Mixed Perspectives

Zara Boon

Being mixed race is a strange experience. Not being one culture or another, being both, being neither, swinging between feeling like you belong everywhere and then that you belong nowhere. The micro aggressive comments, the racial ambiguity, the ability to blend your cultures—I could (and have) gone on for ages about it. Here's what I've settled on: there is no way to separate the two sides of my identity. I am both of them, not a cake to be split evenly. And, being a mix between white and non-white, my nationalities occasionally fight over me like a pack of feral cats. 

For context, I am half Pākehā and half Lebanese (whether or not I am white passing is up for debate. Airport security says no). I have been given the unique experience of being both colonised and coloniser, but those two sides come from opposite parts of the world. Being a person who qualifies as brown, white, both, neither, I've seen a large range of attitudes towards different ethnicities. One that I have noticed since moving to Aotearoa is a certain grudge against whiteness, one often originating from white people. I don't think it's unfounded, but I do think that it is misdirected. 

Let me be perfectly clear: in no way am I trying to erase or downplay the harm that European colonisers and settlers have done to this country, nor the privilege that comes with it. My ancestors helped to settle this land, and I have benefitted from the privilege that was given to my family through a racist government and system. I do think, however, that stewing in shame for it does not help anyone. 

I saw a similar sentiment arise in 2020, during the global Black Lives Matter movement. In an effort to uplift people of color, white people began to put down their culture or race. It became a common joke to insult oneself for being white. I did this to myself. I ignored the white part of my heritage for years, trying to distance myself from it out of a sense of shame. I felt that it had less to offer, that it couldn't possibly measure up to my other half that simply seemed more vibrant, better in every way. It hurt, even if I denied it. It felt as though I was saying my Kiwi family, memories, and experiences were simply lesser because they were associated with my white side. I don't know about you, but to me, deeming something worse because of race seems like the exact thing anti-racism tries to avoid. 

I now know that insulting yourself for something you can't control, even if that something gives you privilege, only causes more damage. Activism has never been about putting someone else down—it's always been about lifting people up. 

"The sins of the father are to be passed down upon the child."

A lot of people interpret that saying to mean "Children will suffer on behalf of their parents, regardless of their own actions." I take it to mean "If you do not right your wrongs, future generations will have to fix the damage." It's a decently accurate way of portraying my feelings on this matter; I do not believe that I, or other white people, should have to repent for sins we did not commit. I do believe that we have a responsibility to fix what our ancestors did. Rather than dwelling on the past and constantly apologizing for something we did not do and had no control over, we must look towards the future. Do not deny the past; remember and learn from it, but don't let it be all you know. 

I'll put this in a hypothetical situation and engage my other side. Let's say an Israeli approached me and told me that they're against what their government is doing. I would not hate them for their nationality, nor turn my rage and hurt against them. Some part of me may want to— to find a way to expel the decades of oppression and displaced and murdered family members—but it won't do anything. If we had common interests, I'd like to speak with them about those, perhaps, rather than the atrocities being committed in my homeland. 

Honestly, it's not my job to keep them in check, or to make sure they're doing their job at fighting for what's right. I might call them out on their bullshit if I notice any, but I'm not here to police them. I don't mind answering questions (though that varies for each person), but I might if that's all they came to me for. It can get incredibly nuanced, but here's the base line: I don't want their constant apologies. I want action. 

I don't think I, or other Pākehā, should feel shame for our heritage. What we should feel is responsibility. Trying to shun or hide that facet of ethnicity gives an opportunity to shirk the responsibility. 

I am so incredibly proud to be Kiwi. To be a part of a country that is so beautiful and whose community looks towards a unified, better future? There's a reason I have this nationality inked into my skin. It is, once again, joined by my other side. 

I have a frankly endless supply of Lebanese patriotism. The flag hangs on my wall, I will talk about it at any given moment, and my camera roll is probably 70% Lebanese scenery—my friends can attest. (To anyone who's sat through a debrief of my vacations, thank you. It will happen again.)

That all being said, I am well aware of its shortcomings. Lebanon is a country in which homosexuality is a crime punishable with up to six years in prison (the actual arrest rate of that is another matter). Racial inequality is rampant, with immigrants and refugees often being denied their rights. It is by no means perfect - but that is not all that it is. I am proud of Lebanon despite its shortcomings, because I know there is so much more to it than that. 

As is a near constant truth, the system does not represent the people. My Lebanese family are some of the most accepting people I know and have the privilege of being related to. Beirut is known for its queer community, and people of all races and cultures are welcomed into our country. Part of loving your country is wanting it to improve. Why shouldn't the same apply to New Zealand? 

I'm not entirely sure who this is for. My younger self, maybe, or other mixed people, or people who aren't mixed. I've spent a lot of time with these ideas rattling around in my head, and I get tired of seeing the hate and shame that saturates this world. If I could help alleviate even a tiny piece of it, I'd be more than ecstatic. 

This isn't a resource, this isn't a how-to-decolonise-your-mindset guide, it's just an affectionate slap upside the head to those who can get caught in their own mind. Hell, I know I do. If you've felt guilt for something out of your control before, here's me telling you to not let it eat you. I still feel some of that guilt, and it could take a long time to go away. What's important is that I don't let it control my thinking or actions. Twist that remorse and use it to do something, and that guilt will begin to fade. 

Shame does not spur progress. It only divides us.