Over the past seven or eight years, I’ve been on a journey to relearn history – you know, leaving behind the history I was taught and trying to grasp the real truth of the events that have shaped our nation’s history. At the same time, I have three elementary-age children. They attend a very diverse school (white children are in the minority, although staff and teachers are primarily white) and I want to encourage their teachers to be sensitive to history’s real events: speaking of those that were resistors (Cesar Chavez, MLK, Rosa Parks, etc.) is great, but I don’t think they are getting a clear idea of what those resistors were really resisting. They are still coming home with projects that require them to create Native American costumes with brown paper bags (all to re-create the first Thanksgiving), but not with the understanding that the Native Americans might just have a different view of the events of that time.

I am currently organizing to get these teachers to an anti-racism workshop that spends a lot of time talking about history, but I’m afraid that if there are no tools that I can show them that exist to help them teach differently, that it’s going to be an uphill battle.

Here’s my question: Are there anti-racist history curriculum options out there? For any school grades? I know there are a books on the subject, but I don’t even know where to start looking for written curriculum.

Kris V.

From the editor:

Brava, Kris! Good for you! I think I have said here before that I think many of our nation’s problems–racial and otherwise–can be traced to our pitiful grasp of our true history. I am frightened sometimes by how little people know, particularly about where people of color fit in our nation’s history.

Case in point: Yesterday I was on a Web site reading about the dust-up over “the N word” on “The View.” During her debate with Elisabeth Hasselbeck, Whoopi Goldberg mentioned that her mother was not allowed to vote. A few online commenters were confused by Goldberg’s assertion. One wrote that since the 14th amendment was ratified in 1868 and women got the right to vote in 1920, there should have been no barrier to the comedian’s mother voting. “Am I missing something?” She asked. “Yeah,” I thought, “Reconstruction. Jim Crow. Sheesh.” I wanted to scream, particularly for my paternal grandparents, who also could not vote for most of their lives (and I am far younger than Whoopi).

But I digress…

I don’t know of an anti-racist history curriculum, but I’ll bet some of ARP’s savvy readers can help. There is a growing list of good anti-racist resources. Check out the Share Your Anti-Racist Resources thread for some tools for fighting this important battle. 

Readers, what help can you offer Kris?

P.S. What will it take to convince educators that “dressing up like Indians” for Thanksgiving is as offensive and ignorant as black face? Different Native American tribes wear specific regalia with cultural meaning–the clothes are not costumes–for varying purposes. Just once, I’d like to hear about a school inviting a representative from a local Indian tribe to speak to a class about the impact of Manifest Destiny on indigenous peoples.  Sorry–the part about the paper bag costumes got to me.

Tami

The meritocracy and race:

I last visited my alma mater, Princeton University, two years ago to speak on an alumni panel about the future of Iraq. Inside stately McCosh Hall, where I’d taken Constitutional Law more than a decade earlier, I spoke to a mostly white crowd about my experiences as a special Iraq correspondent in 2003, sharing the stage with an impressive bunch of alums, including a soldier who had served several tours in the Middle East and a former CIA station chief.

At the end, one of my fellow panelists turned to me and complimented me on my remarks. “What school did you go to?” he asked.

I was wearing a black shirt and orange linen pants, a dutiful nod to our school colors. It was an alumni panel, I thought. What school did he think I attended?

I’ve been thinking a lot about this sort of failure to be truly accepted as I’ve watched Michelle and Barack Obama recently. After all, a white couple with their accomplishments would be another one of those gilded couples that appear on the New York Times’s society pages or in Town & Country magazine. Instead, these two earnest meritocrats wound up on the cover of the New Yorker last week in a now notorious fist-bumping caricature, complete with a Black Panther-era ‘fro for her and traditional Muslim garb for him. Read more…

On being Jewish and white: I spend a lot of time discussing race here. And I’m a regular at other blogs that deal with race-related issues. But I have never read a post that explored what it means to identify as Jewish and white. The Girl Detective has tackled this issue over on Feministe. I’m a black woman and reading Girl Detective’s post touched a few nerves that I really can’t articulate. (Something like “Why the determination to be accepted as white?” The definition of “whiteness” has always been more about power, class and social structure than genetics. As the writer acknowleges, there was a time when, say, Italians were viewed as “not white,” today, they are white. Or is it jealousy? Black people, even though many of us (including me) have white Northern European ancestors, will never be able to opt in to the white power structure.) But this really is an insightful post. Check it out:

I’ve written before on how angry I was when fellow progressives began to inform me that while some Jews consider themselves white, it’s only because they’ve assimilated into white culture. They never explained what white-looking Jews actually are, if not white, but the message was always clear: if we Ashkenazi (Eastern European) Jews think we’re white, well, it’s just because we wanted some of that tasty privilege so badly that we suppressed our real identity to get it. I’d known, of course, that many white extremists still considered Jewishness a race, but hearing such comments come from leftists surprised and upset me for a couple of reasons: 1) they were presuming to know more about a Jew’s identity than a Jew would, and 2) those who were people of color were surely familiar with the frustration at having others dictate how they should define themselves. Read more…

 

by ARP editor Tami Winfrey Harris

I have been reading Howard Zinn’s People’s History of the United States: 1492 to Present. For its unflinching view of our country’s origins, it triumphs and its sins, this book, along with James Loewen’s Lies My Teacher Told Me ought to be required reading for every citizen of these United States. As I have observed the bias and racism that has risen to the front of our public consciousness like festering ooze during this year’s presidential race, I have been struck by how truly clueless most of us are about our history–true American history, not the sanitized Eagles and apple pie version. And so, like everyone who does not know their history, we are doomed to repeat the past’s mistakes. If we want a better future for our children, then we must introduce them to history. (Instead, teachers like Karen Salazar get fired.)

Encountering historical truths can be bloody, depressing and frightening, but the true stories behind the textbook propaganda often force us to make important human connections–connections with Indians slaughtered in the name of manifest destiny, Chinese immigrants suffering while political parties and labor unions rail against “yellow peril,” African children stolen from their homes and forced into the dark, gaping maw of a slave ship. It is this last connection that columnist Liz of Los Angelista’s Guide to the Pursuit of Happiness made on a recent trip to Chicago’s Field Museum with her children.

If you missed Liz’s searing post on her experience, keep reading:

Yesterday I took my sons to Chicago’s Field Museum. They loved every moment of the experience, from the mummies to the meteorites. Or rather, they loved almost every moment. They totally freaked out over the simulated slave ship in the Africa exhibit.

Actually, I should also include myself in the freak out. I just wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to go into a simulated slave ship hold and neither were they.

There we were, innocently walking through the exhibit, checking out various cultural artifacts from lots of different countries: drums, spears, knives, walking sticks, hairpins and religious iconography — and then all of the sudden there on one of the walls was this paragraph detailing how slavery stole away so much from the civilizations that had created such beauty. Then, before I knew it, we were at the entrance to what looked like a dark tunnel. Except, it wasn’t a tunnel. It was the entrance to the hold of the simulated slave ship.

My four year-old began crying and screaming in terror. My seven year-old clutched my hand and said, “I don’t think we should go in there. It looks evil in there.”  Read more…

I’m a daily reader of Anti-Racist parent, but I only occasionally post.

I work in education, and recently a friend of mine started writing a book for educators on how to teach multi-racial children. As the adoptive parent of a multi-racial daughter, she asked me to write about my experiences for a chapter in the book.  I put together a piece that’s about 2000 words long.

Before I approve it’s publication, I wondered if I might share it with the readers at Anti-Racist Parent. Perhaps they could give me feedback about how to make it the best it can be for wider publication?

I read Graig’s wonderful story and knew I had to share it with all of you. Please let him know what you think.

During her third grade year, I accompanied my daughter Ashley’s class to a play. Before the performance, I was sitting between my Ashley and a classmate named Ashlee. The other girl was the class outcast. Poor, unkempt, and socially awkward, she was the kid that no one else wanted to sit next to. I’m drawn to those kids, so I was happy to sit with her and be her conversation partner.

As I talked with Ashlee about whatever 9 year-olds like to talk about, I could tell that my Ashley was growing impatient. Not only was her dad talking with someone else, he was talking with the one person that no one was supposed to talk with.

Ashlee soon made an abrupt transition. “You know what’s funny,” she started. “Her name is Ashley, and my name is Ashlee. She’s black, and I’m white.”

“I’m BI-RACIAL,” was the immediate response from my right. Ashley had whipped her head around me, her neck stretched to its limit and her eyes glaring.

I knew it was time to refocus my attention. And it was time for some discussion about identity.

Yes, Ashley is bi-racial.

I’m white. So is my wife.

Ashley is adopted. When she joined her family at age 6, we had a lot to learn about race. She had lived with her white biological mother, but had never known her black biological father.

When you adopt a child, one of the things that you’re taught is how to help the child tell their own “adoption story”. Indeed, almost right away Ashley needed to be able to explain that she was adopted. In first and second grade, her classmates would regularly look at me, turn their puzzled looks to her and then spit out some form of “Is that your dad?” that always made it clear something didn’t fit.

Of course it was race that tipped them off, but at that age the conversation didn’t readily go there. Ashley’s practiced adoption story at that point was pretty simple. “Yeah, I’m adopted.” When pressed, she could add “My biological mother couldn’t take care of me so I came to live with my new parents.”

On the day of that third grade field trip, it became clear that the issue in question was not adoption. It was time to help Ashley convert her adoption story into a story about race.

***

“I’m not black. I’m BI-RACIAL.” That statement is loaded with so much baggage. How do you help a nine year-old pick it apart?

To start with the first half of the statement, we had to examine why it was so important to Ashley that she make it clear that she wasn’t black. Initially, her response was that a third Ashley in their class was the black one. She wanted to distinguish herself from both of her like-named peers.

But of course children that young can learn the power of race and internalized racism along with it. With white parents, it’s saddening but not surprising that our young daughter would exhibit signs of such.

It would be naïve to see the vehemence behind Ashley’s statement as based in pride. It was clear upon utterance that she was rejecting her blackness. Remember that it had been prompted by her white classmate’s racial comparison - “I’m white, she’s black”.

Ashley’s response stung me when I heard it. Even as a white parent, I was keenly aware of the internalized racism inherent in the statement. Flooded with complex feelings, my thoughts flew. We hadn’t done enough to make her comfortable being black. She didn’t know how to talk about her race. My own racism even played out in briefly blaming Ashley for dropping a racial dialogue bomb, when clearly her white peer was equally involved. What a mess.

It’s been a struggle since her adoption to help Ashley find strength and pride in her blackness. In fourth grade we had advocated for her to be in a program for academically gifted students, and once she got in it she wanted out because there were no other kids who looked like her. In sixth grade, she told us with confidence that white kids are smarter than black kids.

Early in our life with Ashley, we were advised to recruit black god-parents to help us guide her development. God-parenting was not a part of either side of our family’s traditions. So we had no idea what role such people should play in our daughter’s life or our own. However, we did understand that god-parenting is a common part of African-American culture, and it was one way that we could bring the culture into our family’s life.

Luckily, we were able to recruit a wonderful couple who don’t have children of their own to share their love with Ashley. They provide her with many forms of support, but their most constant message to Ashley is guidance on how to balance the various burdens of being a strong, beautiful, intelligent, and independent black woman. Obviously they provide a perspective that we can’t, both because of our race and because children always seem to hear things differently from people who aren’t their parents.

It has been more difficult to ensure that Ashley gets the same identity affirmation in school. Now in high school, there are still a shortage of high achieving black kids in her school. When she is in advanced classes, she’s often one of three or fewer kids of color. In school-related settings where there are more black kids (such as the track team), academic success is often de-emphasized.

To counter this pressure, we’ve tried to make sure Ashley is enrolled in some of the many special programs designed to support achievement among African-American students. Like any youth organizations, some have been better than others. The best are ones that provide a space where students like Ashley can work together to build positive identities. Spaces that support the image of blackness that Ashley’s god-parents emphasize: strong, intelligent and independent.
****
Let’s go back to the second half of that statement. “I’m BI-RACIAL!”

Just as Ashley had developed an “adoption story” earlier, she needed a “bi-racial story.” I hated adding to her burden of always having to explain herself, but her life’s path had been cast. We needed to help her deal with it.

“Ashley,” I began later that evening., “I don’t think that she had any idea what you’re talking about. Do you remember when we taught you how to tell your adoption story? It’s just like that. People don’t understand just by looking at you and me. They need us to give them more information.”

There was a point when she was about seven that she got a huge identity affirmation while at the beach. Looking at lots of tanning white women, she said to her mother “Look, they all want to have the same color as me.” It’s always been easy to emphasize the beauty of her skin color, because people tell her how beautiful she is all the time.

But bi-raciality is about culture as much as color. Her color cues people to ask questions or make assumptions. But what’s always harder for her to explain (and maybe to understand) is her relationship to black culture as a kid growing up in a white family.

To help her develop her “bi-racial story” we had to dive deep into this story. We had to figure out how to help a nine year-old understand why white kids wouldn’t identify with her because of her skin color, but black kids wouldn’t identify with her because of how she speaks and acts as well as who her parents are. Really, it was a conversation about her whiteness.

The specifics of that day’s conversation elude me after seven years, but in truth it’s a conversation that has never ended. There have been so many examples of times that we’ve rehearsed her responses to peers who push her on identity issues.

There have been times in sports, such as when two black girls in her gym class told her that they were sitting out the tennis lessons because tennis was for white girls. Perplexed, Ashley brought that one home for discussion. She easily pointed out the success of Venus and Serena Williams. But the deeper struggle was about why the girls would sit out and risk failing to make a stand about racial identity. This struggle can’t be pulled apart from the idea that white kids care more about school success.

As the parent of any bi-racial kid knows, identity issues come up all the time in issues of dating. My favorite example came in eighth grade when Ashley started breaking down the complex rules of who gets to date who in her class. Her description was entirely about white and black kids. I asked her “Who do bi-racial kids get to date?” She replied “There’s a Brazilian boy who I think is cute.” A creative but ultimately unfulfilling answer, she knew she wasn’t going to get white racial privilege or black cultural currency in the dating game.

For most of those tough middle school years, her “bi-racial story” went something like this: “I’m bi-racial, but I’m also adopted and my parents are white.” The most common reply from her peers was “So are you black or white?” Ashley would roll her eyes and say “Both.” Almost any other question, such as “Why do you talk like a white person?” would be met with another eye roll and a typically pre-teen “I don’t know.”

These days, as an older teenager, Ashley is prone to telling people she’s “mixed.” I feel that term is shorthand, and for years I didn’t like it at all. I felt it was crass.

I remember being on a business trip and meeting a work colleague’s son. My colleague was white, his wife was black, and thus his some was bi-racial. I said to the son, “My daughter is bi-racial.” The ten year-old turned to his dad and said “What’s bi-racial?” “Mixed, son. Like you.” I really did cringe.

Now it doesn’t bother me so much. I understand that Ashley’s peers have developed an increasingly complex understanding of race. In part simply because their older, but also because bi-raciality is increasingly common in their lives. Most of the time, saying she’s “mixed” is enough to get Ashley by without having to pull out her whole bi-racial story again. Honestly, sometimes I’ll use the shorthand too.

In preparing to write this, I asked Ashley for her current assessment. She said “I just tell people I’m mixed. Sometimes I’ll say black, but I never say white.” Pause. “Sorry if that offends you.”

“No, that doesn’t offend me,” I replied. “I know how the world sees you.”

The world is confused by her. People know she’s not white. They also know she’s beautiful. What she never knows is what other assumptions they harbor based on her skin color. I’m sure her story will continue to evolve over time. I just hope that the world’s view evolves with her.
[I wrote this final part about adoption, but I didn’t think it fit in well with the piece above. It could be added as a comment to the post or just left out.]

Most adoptive parents know that some day their child is going to drive a very specific stake through their hearts: “You’re not even my real parents.” Intellectually, this is a preposterous statement to hear from a teenager, but both parties know that it carries huge emotional weight.

Adopting Ashley trans-racially, we knew that she’d also have another zinger up her sleeve one day: “You don’t understand because you’re white.”

The two sledgehammers actually came within close proximity to one another. During a period of struggling with a daughter in her early teens (which is not uncommon for any parent-daughter relationship!), Ashley tried to use both of them within a week. The adoption line really hurt my wife. I played it off by telling Ashley it didn’t hurt because we’d always known she would say it at some point. Still, internally I was lamenting losing my secret dream that we would good enough parents that she would never say it!

But the “you’re not black” line really was a laugher. At this point several years later, I can’t remember the exact situation that precipitated it. But when it came up, I literally laughed in Ashley’s face. That didn’t help the situation given her percolating anger. But I quickly pointed out that my understanding of whatever she was complaining about was based on being her parent and not my (or her) race. It was true, and her argument was foiled.

Still, I made sure to bring it up again. Later when heads had cooled, I made a point to tell Ashley that race was not something that should get in the way of us understanding one another.

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It’s Thursday, which means it’s time for another gratuitous cute kid pic. Reader Kary W. says of this beautiful little one: “This is a photo of our adopted daughter, Tasha. She’s almost 2 now. I’m a photographer and have been challenged when it comes to taking pictures of her – she always makes the most mixed up faces! Which sometimes is adorable, or course, but I love this photo – showing a much more quiet side to her.”

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When I shop at my friendly local Super H-Mart, as is my wont on lazy Sunday afternoons, I always notice the non-Asian patrons. Not all, but the ones that sloooowly wander the aisles with an expression of absolute bewilderment. Like they are in a dream world of some sort, or mirrored fun-house. They innocently look for ice cream, only to be met with something called mochi and red bean popsicles, or instant noodles and are awash in a red sea of shiny Shin-ramyun packages. “Oh honey … this box says it’s chicken cal-GUCK-sue? Is that like alfredo or something?” And you might hear a child’s voice off in the distance, by the deli: “EWWWWWWW!!! These are OCTOPUS LEGS!!!!”

If H-Mart hasn’t hit your neck of the woods yet, it’s a Korean grocery chain, prevalent on the coasts and starting to emerge in middle America. It’s much bigger in size and selection than the smaller mom-and-pop operations I’ve grown up with - the one near me took over what used to be a Jewel (that’s Albertson’s in other parts of the country), so it’s pretty sizable. On an economic side-note - I wonder how H-Mart’s arrival will impact said mom-and-pops … Read more…

Seattle’s Native, black children more likely to end up in foster care: A study shows that race bias and lack of understanding about Native American and African American culture is impacting Seattle’s foster care system.

Until he was 17, Charles Goodwin spent most of his teen years living with foster families and interacting with caseworkers who never fully understood him for a basic reason: None shared his Native American heritage.

The state removed him from his dysfunctional home and passed him through the child welfare system, where some foster parents referred to him as an “Injun” and disregarded his cultural interests, he said, while the state ignored his requests for a Native American caseworker.

“I do think that training and cultural awareness regarding the Native community would help,” said Goodwin, a 21-year-old Seattle resident who is part Blackfoot and Keetoowah and also goes by Miskomaengun, his Indian name. “It’s not everything, but it would be a big step.” Read more…

My four-year-old daughter was humming “Brown Girl in the Ring” this morning… catchy song. I wasn’t thinking much about it at first, and then the words started to sink through my skull:

Brown girl in the ring
Show me your motion
She looks like a sugar and a plum.

I don’t know what to think about this. Jamaican friends tell me it’s a traditional West Indian children’s song. Does that make it okay for my non-African family to enjoy it? Is there more of a history that we should think about?

My husband and I are white and our two kids are Chinese. Our family is consciously anti-racist, yet we don’t want to seek it out where none exists.

Thank you (and your readers) for any insights you can provide.

Suze
Buffalo

From the Editor:

Why are children’s nursery rhymes such a minefield? I mean when you really dig into some of the verses we routinely recited as children, you get a cavalcade of racism, sex and ghoulishness.

One little, two little, three little Indians
Four little, five little, six little Indians
Seven little, eight little, nine little Indians
Ten little Indian boys.

Rise, [Little] Sally [Walker], rise
Wipe your weeping eyes
Put your hand on your hip
And let your backbone slip
Aaah, shake it to the East
Aaah, shake it to the West
Shake it to the one that you love the best.

Lizzie Borden took an axe
And gave her mother forty whacks,
When she saw what she had done,
She gave her father forty-one.

Looks like you’re in the clear with ”Brown Girl in the Ring,” though. Not being familiar with the rhyme or the associated game, I Googled around for some information. The full rhyme goes something like this (there are variations):

First verse               There’s a brown girl in the ring
                               Tra la la la la
                               There’s a brown girl in the ring
                               Tra la la la la
                               There’s a brown girl in the ring
                               Tra la la la la
                               She likes sugar
                               and I like plum
Second verse          Skip across the ocean
                               Tra la la la la etc.
Third verse             Show me your motion
                               Tra la la la la etc.          
                               Tra la la la la etc

Fourth verse           Wheel and turn your partner
                               Tra la la la la etc.          
                               Tra la la la la etc

According to Wikipedia, this rhyme is thought to have originated in Jamaica and is sung as part of a popular “ring game.”

Ring games are played in many parts of the world by boys and girls, especially in their preteen years. In Alan Lomax, J.D. Elder and Bess Lomax Hawe’s There’s a Brown Girl in the Ring, an anthology of Eastern Caribbean song games, it is suggested that ring games are a precursor for children to adult courtship.

The players form a ring by holding hands, then one girl goes into the middle of the ring and starts skipping around to the song. The girl is then asked “show me your motion”, at which point she does her favourite dance. When she is asked “show me your partner”, she picks a friend to join her in the circle.

The “brown” girl (or boy) in the ring traditionally refers to children’s skin tone prevalent in the Caribbean and it is thought to enhance their self esteem.

There is nothing inherently wrong with your Chinese children referring to a “brown girl.” When the popular Australian group The Wiggles perform the song on their show, they omit race and refer to a girl in a brown shirt. I may have missed something in my brief research, perhaps a Caribbean reader can shed more light on the origins and potential challenges of this rhyme.

At any rate, as an anti-racist parent, you are smart to think about the seemingly innocuous rhymes and songs that you pass along to your children.

Tami

“It’s okay to dance by yourself.”

“It’s okay to wear glasses.”

“It’s okay to have a pet worm.”

“It’s okay to be different!”

So says author/illustrator Todd Parr’s whimsical book “It’s Okay to be Different” (Little Brown) that celebrates diversity in all its forms. Perfect for children in pre-school to grade 2, this book boasts Parr’s signature bright, childlike drawings and an optimistic, upbeat attitude. I especially appreciate the way the book mixes the superficial and mundane (”It’s okay to dance by yourself.”) with weightier issues (”It’s okay to have different moms.”). Says Publisher’s Weekly, “[Parr] wisely doesn’t zero in on specifics, which would force him to establish what’s ‘normal.’ Instead, he focuses on acceptance and individuality and encourages readers to do the same.”

Use this book as a tool to begin discussions about diversity with young children.

It’s Thursday, which means it’s time for another gratuitous kid pic. Reader Lea’s bunch bond at the bottom of a slide at the playground.

Advertisement: New Demographic: anti-racism training workshops that mobilize people to work towards an anti-racist future

I’m writing to ask for any insight or similar experience or simply your perspectives.

This last weekend, we were reading bell hooks’ Homemade Love, and my nearly four-year-old daughter remarked that she wanted to look like Girlpie, and she wanted me to look like Girlpie’s mama and her papa to look like Girlpie’s papa.  As you may know, the family members in Homemade Love are all of a clear, obvious African-diasporic phenotype.  In our family, I’m a mixed blood who could pass for white; my daughter is a mixed blood who could pass for not-Black and possibly for white, depending on the context, and her father, my partner, is a Black Indian who most folks see as Black.

I’m not sure if my daughter was expressing a desire to look more typically Black, to have a “matching” family, to have a mama who “matched”, or all of the above.  My uncertainty is increased by her
specification that she wanted her papa to look like Girlpie’s papa given that they both appear Black, though Girlpie’s papa is of a lighter skin tone.  Nonetheless, I’m trying to understand what she was
expressing and to address that in the most helpful way going forward, and I could use some feedback, please.

At the time, I asked her why she wanted to look like Girlpie and have parents who looked like Girlpie’s parents, and she said she just did. I didn’t press the issue, and we finished reading the book.  She has
several books with obviously mixed families, and she has in the past expressed a desire to have more obviously mixed families in our lives.  We responded to that by taking her to the mixed/transracially
adoptive local playgroup and asking that the queer parents group we attend {which has a lot of mixed families} have more scheduled time when the families were interacting all together instead of the kids
and parents separate most of the time.  She hasn’t remarked again on “wanting more families like that”, so I’m hopeful that what she was looking for with that request is being provided.

This is rambling and unfocused, but I’m just asking for any insight/perspective/experience ya’ll might share that might help us navigate this particular aspect of the anti-racist parenting journey . . . thank you.

 Janine D.
 Oakland, CA

From the Editor:

Ah, four year olds. Sometimes what they say means everything, sometimes nothing at all. Makes it tough on those of us who love them. We’ve got to decipher which comments can be safely ignored and which require action. 

With the context you’ve given, I tend to think your daughter’s comment was a moment of passing whimsy. Girlpie’s family does look fun. Perhaps they simply charmed your little one. I would file this one away in your memory bank. If, in your daughter’s behavior, you see consistent evidence of her wanting to be different or wanting her family to be different, then you can find more ways to help her celebrate the skin she’s in and her family’s diversity. Until then, I recommend taking it easy. 

Four year olds are smart little folks, but they are early in their development. I think parents have to guard against too quickly reacting or overreacting to the things little ones say, thus creating problems and hang-ups where there were none.

Readers, what do you say?

Advertisement: Join Race Changers a community of people working towards an anti-racist future, one week at a time

You don’t use racial slurs. You teach your child to treat everyone equally. You expose your family to diverse cultures.

That’s enough to make sure your children don’t grow up to be racists, right?

Not necessarily.

If you want to learn how to incorporate anti-racism into your parenting, join our free teleseminar happening next Wednesday, July 16, 2008:

How to be an Anti-Racist Parent:
What Every Parent Should Know — And Doesn’t

Joining me on this call is Liza Talusan, an educator, speaker, activist, and writer. Liza is a columnist for our blog Anti-Racist Parent, director of intercultural affairs at a small Catholic college in Massachusetts, wife to a Latino man, and mother to two multiracial daughters.

On this 60-minute call, you’ll learn:

• Why avoiding conversations about race is the biggest mistake you can make
• How you are sending hidden messages to your children about race without even realizing it
• Why you should never proclaim to be colorblind
• How to transform the simple act of watching television into a profound lesson about diversity

and much, much more.

No matter what your current situation is, I guarantee you’ll get at least one golden nugget of information during this never-before-offered call.

So, won’t you join us? Reserve your spot now!

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In our small Midwestern community, we never really fit in. Other than a spattering of Confederate flags and a few KKK’s scratched in school desks, racism was never really the issue. The daily frustration was ignorance. My siblings and I continually faced the questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Here. Ohio.”

“No, where are you from really?”

My brother, my sister and I would exchange stories about what people thought we were: Hispanic, Jewish, Native American, Mediterranean, Middle Eastern.

The guesses never got it right. It was clear that even though we were half white, and culturally white, to be part white was to be not white at all.

Graduation speeches in English only, please: Most thinking people would find Ellender High School co-valedictorian Cindy Ho’s sentence-long tribute to her Vietnamese-born parents touching. But the American-born student, who shared valedictory honors with her cousin Hue, set off a firestormwhen she included the words “Co len minh khong bang ai, co suon khong ai bang minh” in her speech to fellow graduates of the Houma, La., school.

The 18-year-old graduate told classmates that the line, roughly translated, was a command to always be your own person.

That part of her speech has resulted in unintended consequences that may affect how local public-school graduations ceremonies function in the future.

Some Terrebonne Parish school officials now say all commencement speeches should be spoken in English only, and they want a formal rule that says so.

 

Some of you who know me from other blogs and spaces know that hair–that is the celebration of curly, untameable, big hair–is part of my personal anti-racist crusade. I want girls and women whose ancestry gives them curly hair, coarse hair, kinky hair and nappy hair to love their tresses (not just learn to put up with them). I know–HAIR–it seems trivial. But to many little black girls it is so not. It is the thing about ourselves that we learn to hate early. (And I know that it’s not just black girls who absorb hair hate, but I think it is particularly ingrained with us.)

I know black girls like me spent hours between our mothers’ knees, agonizing while our hair was pulled, twisted and manipulated into submission. Our black mothers and grandmothers–they learned that the way to care for black hair, which tends to be coarse and kinky, is to try to subdue it with perms, hot combs and the like. They learned that having black hair cared for naturally hurts. And they learned that the tools used to care for straighter, finer hair should also be used on hair with West African roots. They learned to trust companies whose minimal knowlege of us doesn’t stop them from wanting  to make a buck with beautifying (and damaging) miracle lotions and potions. They learned and they passed that “knowledge” on to us–their daughters. And we continue the cycle of pain and struggle against our hair.

Few of us ever consider that hair that refuses to lay down is as worthy as hair that will. Few of us ever consider that combing kinky hair is painful because kinky hair shouldn’t be combed–at least not dry. Few of us realize that caring for our hair doesn’t need to hurt. Few of us question an unhealthy dependence on chemical straighteners. We simply wrap ourselves in the standards and practices of the dominant culture–never seeing what it does to us. Frankly, it is no wonder that adoptive mothers of other races and mothers of biracial children can be confused about caring for black or biracial hair.  Many owners of black or biracial hair are just as confused.

A blog sister once pointed out that black women in the West are the only women who, as a whole, spend their lives never knowing the real texture of their hair. A lot of black women have a story like this: First the hot comb to straighten hair…then someone suggests a “kiddie” chemical relaxer…then comes the stronger relaxer…then we run to get that relaxer every six weeks until we die. Or, maybe we decide to wear a weave using the imported hair of a woman from another race who has “better” hair.

In between trips to the salon, we avoid swimming and we avoid the rain like it will melt us. Some of us avoid physical exertion that might create moisture and make our hair “go back” to its roots. The wonderful book “Tenderheaded” sadly includes several stories of black women obsessing over their hair even in the most intimate moments. A woman named Arlene, who religiously wears a hair weave, shares:

What I notice more than anything about my lovemaking is that, no matter what kind of style I have, I always keep my eyes open to make sure that my partner isn’t coming for my head! I never let my head get in the way of the action!

I ask Arlene what it feels like to be a sentry-on-duty while she’s making love. It seems impossible to enjoy yourself while maintaining that kind of vigilance over your partner’s moves.

“It’s not a problem, really,” Arlene explains. “You learn to protect your hair by moving your neck back and forth, and swinging your head from side to side to avoid contact. You stay on top, and learn to master the superior position, that’s all.”

That’s all. An experience that is supposed to be spontaneous and joyful is choreographed like a 1940s MGM dance musical.

What does it say about black women’s self esteem that we struggle so hard against our natural selves and then teach our daughters to do the same? I think living a life thinking that some part of yourself is difficult and deficient–a handicap to be managed and hidden–is soul destroying. That is why I think the hair thing is not as trivial as it appears, and why I appreciate moms like Liza who try to help curly daughers embrace their natural texture.

For those looking for good resources for the care of natural curly or kinky hair, try these:

Books
Curly Girl (Great for curly girls of all races. If I’m not mistaken, author Lorraine Massey pioneered the “conditioner wash” or “no-poo” method of cleansing that many women with kinky or curly hair favor.)
Good Hair: For Colored Girls Who’ve Considered Weaves When the Chemicals Became Too ‘Ruff
No Lye: An African American Woman’s Guide to Natural Hair Care
Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America
Tenderheaded

Web sites
Nappturality (Truly the mother of all natural black hair care Web sites. Includes articles, photos and an extremely active forum. Look for the section on caring for children’s hair.)

You Tube
Katelynylyn Channel
Najahface Channel
Style Inspiration

Image courtesy of Pheno09on Flickr.com.

It’s Thursday, which means it’s time for another gratuitous kis pic. Here, reader Gina S. shows off her beautiful brood.

Daughter #1 is at it again.. the hair. All the smart anti-racist parents called it a few months ago when I posted about the issues my 4- year old daughter is having with her hair. Her big, curly, beautiful hair. Joli has the kind of hair that people want to touch (which, yes, I have issues about, but let’s put that aside for a minute). It’s the kind of hair that people say, “I wish I had your hair!”

But, being the 4-going-on-14-year-old that she is, Joli hates her hair.

Why is this complicated?

Mom (Filipina) has black, straight hair. Sister (also biracial Filipina/Puerto Rican) has loose wavy hair. Joli - thick, black, curly hair. Dad (Puerto Rican), well, used to be thick curly hair, but has decided to go with the shaved head look once he turned 30-something.

None of us have hair like Joli. Only Joli does the extra 2 minute deep conditioning. Only Joli uses the spray in detangler, or, if it’s Friday night, the leave in V05 hair oil. Only Joli cries when she sees the white, wide tooth comb coming out of the hair supplies box, knowing full well that we’ll hear the sound of crying over the LL Cool J that Daddy is bumpin’ in the living room.

We all love Joli’s hair. If you’ve followed some of my posts, you’ll know that Joli lost her hair when she turned 2 years old. She endured 6-months of chemotherapy to kill the cancer cells in her body, lost her beautiful baby afro, and was often called a “boy” even though she work pink hats with butterflies on them. When Joli’s hair started to grow back, it signaled increasing health and a return to her childhood. Her hair has great meaning to me. I love her hair.

Once Joli’s hair got a long enough to pull into first 2-puffs on either side of her head, and then 1-big puff at the back, she started to hate it. She cried just before getting into the bath, begging me to wet her hair quickly so that it would stop getting big after she took it out of her hair elastic. If someone saw her hair between the time she removed the elastic to the time it was soaking wet under the shower, she would scream “Don’t look at my hair!!”

We’ve asked people with hair like Joli’s to talk to her. I even went and hired a babysitter who actually had hair like Joli’s, hoping the would play fun girlie games like dress up or “hair dresser” or something. Even when her two blind friends that she met at Camp Sunshine said that “They know it’s Joli because they can feel her hair”, Joli still hated her hair.

Jorge and I play India.Aire’s “I Am Not My Hair.” We point out that different people have different hair when we are in diverse groups. Joli’s friends are incredibly diverse, too, and many of them go through the same hair care rituals. Joli has watched as her friend Hayley’s braids were removed. While visiting her abuelo and abuela, she has watched women in the salon down in Queens, NY get their hair deep conditioned and blown dried.

I think about our journey with Joli’s hair because it keeps reminding me about Anti-Racist parenting. Recent posts have touched on the effect that we have and the impact we try to make with our children and our communities. I write a lot about how hard it is, even as an Anti-Racist parent and as a 9am-5pm diversity facilitator, to create an environment that always encourages our children. I write this to point out that even those who are well-versed in anti-racist movements also struggle. That, we don’t always get it right. That, we don’t always have the answers all the time. That we can set up the ideal situations, and yet our children are still their own free spirits who must experiment with their world.

When Joli brings up her hair (or, rather, when she is screaming about her hair), my husband and I reflect back her feelings. We never argue with her about it. We never say, “No, you’re wrong, Joli. Your hair is beautiful.” Because, to her, she has created her truth. We do ask her more questions, “Can you tell me more about why you don’t like your hair?” or “Is there something you’ve seen or heard that makes you feel that way?”

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little disappointed that she hates her hair so much. We frequently talk about how she and her sister are beautiful - both inside and outside. We talk about the beauty of their skin color, the interracial make up of our immediate and our extended families, the racial and ability diversity of her friends, the diverse family combinations (gay married, single, divorced, mom/dad, etc) of her friends, and range of body types (from sizes 2-20) in our extended family. We read stories with racially diverse characters, watch tv shows with good messages about diversity, and listen to all types of genres of music. Joli even comes to some of my college lectures on race and racism.

Yet, my child. She hates her hair.

I’m hoping that this hatred of her hair, too, shall pass. And, maybe it won’t. But, I know that my husband and I are doing our best to be supportive, honest, and encouraging of the process that my daughter is going through as she learns to navigate her emotions and her experiences as a young, biracial child.

Anti-racism is a process. And, I’m not ready to give up just yet.

Liza Talusan is the Director of Intercultural Affairs at a small Catholic college in Massachusetts. She is an active member of Asian Sisters Participating in Reaching Excellence (www.girlsaspire.org) and believes that mentoring is one of the best way to make changes in this world. She serves as an advisor and mentor to students of color as well as to organizations designed to educate and promote cultural diversity. And, she’s often found causing trouble….

Image courtesy of  benster1970 on Flickr.

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I disagree with the post’s assertion that “Yesi” and children of black immigrants like him are “defining the latest articulation of the black American experience.” Families like the Meharys have always been a part of the black American experience. They simply get lost in the mainstream’s narrow definition of what it means to be black.

Yesi has had a solid group of Ethiopian-American friends that he’s had since 1st grade who are also bicultural and can share his experiences with.

As to how they all became friends, Yesi says that “We just knew,” that the others were Ethiopian. As to why exactly that was important, Yesi didn’t have an answer.

As middle school starts, Eiesus says that the group has become less close, but he attributes it to the new class schedule of junior high, and not to anything personal or cultural.

Eiesus’ fluid, pre-teen bi-cultural identity is not something that his older brother Thomas, or “Tommy”, for short, thinks will last long, though.

Tommy is a tall, striking man in his first year at Montgomery College, and has his hair grown out into a large, free-flowing Afro. Tommy, who has lived in Maryland since he was 5, remembers that growing up, ethnicity and nationality didn’t matter, but they “got to be more important around high school.” He takes care to cultivate his younger brothers’ development, and picks the best work of his favorite socially conscious hip-hop artists, such as Common, Lupe Fiasco, Talib Kweli, and Kanye West to pass onto Yesi – that is, only if the lyrics are clean.

As children of African immigrants who very recently migrated, youth like Eiesus and Tommy are defining the latest articulation of the black American experience. When asked how much it matters to him if people refer to him as Ethiopian, black, African-African, or Ethiopian-American, Eiesus responds with a pensive “I don’t know.” He pauses. “It doesn’t really matter” he concludes. Read more…

TV looks at multiracial families: MSNBC is exploring the experiences of multiracial families in America. Hat tip to Kimchi Mamas where Carol wrote:

I’m so glad this is being discussed more and more in mainstream media. I don’t constantly ponder what it means to be a Korean-American, a woman, a mom, in an inter-racial marriage and raising a multi-racial family. I don’t see myself as doing anything extraordinary, my marriage and family are not a political platform. We’re just a family. But I know I get to say that because I am a beneficiary of the work that had been done by brave activists before us. I am grateful that I don’t have to fight today to justify my marriage or have to endure my child being called an abomination (at least not to my face), with no recourse or rights.

Check out the MSNBC segments.

Image courtesy of Bella Gaia on Flickr.

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I need some help.  I am a white mother of white children.  But having been raised in a community that was predominantly minority and largely economically disadvantaged, I’ve always been concerned about race issues in our country.  I’ve been a long-time reader of ARP and I am committed to raising my two girls (and any other children we may have) to be anti-racist.  I posted ARP’s widget on my blog as soon as you developed it, and around that same time I began a category about race issues.

Many people are confused (and sometimes angered) by my decision to discuss race.  They assume that because I am white, married to a white man (a fact that surprised even me, given my dating history), and have white children, I have no stake in the matter.  They seem to think that unless I am raising children of a different race or am married to someone of a different race, my opinion does not and should not count. (In fact, when I added your widget to my blog, I received an e-mail thanking me for posting it even though you weren’t sure why I did.)

I could not feel more strongly that it does.

I recognize, as fully as I can, that my life has been blessed with a level of privilege simply by being white that people of other races will never have.  I also recognize that I surely have my own biases and prejudices that color the way I see other races.  I fight daily to overcome those and to recognize them for what they are.  But I am human, and flawed, and I make mistakes and speak out of turn.

That being said, many, many white people in the United States have strong feelings about eliminating racism, or eliminating as much of it as they can.  I believe that an open discussion of the myriad issues that face us is absolutely crucial to our success. 

I have tried to open that discussion on my blog, using the same tactics (namely, dry humor) I routinely use to discuss other aspects of my life.  Inevitably, I anger some.  Even when I am discussing the behavior of my own race.  I can understand if some people don’t like or agree with my humor, and I’m not above being called out if I’ve overstepped good taste.  I’ve even been known to rethink and argument and change my mind, hopefully for the better.

What I don’t understand is the condemnation of a white woman speaking about race, period.  I do have a stake in this world of ours, where race is such a factor.  So my question is this:

How do white people enter the discussion?  Can it be done without angering people?  Or is that too optimistic and unrealistic?

Thanks in advance for any feedback,

Julia

From the Editor:

It sounds like you are already part of the discussion. So, welcome and thank you. In order to decrease racism, we need ALL voices.

Now…

If I may be honest, and I assume honesty is what you want, because…y’know…you asked…There are three major missteps I see white members of the anti-racist movement make again and again.

The first mistake is thinking that talking about racism is easy. It’s not. You say that you get angry responses from some people when you discuss race on your blog. So do I. So do my many blog sisters and brothers of color. Oh, your angry e-mails may say slightly different things than ours, but fundamentally the hate mail is born of the fact that Americans are just plain uncomfortable about race discussions. They don’t want you to talk about racism as a white woman. They don’t want me to talk about racism as a black woman. They just don’t want to talk about it. The mainstream prefers to think of racism as a thing of the past. The topic stirs up too much guilt and anger and demands. And admittedly some people of color can’t get past anger at white people to be able to trust them as allies. I hope that you will continue to write about racism, but to answer your question: No, white people cannot enter the race discussion without angering people. But then, No one can enter the race discussion without angering people.

The second misstep is expecting to be greeted with flowers and hosannas, just for entering the conversation, and becoming offended when things get hot. As a citizen of the world, you are supposed to work to combat racism. It is simply the right thing to do. That most people in the mainstream don’t give two figs about anti-racism is a damned abomination. But as Chris Rock says, you don’t get a cookie for doing something you are supposed to do. You’re here; let’s get to work. Oh, and while we’re working, expect to get called on your own prejudice and privilege, and expect the culture of which you are a part to get called out, too. No one is saying that white people in the anti-racist movement need to sign up for abuse, or that you don’t have a right to challenge unfair accusations and assumptions. But your role as a member of a privileged race that has routinely oppressed other races in this country, puts you in a unique position in the cause. Any white person who is serious about the anti-racism movement must realize this.

I recognize, as fully as I can, that my life has been blessed with a level of privilege simply by being white that people of other races will never have.  I also recognize that I surely have my own biases and prejudices that color the way I see other races.  I fight daily to overcome those and to recognize them for what they are.  But I am human, and flawed, and I make mistakes and speak out of turn.

I was glad to read that after reading this:

I am a white mother of white children.  But having been raised in a community that was predominantly minority and largely economically disadvantaged, I’ve always been concerned about race issues in our country.

Misstep number three is believing that studying, sleeping with, befriending, adopting, marrying or living next door to people of color allows a white person to become an expert on Asianness or blackness or Native Americanness. I am a black woman and I have been lectured more than once about black people by white people. Apparently in all their studying and PCness, these folks hadn’t gotten the memo that most black people would find this sort of lecturing arrogant and offensive. No matter how long you are a part of the anti-racist movement, don’t think that your involvement trumps the real life experience of people of color.

I’m not saying that you have made these missteps, but it may be worth examining whether you have. It may be worth examining whether there is something in your well-meaning humor that is offensive. It may be worth examining whether the way you are using your voice in the anti-racism movement drowns out those who are victims of racism.

But, it could simply be that you are a victim of racial prejudice–of people who think that a white woman can’t possibly care or think about racism. That sucks. The best thing you can do about this type of racial prejudice is call it what it is and move on. You should not let it stop you from doing something you think is worthwhile. Racial prejudice too often limits the lives of its victims.

My advice: Keep working against racism, make sure you are keeping your privilege in check and ignore the haters.

Tami

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At this moment, there are more than 6.6 billion people on the planet! It’s hard to picture so many people at one time–but what if we imagine the whole world as a village of just 100 people?

21 people speak a Chinese dialect
10 earn only about a dollar a day
17 cannot read or write
28 have a television in their homes
Only 30 always have enough to eat

So reads the blurb introducing “If the World Were a Village” by David J. Smith (Kids Can Press, 2002). I was thrilled to read the responses to the “share your resources” thread and see that someone recommended this incomparable book that has been sitting in my review pile for a few weeks. It is a treasure–as valuable a global education tool for adults as it is for children.

As the book blurb explains, the conceit of “If the World Were a Village” is that it views our big, wide world as a small village of just 100 people and examines “who we are, where we live, how fast we are growing, what languages we speak, what religions we practice and more.” By doing this, the book offers a more realistic view of our global family than the America- or Europe-centric one children are taught in school. (In the global village, only five citizens are from the United States or Canada; only 11 are from Europe, compared with 61 from Asia and 14 from Africa) Simultaneously, it unveils the privilege most of us (of all races) enjoy in this country. (Nearly a third of our fellow villagers don’t have enough to eat! We all know this on some level, but put this way–making the hungry people neighbors not occupants of some far-off land–makes it impossible not to care…not to want to do something.)

“If the World Were a Village,” which includes charming illustrations by Shelagh Armstrong, makes big, important points in a way that is simple to understand. Booklist recommends the book for children in at least grades 3 to 5. Younger children can benefit, if the book is read aloud. This isn’t a bedtime story–not that kind of book. I believe it is best used as an ongoing resource for teaching global consciousness. Helpfully, the final section of the book instructs parents on how to teach children “world-mindedness.”

“If the World Were a Village” should have a home on the bookshelf of anyone committed to global consciousness and anti-racism, whether you have children or not. I have not ever seen our world and our connection to all its citizens explained so clearly and simply.

More reviews:

Social Studies for Kids

Amazon

Education World (Lesson Planning Article)

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

I shared in my review of bell hooks’ “Happy to be Nappy” that I would love to offer a regular column on ARP that reviews valuable resources for antiracist parenting: books, Web sites, films, games, workshops, etc. I’m doing research, but I need to hear from you, too. I know many of you have arsenals of stuff you use to encourage your children to acknowlege and value diversity.

Now, a fellow reader needs your help, too. Deanna writes:

[I am looking for resources] for the new Intercultural Resource Committee I’ve volunteered to start at my son Lucca’s (he just finished 1^st grade) school.  I met with the Local School Council and have gotten “institutional green light” to move ahead.  The idea is to come up with curriculum, links, etc. to build multicultural perspectives in the classroom (It bothered me in one book report when Lucca had to evaluate the two main characters in what was considered by all to be an innocuous story, and his columns listed “Blonde, Pretty, and Good” versus “Dark, Ugly, and Bad.” )   Initially we have been directed to take a look at the Illinois State Standards and look at how to incorporate multi-cultural/multi-racial perspectives to support state standards…to support what teachers are doing. The thought is that if it is “outside” of the standards, teachers will be less motivated to include it.  We also have an opportunity to do a teacher ‘in-service’ in the fall.  I would imagine sending home tips for parents, reading lists, etc. throughout the year for parents as well.  The approach I think we are taking now is, for example, making sure that if the topic is American literature/poetry that it might include Eugene Field, Gwendolyn Brooks, Khalil Gibran, etc. or that a unit on space travel would include Neil Armstrong, Nellie Ochoa, and Mae Jemison (etc.-e.g. trying to include all contributions in a particular subject area-please note order of names is not intended to be hierarchical-I’m just thinking in order of what I learned in school to what was not included…). The plan is to make these resources available to parents online as well, beginning at my blog, Intercultural Talk.

Help Deanna and me out by sharing information on great resources you have found. Discuss your antiracist parenting tools in this thread or e-mail me at team@antiracistparent.com.