McWhorter: We’re Asking the Wrong Question About Harris and Race

From mixed to biracial, as more and more people have blended or composite ethnic and racial origins:

In the wake of Joe Biden’s endorsement of Kamala Harris, a great deal of attention has focused on whether America is ready for a Black female president. Unmentioned is a question of equal complexity: Why is Harris Black? Hear me out.

As she has proudly recounted, the vice president is the product of an interracial, intercultural marriage between a mother who emigrated from India and a father who emigrated from Jamaica. So in terms of her ancestry, she is as much South Asian as she is Black. By widespread convention, however, people refer to her not primarily as a South Asian presidential candidate, nor even a mixed-race candidate, but rather a Black candidate.

It’s not just Harris. Barack Obama, with one Black and one white parent, is called Black. Imagine how strange it would be if someone called him white. Imagine how strange it would be if he called himself white. Harris often mentions the South Asian half of her heritage, but in traditional American discourse, it feels off to categorize her as simply South Asian — like Aziz Ansari or Mindy Kaling — and leave it there. Yet calling her just Black, as a kind of shorthand, feels right. Blackness is treated as blacking out, so to speak, whatever other race is involved. Most people default to this perspective — myself included.

This approach contradicts not just logic, but also itself. In contrast to the centuries-old “one-drop rule” that segregationists have invoked to describe the indelible ancestral stain of so-called Black blood, enlightened people are supposed to believe that race is purely a social construct, with no biological basis. If so, then why does having some Black forebears make you Black, regardless of the rest of the family tree?

People from other countries can find this perplexing. I’ve fielded questions from people from France to Japan about why Obama is considered Black, rather than both Black and white. The question always feels naïve to me at first, but if you imagine stepping outside our particular national framework, it’s the foreigner who is making sense and the American version that is weird.

A teacher from Russia I once had even genially but firmly insisted that I am not Black. Dark-skinned people she knew of, including a few rappers — they were really Black. Not me. My skin tone is brown but not chocolate.

My maternal grandfather was light enough that he could easily have passed for white. My mother was quite light-skinned, too. Yet I have never considered myself anything but Black, nor did my grandfather or my mother. To look at photos of the three of us and see three “Black” people makes perfect sense to me because I have never known anything else.

The conversation with my teacher took place in Russian, a language I spoke with the facility of a 2-year-old. Without access to the nuanced verbal machinery — the buzzwords and dutiful observations — we usually use, I had no way to explain the American way of seeing Blackness as the dominant heritage for any mixed-race people, because it makes no logical sense.

The novel and later musical “Show Boat” dramatized the tragic absurdity of the one-drop idea. The story begins in the Deep South in the 1800s, when laws banned miscegenation and classified people with one-eighth Black ancestry as “octoroons.” At one point a white man married to a woman of mixed race pricks her finger and drinks what comes out, announcing that the drop of Black blood he has inside of him legitimizes their marriage.

Today, those who express different ideas about racial identity often encounter serious resistance. When Tiger Woods, the child of two mixed-race people, announced himself to be “Cablinasian” — as a combination of Caucasian, Black, American Indian and Asian — he was mocked as not knowing who he is. The writer Thomas Chatterton Williams encountered skepticism when he said he couldn’t see his blond, blue-eyed child as Black.

One objection I hear is that resisting calling yourself Black, or feeling the need to modify your Blackness with some other racial attributes, can give the impression that you are ashamed of who you are.

I do think people make this assumption too quickly, but given how Black people have been denigrated throughout American history, the assumption hardly comes out of nowhere — and I have seen for myself, among people I know, that it is sadly sometimes correct.

Another objection I hear is that however dark-skinned people see themselves, the world will process them as Black. Their complex genealogy will not protect them from the effects of prejudice, discrimination and even possibly police violence. And if so, better that they learn to be realists about it — starting with the racial category they use to identify themselves.

I find this concern genuine but unconvincing. For one thing, should we let other people’s inability to see us plain be the basis of our identity? That would let them win. You can be quite aware of the risk of police violence and yet resist a belief system that says Black blood determines who you are.

And besides, as is so often the case, it’s a matter of degree. My children’s mother is white. One child is about my shade; the other is what used to be called high yellow. In their New York City lives, white kids are the minority. So many of the kids they know are, like them, shades of brown, hybrids of various kinds, that my children have a bit of trouble understanding why I sometimes ask “what” one of their friends “is.” Despite their differences, they all watch “Stranger Things”; the girls, whatever they look like, are all into Sabrina Carpenter.

I know that not all kids live in contexts in which racial distinctions can be so easily shrugged off. But all signs indicate that my children are growing up in a world that’s very different from the one I grew up in. I experienced plenty of passing instances of racism, even as a student at fancy private schools. But it’s been a half century now. Experiences of the kind Harris has recounted, of suburban white kids whose parents told them not to play with her because she was Black, have been alien to my girls so far.

If someday they decide not to define themselves as Black, it will not be because they are ashamed or in some kind of denial. It will be because the world has changed, and we should be thankful for that.

American discourse is, happily, becoming more amenable to the idea that a person who is half Black can be two things rather than just one. It’s been a while now since people started speaking of themselves as biracial, a term that is used with much more pride than its predecessor, “mixed,” used to be. But Kamala Harris will still be commonly described as Black. The talk will be of her having a chance of being the second Black president, when that first one was actually half Black like her.

What is most important is that Harris, Obama and other people of mixed racial heritage can now get as far as they have. As for our habit of processing Blackness as foundational — much as Strom Thurmond did — it will be ever more absurd as the races mix further over the coming generations. On this custom, history will look upon us in puzzlement.

Source: We’re Asking the Wrong Question About Harris and Race