of as not wanted by a White father and the history of privilege because of having lighter skin. See, race makes things so complicated for me. For so long, I didn’t want anyone to call me White because of the pain of white supremacy in the United States. Why would I want to lay claim to this legacy? To think I was born only three years after the Loving v. Virginia Supreme Court decision, is crazy to me. I feel the burden everyday of being biracial, but if I had some genetic test done, I might learn that I’m not even 50% Black and that part scares me. I don’t want a test to tell me who I am or to be honest, confirm that I’m not who I thought I was.
Based on what I know of my history, I can check off many racial/ethnic identities. The boxes don’t define me; I feel comfort in knowing my identity and accepting all of it. It took a long time to do this because it was hard not to be mad at the history of whiteness in this country. It was hard not to be ashamed of feeling like a fraud when I told people I was Black when they questioned, “What are you?”
I know race to be a social construct that has been used to assign who has privilege and power. I also know that race is a designation of cultural pride, history and customs. There are dynamics to race. There is also the common denominator that we are part of one race, the human race. I hope one day we will get there... where we acknowledge and accept we’re all part of the human race; where we go beyond the platitudes; where we truly see each other, differences and all; and where we acknowledge, respect, and come together for discussions, celebrations and creations of systems that are just and equitable.
On this Juneteenth, I celebrate as a Black woman. Though race is complicated, I have no pause in knowing who I am today. I’m part of the legacy of other American Black women and people who strive to break down the barriers of hatred and intolerance; and who knows that we never needed a proclamation to tell us we were free. It was the unrighteousness and unjust leaders who needed to speak it, to write it, to validate what was already known but kept locked away from a people not thought to be human. Locked away as if it was an exclusive jewel that only could be touched and marveled by a select few; that is what racial privilege does. It creates for the owner an illusion of exclusivity and eliteness. The jewel of freedom can’t be locked away. The jewel of justice is not for only one group of people. The jewel of freedom embodies the essence of knowledge that if all aren’t free, then no one is.
It’s all complicated, but we have the tools, the will, the resources, and the people to do something about it.