“Yes, of course you can come. You are a person and color, AND there’s free food. C’mon!”
Maybe it was because she was my department chair, or maybe because my lunch that day didn’t seem that appetizing, but that day I took a chance and went to my first faculty and staff of color luncheon.
Like many people I thought that the term “people of color,” didn’t apply to me. I knew that I was a racial minority in the United States. I was a “person of color by definition and in theory, but in practice it felt different. “Person of color,” felt like more of a term used to refer to people who identified as Black and/or African-American. Much like how the term “diversity,” is often meant to refer to issues around race, even though the definition in theory is far wider.
When I saw the email about the first faculty and staff of color luncheon, I didn’t really think to go. It was my first year at this school, my prep time was always full, and my teaching philosophy had not evolved with the focus on diversity, equity, and inclusion which would later become the foundation for my teaching philosophy.
It was what I expected. Almost everyone in the room was Black or African-American, with a few Latinx and Asian people. I grabbed some food and looked for a place to sit down. Then something happened that would become the norm when I entered affinity group spaces. I was welcomed with open arms literally, and otherwise.
People were excited to see me. They came up and shook my hand, I received hugs from some who I was meeting for the first time. All of the people in the room welcomed me not as a person who was new and had to earn his place, but as a person, they had been waiting for, finally home after a long journey.
As I settled down, I noticed that people were talking in Spanish, and others teachers were speaking in relaxed accents and expressions. It was clear that no one in that space was trying to “talk white.” I was surprised how different some teachers’ sounded in this space which helped me begin to understand why affinity spaces were so important. They didn’t feel a need to code-switch in my presence. I was one of them, and in their expression of their authentic selves, I felt their acceptance of me.
I was keenly aware that I was a minority in a room full of minorities, an outsider by appearance, and on the surface, this didn’t seem any different than the rest of my life. I’ve spent my entire life in spaces when I was a racial minority. In every single classroom, except for Asian-American history in college, I was a minority in a group of Caucasians. Every social and work space and all of the family occasions on my wife’s side, I carry that feeling of not fully being a member even though I am welcomed in every other way. The vast majority of the time, I experienced the kindness of inclusion in my life. However even in the best of times, I always knew I was one who didn’t really fit in with the others
In this space full of black and brown people, I did feel a level of discomfort, but it was balanced with something I had never experienced before.
I was raised in the “colorblind,” world, where the best way to deal with racial identity was to pretend that you “didn’t see race.” This erasure attitude about the racial identity asked people to look beyond race to the person on the inside. While this seemed like a good idea at the time, the feeling of people hiding their thoughts about racial identity, created an atmosphere, and feeling that there weren’t problems with race in America. I grew up feeling that people didn’t want to acknowledge my race, and they would value me despite my race, as if this part of my identity was something that was not considered, and that I shouldn’t value myself.
In that room with those faculty and staff of color full of people who came together because of their racial identity. I felt that my racial identity, my heritage, and my experiences were truly acknowledged, and that my whole self was valued. The only way this could happen was for my racial identity to not be looked beyond but rather acknowledged and honored.
I get that it may sound “racist,” that people accepted me because of my race, so I’ll try to unpack this here, and why this isn’t “racist” at all.
How often are you reminded of you racial identity? Ten times a day? Twenty times a day? Zero? People of color are made to to think about about their race all of the time. The reality is that the vast majority of time when people of color are reminded of their racial identity, are not positive experiences. These are times when people make racist innuendos, have thoughtless conversations, participate in racist acts that are not intended to be racist. It’s in the moments when people ask me “what are you?” or expect me to be an expert in all Asian cultures. For serious, I’ve had people assume I’m an expert on the Vietnam War, my family is from Taiwan.
They are different countries. SIGH.
When someone reminds me of being Asian by saying something offensive, it becomes a moment of burden. This reminder is not meant to serve me. It's a moments when I am made to think of my identity for someone else’s curiosity and puts me in a place where I sometimes feel obligated to do the work of helping them understand their own racist action.
On the rare occasion, when I’m reminded of race in a positive way, it can feel initially jarring, but more than that it is relaxing and a feeling of validation. Their acknowledgment of my race is not for their benefit, but for my own. In that room, they validated my racial identity so that I could feel the support of this part of our school’s community and support me in my own process of racial development.
After that initial luncheon, people started involving me in side-conversations in the hall and reaching out to me to provide support, and for my counsel. They felt my support and camaraderie through my presence and what they returned back was welcoming me, all of me, into the community and the work to make the school a more equitable and inclusive space.
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