Recent conversations allowed me to reflect carefully on the ancient pain of
sitting on a cultural fence and being tugged between two factions. However,
it was once just as difficult identifying the pain because society treats it
as fairly taboo to even address. Such a subject deserves more candid
discussion, I agree, to prove that those children of "bi-racial" descent are
not confused individuals descending into emotional oblivion. Society
"treats" the bi-racial question as one of absurd simplicity; it is perceived
as the easy solution to the "application" and whether you have a right to
select one or the "Other."
One can attest to its being more complicated than many can imagine - however,
one made decisions long ago to resolve it. I would warn you, though, not to
think of it as cut and dried as most would like to make it. Albeit one could
be of mixed descent, one could see the world only through what the world
wants that person to see ... and be. Arguably, this is not by choice, but
dictated by the most stringent social realities.
It is safe to assume that it is probably the most bizarre and wrenching
question in the intellectual and emotional pursuit of answers to the "race
question." One should try to offer some more insight with much more candor
and intelligence. Yet, my occasional attempts at offering a clearer picture
of the "interracial" spectrum and the complicated issues set before it are
only mirrored projections of my own impressions, as I have completed my
crossing of obsolete paths of my separated cultural and "racially divided"
backdrops. Ultimately, I was able to reveal to myself indiscernible truths.
An old, close, missing friend had once proposed to do such a thing at
a time when certain issues became apparent to me, yet remained typically
odd to the world. He was intent on dealing with a subject that was -
and still is - excruciatingly inviolable for many minds, particularly
those who attended our tiny, private, suburban high school. My associate
would create a small, tightly knit group of students arranged by "mixed"
African and Caucasian lineage, bonding them into a discussion session
veiled as "literary circle" of racial nomads. We called it the "DuBois
Society," dubbing it as a notable gesture to the father Pan-Africanist
and Civil Rights leader whom himself was a mattisse.
Though pleased to witness and be part of such an effort, I was also
subtly uncomfortable, since - at that time - I thought I had become astute
as to who I was and where I stood in the larger scheme. Such a group
would only violate my present convictions and so I silently plotted ways
to avoid it, thus aiding in its final demise. It was not at all surprising
that the others involved seemed equally strong in maintaining even the
slightest semblance of their Black existence or the struggle where one
is satisfied with being seen as such. The questions one might ask --
whether these were political, cultural or social motivations -- are too
complex to answer. Yet, we knew there were few of our most obvious Black
associates who attended initial meetings to reinforce those eerie feelings.
What may have been disturbing was not the proposal itself, but the idea
to stir within each of us the belief that we saved some singular identity
much similar to our unilaterally "racial" counterparts and that we could
manage to co-exist in the public eye, a notion that turned into broken
idealism. Maybe at that point in our lives we had all matured enough
to realize that our amalgamated backgrounds did not leave the racial
picture any less puzzling than it already was. Many in the group found
our upbringings as derisively Black ... pasts clouded by the travesty
of our foolish attempt to become human for once. The periphery of our
existence was too Black, and unless the family setting was complete with
mother and father, then our closest childhood and adolescent companions
were anything but White. Closeness with our Black peers was formed through
shared experiences and a mystic sense of 'racial' oneness forced upon
us by 'racial' directives prescribed by the hatred of animosity towards
the darker hue of my skin.
And sometimes I wondered if there was a basic assumption that I was Black
like those I had grown so used to. I'm still a standout unshielded from the
mysterious color complexities. Hence, I have to climb along the fence
between two uneasy worlds and ways of thinking. Sometimes I'm more Black
than White ... sometimes vice-versa. Sometimes, I am mistaken as a Latino.
Other times, my thick, slightly broader nose will give it away, hence there
are moments when I just have to live with the savage indignities of being a
Black man. On occasion, I have also dealt with the humiliating ill-treatment
of confused authorities, who never bothered to guess I was half a White man
...
Thus, I was aware, very early in my life, that society will do what society
wants to do, ignorant of whatever choices I make and therefore I'm forced to
simply see the world through the eyes of "a Black man."
And then I learned one day to just be myself and let the color of rage pass
me by. Changes will gradually occur as I begin the difficult task of wishing
racial attitudes to hell and consider myself a human being. Indeed, this is
as unfortunate as it is unique. I recall once reading a poorly done article
regarding the "interracial" experience. Instead of intelligently looking
into the complexities of cultural two-ness and multiplicity, the author wove
it into an ethnic sideshow. His observations portrayed us all as those with
"confused" agendas who could jump the salty waters of racial strife at a
moment's notice, complete the college application with profound ease and
identify with Black as though it were only a matter of the music you listened
to and the food you ate.
Focusing on the exact point of where my roots lay, is by itself, difficult
enough and immeasurably far reaching. Such is the life of a child with two
conflicting souls in search of peace, but is the child who symbolizes that
final brink to total humanity. As a child I could sense that I was genuinely
different from all the others - Black and White. That I somehow was the
piece taking up two mammoth spaces in the human puzzle. I had to decide
early on to ultimately live a choice and then accept it as a necessity. But,
I later found that it really wasn't even necessary. I had always been afraid
of being myself and thought to do less welcomed imminent self-destruction by
the distant voices banging at soul and mind, the darkest scourges of a
bi-polar being. Therefore, the question of my existence is not in the
misguided assumption that I am an odd combination of two conflagrate
factions. No - I am who I am, not whom other people think I am. Therefore,
I would hope it is where those factions soon discover a passionate
commonality. C.D. Ellison is a contributing writer to Metro Connection. He can be reached
at againstthegrain@metroconnection.info. |