The past weeks have been a bit rough for me. The lockdown has stifled my self-esteem quite severely, and it’s left me floating without motivation or imperative. I did, however, find the energy to attend the Arts Scholars forum on power and inequality in research.
I sit in a strange position in terms of my race: I’m mixed race, but white parents raised me. Sitting in the Zoom call alone in my physical isolation made me realise just how emotionally and socially isolated I am because of my upbringing. I’ve never felt comfortable in POC spaces because they are so often hyper-critical of the white majority. Intellectually, I know this criticism is vital as we continue trying to heal the immense damage caused by racism both in New Zealand and around the world. But emotionally, I’m not so sure. When engaged in discussions about race, I can’t help but feel targetted. I leave these conversations feeling lesser, like some fake with no purpose; a product of colonisation lower than the ‘pure’ non-mixed descendants of my black ancestors. Of course, this is never the intention of people speaking on the issues of minorities. But my emotional brain always comes away feeling like I’m a part of the problem for merely thinking that surely some white people aren’t the colonising pieces of trash that they’re made out to be. Of course, the ego can temper this emotional reaction, and it often does, it’s foolish to take offence when these speakers are just trying to set right the injustices of the past.
And so I am left to continue floating in this strange pool of blurred lines and hazy identities. Throughout all of the discussions I’ve had with myself about my race, one question has remained: if majorities can’t write stories about minorities without whitewashing their subjects, and I’m a brown gay gender-undiscovered person raised by white straight cis people, what does that make me?
