[OPINION] I’m already a minority. Do I need to learn more about racism?

Being Wasian (white and Asian), I’m part of a minority. But what do you call a minority that doesn’t look like they’re part of a minority? I look very white, and most people just assume I’m white because they find it too hard to trace the subtle, exotic features I display, which make me look slightly different than the basic white girl.

They assume I’m white because I have no accent, and I can’t speak Tagalog, my mother’s tongue. I embrace my Filipino culture, but at the same I’ve always struggled to converse deeply with my peers about it since I don’t have much to show for it on the outside. I consider myself a banana smoothie – I’m not yellow on the outside and white on the inside. I’m blended up, but I also have a lot of milk mixed into me.

Sometimes I have to choose between the role of a spicy, flavorful Caucasian around my white friends or a watered-down Filipino among the other Asians. My Asian friends have always admired my light hair, which tends to turn blond in the sun, while my white friends are jealous of my capability to tan without burning the slightest bit. It’s tiring to play double agent, but then again, it’s convenient to pass for either identity depending on who you’re with and what circumstance you’re in. 

As a Gen-Z teen (aka a zoomer), who attends a liberal high school, I have been educated about race quite a bit, especially in the mandatory EBI (Equity, Balance, and Inclusion) classes. In my biracial household, race has always been an accepted concept in our casual dinner table talks and free-flowing road trip conversations. I’ve always considered myself to be well-informed when it comes to race due to my education around it and the fact that I am a person of color (POC). I’ve always been in diverse friend groups, and a lot of my best friends are, in fact, POCs who display more vibrant and exotic features than I do – which in turn means that they are subject to more discrimination because of the way they look. The way their melanin absorbs more light than the majority will submit them to the mistreatment and systematic racism that takes place in the US. I feel very helpless because by blood I am truly part of the minority, but due to the way I look, I’ve never been discriminated against or oppressed. (READ: [OPINION] A Chinese-Filipino teen speaks out on racism and the coronavirus)

The fact is that racism is superficial: you have to look the part or have the stereotypical characteristics of your particular minority group to be subjected to discrimination. And this is why I often feel like I have no right to attest to being part of a minority since I haven’t endured the hardships that others have. There are probably a lot of mixed children like me out there who feel this way. Do they identify as a POC when they don’t look a certain way, and they haven’t experienced discrimination and inconvenience from it? 

I will never completely understand how it feels to be racially-targeted and racially-discriminated. My Caucasian features bestow upon me the so-called “white privilege,” an advantage that gives me benefits over other racial groups. Whether I like it or not, I have this privilege, thus it is challenging to find my voice in the matter. Not because I do not want to speak up, but my skin color comes between me and my voice. For example, it feels taboo to comment about Black Lives Matter (BLM) given my privilege. I’ve been told many times that I will never be able to relate to a black person’s suffering; I do not have the right to express their pain or to represent their problems to others with my own opinion. I often find myself resorting to silence to avoid judgement. 

I will admit, before the protests all over the country following George Floyd’s murder, I would have been more inclined to say “all lives matter” in place of “black lives matter.” But now, I realize the wrong in that. Right now black lives matter. And after black lives matter, then all lives matter. The other day my 12-year-old sister asked me why “all lives matter” takes the backseat. I explained to her why with an analogy: 

If you have two children and one of them is bleeding, you will give the Band-Aid to the one who’s bleeding. You wouldn’t give a Band-Aid to both of them, and you most definitely wouldn’t give a Band-Aid to the child who wasn’t bleeding because that child is not hurt. Right now, the black minorities are the ones who need a Band-Aid. They are the ones who are being killed and discriminated against the most in the US. This doesn’t diminish the fact that other racial groups are struggling, but right now, they don’t need the Band-Aid. 

Yesterday, I was talking to my English teacher, whom I admire deeply, on Zoom. She’s a proud black woman who finds beauty in her natural curls, but most importantly, she’s never afraid to speak her mind about racial injustice, whether it’s in the classroom or to the school board and other teachers. My teacher even organized a 10-day Civil Rights trip from the deep South to Chicago in order to enlighten students about the roots of poverty stemming from racism. When the Zoom for the class was over, I stayed behind to ask her what I could do as I was overwhelmed by the news of the protests. So far what I have done is to sign online petitions and make BLM signs for my front yard. 

She strongly encouraged me to view, appreciate, and share the work of black and brown creators. She recommended must-read novels written by both writers and those who write (there is a difference between the two). The writers included Maya Angelou (I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings), James Baldwin (The Fire Next Time), and Ta-Nehisi Coates (Between the World and Me). She also suggested reading some non-writer works (aka works by those writing just to communicate) like Malcolm X’s autobiography and novels by Heedy Jones, Angela Davis, and Asada. She advised me to read works by both the writers and the non-writers to find examples of art and rawer, more relatable works. 

In addition, she emphasized the importance of exposing oneself to black culture and understanding that systemic  racism is a pyramid: the base being unconscious bias and prejudice, leading up to stereotyping, implicit bias, and micro-agressions, and finally at the top, pure racism and discrimination. By exposing ourselves to more works of black and minority creators, we can diminish stigma and explicit bias we might have towards certain groups of people (people fear what they do not know, so let them make the unknown familiar). By not educating ourselves, we become ignorant and silent. By being silent, we are letting the oppressors win and the injustice that does not affect us directly continue. (READ: [OPINION] I can’t breathe: A Filipina’s experience with racism in the UK)

Though the major cases of racism seen are often televised, most of the racism in the US is minute and almost undetectable. Maybe those thoughts you’ve been thinking like “Why does she talk like that” or “I don’t want to eat with them because their food smells” or “I hate their kinky hair” or calling someone the n-word seem innocent. Those Minnesota police officers probably had similar thoughts in their heads; however, what seems like harmless thoughts build up. As the saying goes, thoughts become words, words become actions, actions become habits, and habits becomes character. In other words, the original implicit thoughts of those men made them racist murderers. Education and immersing oneself in a foreign culture can make those presumptions simply vanish. 

So yes, as a teenager, at the very least I’m choosing to educate myself and to voice my opinion, because along with the rest of my fellow zoomers, my implicit thoughts will define our future. – Rappler.com

Sabby Clemmons, 15, is a 10th grader at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts.