This is Prudie Phones a Friend, a feature where Jenée Desmond-Harris calls a few experts for their advice to a letter writer. Submit questions to Prudence here.
Dear Prudence.
I have a niece who is biracial (her father is mixed with Black and white parents, and her mother is white), and she confided in me that she is struggling with her racial identity and fitting in in her first year in college. My heart breaks for her, and I am seeking guidance on how I can support or advise her.
—Concerned Aunt
Dear Concerned Aunt,
You say your heart breaks for your niece, and mine does too. College should be a time for excitedly exploring identity and values and making new friends, not worrying, fretting, and being self-conscious.
But, of course, the young woman isn’t alone. I do have some familiarity with her experience and spilled a lot of ink in high school in essays and journal entries about being mixed. I was lucky enough to have the quick fix of attending a historically Black college. There, I quickly learned that there were many more kinds of Black people than the stereotypes I’d absorbed in a predominantly white community suggested, that I fit in just fine, and that my upbringing and complexion were not anything unique or extraordinary—and definitely didn’t make things difficult for me. But without this part of my life? I don’t know! I might still be somewhere ruminating on being neither Black nor white enough, with my personality stunted by seeing everything through this powerful, upsetting, and dangerously self-absorbed lens. I can only imagine how much more fraught this feels for a person whose situation is more complicated than the run-of-the-mill biracial experience and has fewer examples of people like her to look to for guidance.
I wish I knew more about your niece: how she grew up, what her college is like, what she looks like physically. But to come up with ways to help her beyond “transfer to Howard,” I reached out to Adrienne Lee, the author of the Ask Adri advice column, who you may have heard on the Dear Prudence podcast, for her perspective. Her credentials? I know because of our online friendship that she’s biracial, very connected to her community, and her children share the letter writer’s profile. Plus, I knew she’d apply the same thoughtful approach to this dilemma that she does to the other letters she answers. An edited version of our chat follows, and I hope it’s helpful.
Jenée Desmond-Harris: First, tell me about your background and what you have in common with the letter writer.
Adrienne Lee: I am Black (biracial—Black dad, white mom).
JDH: Was there ever a time when you really struggled with your racial identity? When and where? What did that feel like?
AL: I think I struggled with racial identity (to the extent that I did) at the same time I struggled with identity in general—those pre-teen into puberty years. With that said, having access to both sides of my family and attending very diverse schools, having close Black friends, etc., meant racial identity was not a huge hang-up. I think the biggest struggle was navigating white beauty standards (not unique to biracial folks) and the way my white mom sometimes related to us (wishing we had her green eyes, referring to our hair as difficult, etc.).
JDH: How do you think about your racial identity now? What level of angst does it cause you, if any, and how did you get there?
AL: I have always identified more as Black—both because of my proximity to Black family and friends, but also, because if you look not white in this country, you don’t have access to whiteness. It really is (or felt) that simple. I do identify as biracial Black or mixed, not because I think it’s special, but because I am light and a bit ambiguous, and I don’t want to play in people’s faces about that. Having one white parent IS a different Black experience.
JDH: What about your children?
AL: As you noted, my kids share the letter writer’s niece’s identity—they have a biracial Black mom and white dad. (We don’t really say quadroon anymore, but!) I think raising kids who are mixed but white-presenting, I experience the most angst because I want them to love and belong to us [Black people] and to be in right relationship with us, and I also have to be real about how different their lives will be from their grandpa’s. So walking that line of instilling a sense of culture and connection, but also an ability to stay in their lane—that has been complex.
JDH: Do you worry they’ll struggle in the way the letter writer is? How do you want them to think about themselves, given that they have an entire Black side of their family, but you suspect they may be perceived as something other than Black by many people they encounter? Do you think about stuff like whether you want them to be comfortable joining student groups like the Black Student Union or the National Association of Black Journalists when they go to college? Do you put extra focus on building their confidence because you know people can be mean, and they’ll need to be secure about who they are?
AL: I don’t worry about my kids—again, because they are connected to their Black family. I actually will encourage them to go to an HBCU and all the things you suggest, because if that part of their identity is important to them, they have to invest in it.
Community connections are what animate identity, in my opinion. For someone who is white-presenting but claims their Blackness as part of their identity (this niece, my kids, anyone), it is super important to do all that you are saying: Consider an HBCU, join the BSU, study Black history, join NABJ. The further you distance yourself from Black community, the more fragile your Blackness will feel because identity is relational—it is a WE thing.
What I am really trying to get at for white-presenting Black/mixed folks is two realities: First, that many Black folks will not see you as Black, and you cannot force them to. Broad community is a nebulous idea, and the more disconnected you are from someone, the easier it is for them to dismiss you. Focus on your immediate Black community (family, friends). You cannot demand broad validation. Your identity is complex (but hardly new) in a country with a history like ours, and the way you present does alter your experience.
Second, belonging and being a good community member are worthwhile goals. But if you are white-presenting (or even light/biracial), it is incredibly important that you not allow yourself to become a very unrepresentative token, or take up space someone with a less ambiguous experience should be occupying. White presenting and more disconnected multiracial folks should be focused on learning and connecting—not positioning themselves as some sort of authorities on Blackness, in my opinion. One of the best accompaniments to privilege is humility.
JDH: I have this idea that while parents and loved ones like this aunt can affirm and educate a child (or young adult), what really makes a difference when it comes to any issue around identity is being around people who show rather than tell you that you’re OK as you are. Ideally, people a little older who remind you of yourself and are cool! Do you agree?
AL: YES! Identity is lived, spoken, and not monolithic. It is relational. It is more than how you look. It is being with others. Which is why a focus on DNA or distant lineage alone tends to miss the spirit of the thing. I wish this aunt had disclosed her own racial identity. I have a feeling she is white, because I just can’t see a Black relative being this confused about it all.
JDH: Knowing only what we know from the letter, what advice would you give to the niece? And to the aunt who wrote in?
AL: I would tell the niece that, unfortunately, race is largely about how you move through the world (don’t blame me, blame slavery). So how you are perceived isn’t everything, but it also cannot be ignored. Being white-presenting does not take away your Blackness, family, or community—you are still a multiracial/mixed person—but it will require more explanation and more awareness of privilege. Even less ambiguous, light Black folks have to contend with this sort of privilege. Acknowledging privilege isn’t a punishment—it is one of the ways we can be safer community members.
No matter what you look like, stop navel-gazing and overcomplicating it and get in community, educate yourself, and let go of whatever narrow definition of Blackness you think can’t make space for you. You likely have a tremendous amount of privilege relative to your unambiguously Black community siblings—remember that, and be mindful of it. Wanting to belong versus wanting to feel like it is OK for you to be THE Black authority or representation in a given setting are very, very different things.
To the aunt, I would say this: When we love someone, especially a child, we want to make everything easy for them. This is as loving as it is impossible. First, if you (the aunt) are white, the niece does need Black community to navigate questions of Black identity (of which race is only a part). Identity is not inherent; it is something we are socialized into. Continue to support her, do your best to answer her questions, and affirm her, but with the following nuance: If she does “look” Black, then the challenge is simple as letting her know: You are Black. That can be as confusing as you choose to make it, but our family, and to the extent that it exists, the Black community welcomes you (as long as you aren’t being weird about it). Being mixed isn’t new, special, confusing, or better or worse. Whiteness is more likely to be the space where you aren’t welcome.
If she is white-presenting, then offer her some language for that. Where my kids (the quadroon goon squad) are concerned, I allow them to identify as mixed or multiracial with the understanding that they are white-presenting—because they are and because it acknowledges their Blackness, their mom, and my family, and it opens the door for a more nuanced explanation if it is called for. They know they belong to me, to their Black family, and they know that there will be people who disagree. It is a lot of nuance for a 7 and 9-year-old, and it will evolve over time. But it is worth it if they learn to be mindful of and intentional with their privilege.
JDH: These are all such thoughtful points. The only one I would quibble with is that she should identify based on how she looks because I feel like the way looks are perceived can vary so much with geography, culture, and just individual perception.
I’ll never forget when, in my Constitutional law class at Howard, the professor explained that the plaintiff in the case Plessy v. Ferguson—the big Supreme Court case that upheld “separate but equal” was an “octaroon” (one Black grandparent)—and, wait for it … “he looked just like Ms. Desmond-Harris.” It was news to me that people might see me as less than half black. Later in life, a police officer checked the “white” box on my traffic ticket (which, by the way, speaks to your point about acknowledging going through life with a lot of privilege), and a woman who was right in the middle of braiding my hair casually accused me of being a Rachel Dolezal.
But many others have expressed surprise that my mom is white, telling me they assumed both of my parents were Black and light-skinned, like their own. Even with your kids, I’m sure some people would say, “I can clearly see that they’re Black.” Plus, a different hairstyle or a good tan can change everything in 24 hours. I mention all that to say I would be lost—and have a bad case of whiplash—if I waited for people to tell me how I looked before I decided how to identify myself. Also, I assume that context clues (the events I attend, the friends I’m with, the husband and kids I have) might nudge those who are on the fence to see that I’m Black. But those context clues are all the result of my choice about my identity, which I made without taking a poll of everyone who sees me. You know?
AL: So, I am less concerned with this niece (who has Black parents/family) than I am with the 23andMe brigade [people who have recently discovered that they have African ancestry] who have no Black community and distant Black ancestry taking up space and asserting an identity that feels more about distancing themselves from whiteness than anything else. Maybe that is unfair of me! But my kids discussing their Blackness feels less fraught because they have me, they have their family in Oklahoma, they aren’t disconnected. So yes—more than just looks—connection matters.
You can say you are mixed/Black, but also not acknowledging that you are white-presenting feels a bit … odd to people. It would to me. It is, for better or worse, an identity that requires explanation in a way that ours and your kids mostly do not. I think the boundaries around Blackness have been debated a lot more on social media than they ever were in my real life growing up. I simply never had anyone assert that people like you or me might not be Black until recently. That is why the distinction and terms like mixed or multiracial can help add nuance, acknowledge ancestry, family, and yes, Blackness, but also acknowledge privilege and the distinct life experience it gives you.
Also, this feels like a very Black American discussion. I lived in the Caribbean, and the categories are so different. In Latin America, there is a lot of talk/mythology about “mixedness” (which is fraught and doesn’t erase racism or anti-Blackness), but it does make race a bit less rigid than in the U.S. For many, the primary identity tends to be national first, race second, although that is evolving as well.
Similarly, I think of the way many American tribes place emphasis on tribal identity (which can be oriented around legality (enrollment/blood quantum) but also on community—who claims you. Connection to family and community seems to be most important here, and I appreciate that.
JDH: As I read your last comment (and took notes!) I was struck by how thoughtful you are about all of this and by how much you know. Having an understanding of history, other people’s experiences, and various theories about how this all works can be really grounding and comforting. The niece is lucky because, as a college student, she’s at the perfect time in her life to read, listen, ask questions, in her courses, but also in her interactions with her peers. She should do that. My hope is that she’ll be able to synthesize everything she takes in and come up with a conclusion about her identity that feels like it makes sense to her. I think she has to fit into her own story about who she is before she expects to fit in with any group of people in college or elsewhere.
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