Barack Obama Is Not Our First Black President
Ah yes….And to think the media forgot about this…Is Obama Black Enough?
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Sunday, November 30, 2008
WaPo
He is also half white.
Unless the one-drop rule still applies, our president-elect is not black.
We call him that — he calls himself that — because we use dated language and logic. After more than 300 years and much difficult history, we hew to the old racist rule: Part-black is all black. Fifty percent equals a hundred. There’s no in-between.
That was my reaction when I read these words on the front page of this newspaper the day after the election: “Obama Makes History: U.S. Decisively Elects First Black President.”
The phrase was repeated in much the same form by one media organization after another. It’s as if we have one foot in the future and another still mired in the Old South. We are racially sophisticated enough to elect a non-white president, and we are so racially backward that we insist on calling him black. Progress has outpaced vocabulary.
To me, as to increasing numbers of mixed-race people, Barack Obama is not our first black president.
Like Obama, I am the child of a white Kansan mother and a foreign father who, like Obama’s, came to Cambridge, Mass., as a graduate student. My father was Peruvian. My parents met during World War II, fell in love and married. Then they moved back to my father’s country, Peru, where I was born.
I always knew I was biracial — part indigenous American, part white. My mother’s ancestry was easy to trace and largely Anglo-American. But on my Peruvian side, I suspected from old family albums that some forebears might actually have been African or Asian: A great-great aunt had distinctly Negroid features. Another looked markedly Chinese. Of course, no one acknowledged it. It wasn’t until the DNA test percentages were before me that I had a clear and overwhelming sense of my own history. I wasn’t the product of only one bicultural marriage. My ancestral past was a tangle of races. When I sent back for an analysis of the Indo-European quotient, I was told that my “white side” came from the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East, the Mediterranean and Northern Europe. There had to have been hundreds of intercultural marriages in my bloodline. I am just about everything a human can be.
Still, the same can be said for many Hispanic Americans. Perhaps because we’ve been in this hemisphere two centuries longer than our northern brethren, we’ve had more time to mix it up. We are the product of el gran mestizaje, a wholesale cross-pollination that has been blending brown, white, black and yellow for 500 years — since Columbus set foot in the New World.
Latinos in the United States have always been difficult to fix racially. Before the late 1960s, when civil rights forced Americans to think about race, we routinely identified ourselves as white on census forms. After 1970, when a Hispanic box was offered, we checked it, although we knew that the concept of Hispanic as a single race was patently silly. But since 2000, when it became possible for a citizen to register in more than one racial category, many of us began checking them all: indigenous, white, Asian, African. It would be false to do otherwise. “Todo plátano tiene su manchita negra,” as we say. Every banana has its little bit of black.
With so much history in our veins, Hispanics tend to think differently about race. The Latino population of this country continues to be, as the New America Foundation’s Gregory Rodriguez puts it, a vanguard of interracial mixing.
Even Obama himself seems to have bought into the nomenclature. In his memoir “Dreams from My Father,” he writes, “I was trying to raise myself to be a black man in America, and beyond the given of my appearance, no one around me seemed to know exactly what that meant.” You can almost feel the youth struggling with his identity, reaching for the right words to describe it and finally accepting the label that others impose.
It doesn’t have to be that way. As the great American poet Langston Hughes once wrote, “I am not black. There are lots of different kinds of blood in our family. But here in the United States, the word ‘Negro’ is used to mean anyone who has any Negro blood at all in his veins. . . . I am brown.”
Few who see Barack Obama, it seems, understand that he’s 50 percent white Kansan. Even fewer understand what it means to be second-generation Kenyan. It reminds me of something sociologist Troy Duster and bioethicist Pilar Ossorio once observed: Skin color is seldom what it seems. People who look white can have a significant majority of African ancestors. People who look black can have a majority of ancestors who are European.
In other words, the color of a president-elect’s skin doesn’t tell you much. It’s an unreliable marker, a deceptive form of packaging. Isn’t it time we stopped using labels that validate the separation of races? Isn’t it time for the language to move on?
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