Before I write this, I want to thank Ruth Terry for the raw and honest piece she wrote titled “The Art of Being Black in White Spaces.” There were several points that I had to pause and say an Amen and let your words hover before continuing.
Why am I writing this today? To shine a light on how verbal assaults are abusive. Just one example: I was called “Tee Neg” which translates to “Little N*****” by my step-grandfather.
I highlighted your quote about telling your truth unabashedly because this is the most difficult part of expressing this part of my life story.
I am criticized by family members for choosing to remain distant and protective of my own mental health after years of being on edge when in their presence, always on guard, though they never seem aware of the ways they hurt me.
I am a mixed child raised by my white mother’s family and isolated from my father’s family for years.
Surviving in white spaces made all the more difficult by lack of direct access to a familial support system. I had to seek out answers from friends and community leaders but for a long while, I didn’t have the courage to even seek out that help.
So I suffered alone.
Any time I approached the topic I was criticized for being “ungrateful” because I was provided for and kept physically safe. As if that excuses the constant reminder that I am “other” and that people who look like me and my father’s family are different and inherently deficient in comparison to them.
Here are just some of the most memorable examples that showed me where people like me stood in the minds of the white side of my family:
- My step grandfather often called me “tee neg” as I mentioned above. He called me this often and no one ever told him it was a problem.
- My aunt stated with disgust, “Why would those kids ask my granddaughter if she were mixed?! That’s crazy!” while she sat next to me, a mixed child in her family.
- Another aunt was speaking to me about why she didn’t want her daughter to spend time with my cousin who was married to a black man: “It’s okay for you to date whoever you want cause you’re mixed, but she’s white … so she should only date white men.”
“I have to think of MY daughter, so I can’t let her go by her cousin who dates black men. I can’t let her think it’s ‘okay.’”
4. The terms “Sand N*****s.” and “N*****s” were used in front of me often and again, no one said it was wrong. No one protected me.
5. A few people on different occasions said the following after degrading black and/or brown people in a conversation in front of me: “But I don’t see you that way. You’re my family.”
6. The pastor at a while church was teaching the Hamitic myth story of Noah and his son’s to explain why oppression was acceptable according to churches like his.
7. While the claim in this next one was not true about everyone in my family, this was told to me by my mother; and she does not want to face the pain she put me through because whatever anger she had for my father was displaced onto me and she refuses to admit this to be true.
The following conversation took place when I was 14 years old and was repeated to me again when I was 18.
Her: “No it just isn’t right. No one will accept you if you spend time with black people and date black men.”
Me: “So if they say they accept me as no different and I’m mixed, why would who I date or spend time with change that?”
Her: “No. No. You just can’t. They will turn their back on you.”
Me: “So basically, they don’t really accept me. They are only okay with me so long as I deny that I’m mixed and only socialize with white people.”
There were other examples, and a lot more also from outside my family. For my part, I grew to find my power and shook off the weight of this. The barage didn’t really end. Some of these things were still stated during holiday gatherings.
The most recent incident happened when a white woman who was visiting my mother went on a racist rant about Muslim women who wear hijabs scaring her. My father’s family is Muslim and I have several hijabi friends and even if I knew no one who wore a hijab, this hate is so toxic and painful.
When she went on her rant, I looked at my mother and all she did was look to the ground and then back at the woman. I got up and took my daughter and left.
Her Facebook often depicts hatefilled images and speech of men and women of color.
In particular, my mother hates AOC (Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez) but loves Trump.
I have to avoid all discussions about the way the world is dangerous for people of color and how much harder we have to hustle to get the same as white people. I have never been able to seek refuge and comfort within my family home.
So as the so-called holiday season returns, I’ll be criticized for the short amount of time I’m willing to be there…
But why am I expected to face the consistent threat of this hate from the very space that is supposed to be “home?”
