Keianna
When I tell people that I’m both black and Mexican, or show them pictures of my parents, I receive a variety of responses. Here are some of my favorites:
1. “That’s not your mom! Why would you lie about something like that? If you were Mexican you’d look it. And you would like spicy food!”
2. “Oh you’re not fully black? Then why do you feel the need to speak on black issues? It’s none of your business.”
One time, a girl went full Mean Girls on me and asked, “If you’re Mexican, why are you black?
It was hard when I was little, being the non-confrontational youngster I was. If race or identity came up I would change the subject, not wanting to talk about it. As I got older and started attending a predominately white school I found that changing the subject wasn’t an option anymore; people were more persistent now, more opinionated. So, I spent countless hours on the internet, scrolling, watching, and reading until I had a good idea of what I believed. I went back to school feeling like this responsibility to educate my peers was a cool superwoman-like cape. Keianna to the rescue!
I excitedly waited for the questions about my ethnicity or hair, ready to fire the asker with facts. About a week later, in fourth period, a group of girls who sat behind me, all of them white, tapped my shoulder. Noticing that I was listening to Kanye, they asked what song was playing. Once I’d given my answer I was, once again, ignored, unworthy of their conversation. I didn’t care, I had no plans to contribute anything more, until one of the girls turned to me and asked, “Is it OK if I say the N-word? I know people get so butthurt.”
I was shocked. Even with all my knowledge and research, I didn’t know what to say. I stuttered something along the lines of, “No, it’s not your word to say.” Yes, the moment I was waiting for had came, but not as I expected.
She nastily informed me that I wasn’t even really “that black anyways.” I was a mutt who needed to get over it. She ended her rant by asking, “Why is it such a big deal anyways? I wasn’t around when slavery was a thing and neither were you.”
All at once, my cape morphed into an ugly sweater. It was no longer something to show off, it was something I wanted to throw into the back of my closet and forget about. Why would she ask me if I was OK with it and then get mad when I answered honestly? I was confused and highly upset, but instead of confronting her I ignored her and asked that my teacher move my seat.
Over the next couple of days, I got the usual questions: “So, is it cultural appropriation if I do this?” Their inquiries were prompted by my telling my classmates that what they were saying to or in front of me wasn’t OK. Yet, I was now annoyed by even having to tell them what they were doing was wrong, let alone having to explain why. I had spent the time to educate myself, why couldn’t they do the same for themselves?
The altercation with the girls left me confused and unsure. Sometimes people would come to me asking for advice and I’d feel the same annoyance I did when someone who didn’t care asked. How was I supposed to help people if I was constantly wary that they were secretly making fun of me? The fighter in me still wanted to make the school a better place: stopping altogether wasn’t an option.
I decided, with the help of some very amazing people, to adopt my math teacher’s mindset. Every day, before he starts teaching, he tells us that if we don’t want to learn we should go sit in the back and put our heads down so he can focus on the people who do. In my case, I’ll ignore all of those who don’t actually want my help, so that I can be ready and willing to teach the people who do.
In conclusion, my cape’s back on, and I’m ready for action. Send out a signal if you need me. ♦