My World in Black and White -- or Maybe Not
Olivia Barnett
Olivia Barnett
As a biracial girl, I struggled to find my place within the racial constructs built within society. Other children often asked me, “what are you?” upon meeting me. I began to contemplate the importance of this question and why others felt so inclined to ask. Was I an unusual ethnicity--a novelty? Throughout my childhood development, the concept of race clung onto my identity as the singular, striking facet I had to offer. Soon, I would understand the stereotypes and fascination with biracial children, but until then, I exerted much energy to disregard the others as they stared, questioned, and marveled at my siblings and me—three curly-headed children with olive-toned skin.
My parents enrolled my siblings and me into private schools for most of our academic years. I attended a predominantly white, all-girl school for eight years, where being African-American was “ghetto” and “hood.” Because of my fair complexion compared to most biracial people, they were candid about their prejudices towards the black community. Within their eyes, I was white—one of them in more aspects than not and safe to share their comments. I was “pretty for a biracial girl.” African-American’s “ghetto attitude” was humorous and mocked. I laughed with them. Thankful not to be included within the black community. To experience light-skin privilege and elude ridicule. I hid behind my complexion, a shield from the realities of how the people within my school treated other ethnicities undisclosed to the limited students of color. I began to resent being biracial. I listened to every girl in my class debate the race I “truly” was. One-fourth black versus half black because my features were too white to be half black. I was always the odd one out. Too white. Too black. Nothing in between.
I began to understand the admiration of biracial individuals. Their European features and tan skin consisted of the perfect amount of blackness and beautiful curls.
The girls discussed their longing to have biracial children because they were more “genetically attractive and the perfect blend of blackness.” And part of me adored this fetishization of biracial infants. It was permissible to be biracial during those months of infancy. The insecurities surrounding my identity with race only intensified during every school year.
After my sophomore year, I decided to transfer to a public school so I could experience the diversity my previous school severely lacked and discover a sense of inclusivity. On my first day of school junior year, I sat within a classroom with more than one black student for the first time. The girl next to me wore a hijab. I had never been within a close vicinity of a multitude of cultures. I began to ask questions and expanded upon my knowledge regarding various cultures and ethnicities within my school. And I knew this is where I belong: among people who accepted each other despite their differences.
The acceptance and contentment I felt utterly transformed the perspective of my identity about being biracial. From now on, with my newfound sense of self, I hope to inspire others to embrace their unique cultures and ethnicities without shame. The world was not as black and white as it seemed, but a gray area in between the lines one can miss when searching in all the wrong places. You must immerse yourself among others who embrace you and your differences. There, you will find growth and achieve a new level of self-discovery.
My parents enrolled my siblings and me into private schools for most of our academic years. I attended a predominantly white, all-girl school for eight years, where being African-American was “ghetto” and “hood.” Because of my fair complexion compared to most biracial people, they were candid about their prejudices towards the black community. Within their eyes, I was white—one of them in more aspects than not and safe to share their comments. I was “pretty for a biracial girl.” African-American’s “ghetto attitude” was humorous and mocked. I laughed with them. Thankful not to be included within the black community. To experience light-skin privilege and elude ridicule. I hid behind my complexion, a shield from the realities of how the people within my school treated other ethnicities undisclosed to the limited students of color. I began to resent being biracial. I listened to every girl in my class debate the race I “truly” was. One-fourth black versus half black because my features were too white to be half black. I was always the odd one out. Too white. Too black. Nothing in between.
I began to understand the admiration of biracial individuals. Their European features and tan skin consisted of the perfect amount of blackness and beautiful curls.
The girls discussed their longing to have biracial children because they were more “genetically attractive and the perfect blend of blackness.” And part of me adored this fetishization of biracial infants. It was permissible to be biracial during those months of infancy. The insecurities surrounding my identity with race only intensified during every school year.
After my sophomore year, I decided to transfer to a public school so I could experience the diversity my previous school severely lacked and discover a sense of inclusivity. On my first day of school junior year, I sat within a classroom with more than one black student for the first time. The girl next to me wore a hijab. I had never been within a close vicinity of a multitude of cultures. I began to ask questions and expanded upon my knowledge regarding various cultures and ethnicities within my school. And I knew this is where I belong: among people who accepted each other despite their differences.
The acceptance and contentment I felt utterly transformed the perspective of my identity about being biracial. From now on, with my newfound sense of self, I hope to inspire others to embrace their unique cultures and ethnicities without shame. The world was not as black and white as it seemed, but a gray area in between the lines one can miss when searching in all the wrong places. You must immerse yourself among others who embrace you and your differences. There, you will find growth and achieve a new level of self-discovery.
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As a Memphian and biracial woman, Olivia Barnett has drawn much of her inspiration for her writings and literary pieces from personal experience and the rich, historical background Memphis has to offer as a center stage for many African-American activists such as Martin Luther King Jr. My World in Black and White--or Maybe Not serves as a reflection of Barnett’s identity as a biracial woman while attending predominantly white schools within the South. Her community’s perception of people of color often resembled a “weeding” mentality of all things related to black culture. In a world of black and white, Olivia Barnett strives to unearth the gray areas that so often elude us and our ability to grow as individuals.
As a Memphian and biracial woman, Olivia Barnett has drawn much of her inspiration for her writings and literary pieces from personal experience and the rich, historical background Memphis has to offer as a center stage for many African-American activists such as Martin Luther King Jr. My World in Black and White--or Maybe Not serves as a reflection of Barnett’s identity as a biracial woman while attending predominantly white schools within the South. Her community’s perception of people of color often resembled a “weeding” mentality of all things related to black culture. In a world of black and white, Olivia Barnett strives to unearth the gray areas that so often elude us and our ability to grow as individuals.