What Are You Anyway? My Experience of Being a Child of Mixed Ethnic Heritage
The following is something I wrote when I was 22 years old, having recently moved from Calgary, Alberta to Vancouver, BC.
I am a second generation Canadian of mixed ethnic heritage. I was born in the early 1980s in the city of Toronto. Toronto is a densely populated and culturally diverse city located within a large and culturally diverse Canada. Looking at me, I swear you would not know it know it, but I'll let you in on a little secret; I’m not really White.
I am a second generation Canadian. My mother immigrated to Canada from the Philippines and my father immigrated to Canada from the former Czechoslovakia. My mother has brown skin. My father had white skin. They both have incredibly thick accents that I never noticed until someone pointed it out. Despite the fact that I believe that most people probably consider me Caucasian when looking at me, I assure you that have personally felt the impact of racism.
Though perhaps today I could pass for “white”, when I was a child I looked a little more like what 'Filipino'. I was often made very aware of the fact that my skin colour and facial features were not consistent with the that of the dominant population. It was painfully apparent to me that racism remained within the classroom throughout the 1980s and 1990s. As most children, I never viewed myself as being different from other children until my degree of difference was one day blatantly pointed out to me. Suddenly I was made an outsider, to exactly what I was not sure, but I obviously did not fit into what was socially accepted as typical “Canadian.” Though at the time I did not understand onlookers’ subtle glances at the grocery store because my father was white and I was clearly not, or racial slurs being inflicted upon me, in retrospect I now understand.
One clear memory I retain is of when I was in grade two, playing with my brother outside and some older boys walked by and called us “Pakis.” I did not know what the term meant, but I did know that it was an insult. When I grew older, I came to realize that my own ethnic heritage was sometimes
viewed negatively or as a novelty by other children. I was the outsider.
Racism is not a myth. Canada continues to uphold an ideology of racelessness, perhaps as a distinction from its neighbours to the south, the United States. The reality of this “raceless” nation is that it was built upon a history of racial division and discrimination. Justified in the past by science, the categorizations are there, whether they are openly discussed or not. In contrast to the past, scientists now work to deconstruct the notion of “race” rather than attempting to discover distinctive
physical markers to reinforce it. However, there remains constant pressure to be placed within a specific classification as bound to skin colour. This is not an artifact of the past that can be easily dispelled. I am constantly questioned about my ethnic heritage. I cringe at the question, “what are you?”, posed as if I am some sort of animal or alien too puzzling to bear, therefore I must immediately disclose “what I am.” The frequency with which the question is posed continues to disturb me even when people do intend it to be some sort of compliment: “You’re so exotic!” Why must I be classified as something when I do not conform to the default Canadian image of White? The recent frequency with which people automatically assume I am White disturbs
and offends me even more: “What a great tan!”… actually my skin is always this brown.
I cam to realize that I was a woman of colour in my early twenties. I had to come to terms with my personal understanding that I am indeed what is classified as a visible minority. It took time to understand and accept the displeasing feeling that others do immediately want and need to identify and categorize me as something “racially.” This is my reality. It is difficult to explain to someone who does not have similar lived experience. This is the reality of present day Canada. The realization must be made that we are not colourblind. Tolerance for not being the skin colour of the majority does not mean unconditional acceptance. How am I racialized? How can you not understand?
I am a second generation Canadian of mixed ethnic heritage. I was born in the early 1980s in the city of Toronto. Toronto is a densely populated and culturally diverse city located within a large and culturally diverse Canada. Looking at me, I swear you would not know it know it, but I'll let you in on a little secret; I’m not really White.
I am a second generation Canadian. My mother immigrated to Canada from the Philippines and my father immigrated to Canada from the former Czechoslovakia. My mother has brown skin. My father had white skin. They both have incredibly thick accents that I never noticed until someone pointed it out. Despite the fact that I believe that most people probably consider me Caucasian when looking at me, I assure you that have personally felt the impact of racism.
Though perhaps today I could pass for “white”, when I was a child I looked a little more like what 'Filipino'. I was often made very aware of the fact that my skin colour and facial features were not consistent with the that of the dominant population. It was painfully apparent to me that racism remained within the classroom throughout the 1980s and 1990s. As most children, I never viewed myself as being different from other children until my degree of difference was one day blatantly pointed out to me. Suddenly I was made an outsider, to exactly what I was not sure, but I obviously did not fit into what was socially accepted as typical “Canadian.” Though at the time I did not understand onlookers’ subtle glances at the grocery store because my father was white and I was clearly not, or racial slurs being inflicted upon me, in retrospect I now understand.
One clear memory I retain is of when I was in grade two, playing with my brother outside and some older boys walked by and called us “Pakis.” I did not know what the term meant, but I did know that it was an insult. When I grew older, I came to realize that my own ethnic heritage was sometimes
viewed negatively or as a novelty by other children. I was the outsider.
Racism is not a myth. Canada continues to uphold an ideology of racelessness, perhaps as a distinction from its neighbours to the south, the United States. The reality of this “raceless” nation is that it was built upon a history of racial division and discrimination. Justified in the past by science, the categorizations are there, whether they are openly discussed or not. In contrast to the past, scientists now work to deconstruct the notion of “race” rather than attempting to discover distinctive
physical markers to reinforce it. However, there remains constant pressure to be placed within a specific classification as bound to skin colour. This is not an artifact of the past that can be easily dispelled. I am constantly questioned about my ethnic heritage. I cringe at the question, “what are you?”, posed as if I am some sort of animal or alien too puzzling to bear, therefore I must immediately disclose “what I am.” The frequency with which the question is posed continues to disturb me even when people do intend it to be some sort of compliment: “You’re so exotic!” Why must I be classified as something when I do not conform to the default Canadian image of White? The recent frequency with which people automatically assume I am White disturbs
and offends me even more: “What a great tan!”… actually my skin is always this brown.
I cam to realize that I was a woman of colour in my early twenties. I had to come to terms with my personal understanding that I am indeed what is classified as a visible minority. It took time to understand and accept the displeasing feeling that others do immediately want and need to identify and categorize me as something “racially.” This is my reality. It is difficult to explain to someone who does not have similar lived experience. This is the reality of present day Canada. The realization must be made that we are not colourblind. Tolerance for not being the skin colour of the majority does not mean unconditional acceptance. How am I racialized? How can you not understand?
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