My Dual Citizenship Journey
“We practice ethnic racism when we express a racist idea about an ethnic group or support a racist policy toward an ethic group. The face of ethnic racism bares itself in the form of a persistent question: ‘Where are you from?’”
I remember on my first day of college at the University of Maryland, I introduced myself to a girl I liked in my psychology class. Her first question was, “Where are you from?”
“I’m Mexican American,” I said. “I was born in the States, but grew up in Mexico.”
Her reply hit me like a thunderbolt. She said, “You can’t be Mexican; you’re not brown.”
And so began my journey into otherness and racism in America, a systematic pattern of exclusion. As soon as I opened my mouth, I was instantly labeled as “not American” because of my accent. It also began my dueling consciousness: an exploration of fiercely holding onto my roots, while also embracing the fact that I am a binational and bicultural Mexican-American citizen.
I was born in the U.S. to Mexican parents who had the privilege to pursue their graduate school degrees in the United States—the proud son of a daring Mexican immigrant mother who received a scholarship to study education at Harvard. When I was about two years old, my parents returned to Mexico City, where I was raised until I finished high school.
My native tongue is Spanish, though I grew up with the benefit of being able to attend bilingual schools. I learned English in elementary school from Mexican teachers, which is to say, I learned English with an accent. When I moved back to the U.S., I was 18 and proud to be Mexican, though my situation is still more complex.
I’m a white Mexican. Both of my parents came from families from Northern Mexico, which was populated by European settlers. On my mother's side, we have Spanish, as well as European Jewish ancestors who barely escaped persecution and had to change their last name to avoid identification. On my father’s side, my great-grandfather was a French painter who came to California with great enthusiasm for the Gold Rush, then moved to Mexico and married my Mexican great-grandmother.
Connecting my journey with Kendi’s book has been a rich experience that’s also pushed me to explore my upbringing in racist societies. In Mexico, I also experienced being “the other.” In the street people always referred to me as “el güero,” which literally means “the blondie.” Not because I am blond, but because my skin is white. I stood out as having the face of the Spanish invaders. In Mexico, the colonial racism established by the invaders is still rampant. Yet when I moved to the U.S., I was not quite white enough, and racial discrimination became a daily experience. And so again I became the other, as a Hispanic/Latino person. But as a Mexican-American, I do not feel this label of Hispanic/Latino describes my ethnicity. It’s racist to assign racially and ethnically diverse people from different countries and cultures into one homogeneous group just because we speak the same language.
The genius of Kendi is that he brings the conversation directly to the need of changing current racist policies. For all of us who want real change, the conversation around racism should begin by examining prevalent racist policies and systems. Here’s a great example he gives to help understand racial inequity: “71 percent of White families live in owner-occupied homes in 2014, compared to 45 percent of Latinx families and 41 percent of Black families.” It’s been hard for me to face these numbers, when one day I want to become a home-owner myself.
My anti-racist journey here at Global Round Table Leadership has been full of insights, and to be part of this ensemble is a great privilege. My heart is full of gratitude to be part of a conscious organization that embraces the wholeness of each individual. Especially in these challenging times of racial prejudice and discrimination at work, our Shared Leadership Framework™️ brings a much-needed resource to teams in the workplace, and our Humanity pillar in particular is a healing balm. “We recognize each other and meet as equals in our humanity—what exists at the core of us—before relating through roles, status, and expertise."
As a minority in the US, I think it is always important and respectful to acknowledge our racial diversity first. As Kendi puts it, race is a social construct but we do live in a system full of racial inequities. It is undoubtedly important to recognize and acknowledge that first. Then we can truly "connect as equals in our humanity" and win our fight to end racism. Together in our diversity, we are stronger.
Photo: Sebastian Mitre