When I was in college in the late seventies, my first and only room-mate was from Liberia, Africa. I had requested "a room-mate of color--from another country"--because it was the 70's--and I was from a New England small town that had only one African-American family in residence...
My roomie and I were friends all through college. She did come back to my town to visit for a couple of holidays and stay with my family. Her experience was as entertaining and problematic for her as it was for my multi-generational, highly Caucasian familia. At the finish, we shared jokes about my being "quadroon"--and that my grandmother was actually "Mammy Nana".
Today, as well as for decades now, I cringe at my ignorance and stupidity. While I was out to prove that I wasn't a racist; had worked on New England small town "issues" and relieved myself of prejudices born from that place; was "cool" and "open-minded"--I thought that my requesting a roomie of color and hanging with lots of people who were not White and not American--I was doing "them" a favor--all of this makes me physically sick, today.
I have to let it go, however. Have to forgive my stupid, bigoted self and see the questing teen who did afford herself of every opportunity offered to work on "her institutionalized" racism. Working with Native people also helped open my eyes. Taking the steps farther to the West Coast and to a cosmopolitan setting beat the prejudice out of me; educating me through shoulder to shoulder hard labor and through misplaced and broken romances. I finally entered cultures vastly different and interestingly similar to my own roots. This time, however, I entered them as a participant and not as a self-righteous tourist.
Poverty; civil disobedience; violence; spirituality; love in its myriad splendors; children; survival; quest for self-hood--these are the great equilizers. These are the markers of humanity we all share. Culture and genetics add to the mix, for sure, but the politics of what makes us different from the animals is what makes us alike as human beings.
This weekend, my sister Ann gave me a book she'd just purchased. "I think you'll find this interesting," she said, dropping it on my bed.
"You've read it?" I stop typing long enough to inquire.
"Not yet--I'm in the middle of three other books. You can read it, first," Ann generously offers.
So, I do.
ONE DROP is the 2007 account of Bliss Broyard's two-century historical tracing of her family roots. What makes it compelling isn't just the significant historical details she brings to life but the fact that her father, the writer Anatole Broyard (NY Times book critic), spent an entire lifetime "passing" and raising his children in ignorance of their African-American heritage. Broyard was able to do this, as so many other members of his community (Creole) were able to, because of the simple fact that he did not "look Black". Nor did he accept the standards and expectations society held for African-Americans who did, indeed, "look Black". The cost of this choice was paid in losing contact with his siblings and parents and much of his extended support system in the South. It also meant that his own children lost that support. His small "blood family" --wife and children--were the people he wrapped around himself--and the very people he kept at bay--because of this secret.
Bliss Broyard grew up in Connecticut. She went to ivy league schools. Her family owned several huge houses. She was allowed into all the "right" clubs and societies, as she grew up. However, just before her father's death, he revealed to her and to her brother the "truth" of their heritage--while being unable to fully explain the reasoning behind his subterfuge.
An educated woman, a researcher and writer herself, Bliss begins a journey that took over seventeen years--uncovering not only her own family tree--but the "family tree" of America. The history might seem to be already known to most of us (I thought I knew it!), however, the fascinating and excruciating conscious choices made by those individuals who moved back and forth across color lines were forced upon them by the mostly untold history of American social mores.
Issues such as what one decides when one begins to raise a family: how to best support them; to best provide for them; to best protect them? How to insure your children will receive all the perks and promises that America can offer? How to insure their safety, even as they move through a society that abhors them? These are questions one might assume when one thinks of the Nazis in Europe and the Jews--but how often do we consider them when looking at America in the twentieth century? Passing raises these questions. It also raises issues that aren't pretty--or easy. Questions that anyone with friends from other races must ultimately ask and have answered--if those friendships are to last. (Questions I glanced over and thought I had the answers to in my ignorance over the decades.)
Bliss Broyard also does a decent job in keeping the issues close to her own heart--not wincing nor side-stepping the familial pain which still exists between those family members who did not choose to pass--and those who did. She explores the multi-faceted parts of her father's psyche--making sure he doesn't become a poster child for this part of our national identity--but is fully sketched and made three dimensional. (Does an artist have the moral imperative to create himself/herself--regardless of what genetics have dealt him/her? Does a HUMAN have this same imperative?)
In the final pages of the book, Broyard makes use of technology that was increasingly available to the public: DNA testing. What she finds out about herself and her family is surprising--raising further questions. It is an interesting ending to an open-ended exploration of race relations in America--especially given our election of a mixed President currently inhabiting the White House.
What would YOU do, given the option of "passing"? Why? How? When?
For folks looking for a lengthy, thought provoking, historical summer read, check out ONE DROP, by Bliss Broyard.
You won't be disappointed.
My roomie and I were friends all through college. She did come back to my town to visit for a couple of holidays and stay with my family. Her experience was as entertaining and problematic for her as it was for my multi-generational, highly Caucasian familia. At the finish, we shared jokes about my being "quadroon"--and that my grandmother was actually "Mammy Nana".
Today, as well as for decades now, I cringe at my ignorance and stupidity. While I was out to prove that I wasn't a racist; had worked on New England small town "issues" and relieved myself of prejudices born from that place; was "cool" and "open-minded"--I thought that my requesting a roomie of color and hanging with lots of people who were not White and not American--I was doing "them" a favor--all of this makes me physically sick, today.
I have to let it go, however. Have to forgive my stupid, bigoted self and see the questing teen who did afford herself of every opportunity offered to work on "her institutionalized" racism. Working with Native people also helped open my eyes. Taking the steps farther to the West Coast and to a cosmopolitan setting beat the prejudice out of me; educating me through shoulder to shoulder hard labor and through misplaced and broken romances. I finally entered cultures vastly different and interestingly similar to my own roots. This time, however, I entered them as a participant and not as a self-righteous tourist.
Poverty; civil disobedience; violence; spirituality; love in its myriad splendors; children; survival; quest for self-hood--these are the great equilizers. These are the markers of humanity we all share. Culture and genetics add to the mix, for sure, but the politics of what makes us different from the animals is what makes us alike as human beings.
This weekend, my sister Ann gave me a book she'd just purchased. "I think you'll find this interesting," she said, dropping it on my bed.
"You've read it?" I stop typing long enough to inquire.
"Not yet--I'm in the middle of three other books. You can read it, first," Ann generously offers.
So, I do.
ONE DROP is the 2007 account of Bliss Broyard's two-century historical tracing of her family roots. What makes it compelling isn't just the significant historical details she brings to life but the fact that her father, the writer Anatole Broyard (NY Times book critic), spent an entire lifetime "passing" and raising his children in ignorance of their African-American heritage. Broyard was able to do this, as so many other members of his community (Creole) were able to, because of the simple fact that he did not "look Black". Nor did he accept the standards and expectations society held for African-Americans who did, indeed, "look Black". The cost of this choice was paid in losing contact with his siblings and parents and much of his extended support system in the South. It also meant that his own children lost that support. His small "blood family" --wife and children--were the people he wrapped around himself--and the very people he kept at bay--because of this secret.
Bliss Broyard grew up in Connecticut. She went to ivy league schools. Her family owned several huge houses. She was allowed into all the "right" clubs and societies, as she grew up. However, just before her father's death, he revealed to her and to her brother the "truth" of their heritage--while being unable to fully explain the reasoning behind his subterfuge.
An educated woman, a researcher and writer herself, Bliss begins a journey that took over seventeen years--uncovering not only her own family tree--but the "family tree" of America. The history might seem to be already known to most of us (I thought I knew it!), however, the fascinating and excruciating conscious choices made by those individuals who moved back and forth across color lines were forced upon them by the mostly untold history of American social mores.
Issues such as what one decides when one begins to raise a family: how to best support them; to best provide for them; to best protect them? How to insure your children will receive all the perks and promises that America can offer? How to insure their safety, even as they move through a society that abhors them? These are questions one might assume when one thinks of the Nazis in Europe and the Jews--but how often do we consider them when looking at America in the twentieth century? Passing raises these questions. It also raises issues that aren't pretty--or easy. Questions that anyone with friends from other races must ultimately ask and have answered--if those friendships are to last. (Questions I glanced over and thought I had the answers to in my ignorance over the decades.)
Bliss Broyard also does a decent job in keeping the issues close to her own heart--not wincing nor side-stepping the familial pain which still exists between those family members who did not choose to pass--and those who did. She explores the multi-faceted parts of her father's psyche--making sure he doesn't become a poster child for this part of our national identity--but is fully sketched and made three dimensional. (Does an artist have the moral imperative to create himself/herself--regardless of what genetics have dealt him/her? Does a HUMAN have this same imperative?)
In the final pages of the book, Broyard makes use of technology that was increasingly available to the public: DNA testing. What she finds out about herself and her family is surprising--raising further questions. It is an interesting ending to an open-ended exploration of race relations in America--especially given our election of a mixed President currently inhabiting the White House.
What would YOU do, given the option of "passing"? Why? How? When?
For folks looking for a lengthy, thought provoking, historical summer read, check out ONE DROP, by Bliss Broyard.
You won't be disappointed.
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