What Color Are You? A Reflection on Racialization in US Schools and Communities
Margaret and Fatima[1], two high school sophomores from Liberia and Somalia, respectively, recently bumped into me in the hallway after school. I know the two girls fairly well because I tutored them in reading twice a week when they were in junior high, and now see them from time to time at the high school. We took a moment to catch up on the usual topics of interest to teenage girls: clothes, popular music, and boys. Or at least that is how the conversation began. For some reason (the memory escapes me) the girls began to ask me about my husband. What does he do for a living? How did you meet? In this vein our chat somehow evolved and suddenly Margaret asked me a question that left me fumbling for words to respond: “What color are you and your husband?”
I paused, frantically thinking of ways to dodge the question. I decided I would make a joke and quickly move on. “We’re purple,” I replied with a smile, and attempted to change the subject. Not so fast, Margaret’s expression seemed to say. “Everyone in America has a color,” she said. “Yeah, we’re Black here, and Americans hate Black people,” added Fatima. “Purple is not a color. You can only be black, white, brown, red, or yellow. What color are you?” My intention was not to patronize or pretend that issues of race in the United States do not exist. I simply did not know how to answer the question, or at least half of it. My husband has pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes and his family can claim American citizenship for several generations back. Consequently, I know most people would regard him as White. But what color am I? I have dark hair and eyes, with light olive skin. My parents are Cuban refugees. In the limited menu of race/color labels in the United States (sadly to which these two African students had already been introduced), “Olive” is not an option. I have been called White in some circles, such as among people of Cuban descent. I have heard others refer to me as Brown. Still others prefer to add me to the catch-all category of Persons of Color, a controversial term which includes all people but Whites. And then of course there was my own self-perception to consider: I do not and have never seen myself in terms of color. With all this confusion of complexion hues muddying up my mind, I found myself at a loss for the ‘correct’ way to respond to such a question. The conversation ended, we went our separate ways, and I felt I had failed Margaret and Fatima by not supplying an adequate response to such a weighty question.
This vignette illustrates the first time that students have asked me about my skin color, but I know that it will not be the last. I am planning to teach immigrant students such as Margaret and Fatima next year, and I hope that my future students, who will likely grapple with issues of race and color for themselves, will trust me enough to ask me such questions. However in order to build and deserve that trust, I clearly have some work to do.
First, I must address the color question for myself. Am I Black? I do not believe so. Am I White? Brown? To some folks, perhaps. What about a Person of Color? It is a phrase commonly used by educators and theorists to refer to non-Whites. But is it appropriate? Multicultural theorists Sonia Nieto and Patty Bode (2008) think not:
[One problem with the term] is the implication of a common historical experience among all groups and individuals included under this designation. Aside from a mutual history of oppression at the hands of those in power, a shared historical experience among these disparate groups is an illusion…People of color is also inaccurate when referring, for example, to Latinos of European background, as is the case with many Argentinians and Cubans, and light-skinned Latinos in general. When these Latinos refer to themselves in this way, they risk implying that they have experienced the same level of virulent racism as their darker-skinned compatriots (p. 38).
I agree with Nieto and Bode here, but would add that “People of Color” is not the only problematic label used to color-code people in the United States. The other labels are just as complicated. “Black,” for instance, is a tricky label for students such as Margaret and Fatima, who do not share the same historical or cultural experiences as African-Americans. Nevertheless, Margaret and Fatima know that that this color has been assigned to them by American society, whether the girls will it or not. They have been racialized, as Bigelow (2008) puts it.
Bigelow (2008) argues that “[t]he process of racialization has a powerful impact on immigrants of color, like Somalis, who may or may not have come from such racialized societies or were considered the dominant race in their own country” (p. 28). In “becoming black,” Somali immigrants must grapple with their new minority status as well as with a label that negates the very existence of a Somali culture and attempts to lump them together with African-Americans, which Somali students might not identify with (p. 28). This labeling, warns Bigelow, can have various adverse effects on Somali and other African students, such as racial profiling by police and a loss of cultural and linguistic resources (such as when Somali students opt to speak African-American Vernacular English instead of their native languages, in order to fit in) (p. 29).
What then, is the answer to Margaret’s question? What color am I? After significant research and introspection, I have come to the conclusion that “I don’t know,” followed by a discussion of the implications of color labels, is a far more useful answer for students than succumbing to racialization and replying with “white” or “brown” or some other color label. Students, particularly those who are members of oppressed groups, want to talk about race, and open, honest discussion about race can help improve the educational climate for children like Margaret and Fatima. As a teacher, I must be comfortable talking about color whenever students bring up the issue. However I need not wait for students to bring it up. Bigelow recommends that teachers initiate these discussions with their classes: “All students should learn how racialization occurs at schools and in communities. Students can [be encouraged to] engage in their own inquiry about racialization practices” (p. 32). Teachers should also make sure not to assign labels to students. Dark-skinned students are not all the same and thus should not be treated as though they are. For that matter, light-skinned, “White” students also come from diverse backgrounds, and educators should be careful not to assume that all “White” students have shared historical or cultural experiences or perspectives.
I do not wish to give the impression that I am advocating ‘color-blindness’ in school communities. Skin color has long been and continues to be a basis for discrimination and oppression in the United States. Darker-skinned students like Margaret and Fatima will learn harsh lessons about racism whether or not teachers discuss it with them. However, educators can be agents for social change when they assist students in deconstructing the white/black, or white/colored, dichotomy through honest dialogue with students about race. In The Dreamkeepers, a book about culturally relevant pedagogy for African-American students, Gloria Ladsen-Billings (1994) writes:
African American children cannot afford the luxury of shielding themselves with a sugar-coated vision of the world. When their parents or neighbors suffer personal humiliations and discrimination because of their race, parents, teachers, and neighbors need to explain why. But, beyond those explanations, parents, teachers, and neighbors need to help arm African American children with the knowledge, skills, and attitude needed to struggle successfully against oppression (p. 139).
Although she is writing about African-American students, Ladsen-Billings’s argument can certainly be extended to students from other marginalized groups, such as immigrants from African countries. I did Margaret and Fatima no favors by avoiding an honest and constructive discussion about race and racism.
How to begin engaging in useful dialogue with students about race? Stovall’s (2005) explanation of Critical Race Theory (CRT) can provide a springboard for such discussion. Teachers can explicitly teach such theories and their application in the classroom. I am planning to teach language arts at the secondary level. I see no reason why I should not introduce students to the same critical theories that I was exposed to in the university. I can teach students how to use CRT as a lens for analyzing literature. For example, I am currently planning an inquiry-based unit in which students will explore how African-American authors have used and continue to use language as a tool for subverting systems of oppression and effecting social change. This unit would be part of a year-long investigation of the “racialized, gendered, and classed experiences” of women and other historically marginalized authors, and would apply the “interdisciplinary knowledge base of [CRT] to better understand” their experiences (Stovall 2005, p. 97).
Through my experiences working with immigrant youth, I have begun to learn what it means to be an “ally” to members of historically oppressed groups of people (Kivel 2005, p. 139). Kivel argues that being an ally “includes listening” to people when they have encountered racism in their lives (p. 139). However, for educators being an ally also means exhibiting a willingness to engage in thoughtful, honest discussion with students about race. As an educator, I do not need to have all the answers. I do not need to have a one-word response prepared for the moment when a student asks, “What color are you, Ms. Perez?” Instead, I need to be ready to engage in critical inquiry with my students, and support them as they learn to navigate and challenge the complex and color-coded world they in which they live.
References
Bigelow, M. (2008). Somali adolescents’ negotiation of religious and racial bias in and out of school. Theory into Practice, (47), 27-34.
Kivel, P. (2005). How White people can serve as allies to people of color in the struggle to end racism. In P.S. Rothenburg (Ed.), White Privilege: Essential Readings on the Other Side of Racism (2nd Edition), 139-147. New York, NY: Worth Publishers.
Ladsen-Billings, G. (1994). The Dream-Keepers: Successful Teachers of African American Children. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.
Nieto, S. & Bode, P. (2008). Affirming Diversity: The Sociopolitical Context of Multicultural Education. (5th ed.). Boston, MA: Pearson Education, Inc.
Stovall, D. (2005). A Challenge to traditional theory: Critical race theory, African-American community organizers, and education. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 26(1), 95-108.
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