top of page

biraciality

a personal, historical, and empirical account of navigating the world through a biracial lens

Introduction

Introduction:

​

What are you?

Three words. Twenty-two years of internal conflict. After hearing this question, my internal monologue kicks in: “what am I? For starters, I am a human being who was just asked an insulting question.”

 

I have long kept these thoughts to myself. My true, verbal responses have been inconsistent—and still are. Sometimes I respond with “Black.” Some days, my answer is “biracial” or “multiracial.” Other days, it’s “Black and white, ” with added emphasis on the “and.” My racial identity changes with the seasons, with my mood, and with what I last saw on television.

 

My understanding of the nuances and pressures of biraciality have changed as well. Growing up, I viewed racial identity as something that had a “right” answer. This made my internal conflict even more confusing. Why was race so simple for monoracial people and not for me? I waited to be told what I should identify as, rather than taking the reins and choosing for myself.

 

The answer to biraciality isn’t confidence, however. There are external factors that shape how even biracial people themselves view their identities. They have always existed, and always will. Consider the “One Drop Rule.” Barack Obama. Racial tensions in the United States.

​

This project’s goal? To shed light on my experiences and on the nuances of the black-white biracial experience in America.

​

​

​

​

 

 

 

 

​

 

​

There was a 32% increase in people who self-identify as “Two or More Races” in the United States between 2000 and 2010. Numbers like this show us that the biracial experience in America is no longer atypical. Our understanding of it should acknowledge its strengths, its burdens, and most importantly, its normalcy.

 

My lived experiences as a biracial woman comprise only a small fraction of the greater experience. Being biracial presents a unique combination of culture, food, aspirations, and expectations. My personal experience, however, will guide this project through themes in biraciality and uncovering how they have been shaped over time.

 

The black-white biracial experience is the focus, and my experiences are the lens.

The United States will be a “majority-minority nation” by 2045. By 2060, there will be three times as many mixed race Americans as there are now.

Race vs. Identity

Race vs. Identity:

​

Define, Re-Define, Repeat

I have always dreaded filling out the “race” survey question. Some surveys make this decision easier than others by indicating that I can check “one or more boxes” or all races I “identify with.” The first thing I scan for is whether or not I’ve been granted this flexibility. Can I just select both "Black" and "white" and move on? My options are pre-determined by the creators of the survey. This loss of power is largely symbolic of my lifelong struggle with biraciality.

 

When I can check both “Black/African American” and “White,” my dread melts away and I move along. More often than not, the decision is not this simple. Many surveys force respondents to check only one box. It can be further complicated when the survey has no box for “Multiracial” or "Two or more races," which wasn't listed on the United States Census until 2000. When I am forced to choose either “Black/African American” or “White,” the decision is always “Black.” I have always been secure in my identity as a person of color, and selecting only “White” would negate this identity. However, I am entirely never satisfied when I am backed into a corner and forced to choose one or the other.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

                 A sample of the race portion of the United States Census. 

​

​

 

The question of identification is pervasive for biracial people. Racial identification is nuanced. You are born with your race and it simply does not change as your life progresses (in the way that other social identities may change or develop as you grow older). Simply put, there is no choosing your race.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

​

​

​

​

​

The Problem with Race vs. Identity

 

For the purposes of this exploration of biraciality, distinguishing between race and identity can be helpful. My discussion of race and my experiences with it suggest that race is stagnant. Though it has felt this way to me at times, this is untrue. 

 

I cannot wake up one morning and decide to be Asian. However, being Asian in itself has no meaning. You could ask ten people to define who belongs to the "Asian race" and receive ten entirely different answers. Its variability is endless and its agency is not in the hands of the individual. The question then becomes one of power. 

​

​

If individuals do not have agency over their racial identification, who does?

​

​

Race is a social construct. This has been argued time and time again and been empirically reinforced. It has been shaped by location, institutionalized discrimination and caste systems, and outdated beliefs (for example, the belief that Blacks are genetically inferior due to lessened intelligence and smaller skulls). Though beliefs of genetic inferiority have been debunked, their scars remain and will forever. 

 

When one considers the lack of genetic reinforcement supporting race as a construct, it makes sense. A person who is considered Black in the United States could travel to Brazil, or South Africa, or the Middle East, and be considered a different race in each location. Race is not constant across location, and certainly is not constant over time. 

​

Given this understanding, it is clear that agency falls to society rather than the individual. When are you alive? Where are you living? Who are you living near? What is happening in the world around you? Who has the power, socially and institutionally? These are the questions that determine your race.

 

Being biracial complicates this through a heightened awareness of agency. These "forces of society" are still largely influential in the lives of biracial people. But the reigns are loosened. A larger portion of the agency is in the hands of the individual. 

​

​

White + Black = Black?

​

The intersection of race and identity is a complex one. Race, or the division of the human species into distinct groups, is universally understood as a key aspect of our identities.

 

Identity, however, is much more fluid. We are prompted to self-identify all the time: when we introduce ourselves; complete surveys; speak in our native languages and with our native accents. People are often uncomfortable with a lack of identification, as I have learned the hard way. Questions such as “what are you?” stem from personal confusion or discomfort rather than malice. Identification drives our social interactions, whether we are aware of this or not.

 

No matter how much I alter my social circles, my appearance, and my lifestyle, I will always be Black and white; biracial. What I do have the power to change, however, is how I identify. To me, biraciality means agency.

 

An aspect of our identities is out of our hands and left up to perception. I have spent years thinking about the way I am perceived by other people. Recently, I was asked whether I think the “average person knows that I am black.” I quickly changed the subject, avoiding having to give a definitive answer. Quite honestly, I don't know the answer. Though I am constantly thinking about how I am perceived by others, there is no way to quantify it due to its subjectivity.

 

To some degree, how you identify has to bend to perception. I do not consider identifying solely as white for many reasons. One of these reasons is that it simply would not be accepted within a realm of social perception. I do not look white, therefore I cannot identify as white. I look like a person of color.

 

Some of my earliest memories are of my dad explaining to me and my brother that we were biracial. He did not state this as negative or positive, simply as a matter-of-fact statement that was unwavering. I walked around telling my peers at school about my “biracial” identity before I could even define what being biracial meant. I have a vivid memory of being asked on the playground if I “was Mexican.” “No,” I replied. “I’m biracial.” The girl didn’t understand what that meant. I didn’t either.

 

It is equally as important to note my mom’s absence in “race talks” with me and my brother. A white woman from rural Minnesota, my mom was raised in Plainview, Minnesota: a town with a self-explanatory name and a 95% white population. She left home to attend college in Morris, Minnesota: a town with 91% white population. Though incredibly tolerant and accepting, my mother simply did not have many race-based conversations while growing up, given the location and nature of her upbringing. She refrained from weighing in on the “biracial” vs. “black” identification debate. Reflecting on this today, I wonder if her absence stemmed from a lack of race-based discussions historically or a belief that this identification was supposed to be something that my brother and I came to independently.

​

As I have grown older, this choice has only grown to be more complicated. People are not shy in asking me “what I am,” forcing me to confront identity many more times than I would have liked.

​

race_600_q6.png

Race

the idea that the human species is divided into distinct groups on the basis of inherited physical and behavioral differences

Identity

​

the distinguishing character or personality of an individual; the fact of being who a person is

My Biracial Experience

 

I grew up in an all-white neighborhood in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Though I attended Minneapolis Public Schools from kindergarten through 12th grade, my classmates were largely white. This was simply a reflection of where I lived and the composition of the city. As I grew older, I began to notice greater racial segregation in my classes. This started with the 4th grade “Gifted and Talented” program, in which I was one of only a handful of students of color. In middle school and high school, this isolation became more pronounced. Advanced Placement and International Baccalaureate (IB) classes often required either test-based admission or self-selection into advanced classes. Though my high school was comprised of 43% students of color, I was often the only one in these advanced classes. Minneapolis is a notoriously bad place to live for Black people (and more generally, people of color), and I saw the effects of these discrepancies firsthand.

 

The academic space quickly gave way to hurtful comments. I frequently heard comments that I “talked white” or “didn’t seem like a normal Black person.” Whatever that means. Before middle school, my peers were unapologetic in their equation of intelligence with whiteness. As someone who was insecure in my racial identity, this was incredibly harmful. I was aware that I was Black, and that I had countless intelligent Black family members. These stereotypes didn’t add up to me.

​

​

 

How can you “talk” like a race?

​

​

​

For much of my life, occupying biraciality meant falling victim to stereotypes and negative stigma that occupy both sides of the "racial spectrum." I found myself overthinking aspects of my life that are supposed to be natural and intrinsic: who I became friends with, where I spent my time on the weekends, even activities that I did in my alone time.

 

These experiences forced me to quickly familiarize myself with being the “spokesperson” for people of color. This role is often forced upon students of color in predominantly white spaces.

​

​

Expectations and Navigating Professional Spaces

​

Biraciality is often used as an easy way for employers, administrators, and peers to “check the diversity box” without venturing outside of their comfort zones. As a person of color, I certainly bring new and diverse life experiences to the table. However, I was essentially raised as culturally white. I benefit from social capital that stems from the white side of my family. For white people, this creates the perfect storm: a way to have a person of color at the table without sacrificing comfort or cultural norms.

 

Biraciality in academic and professional spaces can mean succumbing to two different sets of norms. From the white side of my family, I frequently felt pressures to strive for better. At every family gathering, I was told to “never sell myself short” and that I was “smarter than I give myself credit for.” The University of Michigan? Not good enough. “Why aren’t you applying to the Ivy League Schools?”

 

These words were inspiring, and honestly, needed. Despite my grades, scores, and extracurricular activities, I was incredibly timid and modest throughout the college application process. Constantly being pushed to do better lit a fire in my belly that has yet to die out.

 

These expectations were reflective of navigating life through a white lens, however. These relatives didn’t know or understand the pressures I had felt being the only student of color in my classrooms. Though I knew that higher education was right for me, I often found myself second-guessing where I “belonged” and who I was representing in classroom discussions (which I knew were going to only become more frequent as I pursued a liberal arts degree at a top-ranked public institution). My white family members saw that the world was my oyster, in the same ways that it was for them. While this sentiment is important for biracial women to remember, it can overlook some of the (many) nuances that accompany biraciality. Especially in predominantly white environments.

 

At family reunions with the Black side of my family, expectations were different. There was much less of an emphasis on prestige and much more of an emphasis on praise. It was great that I was even applying to colleges. The reputations of them didn’t matter much.

 

My dad was the first in his family to attend college, meaning that it was still seen as something novel and impressive, regardless of the specific institution. These expectations were needed too, but in a much different way. They helped me to put my success into context. Higher education had always been out of the question for my family members, but here I was with my pick of school. Sometimes, the praise I received from this side of the family seemed mundane: “Twelfth grade? I can’t believe you graduate this year!” and being told that I was going to “go on to do amazing things” without knowing what my major was.


Both the pressure and the praise kept me sane throughout college, and I know I will carry them with me after graduation. All people have two different sides of the family, but mine strike me as especially different. They have navigated the world with two entirely opposite histories and challenges framing their perspectives.

​

​

Consequences of Biraciality

​

The sifting and sorting of my experiences into these two categories has been a constant in my life. Not fully inhabiting either the Black or the white race has pushed me to simplify them. Perhaps the differences in expectations that I've observed have nothing to do with race whatsoever. Biraciality has pushed me to assign significance that may not exist in reality. The derivation of my biraciality from "Black" and "white" has impacted the way I view these two parent races. Those who inhabit one race or the other certainly experience less of this simplification than I do.

 

Biraciality has meant the flattening of other races. This is not true only for those who are biracial; my dad has said things that resemble this flattening countless times during my childhood. Raising two biracial children pushed him to feed into this racial dichotomy in ways he never had before. One of these things is not like the other. And never will be.

​

There are personal and social consequences to occupying this third, nondescript category. 

​

​

Case Study: Brazil

Case Study:

​

Brazil vs. the United States

​

The interaction of biraciality with the races it is derived from is a complex one. The legitimacy and “otherness” of biraciality is heavily determined by societal norms and practices. Being biracial, as a category, is not interpreted universally. A clear example of discrepancies in its determination can be seen when comparing Brazil to the United States.

 

In the United States, being biracial is viewed as an “in-between.” It represents a need for further clarification. For me, it has meant the simplification of other races. As a race-driven country, categories are everything, and “biracial” does not qualify as one here. When I tell people I am biracial, or mixed-race, an inevitable follow-up questions ensues:

​

 

​

"What are you mixed with?"

​

 

​

In the United States, biraciality is insufficient. It leaves people craving more information, more substance, more categorization. Biraciality serves as an indicator that something is still being withheld. It is not a category in and of itself, but rather, an indicator that there is more to be told. Because of this feeling of limitation surrounding biraciality, very few multiracial Americans opt to consistently check the “Two or more races” box. Why would you identify this way when most people view it as a method of masking what you “really” are?

​

​

Defining Biraciality and "Blackness"

​

How do we refer to biracial people? How do we refer specifically to black-white biracial people? The terms we use are either vague or uncomfortable, meaning that even identifying oneself as biracial often does not satisfy the looming question: “what are you?”

 

If you say that you are biracial, multiracial, or mixed, the "race question" is seen as only being only half-answered. You have admitted that you are of multiple races, but haven't clarified what these races are.

 

Once in high school, I was told that I had “beautiful Mulatto skin.” I had never heard the word ‘Mulatto’ used outside of history class, let alone in a casual manner. I accepted it as a compliment and moved on with my day, later bringing it to the attention of my dad. He said that it was outdated and not appropriate. My initial flattery from the compliment quickly turned into offense.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

​

​

​

 

Policing ones' degree of blackness is no stranger to the United States. Words have been crafted to indicate just "how Black" a person is, with impressive specificity. These words proved to be unsustainable and cloaked in discriminatory purpose. Creating a word to describe someone who is only 1/64 Black seems satirical; pointless. The motives behind these words tell the full story. Hypodescent, or categorizing mixed-race children within the subordinate race, was used to influence legal standing. For slave owners, terms such as "quadroon" often dictated role and treatment. Abolitionists were known to use lighter-skinned people with less "Blackness" to demonstrate that they could visually fit in to white society.

​

 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

 

 

 

 

In Brazil, biraciality tells a much different story. Racial identification in Brazil is largely dependent on your skin color and physical attributes, rather than the specific details of your racial makeup. Their national census, conducted by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics, asks Brazilians to self-identify into one of five racial categories. These include Brancos (whites), Pardos (multiracials), Pretos (Dark-skinned or Blacks), Amarelos (Asians), and Indigenous.

 

The most compelling category here is Pardos, or multiracials. In 2010, 43.13% of Brazilians self-identified as Pardos, making it the second most popular racial category. For reference, only 2.9% of the United States population self-identified as multiracial in 2010, though the share of multiracial people in the population is much larger in reality.

​

 

Who does the Pardo category include?

 

“Pardo” directly translates to “brown.” It is an all-encompassing category. The category originated in the 1940 Brazilian census, in which the only racial categories were white, Black, and Asian (“yellow”). Brazilians who did not self-identify into any of these three categories were told to draw a line through the race “box” on the survey. These lines were then totaled and combined into the “Pardo” category, which became an official option on the census in 1950.

 

What does the popularity of this category say about the social implications of race in Brazil? Since Pardo became an official category, Brazilians from both the “white” and the “Black” categories have altered their self-identification to become “Pardo.” It refers to the descendants of Europeans, Africans, and Native Americans. Pardo does not discriminate; rather, it is an all encompassing identification. In recent decades, many who initially self-identified as white now identify as “Pardo” or “Black.” Some connect this shift to an increase in economic prosperity in Brazil, as some now feel more comfortable associating themselves with non-white racial categories as negative connotations have begun to dissipate.

 

Imagine living in a society where biraciality is assumed. This conflicts sharply with the culture of the United States, in which identifying as “biracial,” or “two or more races” is societally taboo. It remains this way despite major growth in the biracial population.

 

​

​

Which way of dealing with biraciality is best?

​

 

In Brazil, biraciality is accepted as the norm. There is a hyper-categorization within biraciality: Mulatto (Black and white), Cafuzo (Black and Indian), Caboclo (White and Indian), Jucara (Black, Indian, and white), and Ainoco (White and Asian). In the United States, the exact opposite occurs: biraciality is largely rejected as a racial category, urging biracial people to “choose” their race from predetermined parent categories.

 

Given my experiences as a biracial woman in the United States, I envy their system of racial classification. The lack of acceptance surrounding biraciality has been perhaps my largest issue with it. Though the multiracial population in the United States has been steadily growing, the normalization of the biracial experience lags. It makes sense that we are behind—until 19 years ago, the United States itself did not recognize multiraciality on the Census.

 

I would imagine that the destigmatization which prompted a shift in Brazil towards biracial identification will gain prominenece the United States as well. However, this would require a break in our obsession with race and identification. This need not take away from empowering, race-based movements and calls for justice. Rather, it would grant biracial people the flexibility and personal acceptance that many enjoy in Brazil.

​

Though the flexibility that Brazil's racial categorization system presents seems appealing, it is important to ask: does their system actually improve race relations in the country?

​

Race relations in Brazil are often described using the term "Racial Democracy," or the belief that the nation is no longer plagued by racism and negative race relations. Though socioeconomic inequality persists, it is believed that these differences do not stem from race, but from gender and class. The racial democracy belief asserts that Brazil is a truly "post-racial" society in which its citizens do not view each other through a racial lens.

​

First coined in 1933 by Gilberto Freyre, a Brazilian sociologist, racial democracy was quickly adopted by other scholars and viewed as a source of pride for Brazilians (who often felt prideful when comparing themselves to the tense race relations in the United States). His book Casa-Grande & Senzala (The Masters and the Slaves) attributed Brazil's racial tolerance to several factors, including the close relationship between masters and slaves that was common in Brazil prior to emancipation, Portuguese imperialism's opposition to racial categorization, and the prevalence of multiraciality. Freyre argued that miscegenation, or the mixing of races, between Indigenous peoples, Blacks, and whites would lead to a "meta-race," or a "race beyond races." 

​

The concept of racial democracy raises skepticism, and has for some time. It has been argued that Brazil's white elite supported the notion of racial democracy to mask institutionalized racial discrimination and ensure its permanence. Some view racial democracy as a denial of racism's existence and as a roadblock in progressive policymaking that addresses racial inequalities. 

​

In researching whether there is truth behind the concept of racial democracy, it is important to ask: what does racism look like? Can it be evaluated externally and objectively? Is there a way to gauge race relations in Brazil without being a Brazilian?

​

A 2011 study of more than 15,000 Brazilians found that 63.7% reported that race relations "interfere with the quality of life of the citizens." 59% reported seeing this interference with employment, and more than 68% saw this interference with issues related to policing. Additionally, Blacks are far underrepresented in the nation's government, where 75% of Congressmen are white. Income inequality reinforces these patterns, as whites in Brazil are more likely to work in high-paying professions and less likely to earn less than the minimum wage. Illiteracy, life expectancy, unemployment, education level, and homicide death rates are all worse for Black Brazilians. 

​

Even if personal instances of racism were nonexistent in Brazil, it seems apparent that there is a system of racial discrimination at work, in which those with darker skin have fewer opportunities to succeed. Though it may appear that Brazilians have "figured out" biraciality, it is clear that this is not synonymous with figuring out deeply rooted race relations and institutionalized racism. 

​

​

​

Biracial

​

​

concerning or containing members of two racial groups

Multiracial

 

​

concerning or containing members of several or many racial groups

Mulatto

​

 a person of mixed white and black ancestry, especially a person with one white and one black parent

 (Dated/Offensive)

Mixed

​

​

 involving or showing a mixture of races or social classes

​

D4w0DMeXsAEtMKa.jpg
Looking Back

Looking Back:

 

What is the root of Biraciality in the United States?

​

The One-Drop Rule

There weren’t many times that I found personal relevance in the content of my U.S. History classes. One lesson that particularly stuck out to me was when we learned about the One Drop Rule, or hypodescent. This rule has basis in a Virginia law from 1662 which sought to clarify societal treatment of mixed-race people. It held that any person with any African ancestry (i.e. even one drop of African ancestry) was considered to be Black and must identify as such.

 

​

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

 

The rule seems ridiculous when evaluating it today. However, it sought to reinforce societal structures, placing whites at the top of the racial hierarchy and systemically displacing Blacks, despite how “Black” they truly were. The rule suggested that even being entirely white-passing, or having three generations of white ancestry, were not enough to qualify as white. Biraciality and “race-mixing” were seen as a threat to whiteness. Thus, when Black people were seen as gaining social status, white people reacted by making it even more difficult to join their community and enjoy the benefits that come with it.

​

Being biracial is uncomfortable. If there is a true sense of “belonging” that accompanies it, I have yet to experience it. There is a common saying about biraciality: “too white for the Black kids and too Black for the white kids.” Fitting in is a difficult feat, and historical oppression has only hindered this more.

​

The Myth of the Tragic Mulatto

 

My personal conflicts with community and my biraciality are nothing new. The media has long exploited this feeling of personal division using the myth of the “tragic mulatto.” The tragic mulatto, a fictional character founded in the 1840s, depicts the “personal pathologies” and sadness seemingly experienced by mixed-race people due to racial divisions and the feeling of social isolation.

 

Writers and screenwriters assumed that the life of a biracial person was filled with despair for several reasons: the pity and dislike of their black identity, and the idolization—yet inability to achieve acceptance—among the white community. When biracial people attempted to immerse themselves in the white community, or “pass,” it often led to emotional anguish and internalized racism. In Nella Larsen’s Passing, Clare Kendry is a Black woman who chooses to “pass” as white, creating a life for herself in which nearly everyone who she knows personally sees her as a white woman. Though she achieves all that one seemingly would want in life (a family, wealth, and a luxurious lifestyle), she finds herself yearning to rejoin the Black community. The novel ends abruptly, as she dies only minutes after her white husband discovers her deception.

 

This storyline was not unique to Passing. To white writers, this internal conflict was artistic gold: it portrayed a rarely understood experience while reinforcing discriminatory societal norms of the time. These themes of self-hatred, desire to “pass,” and victimization persisted into the 20th century. As cinema became more popular, the myth of the tragic mulatto found its place in television and movies. Tragic mulattos were frequently women, allowing filmmakers to double-down on the helpless portrayal of biracial people.

​

​

​

​

705scr_d0acca75fc310ef.jpg
angelo.jpg
Ipassedforwhite.jpg

The myth of the tragic mulatto was just that: a myth. Though biraciality requires one to navigate their world using a unique lens, it does not imply self-hatred or perpetual sadness.

Loving v. Virginia and Biracial Marriage

Richard and Mildred Loving were Virginia residents who were wed in 1958 (pictured above). Shortly after, the couple—a white man and black woman—was charged with violating Virginia's anti-miscegenation laws, which forbid interracial marriage. The Lovings were sentenced to one year in jail. Their case was eventually brought to the Supreme Court, which ruled in 1967 that the State of Virginia was in violation of the Fourteenth Amendment in its banning of interracial marriage. In a unanimous decision, the Court found that the law had no rational purpose other than "invidious racial discrimination."

​

The biracial experience has had a presence in the United States since its founding, yet is far from normalization. The Supreme Court ruled on Loving v. Virginia when my parents were 12 and 8 years old. It is only one generation removed from my life. This discrimination—against biracial interactions and the existence of biracial people—is recent and real. 

​

My parents have always used this recency as a reminder to remain persistent and progressive in my beliefs. Prior to the legalization of gay marriage, my mom would always chirp her support to me: "This country is ridiculous! Not long ago, your dad and I couldn't have gotten married. Ridiculous."

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

D4wzhqPWkAkhym9.jpg

From Victimization to Valorization

Phenomenons such as the myth of the tragic mulatto quickly warped into the valorization and fetishization of biracial people. Social media accounts dedicated to posting photos of "beautiful mixed kids" are easy to come across. Biracial celebrity children have been adored- or criticized, if their skin is too dark- for their racial identities. Twitter wars such as #TeamLightSkin vs #TeamDarkSkin provided viral, fast-moving platforms for this valorization. Understanding the reality of the past means contextualizing the future as well. 

Looking Ahead

​

When Barack Obama gained popularity in the public sphere during his 2008 Presidential Campaign, I first began to take note of how other biracial people identify. It was nearly impossible for me to watch television or listen to the radio without hearing that Obama could be the nation’s “first Black President.” As a concept, this was exciting to hear. I understood that all previous Presidents had been white men.

 

Aside from the initial excitement of hearing this phrase, however, was a cloak of confusion. I had learned from 60 Minutes and NPR that Barack Obama was “just like me”: the child of a Black man and white woman. However, he was not identifying as “biracial,” as I had been told to since I was a toddler. He was Black not only via public perception, but via self identification.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

My dad, though ecstatic about Obama’s candidacy, opposed his self-identification as a Black man. He took every chance he got to clarify: “well, technically, he’s biracial.” Watching our nightly MSNBC made my dad sound like a broken record.

 

This could be generational. It could be the product of Black animosity or hesitance toward biraciality. It could stem from the undisputable fact that my dad has faced more societal hardship than Barack Obama ever had.

For me, it was confusing.

​

I was eleven at the time. Far too young to understand the nuances of Obama’s identification, the political consequences he might have faced for identifying as biracial rather than Black, and the generational differences fueling my father’s resistance.

 

Upon reflection of the Barack Obama “race debate,” it is clear that the American public was dealing with a similar confusion. Critics argued that Obama was post-racial, suggesting that his identification didn’t hold much weight because of his ability to appeal to both Blacks and whites in America. Others argued that Obama is “just as white as he is Black,” meaning he could be either the first Black President or the 44th white President. His racial identity was up for debate, the audience was the entirety of the United States, and my 11-year-old self had a front row seat. 

​

How do colorism and white privilege interact with biraciality?

 

 

Clearly, Barack Obama has not navigated the world with the privileges and experiences of a white person. He appears and is perceived as a person of color. More importantly, he lacks White Privilege.

 

This same argument could be made about being Black, however. Lighter-skinned people of color are afforded many more privileges than those who are dark-skinned. This privilege permeates all aspects of life: hiring, education, beauty standards, and day-to-day treatment. Just as I have, Obama has benefitted from colorism as he navigated white-dominated spaces: Ivy-League schools, the Illinois State Legislature, and the United States Senate. He fell victim to countless racial slurs and insults during his campaign and Presidency.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

​

​

​

​

 

​

​

 

 

For me, colorism has complicated my internal battle with biraciality. Being mixed-race has afforded me countless privileges not enjoyed by all Black people—specifically, those with dark skin. 

​

Biracial Americans Today

 

It is apparent that the way that mixed-race Americans view their racial identities changes with time. This change is not predictable, either. Around 30% of mixed-race American adults have changed their minds on how they identify, and these changes occur in both directions. 29% of those who identify as two or more races previously thought of themselves as one race, and vise versa. These changes reflect the continued fluidity of biraciality in the United States.

​

With each new "viral" biracial figure, there is a new wave of media attention and discussion of their race. Why the media feels entitled to discuss the race of biracial people in such detail is unclear to me. But they do so frequently and with fervor.

​

Perhaps the most recent example of this is Meghan Markle, an American actress who quickly rose to global fame following her engagement to Prince Harry, the son of Princess Diana. 

​

The worst of headlines defaulted to racism when discussing Markle's marriage into the Royal family. The Mail on Sunday published a headline reading, "Miss Markle's mother is a dreadlocked African-American lady from the wrong side of the tracks." The Daily Mail read, "Harry's girl is (almost) straight outta Compton." 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Markle's tolerance of being scrutinized for her race has been unwavering. She has long been open about the nuances of biraciality in a manner that I can strongly relate to. She characterizes biraciality as painting a "blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating." She has discussed feeling conflicted when the time came to rush a sorority at Northwestern University, not knowing whether to rush a Black sorority or a Panhellenic one. She even admits to downplaying her racial identity during her youth, afraid that embracing it would mean opening a "Pandora's box of discrimination."

​

Unlike Barack Obama, Markle has remained relatively quiet throughout the racialized media debates. Though much of this silence can be attributed to the stifling rules that now apply to her as a member of the royal family, I can only imagine that some stems from choice. Being biracial is a confusing identity to hold without public scrutiny—I cannot imagine how this confusion is exacerbated in the public eye. Being asked, "what are you?" never gets easier. 

 

Looking Ahead:

​

Yes, We Can

​

Colorism 

discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone, typically among people of the same ethnic or racial group

White Privilege

societal privilege enjoyed by people who identify as white. Benefits include social, economic, and political advantages over people of color

meghan-markle-doria-ragland-t.jpg

Where Do We Go From Here?

Biracial people have gained visibility in recent decades, and inevitably will continue to do so, paralleling fast-paced demographic change. My largest strife with biraciality is that it is so painfully, distantly, and powerfully controlled by society. To some degree, visibility is the enemy of biraciality. As more people feel qualified to influence it, identification becomes out of reach and impersonal. 

​

Since I was a baby, I have long felt that my identity confuses people. Literally. Within the first few months of my life, my mom was approached by a "concerned citizen" when grocery shopping with me. The woman hastily rushed up to my mom, eyebrows furrowed, asking her, "why would you give your baby a spray tan?" 

​

Tolerance of biraciality has improved, but this confusion has yet to disappear. Though it still frustrates me, I now view it through a lens of opportunity. When people ask ignorant questions, it usually serves as an indicator that they simply do not have enough information. Thus, they are giving me an opportunity to speak my truth, reclaim control, and stop them from asking another person the dreaded "what are you?" question. 

​

It remains true that whether I identify as "Black" or "biracial" changes day by day. Ideally, the space of biraciality could be occupied without prompting an array of unanswered questions—but this is unrealistic. 

​

The distaste and fetishization of biraciality is, in many ways, unchangeable. I concede that these will not become obsolete in my lifetime. The biracial category has already experienced ebbs and flows, and as we all know, history repeats itself. 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Screen Shot 2019-04-08 at 11.28.20 AM.pn

Usage of the word "biracial" over time, Google Books

The peaks and valleys of the usage of the word "biracial" show that these changes have already manifested multiple times. The question that we are left with, then, is when will they manifest again? The peaks in the mid-1960s and early 2000s suggest a tendency to err towards biracial identification at the time. Perhaps most interesting is the drop in word usage near 2008, when Barack Obama was first elected President. Obama actively discussed his childhood experiences with his white mother and grandparents in Kansas while simeltaneously asserting his role as the first Black President of the United States. Biraciality was redefined as Black pride, and thus began the descent into another valley.

​

These valleys hold just as much insight and value as the peaks do. Decreased usage of the term "biracial" must have a negative relationship with some other term. Defining what constitutes "Black" and "white" is ever-expanding, and as these terms expand, the middle ground becomes blurred. 

​

Umbrella terms further blur this. The recent rise of the term "of color" in the United States has reasserted unity among non-white people, creating space for an inclusive narrative that is not specific only to one race, but to all non-white people. Though many elements of being a person of color require more specificity, there has been a welcoming feeling that has accompanied the rise of this term.

 

My identity as a person of color has never been contested. It is guaranteed. Stagnant. It is a home.

​

Though I fit neatly into the category "of color," it remains a flawed binary in the United States. Consider people descendant from Eastern Europe. Though their skin tone largely matches that of "people of color," their belonging in this group is often contested. Expansion of category does not automatically indicate ease of understanding. 

​

As the United States makes progress towards becoming a "majority-minority" nation, even the term "biracial" may disappear. The prefix "bi-" means "two." While I comfortably can define my two parent races, this feat will become more difficult and more uncommon for Americans. I anticipate that the term multiracial will eventually become the primary identification for Americans of two or more races. It is currently less popular than the term biracial (and trending downwards), but I anticipate that this will change as demographics do. 

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Screen Shot 2019-04-13 at 4.01.06 PM.png

Usage of the word "multiracial" over time, Google Books

Ten years ago, Barack Obama brought biraciality to center stage with his candidacy and presidency. Ten years before that, in the mid-1990's, the multiracial movement began to grow quickly. The concept of embracing the fullness and complexities of a multiracial identity, without automatically being siphoned into one of your "parent races," quickly gained popularity. The multiracial identity gained newfound legitimacy, and for a period of time, it seemed as if the United States was making strides toward a racial categorization system mimicking that in Brazil. Thirty years before that, however, biracial and multiracial identification were nonexistent. Trivial. To some extent, shameful. Prior to the 1960's, many biracial Americans defaulted to a Black identity due to mounting social pressure and a lack of precedent for navigating "non-traditional" racial identities. Before this time period, the identities were nearly nonexistent.

​

Tracing the history of biraciality is no easy feat. However, attempting to predict its future is even more difficult. I anticipate that ten years from now, in 2030, biraciality will begin to "climb" from the valley it has been in recently. Social movements, such as #BlackLivesMatter, as well as the Obama Presidency, brought biraciality into uncharted territory. Though I do not anticipate these social pressures disappearing, I think that the growth in bi-and multiracial Americans will demand a growth in these identities as well. As today's children grow up, they will seek to inhabit racial identities that are not predetermined. 

​

Upon reflection of my experiences with biraciality, I have realized that I don't care much whether it is more common for biracial Americans to identify as mixed race or as Black. One will always dominate the other, and although this will continue to change as society does, this relationship is not inherently bad.

​

The things that I hope for are not perfect freedom, nor perfect choice. Ideally, biracial people will see biraciality as perfectly accessible. My main struggles with the identity have tied directly to mounting social pressures. Or at least my hyper-awareness of them.

​

When I began this project, I approached biraciality as a binary, thinking that "my racial identity should be one or the other. I simply do not have the wisdom to know which is correct." It remains difficult to shake these feelings. Despite this, I have come to learn that there is solidarity in uncertainty. 

​

​

​

​

​

​

bottom of page