I promised Zero Point Zero this week would be about race, and it will be.
This is a peripherally related question. And as dumb as it may seem, I don’t think it really is a dumb question. I think it goes to the heart of the issue, in some ways.
How did you learn what race you are?
Dark Matter 
June 2nd, 2004 at 5:04 am
“Those People”
I remember this conversation quite clearly…
“Mommy, what does grandma mean when she gets so mad about ‘those people’?”
“Well, your grandma grew up in Chile, you know.”
“Yeah? So she means the people there?”
“No. Not exactly. There were a lot of Irish there, and they weren’t very good workers. And it was her dad’s job to make them work. Well, them and the Chileans. But your grandma isn’t mad about blacks — she’s mostly angry at the people her parents were angry at.”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I think I was three. Or maybe four. It’s hard to be sure.
June 2nd, 2004 at 5:04 am
“Those People”
I remember this conversation quite clearly…
“Mommy, what does grandma mean when she gets so mad about ‘those people’?”
“Well, your grandma grew up in Chile, you know.”
“Yeah? So she means the people there?”
“No. Not exactly. There were a lot of Irish there, and they weren’t very good workers. And it was her dad’s job to make them work. Well, them and the Chileans. But your grandma isn’t mad about blacks — she’s mostly angry at the people her parents were angry at.”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I think I was three. Or maybe four. It’s hard to be sure.
June 2nd, 2004 at 5:04 am
“Those People”
I remember this conversation quite clearly…
“Mommy, what does grandma mean when she gets so mad about ‘those people’?”
“Well, your grandma grew up in Chile, you know.”
“Yeah? So she means the people there?”
“No. Not exactly. There were a lot of Irish there, and they weren’t very good workers. And it was her dad’s job to make them work. Well, them and the Chileans. But your grandma isn’t mad about blacks — she’s mostly angry at the people her parents were angry at.”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I think I was three. Or maybe four. It’s hard to be sure.
June 2nd, 2004 at 5:04 am
“Those People”
I remember this conversation quite clearly…
“Mommy, what does grandma mean when she gets so mad about ‘those people’?”
“Well, your grandma grew up in Chile, you know.”
“Yeah? So she means the people there?”
“No. Not exactly. There were a lot of Irish there, and they weren’t very good workers. And it was her dad’s job to make them work. Well, them and the Chileans. But your grandma isn’t mad about blacks — she’s mostly angry at the people her parents were angry at.”
I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I think I was three. Or maybe four. It’s hard to be sure.
June 1st, 2004 at 10:55 pm
Ok, I recalled some of the details. I learned about races in the 5th or the 6th grade of primary school (I was 12 or something). There were introduced as “white,” “black,” and “yellow” races. My teacher said that most of the people in Northern Africa were white, which seemed to me puzzling for they looked very much black to my unprepared eyes.
My first experience with black folks was at the jazz festivals in Warsaw. They were luminaries like Ornette Coleman with Dewey Rodman, Charles Mingus with Roy Brooks (on the drums), Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Freddie Hubbard, Don Cherry, Mel Lewis/Thad Jones Big Band, Duke Ellington Big Band… They played exquisite music that I surely was digging beyond belief, especially than jazz was kinda forbidden fruit and sometimes I had to skip classes to be able to see a concert. More than once I wondered whether their exquisite chops and swing had anything to do with their being black.
Well, they surely sounded better than Jerry Mulligan/Dave Brubeck quartet I saw at about the same time. But many European musicians sounded better than Brubeck, too, so this did not seem a good explanation. They also swung very hard, much harder than Europeans did (and this included even avant-guard cats like Ornette). But lots of American cats swung equally hard. So, I decided they were just superb musicians playing music I loved and that was it for me.
When I got my first job in America I become close friends with a black woman. She loved jazz like I did, especially Sarah Vaughan. So, not being a complete idiot I quickly acquired a sizable collection of Sarah Vaughan. (Billie was my singer until then.) She also loved philosophy, like I did. We spent lots of time together, and with her folks in LA. And I learned some more about “black” culture. For example, she did not really think that there is such a thing in any unified sense. Also, she hated when I once told her she was exotic. She just wanted to be herself, and wanted me to love her for what she was, including her inner beauty which was just as exquisite as her outer beauty.
Other thing I learned through this experience is that I do not really identify myself as “white.” I take some pride in being European and Polish (loved when Szymborska won the Noble prize) but I’m not sure it matters much to me I am white.
I’m not sure what else to say. Maybe I will come back to this thread.
June 1st, 2004 at 10:55 pm
Ok, I recalled some of the details. I learned about races in the 5th or the 6th grade of primary school (I was 12 or something). There were introduced as “white,” “black,” and “yellow” races. My teacher said that most of the people in Northern Africa were white, which seemed to me puzzling for they looked very much black to my unprepared eyes.
My first experience with black folks was at the jazz festivals in Warsaw. They were luminaries like Ornette Coleman with Dewey Rodman, Charles Mingus with Roy Brooks (on the drums), Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Freddie Hubbard, Don Cherry, Mel Lewis/Thad Jones Big Band, Duke Ellington Big Band… They played exquisite music that I surely was digging beyond belief, especially than jazz was kinda forbidden fruit and sometimes I had to skip classes to be able to see a concert. More than once I wondered whether their exquisite chops and swing had anything to do with their being black.
Well, they surely sounded better than Jerry Mulligan/Dave Brubeck quartet I saw at about the same time. But many European musicians sounded better than Brubeck, too, so this did not seem a good explanation. They also swung very hard, much harder than Europeans did (and this included even avant-guard cats like Ornette). But lots of American cats swung equally hard. So, I decided they were just superb musicians playing music I loved and that was it for me.
When I got my first job in America I become close friends with a black woman. She loved jazz like I did, especially Sarah Vaughan. So, not being a complete idiot I quickly acquired a sizable collection of Sarah Vaughan. (Billie was my singer until then.) She also loved philosophy, like I did. We spent lots of time together, and with her folks in LA. And I learned some more about “black” culture. For example, she did not really think that there is such a thing in any unified sense. Also, she hated when I once told her she was exotic. She just wanted to be herself, and wanted me to love her for what she was, including her inner beauty which was just as exquisite as her outer beauty.
Other thing I learned through this experience is that I do not really identify myself as “white.” I take some pride in being European and Polish (loved when Szymborska won the Noble prize) but I’m not sure it matters much to me I am white.
I’m not sure what else to say. Maybe I will come back to this thread.
June 1st, 2004 at 10:55 pm
Ok, I recalled some of the details. I learned about races in the 5th or the 6th grade of primary school (I was 12 or something). There were introduced as “white,” “black,” and “yellow” races. My teacher said that most of the people in Northern Africa were white, which seemed to me puzzling for they looked very much black to my unprepared eyes.
My first experience with black folks was at the jazz festivals in Warsaw. They were luminaries like Ornette Coleman with Dewey Rodman, Charles Mingus with Roy Brooks (on the drums), Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Freddie Hubbard, Don Cherry, Mel Lewis/Thad Jones Big Band, Duke Ellington Big Band… They played exquisite music that I surely was digging beyond belief, especially than jazz was kinda forbidden fruit and sometimes I had to skip classes to be able to see a concert. More than once I wondered whether their exquisite chops and swing had anything to do with their being black.
Well, they surely sounded better than Jerry Mulligan/Dave Brubeck quartet I saw at about the same time. But many European musicians sounded better than Brubeck, too, so this did not seem a good explanation. They also swung very hard, much harder than Europeans did (and this included even avant-guard cats like Ornette). But lots of American cats swung equally hard. So, I decided they were just superb musicians playing music I loved and that was it for me.
When I got my first job in America I become close friends with a black woman. She loved jazz like I did, especially Sarah Vaughan. So, not being a complete idiot I quickly acquired a sizable collection of Sarah Vaughan. (Billie was my singer until then.) She also loved philosophy, like I did. We spent lots of time together, and with her folks in LA. And I learned some more about “black” culture. For example, she did not really think that there is such a thing in any unified sense. Also, she hated when I once told her she was exotic. She just wanted to be herself, and wanted me to love her for what she was, including her inner beauty which was just as exquisite as her outer beauty.
Other thing I learned through this experience is that I do not really identify myself as “white.” I take some pride in being European and Polish (loved when Szymborska won the Noble prize) but I’m not sure it matters much to me I am white.
I’m not sure what else to say. Maybe I will come back to this thread.
June 1st, 2004 at 10:55 pm
Ok, I recalled some of the details. I learned about races in the 5th or the 6th grade of primary school (I was 12 or something). There were introduced as “white,” “black,” and “yellow” races. My teacher said that most of the people in Northern Africa were white, which seemed to me puzzling for they looked very much black to my unprepared eyes.
My first experience with black folks was at the jazz festivals in Warsaw. They were luminaries like Ornette Coleman with Dewey Rodman, Charles Mingus with Roy Brooks (on the drums), Max Roach, Dizzy Gillespie, Freddie Hubbard, Don Cherry, Mel Lewis/Thad Jones Big Band, Duke Ellington Big Band… They played exquisite music that I surely was digging beyond belief, especially than jazz was kinda forbidden fruit and sometimes I had to skip classes to be able to see a concert. More than once I wondered whether their exquisite chops and swing had anything to do with their being black.
Well, they surely sounded better than Jerry Mulligan/Dave Brubeck quartet I saw at about the same time. But many European musicians sounded better than Brubeck, too, so this did not seem a good explanation. They also swung very hard, much harder than Europeans did (and this included even avant-guard cats like Ornette). But lots of American cats swung equally hard. So, I decided they were just superb musicians playing music I loved and that was it for me.
When I got my first job in America I become close friends with a black woman. She loved jazz like I did, especially Sarah Vaughan. So, not being a complete idiot I quickly acquired a sizable collection of Sarah Vaughan. (Billie was my singer until then.) She also loved philosophy, like I did. We spent lots of time together, and with her folks in LA. And I learned some more about “black” culture. For example, she did not really think that there is such a thing in any unified sense. Also, she hated when I once told her she was exotic. She just wanted to be herself, and wanted me to love her for what she was, including her inner beauty which was just as exquisite as her outer beauty.
Other thing I learned through this experience is that I do not really identify myself as “white.” I take some pride in being European and Polish (loved when Szymborska won the Noble prize) but I’m not sure it matters much to me I am white.
I’m not sure what else to say. Maybe I will come back to this thread.
June 1st, 2004 at 1:08 pm
I knew what race was from a pretty young age, but the first time it really sunk in as mattering at all was in 2nd grade, when I moved from Minnesota to New Mexico. Suddenly, I was the only white kid in my grade and I pronounced all the words funny. (Try living on Valerio Rd as a native English speaker with Hispanic neighbors.) My race was an issue every single day from the time I was seven until I left for college at seventeen. In junior high, the same two girls would come up to me every day in the lunch line and tell me how ugly my freckled face was. In history class, they figured out I was 1/8th German and called me ‘Nazi’ for years. In high school, kids would throw rocks at me from cars as I walked home, screaming “gringa!” and swearing at me.
I won’t go back to NM to live, ever. I’d be surprised if I even visit for more than a few days. So many bad memories.
June 1st, 2004 at 1:08 pm
I knew what race was from a pretty young age, but the first time it really sunk in as mattering at all was in 2nd grade, when I moved from Minnesota to New Mexico. Suddenly, I was the only white kid in my grade and I pronounced all the words funny. (Try living on Valerio Rd as a native English speaker with Hispanic neighbors.) My race was an issue every single day from the time I was seven until I left for college at seventeen. In junior high, the same two girls would come up to me every day in the lunch line and tell me how ugly my freckled face was. In history class, they figured out I was 1/8th German and called me ‘Nazi’ for years. In high school, kids would throw rocks at me from cars as I walked home, screaming “gringa!” and swearing at me.
I won’t go back to NM to live, ever. I’d be surprised if I even visit for more than a few days. So many bad memories.
June 1st, 2004 at 1:08 pm
I knew what race was from a pretty young age, but the first time it really sunk in as mattering at all was in 2nd grade, when I moved from Minnesota to New Mexico. Suddenly, I was the only white kid in my grade and I pronounced all the words funny. (Try living on Valerio Rd as a native English speaker with Hispanic neighbors.) My race was an issue every single day from the time I was seven until I left for college at seventeen. In junior high, the same two girls would come up to me every day in the lunch line and tell me how ugly my freckled face was. In history class, they figured out I was 1/8th German and called me ‘Nazi’ for years. In high school, kids would throw rocks at me from cars as I walked home, screaming “gringa!” and swearing at me.
I won’t go back to NM to live, ever. I’d be surprised if I even visit for more than a few days. So many bad memories.
June 1st, 2004 at 1:08 pm
I knew what race was from a pretty young age, but the first time it really sunk in as mattering at all was in 2nd grade, when I moved from Minnesota to New Mexico. Suddenly, I was the only white kid in my grade and I pronounced all the words funny. (Try living on Valerio Rd as a native English speaker with Hispanic neighbors.) My race was an issue every single day from the time I was seven until I left for college at seventeen. In junior high, the same two girls would come up to me every day in the lunch line and tell me how ugly my freckled face was. In history class, they figured out I was 1/8th German and called me ‘Nazi’ for years. In high school, kids would throw rocks at me from cars as I walked home, screaming “gringa!” and swearing at me.
I won’t go back to NM to live, ever. I’d be surprised if I even visit for more than a few days. So many bad memories.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:23 pm
Ancestry-wise, I am 1/8 Cherokee and 7/8 EuroMuttTM, so I am technically Native American, but the features I got from my great-grandmother did not include hair or skin color, and I was not raised with Cherokee culture, so for all practical purposes, I am considered “White”.
However, I never have had a racial identity. Growing up, I knew one Jewish family, so I knew I wasn’t Jewish. I was raised Roman Catholic, but I never knew I was “Roman Catholic” – I just was what I assumed everyone was, unless otherwise specified. (I didn’t even know Roman Catholics were a minority in the US. I was shocked to discover that we’ve only had one Roman Catholic President, for example.)
Same goes for race – I only knew my race by negation – by what I was not. I was born in a place my relatives referred to as “Niggertown.” I eventually learned that that referred to the preponderance of poor Blacks in the neighborhood, and that I wasn’t a Nigger. I didn’t even know it was a pejorative term for quite some time.
I was raised in the military, so I was exposed to people of all races, but didn’t recognize “race” – only cultural differences – any difference from the way I lived, no matter what the race of the family in question, seemed foreign to me.
When I got older and started to see viewpoints beyond those of my family, I learned about racism and discovered all the different racial and ethnic groups and the oppression they suffered, and I learned that I was not a minority, and that I would never understand what it was like to deal with the discrimination they faced. I was told that I was privileged in ways I’d never even be able to see, and that I should extend aid to minorities whenever possible to help bring about equality. Although I am now paranoid that that attitude may be seen as condescending, and I am constantly examining my reasoning to ensure that I’m behaving honorably.
I knew what I was not, but I still didn’t realize that I was any particular race. I did know that I was Cherokee, and during my adolescence, I tried to reclaim that part of my heritage. But, through reading, it became clear to me that I wouldn’t be welcome – I wasn’t a part of that world, that culture, and would never be accepted. I would not find home in that part of my blood. So eventually, I came to feel that I was not Native American – that I had no right to claim to be so.
And I don’t consider myself Dutch or Scottish or French or Italian or English or whatever else I am, either, for that matter. I’m just me. I am “Default Setting” in my own mind. The only time I realize that it is otherwise is when I see it in someone else’s eyes.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:23 pm
Ancestry-wise, I am 1/8 Cherokee and 7/8 EuroMuttTM, so I am technically Native American, but the features I got from my great-grandmother did not include hair or skin color, and I was not raised with Cherokee culture, so for all practical purposes, I am considered “White”.
However, I never have had a racial identity. Growing up, I knew one Jewish family, so I knew I wasn’t Jewish. I was raised Roman Catholic, but I never knew I was “Roman Catholic” – I just was what I assumed everyone was, unless otherwise specified. (I didn’t even know Roman Catholics were a minority in the US. I was shocked to discover that we’ve only had one Roman Catholic President, for example.)
Same goes for race – I only knew my race by negation – by what I was not. I was born in a place my relatives referred to as “Niggertown.” I eventually learned that that referred to the preponderance of poor Blacks in the neighborhood, and that I wasn’t a Nigger. I didn’t even know it was a pejorative term for quite some time.
I was raised in the military, so I was exposed to people of all races, but didn’t recognize “race” – only cultural differences – any difference from the way I lived, no matter what the race of the family in question, seemed foreign to me.
When I got older and started to see viewpoints beyond those of my family, I learned about racism and discovered all the different racial and ethnic groups and the oppression they suffered, and I learned that I was not a minority, and that I would never understand what it was like to deal with the discrimination they faced. I was told that I was privileged in ways I’d never even be able to see, and that I should extend aid to minorities whenever possible to help bring about equality. Although I am now paranoid that that attitude may be seen as condescending, and I am constantly examining my reasoning to ensure that I’m behaving honorably.
I knew what I was not, but I still didn’t realize that I was any particular race. I did know that I was Cherokee, and during my adolescence, I tried to reclaim that part of my heritage. But, through reading, it became clear to me that I wouldn’t be welcome – I wasn’t a part of that world, that culture, and would never be accepted. I would not find home in that part of my blood. So eventually, I came to feel that I was not Native American – that I had no right to claim to be so.
And I don’t consider myself Dutch or Scottish or French or Italian or English or whatever else I am, either, for that matter. I’m just me. I am “Default Setting” in my own mind. The only time I realize that it is otherwise is when I see it in someone else’s eyes.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:23 pm
Ancestry-wise, I am 1/8 Cherokee and 7/8 EuroMuttTM, so I am technically Native American, but the features I got from my great-grandmother did not include hair or skin color, and I was not raised with Cherokee culture, so for all practical purposes, I am considered “White”.
However, I never have had a racial identity. Growing up, I knew one Jewish family, so I knew I wasn’t Jewish. I was raised Roman Catholic, but I never knew I was “Roman Catholic” – I just was what I assumed everyone was, unless otherwise specified. (I didn’t even know Roman Catholics were a minority in the US. I was shocked to discover that we’ve only had one Roman Catholic President, for example.)
Same goes for race – I only knew my race by negation – by what I was not. I was born in a place my relatives referred to as “Niggertown.” I eventually learned that that referred to the preponderance of poor Blacks in the neighborhood, and that I wasn’t a Nigger. I didn’t even know it was a pejorative term for quite some time.
I was raised in the military, so I was exposed to people of all races, but didn’t recognize “race” – only cultural differences – any difference from the way I lived, no matter what the race of the family in question, seemed foreign to me.
When I got older and started to see viewpoints beyond those of my family, I learned about racism and discovered all the different racial and ethnic groups and the oppression they suffered, and I learned that I was not a minority, and that I would never understand what it was like to deal with the discrimination they faced. I was told that I was privileged in ways I’d never even be able to see, and that I should extend aid to minorities whenever possible to help bring about equality. Although I am now paranoid that that attitude may be seen as condescending, and I am constantly examining my reasoning to ensure that I’m behaving honorably.
I knew what I was not, but I still didn’t realize that I was any particular race. I did know that I was Cherokee, and during my adolescence, I tried to reclaim that part of my heritage. But, through reading, it became clear to me that I wouldn’t be welcome – I wasn’t a part of that world, that culture, and would never be accepted. I would not find home in that part of my blood. So eventually, I came to feel that I was not Native American – that I had no right to claim to be so.
And I don’t consider myself Dutch or Scottish or French or Italian or English or whatever else I am, either, for that matter. I’m just me. I am “Default Setting” in my own mind. The only time I realize that it is otherwise is when I see it in someone else’s eyes.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:23 pm
Ancestry-wise, I am 1/8 Cherokee and 7/8 EuroMuttTM, so I am technically Native American, but the features I got from my great-grandmother did not include hair or skin color, and I was not raised with Cherokee culture, so for all practical purposes, I am considered “White”.
However, I never have had a racial identity. Growing up, I knew one Jewish family, so I knew I wasn’t Jewish. I was raised Roman Catholic, but I never knew I was “Roman Catholic” – I just was what I assumed everyone was, unless otherwise specified. (I didn’t even know Roman Catholics were a minority in the US. I was shocked to discover that we’ve only had one Roman Catholic President, for example.)
Same goes for race – I only knew my race by negation – by what I was not. I was born in a place my relatives referred to as “Niggertown.” I eventually learned that that referred to the preponderance of poor Blacks in the neighborhood, and that I wasn’t a Nigger. I didn’t even know it was a pejorative term for quite some time.
I was raised in the military, so I was exposed to people of all races, but didn’t recognize “race” – only cultural differences – any difference from the way I lived, no matter what the race of the family in question, seemed foreign to me.
When I got older and started to see viewpoints beyond those of my family, I learned about racism and discovered all the different racial and ethnic groups and the oppression they suffered, and I learned that I was not a minority, and that I would never understand what it was like to deal with the discrimination they faced. I was told that I was privileged in ways I’d never even be able to see, and that I should extend aid to minorities whenever possible to help bring about equality. Although I am now paranoid that that attitude may be seen as condescending, and I am constantly examining my reasoning to ensure that I’m behaving honorably.
I knew what I was not, but I still didn’t realize that I was any particular race. I did know that I was Cherokee, and during my adolescence, I tried to reclaim that part of my heritage. But, through reading, it became clear to me that I wouldn’t be welcome – I wasn’t a part of that world, that culture, and would never be accepted. I would not find home in that part of my blood. So eventually, I came to feel that I was not Native American – that I had no right to claim to be so.
And I don’t consider myself Dutch or Scottish or French or Italian or English or whatever else I am, either, for that matter. I’m just me. I am “Default Setting” in my own mind. The only time I realize that it is otherwise is when I see it in someone else’s eyes.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:10 pm
What makes me “White”:
1. The fact that I can walk down the street in any neighborhood and not be suspected of trying to rob you. I might not fit in, but I am not immediately considered “suspect” because of the color of my skin.
2. The fact that I have no distinguishing features of someone who is anything other than Anglo-American and Christian – even in my name.
What makes me “non-White”:
1. The fact that because of my experiences of prejudice and discrimination I identify with others who have experienced this.
2. The fact that my culture and (Jewish) family is markedly different from Anglo-American, Christian practices and beliefs.
WHat’s interesting about this question is that I look at my friends, and I realized I have no straight white men for friends. The men I know are either gay, bi, trans, or not white, or some combination of those traits. ANd I think it has a lot to do with growing up in San Antonio, where white is not assumed as much, and growing up Jewish, a “hidden” minority, and being queer, another hidden minority. I do not identify with the dominant culture, but I am aware enough to know I am a part of it, and I received the privileges of being perceived as part of it.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:10 pm
What makes me “White”:
1. The fact that I can walk down the street in any neighborhood and not be suspected of trying to rob you. I might not fit in, but I am not immediately considered “suspect” because of the color of my skin.
2. The fact that I have no distinguishing features of someone who is anything other than Anglo-American and Christian – even in my name.
What makes me “non-White”:
1. The fact that because of my experiences of prejudice and discrimination I identify with others who have experienced this.
2. The fact that my culture and (Jewish) family is markedly different from Anglo-American, Christian practices and beliefs.
WHat’s interesting about this question is that I look at my friends, and I realized I have no straight white men for friends. The men I know are either gay, bi, trans, or not white, or some combination of those traits. ANd I think it has a lot to do with growing up in San Antonio, where white is not assumed as much, and growing up Jewish, a “hidden” minority, and being queer, another hidden minority. I do not identify with the dominant culture, but I am aware enough to know I am a part of it, and I received the privileges of being perceived as part of it.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:10 pm
What makes me “White”:
1. The fact that I can walk down the street in any neighborhood and not be suspected of trying to rob you. I might not fit in, but I am not immediately considered “suspect” because of the color of my skin.
2. The fact that I have no distinguishing features of someone who is anything other than Anglo-American and Christian – even in my name.
What makes me “non-White”:
1. The fact that because of my experiences of prejudice and discrimination I identify with others who have experienced this.
2. The fact that my culture and (Jewish) family is markedly different from Anglo-American, Christian practices and beliefs.
WHat’s interesting about this question is that I look at my friends, and I realized I have no straight white men for friends. The men I know are either gay, bi, trans, or not white, or some combination of those traits. ANd I think it has a lot to do with growing up in San Antonio, where white is not assumed as much, and growing up Jewish, a “hidden” minority, and being queer, another hidden minority. I do not identify with the dominant culture, but I am aware enough to know I am a part of it, and I received the privileges of being perceived as part of it.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:10 pm
What makes me “White”:
1. The fact that I can walk down the street in any neighborhood and not be suspected of trying to rob you. I might not fit in, but I am not immediately considered “suspect” because of the color of my skin.
2. The fact that I have no distinguishing features of someone who is anything other than Anglo-American and Christian – even in my name.
What makes me “non-White”:
1. The fact that because of my experiences of prejudice and discrimination I identify with others who have experienced this.
2. The fact that my culture and (Jewish) family is markedly different from Anglo-American, Christian practices and beliefs.
WHat’s interesting about this question is that I look at my friends, and I realized I have no straight white men for friends. The men I know are either gay, bi, trans, or not white, or some combination of those traits. ANd I think it has a lot to do with growing up in San Antonio, where white is not assumed as much, and growing up Jewish, a “hidden” minority, and being queer, another hidden minority. I do not identify with the dominant culture, but I am aware enough to know I am a part of it, and I received the privileges of being perceived as part of it.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:06 pm
“whiteness”
Very interesting question, Tony.
I think one of my earliest memories of becoming aware
of me being “white” is when I was about 7 or 8 years old,
and I was good friends for a while [until his family moved
away] with this black boy whose name I can’t recall. We’d play
with our superhero dolls in my living room after breakfast before
the school bus came. This would have been about 1975-76
in suburban Blackstone, Massachusetts.
I usually find that my “whiteness” depends on who it’s
in relation to. But the perception is somewhat built in.
I remember when I was in college I briefly dated a black girl
named Gail. I remember that my sister’s boyfriend [at that time]
made some kind of crack about it (with my sister immediately chastising
him for it, before even I could).
Now that you ask it, I’m not sure that I can say that I’ve
ever really “learned” what race I am, because that makes the
issue seem as if the matter could be decided from just one
moment in time. Nine times out of ten I will refer to myself
as a French-Canadian-American, before I will refer to myself
as a white man. Not from any misplace sense of shame or anything,
but more from a sense of pride in my own ancestry, and pride in the
country I live in. I DO find it obnoxious to be asked to “select race”
when filling out various and sundry governmental forms – does
Uncle Sam really need to know about my pigmentation to know who I
am and how much money I allegedly owe?
I don’t know if this is the reason behind your question, but
for me the question feels kinda like one of context.
I mean, really, I’ve been made an “honorary brother” by my old friends in the DC Slam Team, but my skin is so fair that I could practically
be the “white guy” on the “workplace diversity” poster.
Maybe my answer ought to be: I learn what race I am everyday, specific
to each interaction with each new person I meet. At work, at school, in the poetry slam circles, I’ve met people who hold my skin color against me. I’ve met a ton more for whom my skin color doesn’t matter in the least. Guess which bunch I’d rather hang out with.
Well, that’s my .02 on it, anyhow.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:06 pm
“whiteness”
Very interesting question, Tony.
I think one of my earliest memories of becoming aware
of me being “white” is when I was about 7 or 8 years old,
and I was good friends for a while [until his family moved
away] with this black boy whose name I can’t recall. We’d play
with our superhero dolls in my living room after breakfast before
the school bus came. This would have been about 1975-76
in suburban Blackstone, Massachusetts.
I usually find that my “whiteness” depends on who it’s
in relation to. But the perception is somewhat built in.
I remember when I was in college I briefly dated a black girl
named Gail. I remember that my sister’s boyfriend [at that time]
made some kind of crack about it (with my sister immediately chastising
him for it, before even I could).
Now that you ask it, I’m not sure that I can say that I’ve
ever really “learned” what race I am, because that makes the
issue seem as if the matter could be decided from just one
moment in time. Nine times out of ten I will refer to myself
as a French-Canadian-American, before I will refer to myself
as a white man. Not from any misplace sense of shame or anything,
but more from a sense of pride in my own ancestry, and pride in the
country I live in. I DO find it obnoxious to be asked to “select race”
when filling out various and sundry governmental forms – does
Uncle Sam really need to know about my pigmentation to know who I
am and how much money I allegedly owe?
I don’t know if this is the reason behind your question, but
for me the question feels kinda like one of context.
I mean, really, I’ve been made an “honorary brother” by my old friends in the DC Slam Team, but my skin is so fair that I could practically
be the “white guy” on the “workplace diversity” poster.
Maybe my answer ought to be: I learn what race I am everyday, specific
to each interaction with each new person I meet. At work, at school, in the poetry slam circles, I’ve met people who hold my skin color against me. I’ve met a ton more for whom my skin color doesn’t matter in the least. Guess which bunch I’d rather hang out with.
Well, that’s my .02 on it, anyhow.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:06 pm
“whiteness”
Very interesting question, Tony.
I think one of my earliest memories of becoming aware
of me being “white” is when I was about 7 or 8 years old,
and I was good friends for a while [until his family moved
away] with this black boy whose name I can’t recall. We’d play
with our superhero dolls in my living room after breakfast before
the school bus came. This would have been about 1975-76
in suburban Blackstone, Massachusetts.
I usually find that my “whiteness” depends on who it’s
in relation to. But the perception is somewhat built in.
I remember when I was in college I briefly dated a black girl
named Gail. I remember that my sister’s boyfriend [at that time]
made some kind of crack about it (with my sister immediately chastising
him for it, before even I could).
Now that you ask it, I’m not sure that I can say that I’ve
ever really “learned” what race I am, because that makes the
issue seem as if the matter could be decided from just one
moment in time. Nine times out of ten I will refer to myself
as a French-Canadian-American, before I will refer to myself
as a white man. Not from any misplace sense of shame or anything,
but more from a sense of pride in my own ancestry, and pride in the
country I live in. I DO find it obnoxious to be asked to “select race”
when filling out various and sundry governmental forms – does
Uncle Sam really need to know about my pigmentation to know who I
am and how much money I allegedly owe?
I don’t know if this is the reason behind your question, but
for me the question feels kinda like one of context.
I mean, really, I’ve been made an “honorary brother” by my old friends in the DC Slam Team, but my skin is so fair that I could practically
be the “white guy” on the “workplace diversity” poster.
Maybe my answer ought to be: I learn what race I am everyday, specific
to each interaction with each new person I meet. At work, at school, in the poetry slam circles, I’ve met people who hold my skin color against me. I’ve met a ton more for whom my skin color doesn’t matter in the least. Guess which bunch I’d rather hang out with.
Well, that’s my .02 on it, anyhow.
June 1st, 2004 at 12:06 pm
“whiteness”
Very interesting question, Tony.
I think one of my earliest memories of becoming aware
of me being “white” is when I was about 7 or 8 years old,
and I was good friends for a while [until his family moved
away] with this black boy whose name I can’t recall. We’d play
with our superhero dolls in my living room after breakfast before
the school bus came. This would have been about 1975-76
in suburban Blackstone, Massachusetts.
I usually find that my “whiteness” depends on who it’s
in relation to. But the perception is somewhat built in.
I remember when I was in college I briefly dated a black girl
named Gail. I remember that my sister’s boyfriend [at that time]
made some kind of crack about it (with my sister immediately chastising
him for it, before even I could).
Now that you ask it, I’m not sure that I can say that I’ve
ever really “learned” what race I am, because that makes the
issue seem as if the matter could be decided from just one
moment in time. Nine times out of ten I will refer to myself
as a French-Canadian-American, before I will refer to myself
as a white man. Not from any misplace sense of shame or anything,
but more from a sense of pride in my own ancestry, and pride in the
country I live in. I DO find it obnoxious to be asked to “select race”
when filling out various and sundry governmental forms – does
Uncle Sam really need to know about my pigmentation to know who I
am and how much money I allegedly owe?
I don’t know if this is the reason behind your question, but
for me the question feels kinda like one of context.
I mean, really, I’ve been made an “honorary brother” by my old friends in the DC Slam Team, but my skin is so fair that I could practically
be the “white guy” on the “workplace diversity” poster.
Maybe my answer ought to be: I learn what race I am everyday, specific
to each interaction with each new person I meet. At work, at school, in the poetry slam circles, I’ve met people who hold my skin color against me. I’ve met a ton more for whom my skin color doesn’t matter in the least. Guess which bunch I’d rather hang out with.
Well, that’s my .02 on it, anyhow.
June 1st, 2004 at 11:44 am
Re: surprise!
Not exactly. I think it is one eight, defined so for the purposes of law (Native American have many legal rights as a result of old treaties signed with white folks).
June 1st, 2004 at 11:44 am
Re: surprise!
Not exactly. I think it is one eight, defined so for the purposes of law (Native American have many legal rights as a result of old treaties signed with white folks).
June 1st, 2004 at 11:44 am
Re: surprise!
Not exactly. I think it is one eight, defined so for the purposes of law (Native American have many legal rights as a result of old treaties signed with white folks).
June 1st, 2004 at 11:44 am
Re: surprise!
Not exactly. I think it is one eight, defined so for the purposes of law (Native American have many legal rights as a result of old treaties signed with white folks).
June 1st, 2004 at 11:31 am
surprise!
I don’t know if this is still true
but as of 1994 (the year I learned about this) the US was one of two countries in the world that exist under the rule of hypodescendency
meaning
that if there is minority blood in your family tree anywhere up to 10 generations back, you are technically a member of that minority
which means, tho I may look whiter than Marie Osmond’s teeth, I am actually a Native American (Santo Domingo pueblo)
I certainly hope that in the 10 years since I discovered this astounding fact, we have eliminated that highly racist rule
June 1st, 2004 at 11:31 am
surprise!
I don’t know if this is still true
but as of 1994 (the year I learned about this) the US was one of two countries in the world that exist under the rule of hypodescendency
meaning
that if there is minority blood in your family tree anywhere up to 10 generations back, you are technically a member of that minority
which means, tho I may look whiter than Marie Osmond’s teeth, I am actually a Native American (Santo Domingo pueblo)
I certainly hope that in the 10 years since I discovered this astounding fact, we have eliminated that highly racist rule
June 1st, 2004 at 11:31 am
surprise!
I don’t know if this is still true
but as of 1994 (the year I learned about this) the US was one of two countries in the world that exist under the rule of hypodescendency
meaning
that if there is minority blood in your family tree anywhere up to 10 generations back, you are technically a member of that minority
which means, tho I may look whiter than Marie Osmond’s teeth, I am actually a Native American (Santo Domingo pueblo)
I certainly hope that in the 10 years since I discovered this astounding fact, we have eliminated that highly racist rule
June 1st, 2004 at 11:31 am
surprise!
I don’t know if this is still true
but as of 1994 (the year I learned about this) the US was one of two countries in the world that exist under the rule of hypodescendency
meaning
that if there is minority blood in your family tree anywhere up to 10 generations back, you are technically a member of that minority
which means, tho I may look whiter than Marie Osmond’s teeth, I am actually a Native American (Santo Domingo pueblo)
I certainly hope that in the 10 years since I discovered this astounding fact, we have eliminated that highly racist rule
June 1st, 2004 at 8:15 am
don’t remember the exact year, but…
Many of my feelings on this are similar to‘s. But in terms of that moment of distinction, I recall going to school playground during the summer… right near the end of summer, and we had just gotten in a really neat playground that was all wood–this was the late 70s, when the metal poles on playgrounds were just being considered dangerous. There was a group of older kids there, but I wanted to play and well, the playground was big enough for all of us to share, right? Apparantly I was wrong.
There was a fight and a struggle, and I ended up on one of the platforms with my hands held behind me and a big guy with his shirt off about to punch me. I believe the words they called me were “Fucking Jew bastard,” but I could be wrong. Anyway, I ended up kicking him in the stomach and running away.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:15 am
don’t remember the exact year, but…
Many of my feelings on this are similar to‘s. But in terms of that moment of distinction, I recall going to school playground during the summer… right near the end of summer, and we had just gotten in a really neat playground that was all wood–this was the late 70s, when the metal poles on playgrounds were just being considered dangerous. There was a group of older kids there, but I wanted to play and well, the playground was big enough for all of us to share, right? Apparantly I was wrong.
There was a fight and a struggle, and I ended up on one of the platforms with my hands held behind me and a big guy with his shirt off about to punch me. I believe the words they called me were “Fucking Jew bastard,” but I could be wrong. Anyway, I ended up kicking him in the stomach and running away.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:15 am
don’t remember the exact year, but…
Many of my feelings on this are similar to‘s. But in terms of that moment of distinction, I recall going to school playground during the summer… right near the end of summer, and we had just gotten in a really neat playground that was all wood–this was the late 70s, when the metal poles on playgrounds were just being considered dangerous. There was a group of older kids there, but I wanted to play and well, the playground was big enough for all of us to share, right? Apparantly I was wrong.
There was a fight and a struggle, and I ended up on one of the platforms with my hands held behind me and a big guy with his shirt off about to punch me. I believe the words they called me were “Fucking Jew bastard,” but I could be wrong. Anyway, I ended up kicking him in the stomach and running away.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:15 am
don’t remember the exact year, but…
Many of my feelings on this are similar to‘s. But in terms of that moment of distinction, I recall going to school playground during the summer… right near the end of summer, and we had just gotten in a really neat playground that was all wood–this was the late 70s, when the metal poles on playgrounds were just being considered dangerous. There was a group of older kids there, but I wanted to play and well, the playground was big enough for all of us to share, right? Apparantly I was wrong.
There was a fight and a struggle, and I ended up on one of the platforms with my hands held behind me and a big guy with his shirt off about to punch me. I believe the words they called me were “Fucking Jew bastard,” but I could be wrong. Anyway, I ended up kicking him in the stomach and running away.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:05 am
This is fascinating. Thanks for responding, folks…
I really am mostly interested in the identification of people as “White” vs. “Non-White”. What makes you white? What makes you non-white?
It’s one of those issues that is critical to me personally, and I’m honestly curious to see how folks react to the question as much as what their answers are.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:05 am
This is fascinating. Thanks for responding, folks…
I really am mostly interested in the identification of people as “White” vs. “Non-White”. What makes you white? What makes you non-white?
It’s one of those issues that is critical to me personally, and I’m honestly curious to see how folks react to the question as much as what their answers are.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:05 am
This is fascinating. Thanks for responding, folks…
I really am mostly interested in the identification of people as “White” vs. “Non-White”. What makes you white? What makes you non-white?
It’s one of those issues that is critical to me personally, and I’m honestly curious to see how folks react to the question as much as what their answers are.
June 1st, 2004 at 8:05 am
This is fascinating. Thanks for responding, folks…
I really am mostly interested in the identification of people as “White” vs. “Non-White”. What makes you white? What makes you non-white?
It’s one of those issues that is critical to me personally, and I’m honestly curious to see how folks react to the question as much as what their answers are.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:35 am
is polish a race?
I don’t remember much talk about race as a kid – growing up in Pennsylvania – there were “sides” to my family. The Polish-Lithuanian side, and the German-Irish side. I guess I thought the the world was made up of ethnicities and religions rather than of races.
We were Catholics. For us, the “others” were Protestants and Jews. My grandparents had a house on a lake where my grandfather was caretaker. Most of the other residents were Jewish. There was a synagogue almost in their backyard. I can remember sitting in the backyard on Saturday nights and listening to the cantor sing. There was definitely a feeling of separateness from the Jewish residents at the lake – yet I don’t remember anything my grandparents ever said (either negative or positive) about the Jewish people around us.
When we moved to Syracuse in the mid-sixties, there were race riots – my school was one of the first to admit a black girl. On that day, people were protesting outside, throwing stones at the school. I think that’s when I really became aware of race. Til then, I defined people’s differentness as religious or (white) ethnic differences.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:35 am
is polish a race?
I don’t remember much talk about race as a kid – growing up in Pennsylvania – there were “sides” to my family. The Polish-Lithuanian side, and the German-Irish side. I guess I thought the the world was made up of ethnicities and religions rather than of races.
We were Catholics. For us, the “others” were Protestants and Jews. My grandparents had a house on a lake where my grandfather was caretaker. Most of the other residents were Jewish. There was a synagogue almost in their backyard. I can remember sitting in the backyard on Saturday nights and listening to the cantor sing. There was definitely a feeling of separateness from the Jewish residents at the lake – yet I don’t remember anything my grandparents ever said (either negative or positive) about the Jewish people around us.
When we moved to Syracuse in the mid-sixties, there were race riots – my school was one of the first to admit a black girl. On that day, people were protesting outside, throwing stones at the school. I think that’s when I really became aware of race. Til then, I defined people’s differentness as religious or (white) ethnic differences.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:35 am
is polish a race?
I don’t remember much talk about race as a kid – growing up in Pennsylvania – there were “sides” to my family. The Polish-Lithuanian side, and the German-Irish side. I guess I thought the the world was made up of ethnicities and religions rather than of races.
We were Catholics. For us, the “others” were Protestants and Jews. My grandparents had a house on a lake where my grandfather was caretaker. Most of the other residents were Jewish. There was a synagogue almost in their backyard. I can remember sitting in the backyard on Saturday nights and listening to the cantor sing. There was definitely a feeling of separateness from the Jewish residents at the lake – yet I don’t remember anything my grandparents ever said (either negative or positive) about the Jewish people around us.
When we moved to Syracuse in the mid-sixties, there were race riots – my school was one of the first to admit a black girl. On that day, people were protesting outside, throwing stones at the school. I think that’s when I really became aware of race. Til then, I defined people’s differentness as religious or (white) ethnic differences.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:35 am
is polish a race?
I don’t remember much talk about race as a kid – growing up in Pennsylvania – there were “sides” to my family. The Polish-Lithuanian side, and the German-Irish side. I guess I thought the the world was made up of ethnicities and religions rather than of races.
We were Catholics. For us, the “others” were Protestants and Jews. My grandparents had a house on a lake where my grandfather was caretaker. Most of the other residents were Jewish. There was a synagogue almost in their backyard. I can remember sitting in the backyard on Saturday nights and listening to the cantor sing. There was definitely a feeling of separateness from the Jewish residents at the lake – yet I don’t remember anything my grandparents ever said (either negative or positive) about the Jewish people around us.
When we moved to Syracuse in the mid-sixties, there were race riots – my school was one of the first to admit a black girl. On that day, people were protesting outside, throwing stones at the school. I think that’s when I really became aware of race. Til then, I defined people’s differentness as religious or (white) ethnic differences.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:19 am
Being Puerto-Rican & Black
…in the Bronx in the 70s meant white kids were a minority and race wasn’t much of an issue. Skin color, on the other hand, was a big deal. I distinctly remember the spanking I received from my grandmother (old school black woman from down south) when I was about 7 years old after I told my cousin (3 years older, black and dark-skinned) that I couldn’t play “Black Brothers” with him because I was white.
It wasn’t a race thing for me, as I knew I wasn’t “white” like one of best my friends, Charlie, but for her, someone who was run out of the south by the Klan, it was a backhand to the face. Many years later, she long gone and my grandfather on his deathbed, we learned the truth about why they left the south. Turns out my grandfather – a militant, high-yellow preacher – was actually of Scottish and Native American descent, with nary a drop of African blood in him. That he married a black woman was offensive enough; but that he’d choose to pass as a black man was more than his family and the powers-that-be could stand.
Because of this, I check “Other” or “Mixed” whenever it’s an option as I recognize “race” as the divisive tactic it is.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:19 am
Being Puerto-Rican & Black
…in the Bronx in the 70s meant white kids were a minority and race wasn’t much of an issue. Skin color, on the other hand, was a big deal. I distinctly remember the spanking I received from my grandmother (old school black woman from down south) when I was about 7 years old after I told my cousin (3 years older, black and dark-skinned) that I couldn’t play “Black Brothers” with him because I was white.
It wasn’t a race thing for me, as I knew I wasn’t “white” like one of best my friends, Charlie, but for her, someone who was run out of the south by the Klan, it was a backhand to the face. Many years later, she long gone and my grandfather on his deathbed, we learned the truth about why they left the south. Turns out my grandfather – a militant, high-yellow preacher – was actually of Scottish and Native American descent, with nary a drop of African blood in him. That he married a black woman was offensive enough; but that he’d choose to pass as a black man was more than his family and the powers-that-be could stand.
Because of this, I check “Other” or “Mixed” whenever it’s an option as I recognize “race” as the divisive tactic it is.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:19 am
Being Puerto-Rican & Black
…in the Bronx in the 70s meant white kids were a minority and race wasn’t much of an issue. Skin color, on the other hand, was a big deal. I distinctly remember the spanking I received from my grandmother (old school black woman from down south) when I was about 7 years old after I told my cousin (3 years older, black and dark-skinned) that I couldn’t play “Black Brothers” with him because I was white.
It wasn’t a race thing for me, as I knew I wasn’t “white” like one of best my friends, Charlie, but for her, someone who was run out of the south by the Klan, it was a backhand to the face. Many years later, she long gone and my grandfather on his deathbed, we learned the truth about why they left the south. Turns out my grandfather – a militant, high-yellow preacher – was actually of Scottish and Native American descent, with nary a drop of African blood in him. That he married a black woman was offensive enough; but that he’d choose to pass as a black man was more than his family and the powers-that-be could stand.
Because of this, I check “Other” or “Mixed” whenever it’s an option as I recognize “race” as the divisive tactic it is.
June 1st, 2004 at 7:19 am
Being Puerto-Rican & Black
…in the Bronx in the 70s meant white kids were a minority and race wasn’t much of an issue. Skin color, on the other hand, was a big deal. I distinctly remember the spanking I received from my grandmother (old school black woman from down south) when I was about 7 years old after I told my cousin (3 years older, black and dark-skinned) that I couldn’t play “Black Brothers” with him because I was white.
It wasn’t a race thing for me, as I knew I wasn’t “white” like one of best my friends, Charlie, but for her, someone who was run out of the south by the Klan, it was a backhand to the face. Many years later, she long gone and my grandfather on his deathbed, we learned the truth about why they left the south. Turns out my grandfather – a militant, high-yellow preacher – was actually of Scottish and Native American descent, with nary a drop of African blood in him. That he married a black woman was offensive enough; but that he’d choose to pass as a black man was more than his family and the powers-that-be could stand.
Because of this, I check “Other” or “Mixed” whenever it’s an option as I recognize “race” as the divisive tactic it is.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:50 am
When?
That’s not a dumb question at all. But I’m having a hard time thinking of the answer.
The first time I think I had an awareness of race, ethnicity, or nationality was in 2nd grade, because my mom taught in Greece for a year. So I was aware of Greek culture, Greek language, and Greece as a foreign country, and myself as “other”.
The next year, immediately upon returning to San Antonio, we joined a synagogue and I started attending religious school. So I suddenly had a sense of myself as Jewish, also very much an “other” in Texas, and that took years and years to have a coherent sense of what that meant to me.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:50 am
When?
That’s not a dumb question at all. But I’m having a hard time thinking of the answer.
The first time I think I had an awareness of race, ethnicity, or nationality was in 2nd grade, because my mom taught in Greece for a year. So I was aware of Greek culture, Greek language, and Greece as a foreign country, and myself as “other”.
The next year, immediately upon returning to San Antonio, we joined a synagogue and I started attending religious school. So I suddenly had a sense of myself as Jewish, also very much an “other” in Texas, and that took years and years to have a coherent sense of what that meant to me.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:50 am
When?
That’s not a dumb question at all. But I’m having a hard time thinking of the answer.
The first time I think I had an awareness of race, ethnicity, or nationality was in 2nd grade, because my mom taught in Greece for a year. So I was aware of Greek culture, Greek language, and Greece as a foreign country, and myself as “other”.
The next year, immediately upon returning to San Antonio, we joined a synagogue and I started attending religious school. So I suddenly had a sense of myself as Jewish, also very much an “other” in Texas, and that took years and years to have a coherent sense of what that meant to me.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:50 am
When?
That’s not a dumb question at all. But I’m having a hard time thinking of the answer.
The first time I think I had an awareness of race, ethnicity, or nationality was in 2nd grade, because my mom taught in Greece for a year. So I was aware of Greek culture, Greek language, and Greece as a foreign country, and myself as “other”.
The next year, immediately upon returning to San Antonio, we joined a synagogue and I started attending religious school. So I suddenly had a sense of myself as Jewish, also very much an “other” in Texas, and that took years and years to have a coherent sense of what that meant to me.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:45 am
no recollection, but
i do remember being freaked out by coded race behaviors. for instance, sharing a soda with a kid of a different race, both black and white kids would wipe off the bottle (with a dirty shirt sleeve, ah, the logic!). i asked my mom about it, and she said it was best not to dwell, that if i looked for it to make sense i was just gonna be frustrated. this was small town north carolina in the seventies. the grandparenting generation had grown up in the teens and twenties, so an old and evil race consciousness was still lingering in the air children were breathing.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:45 am
no recollection, but
i do remember being freaked out by coded race behaviors. for instance, sharing a soda with a kid of a different race, both black and white kids would wipe off the bottle (with a dirty shirt sleeve, ah, the logic!). i asked my mom about it, and she said it was best not to dwell, that if i looked for it to make sense i was just gonna be frustrated. this was small town north carolina in the seventies. the grandparenting generation had grown up in the teens and twenties, so an old and evil race consciousness was still lingering in the air children were breathing.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:45 am
no recollection, but
i do remember being freaked out by coded race behaviors. for instance, sharing a soda with a kid of a different race, both black and white kids would wipe off the bottle (with a dirty shirt sleeve, ah, the logic!). i asked my mom about it, and she said it was best not to dwell, that if i looked for it to make sense i was just gonna be frustrated. this was small town north carolina in the seventies. the grandparenting generation had grown up in the teens and twenties, so an old and evil race consciousness was still lingering in the air children were breathing.
June 1st, 2004 at 6:45 am
no recollection, but
i do remember being freaked out by coded race behaviors. for instance, sharing a soda with a kid of a different race, both black and white kids would wipe off the bottle (with a dirty shirt sleeve, ah, the logic!). i asked my mom about it, and she said it was best not to dwell, that if i looked for it to make sense i was just gonna be frustrated. this was small town north carolina in the seventies. the grandparenting generation had grown up in the teens and twenties, so an old and evil race consciousness was still lingering in the air children were breathing.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:45 pm
my family makes no excuses for us being russian jews, even though the thought of coming to america in the ’70s was a means of finding a better life away from the soviet stigma of “jew” my parents had lived with all their lives. i’ve always embraced my “race” or heritage or whatever you want to call it, so the bipolar definitions we were taught in public school. ie. white or other, never really seemed to fit. i remember being really excited to see a questionnaire in high school that had a check box for “jewish”, when all the others i’d filled out showed only “white, non-hispanic” and “other” among the choices. i’ve always made a point of checking as many as applied to me, making me at times “asian” for the sole fact that i was born on the continent of Asia. this identity “crisis” caused me to not believe in the american system of identity, even though i was very much a student of it.
a defining moment for my self-awareness came when, in the 8th grade and a member of the California Cadet Corps (a junior, junior ROTC program that counted as PE credit (i was chubby and didn’t go for the sports thing)), i went to a military summer camp and had to share a cabin with a young skinhead and a very vocal descendant of an SS soldier. although the situation never came to blows, we did have many heated discussions and wrestling matches. luckily, i was bigger than the other two, so there was never any ill outward behavior.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:45 pm
my family makes no excuses for us being russian jews, even though the thought of coming to america in the ’70s was a means of finding a better life away from the soviet stigma of “jew” my parents had lived with all their lives. i’ve always embraced my “race” or heritage or whatever you want to call it, so the bipolar definitions we were taught in public school. ie. white or other, never really seemed to fit. i remember being really excited to see a questionnaire in high school that had a check box for “jewish”, when all the others i’d filled out showed only “white, non-hispanic” and “other” among the choices. i’ve always made a point of checking as many as applied to me, making me at times “asian” for the sole fact that i was born on the continent of Asia. this identity “crisis” caused me to not believe in the american system of identity, even though i was very much a student of it.
a defining moment for my self-awareness came when, in the 8th grade and a member of the California Cadet Corps (a junior, junior ROTC program that counted as PE credit (i was chubby and didn’t go for the sports thing)), i went to a military summer camp and had to share a cabin with a young skinhead and a very vocal descendant of an SS soldier. although the situation never came to blows, we did have many heated discussions and wrestling matches. luckily, i was bigger than the other two, so there was never any ill outward behavior.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:45 pm
my family makes no excuses for us being russian jews, even though the thought of coming to america in the ’70s was a means of finding a better life away from the soviet stigma of “jew” my parents had lived with all their lives. i’ve always embraced my “race” or heritage or whatever you want to call it, so the bipolar definitions we were taught in public school. ie. white or other, never really seemed to fit. i remember being really excited to see a questionnaire in high school that had a check box for “jewish”, when all the others i’d filled out showed only “white, non-hispanic” and “other” among the choices. i’ve always made a point of checking as many as applied to me, making me at times “asian” for the sole fact that i was born on the continent of Asia. this identity “crisis” caused me to not believe in the american system of identity, even though i was very much a student of it.
a defining moment for my self-awareness came when, in the 8th grade and a member of the California Cadet Corps (a junior, junior ROTC program that counted as PE credit (i was chubby and didn’t go for the sports thing)), i went to a military summer camp and had to share a cabin with a young skinhead and a very vocal descendant of an SS soldier. although the situation never came to blows, we did have many heated discussions and wrestling matches. luckily, i was bigger than the other two, so there was never any ill outward behavior.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:45 pm
my family makes no excuses for us being russian jews, even though the thought of coming to america in the ’70s was a means of finding a better life away from the soviet stigma of “jew” my parents had lived with all their lives. i’ve always embraced my “race” or heritage or whatever you want to call it, so the bipolar definitions we were taught in public school. ie. white or other, never really seemed to fit. i remember being really excited to see a questionnaire in high school that had a check box for “jewish”, when all the others i’d filled out showed only “white, non-hispanic” and “other” among the choices. i’ve always made a point of checking as many as applied to me, making me at times “asian” for the sole fact that i was born on the continent of Asia. this identity “crisis” caused me to not believe in the american system of identity, even though i was very much a student of it.
a defining moment for my self-awareness came when, in the 8th grade and a member of the California Cadet Corps (a junior, junior ROTC program that counted as PE credit (i was chubby and didn’t go for the sports thing)), i went to a military summer camp and had to share a cabin with a young skinhead and a very vocal descendant of an SS soldier. although the situation never came to blows, we did have many heated discussions and wrestling matches. luckily, i was bigger than the other two, so there was never any ill outward behavior.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:25 pm
still working on it
within the context of your question, i don’t think it was ever openly acknowledged or celebrated as to what race we are/were. growing up my family was always defined by what we weren’t. this may be a very canadian way of looking at things.
i come from french and austrian and polish/ukranian blood. but my grandparents anglicized their names. weslowksi to west. jakub to jacobs. my grandmother spoke french as did her sisters but never did she teach my mother. my dad’s side was fluent in german but the same thing occured. the language was not passed down. we were told to deny who we were and fit in. don’t let people know you were german or austrian because of the ww 2 going on. they only speak french in quebec, etc.
and taking it a bit further along those lines as canadians we were/are defining ourselves most often by not being americans. and even though that’s not race based it is very prevalent.
racism however first came to the forefront in our family (that i remember) was when my sister dated an indo canadian boy in highschool. my father had a fit. he and my sister didn’t speak for weeks as he forbid her from seeing him. i can recall him saying “those fucking hindus” regardless of what religion sonny was. but again it was about they or them or those not about what we were. not that it makes it any better.
it was a paranoid and isolated little camp we had. a long line of schizophrenics on my dad’s side had a big influence on this i think.
us versus them. them could be anybody. and they usually were everywhere.
i don’t know if this helps at all.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:25 pm
still working on it
within the context of your question, i don’t think it was ever openly acknowledged or celebrated as to what race we are/were. growing up my family was always defined by what we weren’t. this may be a very canadian way of looking at things.
i come from french and austrian and polish/ukranian blood. but my grandparents anglicized their names. weslowksi to west. jakub to jacobs. my grandmother spoke french as did her sisters but never did she teach my mother. my dad’s side was fluent in german but the same thing occured. the language was not passed down. we were told to deny who we were and fit in. don’t let people know you were german or austrian because of the ww 2 going on. they only speak french in quebec, etc.
and taking it a bit further along those lines as canadians we were/are defining ourselves most often by not being americans. and even though that’s not race based it is very prevalent.
racism however first came to the forefront in our family (that i remember) was when my sister dated an indo canadian boy in highschool. my father had a fit. he and my sister didn’t speak for weeks as he forbid her from seeing him. i can recall him saying “those fucking hindus” regardless of what religion sonny was. but again it was about they or them or those not about what we were. not that it makes it any better.
it was a paranoid and isolated little camp we had. a long line of schizophrenics on my dad’s side had a big influence on this i think.
us versus them. them could be anybody. and they usually were everywhere.
i don’t know if this helps at all.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:25 pm
still working on it
within the context of your question, i don’t think it was ever openly acknowledged or celebrated as to what race we are/were. growing up my family was always defined by what we weren’t. this may be a very canadian way of looking at things.
i come from french and austrian and polish/ukranian blood. but my grandparents anglicized their names. weslowksi to west. jakub to jacobs. my grandmother spoke french as did her sisters but never did she teach my mother. my dad’s side was fluent in german but the same thing occured. the language was not passed down. we were told to deny who we were and fit in. don’t let people know you were german or austrian because of the ww 2 going on. they only speak french in quebec, etc.
and taking it a bit further along those lines as canadians we were/are defining ourselves most often by not being americans. and even though that’s not race based it is very prevalent.
racism however first came to the forefront in our family (that i remember) was when my sister dated an indo canadian boy in highschool. my father had a fit. he and my sister didn’t speak for weeks as he forbid her from seeing him. i can recall him saying “those fucking hindus” regardless of what religion sonny was. but again it was about they or them or those not about what we were. not that it makes it any better.
it was a paranoid and isolated little camp we had. a long line of schizophrenics on my dad’s side had a big influence on this i think.
us versus them. them could be anybody. and they usually were everywhere.
i don’t know if this helps at all.
May 31st, 2004 at 10:25 pm
still working on it
within the context of your question, i don’t think it was ever openly acknowledged or celebrated as to what race we are/were. growing up my family was always defined by what we weren’t. this may be a very canadian way of looking at things.
i come from french and austrian and polish/ukranian blood. but my grandparents anglicized their names. weslowksi to west. jakub to jacobs. my grandmother spoke french as did her sisters but never did she teach my mother. my dad’s side was fluent in german but the same thing occured. the language was not passed down. we were told to deny who we were and fit in. don’t let people know you were german or austrian because of the ww 2 going on. they only speak french in quebec, etc.
and taking it a bit further along those lines as canadians we were/are defining ourselves most often by not being americans. and even though that’s not race based it is very prevalent.
racism however first came to the forefront in our family (that i remember) was when my sister dated an indo canadian boy in highschool. my father had a fit. he and my sister didn’t speak for weeks as he forbid her from seeing him. i can recall him saying “those fucking hindus” regardless of what religion sonny was. but again it was about they or them or those not about what we were. not that it makes it any better.
it was a paranoid and isolated little camp we had. a long line of schizophrenics on my dad’s side had a big influence on this i think.
us versus them. them could be anybody. and they usually were everywhere.
i don’t know if this helps at all.
May 31st, 2004 at 9:25 pm
I think it was in the primary school when I was introduced to the concept of a race. But I do not remember the context too well.
BTW, it was in Europe in a culture and society that is almost 100% “white,” and probably 80-90% Roman Catholic.
May 31st, 2004 at 9:25 pm
I think it was in the primary school when I was introduced to the concept of a race. But I do not remember the context too well.
BTW, it was in Europe in a culture and society that is almost 100% “white,” and probably 80-90% Roman Catholic.
May 31st, 2004 at 9:25 pm
I think it was in the primary school when I was introduced to the concept of a race. But I do not remember the context too well.
BTW, it was in Europe in a culture and society that is almost 100% “white,” and probably 80-90% Roman Catholic.
May 31st, 2004 at 9:25 pm
I think it was in the primary school when I was introduced to the concept of a race. But I do not remember the context too well.
BTW, it was in Europe in a culture and society that is almost 100% “white,” and probably 80-90% Roman Catholic.