Which Box Do I Check?

On a fundamental level, we are all exactly whatever race the nearly retired school teacher, the frightened shopkeeper, the self-deluded vigilante, or the hangry cop think we are.

My appearance has never been likely to roil the racial biases that move power figures to harm and worse. The ones who did a snapshot threat assessment of me during my childhood likely saw a white kid, which tipped the scale toward benevolence and away from harm in every public sphere. This privilege shaped my life in ways I strive to appreciate but know I never fully will.

But as a description of who and what I am, "white" has never felt accurate. It denies a defining element of my experience. In the language of identity in the United States, "white" strips away my Mexican heritage, taking with it half of my origin and family and half of an element that defines how I’ve always seen and experienced the world. It makes me disappear to myself.

It also evokes a broad experience that, in many ways, I never had as the kid of a Mexican-American and an immigrant to this country, both of whom lived outside the dominant, white, North American culture in so many ways.

My heritage comes from the Netherlands, from Mexico, and from the culture and experience of people of Mexican heritage in the United States. For the latter, I use the term "Chicano" because it’s specific to Latinos of Mexican heritage in the United States and because it conveys pride and resilience in the face of individual and systemic assaults.

When I overhear a particular European accent softening an English ‘v’ into an ‘f’ or blending short vowels into gorgeous dipthongs my tongue cannot recreate, I know immediately that the speaker is from the Netherlands. I recognize them as today's custodians of the language of half my ancestors. And when I hear someone else announce they’ll do something “right now” in a particular melodic intonation, I know they’re Chicano, that they mean “at some undetermined point in the future,” and that this is a North American translation of a Spanish word for a Mexican understanding of time rooted in the horrific encounter of Spanish and indigenous cultures. Words, sounds, behaviors, history, culture, and shared experience connect me with my heritage and its legacies every day.

I’ve enjoyed the priceless privilege of learning about my family and myself by studying, living, and traveling in the countries of my ancestors. I explore my cultures, languages, and races mindful of their historic and contemporary implications for privilege, power, and justice. There's never a moment when my heritage doesn't enrich and inform my perspective.

This heritage is, sure, a source of pride. But more importantly, it's a fixture that brings depth and meaning to the moments from which my life is built.

There's rarely a check box for all this.

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