What Am I?

Yesterday over on Huffington Online's "Latino Voices" section, blogger Icess Fernandez Rojas wrote about her identity as an Afro-Latina -- feeling at times this need to justify herself depending on which group she happens to be hanging out with, be they black or Latina. As someone who is both, she felt excluded from either group depending on the situation:

"Why, in this modern age, do I have to prove myself? Why do I have to prove my Blackness or my Latina heritage while denying the other exists?"

As someone who also has a dual-heritage background, I can sympathize with her plight. My mother was white, and my father Dominican. However, unlike Ms. Rojas, I can only claim one side of the divide: my mom's side. My father was never in the picture, except for the rare holiday or out of the blue appearance by which I would infrequently see my Dominican grandmother and perhaps a handful of aunts and uncles, along with a tiny portion of assorted cousins. My skin color is fairer than most Latinos thanks to my mom, but I have my father's island features--my hair color, nose, cheekbones, mouth, and eye shape are all Latin-Caribbean!

Funny, he doesn't look ambiguous.

It's a strange pickle to be in, for sure: looking Hispanic, but having no Latin identity whatsoever. Living in New York, most Latinos assume I'm one of them. They'll walk up to me and immediately fire off full-blown sentences in Spanish as if I can understand them. And sometimes I can. But most times, I cannot. Not completely, anyway. Inevitably this leads to a lot of confusion and, on rare occasion, some attempt at cultural shaming. This used to put me on the defensive, whereby I would tell the offending party to go have a talk with my dad and ask him why he couldn't get his shit together and include his son in on the cultural cues making up around one-half of his heritage. What little Spanish I do know, I learned in high school alongside most of my African American classmates. And although I did excel in these classes, it was due more to having a natural facility with languages, and not because of my last name. Sure, I'm certain everybody else assumed I was "slumming it" in Spanish class for the sake of increasing my GPA, but to this day I still cannot roll my r's for the life of me!

As for other cultural signalers--food, music, literature, pop art--I'm woefully ignorant. I couldn't tell you the difference between the merengue and salsa, although I vaguely know that they are both the names of dances from two different islands. What? You're wondering why I didn't do more to learn about my father's culture? Well, why should I? He never had any time for me, so why should I have honored him by doing the job he should have been doing all my life?

Yes, therein lies the heart of the problem. Any curiosity I might have had concerning the island nation from which my father and his family came from in the 1970s has been overruled by the anger from being abandoned at a very early age by him. My mother raised me alone, and her mother continued the job when her daughter was no longer with us. My father had ample opportunity to play a more active role in my life at that time--the man lived in the same city, after all! But he had no time for me, and so I had no time for him or his culture.

It's petty, yes, but for a long time this was how I felt. And now? Well, now that I'm getting older I find myself softening my views. I still lack a Latino identity, and know very little about Dominican culture specifically; but my natural inclination is to be curious about other cultures, and to value their values. In college I adopted Chinese as my culture. I learned the language and the history, loved the art and watched the movies. I read numerous books in Chinese, and even studied the classics in their original written forms! When I show an interest in a culture, I hold back no stops. So why should this be any different?

Yes, I really should try to do more to find out about the one culture I actually have genetic roots in. I will never have Dominican pride, because ultimately my nationality is American, and my culture that of my mother's Scots-Irish lineage. But I can do something to cultivate a social connection to the ways and lifestyles of my father's people as well. Even if I don't particularly like the man.

As far as the interesting issues Ms. Rojas raises in her article, I'm afraid I do not have the same luxury she does of choosing to be both. Being Latino is as alien to me as being Chinese. It's still the culture of the other in my mind. A friend asked me once: "Which do you consider yourself? Hispanic or White?" And to which I replied easily: "White." What else could I say? To say I'm Latino is a gross exaggeration. It's not a question of being repelled by my own background, but one of familiarity. I know all about the American culture to which most white people in this country can ascribe. It is my comfort zone. It is the love I have for my mother.

But about being Latino? What the hell do I know about that? What right do I have to lay such claim beyond the verity of my features and bearing the last name of my Caribbean ancestors? Because, to right now say that I'm Dominican would to be to only pay it lip service. And I'm sorry, but I refuse to be so disingenuous.

So, I ask of the world the same question as Ms. Rojas, except in the inverse: Why must I acknowledge both sides at all? Why not just connect to that one side that has always been there for me, and be who I feel myself to be? Being both, I should have the right to choose which one I identify with the most. And in that case, I'm not white nor Latino--soy Americano.

I am American! And America means being both or neither, or the sum of all the parts. It means whatever I decide it to mean for myself, on my terms.

Or shouldn't it?

The I Inside

What are you?

*sigh*

The dreaded question. Folks, I can't tell you the number of times I've heard this in my lifetime. Everywhere I go this seems to be the question of utmost fascination when people come across my path:

"You know, I've always wondered: what are you?"

Sounds pretty rude, doesn't it? But this is not an embellishment -- this IS the way it's constantly worded. Sometimes the person doing the inquiring will precede it with a: "I don't mean to be rude, but . . ." And we all know what the "but" means in these statements. The funny thing is, I actually don't get offended by this. Honestly I don't.

Inspiration Comes From Anything

I just finished watching the Jimi Hendrix special they had on the Biography channel this week, a 2-hour program by which the life of this crazy-talented guitar god was retold in his own words, via Bootsy Collins, as pieced together from various interviews, letters, and recordings during his brief time in the spotlight from 1963 to 1970.

One thing he said really stuck with me. It was while Hendrix was just setting out to make a name for himself during a tumultuous time in America's social upheaval during the 60s:

"I went to Nashville, where I lived in a big housing estate they were building. Every Sunday afternoon we used to go downtown to watch the race riots. We'd take a picnic basket because they wouldn't serve us in the restaurants. One group would stand on one side of the street, and the rest on the other side. They'd shout names and talk about each other's mothers and . . . every once in a while stab each other. Sometimes if there was a good movie on that Sunday, there wouldn't be any race riots."

Wow, that really resonated with me. It just goes to show how silly all this hate and fear mongering really is, that it can be so easily set aside the minute some cool new flick is out in theaters. It also serves to illustrate how dangerous idle imaginations can be. I know I'm egregiously oversimplifying things here when I say this, but I truly do believe in entertainment--be it books, music, movies, or video games--as a venue for relieving stress, anger, fear, and all the other pent-up energies that threaten to undo society when not allowed a safe and harmless release.

But it also got me to thinking about such moderations on society, and how this benefits the government and/or religious leaders who use entertainment programming to keep the unruly mob in check. And, yes, Sunday sermons and church pontificating is the oldest and most effective form of entertainment there is out there. What, you don't believe me?

Naturally, such thoughts then led me to an interesting premise for a sci-fi story. Although, my work would be cut out for me if I chose to pursue this route, what with the Matrix trilogy and various other sci-fi stories already beating me to the punch with this idea of a complacent mass media-consuming society kept under wraps by its manipulative overlords.

Still, that's one of the great things about speculative fiction writers: we're not always inventing new ideas, but sometimes re-inventing and re-interpreting old ones.

The Hypocrisy Is Strong In This One

LOL! I love The Daily Show. Jon Stewart and crew should charge us admission to watch them make utter and complete fools on a continual basis out of those ignorant bigots over on FOX News. The show could be about nothing but this and I would happily watch. Check out this clip from the latest episode, and tell me he did not get them but good! Especially watch for that one dumbass, Eric Bolling, with his index cards and yellow highlighted "facts". Yes, "facts" that just happen to have question marks after them:



I've decided not to say anything here on the blog over this ridiculous issue re: the Cultural Center/Mosque *near* Ground Zero. I've said enough on Facebook, for better or worse. So this video will have to suffice as my officially endorsed mouthpiece to the thoughts churning around furiously inside my head this week.

And of course, because this is Jon Stewart, it's full of the funny.

Good Hair

Saw Good Hair over the weekend, a documentary with comedian Chris Rock exploring the previously (and to some, still) taboo subject of African American hair.

I went in to the film with the notion that a black woman's choice to relax her hair or wear a weave is no different than a white woman's choice to bleach, dye, or style her hair--both are cosmetic choices made by the individual and influenced by cultural norms. Black women use harmful chemicals to adhere to an image of beauty held by society, just as white women use chemicals to do the same. Some claim that the harm in black women doing this is present because they are trying to be something they're not. Or to prescribe to a standard of beauty not set by themselves.

But guess what? This is not a black thing. This is true of all women's fashion and beauty standards, regardless of color.

I felt going in to this film that a black woman's decision to do anything to her own hair is something that she cannot and should not be judged on. And especially not by men. For all women, in a fashion, utilize chemicals in some form to enhance their appearance. Relaxer is made up of harmful and dangerous chemicals. But so are all standard cosmetics -- makeup, gloss, bleach, dyes, nail polish/removal. This is the state of feminine beauty. Hell, male beauty too, if you're too be honest. Unless you don't wear cologne, deodorant, after-shave, skin lotion, or use toothpaste, mouthwash, contact lenses, etc.

So, yes, I went in holding these opinions. And I left the movie . . . feeling EXACTLY the same way!

Watching Bad Hair did not give me any new insight into black women's hair I didn't already know. I live with a black woman, after all. If anything, it only reinforced what I strongly believed: that what a woman does with her own body is her own decision.

It's a knee-jerk reaction--and not just by black men, but some black women as well--that women who relax their hair or wear weaves are doing so to "look white." But this is unfair and over simplifying the situation. After all, if black women are making their hair straight to adhere to a Caucasian sense of what is beautiful, then in turn white women are wearing eye-liner and blush to adhere to an ancient Egyptian standard of beauty.

I mean, how far back do you want to go? Feminine beauty has NEVER been about being natural. From the dawn of time it's been about enhancing what you have, and then taking it a step further and trying to look like something you're not. Something idealized.

This is the key word here: ideal.

Black women in America have developed a standard unique to themselves. Like it or not, this has been decided. It's a purely egotistical and chauvinistic slant held by men that women pretty themselves up to look good for men. Oh puleeeze! Black woman do not torture themselves under 5 hours of intense scalp burn just to compete with white women over black men. They do it to compete with themselves! Just as women's fashion has grown up around the concept of the "other" woman, and not men at all. Women are not stupid. They know they don't have to do much to attract a man's attention. That part is rather easy.

I say this because I've been reading a lot of opinionated male blogs in the week leading up to this film's release concerning the "woeful state" of black women and self identity. As if. Black women are stronger and more independent then ever. They don't need a man to tell them how to feel about themselves. They have that all under control, thank you very much.

The black hair industry is a booming, multi-billion dollar juggernaut. It's not going anywhere. The key, then, if you are a black man (or a white man such as myself), is to just accept it. Black women are not trying to look like white women. Has white fashion *influenced* black beauty? Sure it has. But so has Asian, Middle Eastern, and Indian fashion influenced women's beauty in general. Who are we kidding?

If you really want to get a debate about what Black Hair truly reveals, it's this disturbing revelation that the industry is being dominated by Asian entrepreneurs. How's that for a slap to the face? In the documentary, some of the black women and men Rock interviews express dismay that black people are not even "allowed" to run their own beauty supplies. This opens up a whole other can of worms I won't get into right now (that's probably another blog entry). Suffice to say my views are not what you might think, and that I lay full blame on black people themselves.

Anyway, I think this film was an amazing insight into a part of American culture not too many people are aware of. And not only among the white population, but within the African American community itself. And judging by the reaction of those in the audience with me, this film was received well by people of all backgrounds. I found just as many Caucasian, Hispanic and Asian women discussing the film with their friends afterwards as black women. It's that type of production, and it was done extremely well.

Check it out for yourself some time.

Feeling A Tad Inadequate, Are We?

*sigh*

When are people going to learn: when you don't got it, you don't got it?

I'm getting sick and tired of this whole gender "debate" over Caster Semenya, the South African 800 meter world champion who's been in the news a lot lately over stupid people claiming that she won only because she's really a man. Or at the very least, that she has male sex genes.

Are you serious? Really? Is that how lame international sports has become? Because a black woman is dominating a given field, she obviously must be a man or some sort of freak of nature? Let's get real, people, and face the truth: your country's runners just can't cut it any more.

I mean, just look at the above photo. Does nothing look more pathetic than that one white woman trying so desperately not to let the master race down?

Okay, okay . . . I'm being snarky now and I apologize. After all, Semenya isn't just dominating flabby white women the world over, she's dominating the sport of running period! No matter which country you hail from -- Denmark or Kenya -- Caster Semenya is going to make you look stupid. But at least, as this article demonstrates, she seems to have a good attitude about it all. She knows she has nothing to prove to anyone else beyond the evidence her feet provide out on that track.

So instead of celebrating this young phenom, why are we wasting time with nonsense about her gender? What, because she doesn't fit some people's Westernized ideals of "beauty" she's suddenly a man? Well, who asked you? To me the very fact she kicks ass in her profession makes her ultimately beautiful in my eyes. Nothing's more sexy than a champion, as they say.

And with today comes new images taken from an upcoming issue of You magazine, showing Caster out of her usual track gear and wearing what her detractors would consider more appealing feminine garb. You is definitely trying to make a point, but personally I don't see why this much was even necessary. Only paranoid white people seem to be getting up in arms over her gender. Not South Africans, the magazine's intended readership, that's for sure.

As for the rest of us . . . she looks just fine. Just fine indeed.

So keep up the good work, Ms. Semenya. I look forward to seeing you embarrass more European and American nations at the 2012 Summer Olympics. You've got my cheers.

Pride Goeth Before A Fall

A while back on my MySpace blog, I posted this rant on why I've always viewed ethnic pride with suspicion, to put it mildly.

Well, it seems some studies bear my suspicions out, though through a different tangent than the one I had chosen to focus on in that post.

I scoped this article out on the LiveScience.com feed today. In it, the author talks about a study which links group pride with insecurity. Imagine that.

"The new study reveals how two types of pride are related to a person's good feelings about one social group or another to which they belong. These good feelings could come from being a Los Angeles Lakers fan (when they win), a war veteran, a member of a particular ethnic group or a sorority gal or fraternity brother. But while authentic pride is linked with real confidence in your group, hubristic pride is a false arrogance that belies insecurities about one's group."

I think there's some validity to the study, especially the delineation between authentic pride for one's team/ethnic group, and the more damaging boastful kind of pride that I'm against. Unfortunately, more people fall into the latter than the former category in my experience.

The angry Yankees fan screaming loudly that the "Red Sox SUCKS!" is really not so different from the black man screaming "Black power!" and "KILL WHITEY!" all the time. Both individuals have serious issues of self-doubt to work through. And when you lump them all together in a large group of similarly-minded individuals . . . well now you're just asking for trouble.

Like Gandhi, I believe in quiet humility and hard work to speak of one's actions, not boastful shouts.

The Black List: Vol. 1

Last night I watched this intriguing documentary, called "The Black List," which airs on HBO this week. The documentary is a series of short introspectives done in slide-show style and given by prominent black figures in America. The doc was conceived by well-known journalist and NPR radio host, Elvis Mitchell, and by photographer/filmmaker Timothy Greenfield-Sanders. Check out the trailer below:




An Official Selection at the 2008 Sundance Film Festival, Elvis Mitchell interviews (from off camera and off-mike) such high profile celebrities and professionals as: Toni Morrison, Vernon Jordan, Colin Powell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Serena Williams, Sean Combs, Keenen Ivory Wayans, Slash, and quite a few more. Each interviewee expresses in their own, unscripted words what it meant to them growing up black in this country, and in which unique--and often very subtle--ways they've experienced negativity towards the color of their skin. And, more specifically, how these experiences have shaped their professional lives. The most heartfelt and emotional stories, for me, came from Lou Gossett, Jr. and Chris Rock.

Lou Gossett talked about winning an Academy Award and expecting so many jobs to come knocking on his door, only to get ignored by an industry that did not know what to do with a prominent black American actor with the accolades to back up his serious acting presence.

Chris Rock offered a poignant example of the difference between the chuckling, side-shuffling "sidekick" type roles for black comedic actors before Eddie Murphy, and how Eddie was the first to change the paradigm in Hollywood with the depiction of confident, black men as action and comedy heroes in his movies.

The documentary is well-directed and beautifully shot, with the interviewees speaking humbly and unflinchingly candid about their experiences. It never delves into vicious, racist undertones or points fingers at any one person or establishment. Everyone is proud to be an American and believes in what this country stands for.

If you get the chance to catch this on HBO or any of its many mirror channels, please do so. It's 90-minutes long, but worth every minute.