NOT QUITE NOT WHITE by Sharmila Sen contains the reflections of
an immigrant who grew up in Calcutta, India and came to America when she was
twelve. In commenting about that experience, Sen references her subtitle, “losing
and finding race in America,” saying “I will write about race as something once
alien to my universe and later naturalized.” Her last chapter seems especially
insightful. It is there, for example, that she comments, “we do not need to
call the first forty-three presidents of the United States our white presidents
or our male presidents or our Christian presidents because that is exactly what
all presidents are supposed to be – white, male, Christian. Only divergences need to be pointed out. A
Catholic president. A Jewish President. A black president. A female president.
They are a break from the norm. They require the armature of adjectives.”
From her
perspective, Sen further forces readers to consider the language we use, saying,
“Asian was a geographic term when I lived in Asia. In the United States, I learned that Asian is
a racial category.” Or citing “the quintessential American phrase my children have
been taught by well-meaning teachers – stranger danger.” She continues to comment about school
textbooks’ description of the immigrant experience, asking: “should we also teach
them [our children] that one day they too might be strangers in a strange land –
pushed around the globe by forces of economics, politics, or nature?”
On a related note, our
department is in the midst of reading Julie Lythcott-Haims’ memoir titled Real American and it would be so
informative to hear these authors and others who write about race in a panel
together. I wonder to what extent they would see parallels or whether they
would agree with a colleague of ours who asserts that your personal paradigm
makes you blind to the experience of others. If it is the latter, how do we
find common understanding as a country? Do reading and discussing books like
this help or hinder the process? Some of us felt that Lythcott-Haims had led
such a privileged life and yet seemed so very angry. Sen, at least, was better able to acknowledge
and explain the anger she felt: “I have spent many decades carefully arranging
my words, my gestures, my clothes, and my surroundings so that I do not appear
threatening, unnatural, or ungrateful. … [Still] I am angry at myself for hushing
my native-born son when he complains that a teacher systematically confuses the
names of all the brown boys in class.” Much for all of us to reflect upon.
And, if you believe
that you, too, may live in a bubble, try this “Bubble Quiz” that was published a few years ago by PBS.