This is the first part of a paper on the topic of race that I had for my Media, Race and Politics class. We could write about whatever we chose to. I’m going to post the next part on Sunday.

Part I:

A group of ACM students and I were recently visiting Woodlawn elementary school, watching their students take part in their daily morning ritual. During the ritual students sing and play music in both English and in an African language, will learn lessons of morals and unity, and will link hands to create a large, unified circle. It was inspiring to watch. I thought to myself about how amazing this school was for these children. The mission to help students gain an understanding and an appreciation for their heritage was extraordinary, especially in a world which sometimes seems to invalidate the roots of the African American community as a whole

I left the ritual feeling radiant. As our group walked through the hallways of Woodlawn, students gathered in doorways to watch us as we passed. “Hi!” one girl offered. “Hello!” I beamed back. Then I heard another student from behind me say: “Japanese.”

All the kids burst into simultaneous laughter, and I blinked and glanced back before following the rest of my group into a classroom.

 ———-

I rarely encountered the issue of race while growing up. In fact, I would say that I had a pointedly non-racial upbringing. My mother is Asian and my father is white, which apparently makes my brother and I tall, gangly, and tan skinned— perfectly racially ambiguous. Only rarely would someone inquire about my ethnicity— “So what… are you?” they would ask. I would often ask them to guess, and would get a broad range of answers in return: Native American, Hawaiian, or Hispanic/Latino were among the answers given. In any case I would laugh lightly and give a brief explanation of our non-whiteness; that our mother was born in Hawaii and that we were of Japanese descent. I can talk about my Hawaiian background; I visit my relatives in Honolulu about once a year, and I can sprinkle enough Hawaiian facts and culture into the conversation to pass for personal experience. The conversation eventually moves on to other things.

The truth is, though, I never do feel at home when visiting my family in Hawaii. I have to interpret the regional dialect, work to understand the local customs; I don’t even try to pass myself off as a local Hawaiian. When I visit Hawaii I recognize my race and then I separate my own identity from it. I choose to consider myself as not Japanese, not Hawaiian and obviously not white. I have grown up thinking of myself as non-racial. I want there to be no difference between myself and anybody else. I feel as though this is how I have been brought up: everyone is equal, everyone deserves to be treated equally.

So when the Woodlawn student exposed me as “Japanese”, my first reaction was indignation. How could she tell that I was Japanese? Was it the way I spoke, or the way I looked? Should I have reacted better— more indignant, or more poised? I realized that there was no real reason for me to be so insulted. I am Japanese; that student had only pointed it out. What was it about being defined as a race— any race— that had incited such a reaction in myself? I do not define myself in anyway by my race, and so I especially do not want others to go about defining me as Asian. I don’t even know what being Asian is supposed to mean. Whenever standardized tests, college admissions or police officers demand that I admit my race, I always think: How does that matter? Will you regard me differently now?

Part II to come on Sunday (hopefullymaybe)