Who Am I: the Sequel
I learned from an argumentative writing course I once took that in order to have a successful argument you must use one or more of logos, pathos, and ethos, or to put it more plainly, logic, emotion, and credibility. When I crafted this blog last year and wrote my first post, I decided to focus on my credibility by explaining my experiences as a queer man. I have found that lately people have become deceived and desensitized, so many people rely on credibility to make their case. My decision was to allow the logic and emotion to bloom from my experiences, which is kind of like life, isn't it? Allowing thoughts and feelings to bloom from the undeniable truth of your existence? Anyway, I never thought I would find the need to write another post about who I am. I thought that from that point forward I would be able to write my blogs based on more specific topics or current events. I didn't think I would need to re-approach the topic of my credibility, however I have learned new things about myself and I have several things to discuss regarding my current social environment. The time has come for me to discuss my ethnicity.
I was raised in a predominantly white community. In first grade there was only one black girl in my class. I once confessed to her that I used to play with Barbies and ever since then I got the feeling that she didn't want anything to do with me. She always seemed very curt to me, but then again I never got to know her very well, and as a boy who could at least try to hide what made me different, I felt bad that what made her different was always on the surface, so if people wanted to attack her for being different then it was so much easier. Hiding my light actually did a tremendous amount of damage I had to heal from, but then I lost the ability to hide as soon as I came out. Hiding was not a way to make my life luxurious, it was necessary to survive in a home that would have worked to extinguish my light. The point is, I always thought that I had a unique perspective on her compared to my other class mates, and though she didn't seem to like me I still had a tremendous amount of respect for her.
My parents approached the conversation of race very briefly. I don't remember them ever being terribly close to any people of color, and when we were younger the conversation of race was essentially "don't be racist", although they talked quite often about not flying colors because of Bloods, Crypts, and other things that weren't in Seaside. There wasn't much conversation of racial issues either, aside from an odd explanation that black people struggle in the world because they are descendants of Noah's son Ham. That is, Noah from Noah's Ark. Apparently Ham walked in on Noah while he was drunk and naked, which led to a curse being placed on Ham that was apparently passed to his descendants, which to start with leaves me with the question of why Ham was cursed and not Noah for his lack of self control. Ham's descendants then moved into parts of Africa, so the explanation was that black people and slavery came about as a result of this alleged curse. For biblical reference look at Genesis 9:25: "And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren." This bullshit is what they actually told me about why people of color have struggled in America. For more reading on this you can click on this link, but I hope you open the link in a new tab and continue hearing what I have to say.
I was told early in life that my great grandmother on my father's side of the family came directly from Germany as a little girl to flee Nazi Germany, however an obituary I recently read says she was born in Wisconsin. Her maiden name reads as Luedtke, but I wouldn't be surprised if I was misinformed about her birthplace as I been told "alternative facts" about other parts of my ancestry. Because of the ancestral names McClenny from my mother's side and Fitzgerald on my father's side, I am fairly certain that I am Scottish and Irish as well as German. The name Downes was actually given to my grandfather upon adoption, so while I do have ancestry there I don't have genetic ties to the Downes bloodline.
There was a period of time where my mother was trying to say that the Fitzgerald family was related to the Bouvier and Kennedy family. I searched a book about the Kennedy and Fitzgerald families and cross referenced names with obituaries, but I never found any evidence to prove that my Fitzgerald bloodline is directly attached to the Kennedy family. That's bad news for my mother because she was so fond of saying that we were American royalty. She also told me that we were related to Pocahontas shortly after the Disney movie came out and that we were Indian royalty. She later changed her story to say Sacagawea after I started to learn about the Oregon Trail in fourth grade. Different name and completely different tribe, but same claims to royalty. To me it was like saying we were related to Adolph Hitler because we were also German.
A few years after moving out of my parent's house I asked my grandmother about our relations to any native American heritage. For the first time I got a direct answer that I could trust. My 3x great grandmother was full blooded Cherokee. Perhaps more surprising was when my aunt, and rather extensively my great uncle, helped show me that my 5x great grandmother was full blooded African. In his writings, my great uncle reveals that he didn't know of this part of his heritage until he was 76, after his brother, my grandfather, had passed away. It seems to me that my family was "white washed" and chose to keep this heritage hidden either because of internalized racism or fear of racism from outside sources.
My 5x great grandmother, Delila "Aunt Rosie" Bowen, is recorded as not being terribly social, but her mixed race daughter and her white son-in-law have a fascinating story of very early civil rights struggles. My 4x great grandmother, Amanda, was born into slavery. Her and my 4x great grandfather, Hartwell Fitzgerald, fell into a very controversial love. Amanda and Delila were "purchased" by Hartwell for $300, which doesn't sound like a lot, but Hartwell was considered a "poor white" and $300 meant something completely different than what it does now. Hartwell and Amanda then married each other illegally in Missouri before the three of them moved to Iowa. They faced rejection from Hartwell's father, Pleasant Fitzgerald, who disowned him and demanded his name never be mentioned in his household. When the Civil War broke out, Hartwell joined the Union army as a Private. At the close of the war and after attaining the rank of Sargent, Hartwell was honorably discharged. Hartwell and Amanda became well respected in their community and lived long lives together.
My 4x great grandfather passed away at the age of 84. Upon his passing, Amanda sought war widow's benefits but was denied these benefits because their marriage was illegal and undocumented, despite their almost 59 year marriage. Amanda passed away 5 years later at the "extremely old age" of 95 years. From the time they met until their deaths, the both fought for civil rights. They fought social standards, they fought a war, they fought a broken legislation, and they fought their own family. They didn't win every fight, but they fought hard and have made me proud in profound ways. They inspire me in my fight for civil rights.
I have been in a relationship with my partner Lyn for almost 4 years now. He has been with me as my ancestry has unfolded before me. Within this last month he broke the news to me that I don't look as Caucasian as I have been led to believe. When I asked him how long he knew he told me he knew from the first time he saw me, he just couldn't tell what my ancestry was and thought I could have been Middle Eastern. As he informed me of how ethnic I actually look, he inspired a second look in the mirror and a deeper look back on my life. Suddenly I realized that people asking about my ancestry all those years ago was because I look ethnically diverse. I realized that years of failed job hunting that led to years of poverty for myself wasn't just because of my resume or even just my sexuality, but that my ethnicity was likely playing a factor as well. When I let my facial hair grow out I once was given the nickname "Mohammed", and then I realized it wasn't just because I looked ethnic, it's because I am ethnic. Hair dressers have commented on the texture of my hair and the medical industry asked Lyn if he knew what my ancestry was because of the type of anemia I had in the hospital. People don't just look at me the way they do because I'm a bright and vibrant queer man, but because I am a bright, vibrant, and ethnically diverse queer man. My skin tone is light, but my features are dark, and sometimes it's hard to tell exactly what race I am.
My parents have blended into their white Pentecostal culture far better than I have ever been able to. Even though I had to contend with homophobia while living at home, at least I wasn't also a target of racism, or at least not an aware target. Once I began my own self expression I tapped into colorful cultures and unknowingly allowed my ancestry to shine through. I almost instinctively jumped into the fight for marriage equality, but I had reservations to start conversations about racial issues. I always remembered that girl in my first grade class, and it brought about feelings of insecurity and fears of being seen as racist simply for talking about the issues. My ancestral revelations have proven to me that race is sometimes more difficult to tell than what I had been led to believe. If I may, it's not all black and white. I have history with and a natural inclination towards civil rights issues, so whether or not I have had privilege of one form or another, my uncommon life has shown me the dangers of silence. Silence equals death, and obscurantism destroys culture.
I was raised in a predominantly white community. In first grade there was only one black girl in my class. I once confessed to her that I used to play with Barbies and ever since then I got the feeling that she didn't want anything to do with me. She always seemed very curt to me, but then again I never got to know her very well, and as a boy who could at least try to hide what made me different, I felt bad that what made her different was always on the surface, so if people wanted to attack her for being different then it was so much easier. Hiding my light actually did a tremendous amount of damage I had to heal from, but then I lost the ability to hide as soon as I came out. Hiding was not a way to make my life luxurious, it was necessary to survive in a home that would have worked to extinguish my light. The point is, I always thought that I had a unique perspective on her compared to my other class mates, and though she didn't seem to like me I still had a tremendous amount of respect for her.
My parents approached the conversation of race very briefly. I don't remember them ever being terribly close to any people of color, and when we were younger the conversation of race was essentially "don't be racist", although they talked quite often about not flying colors because of Bloods, Crypts, and other things that weren't in Seaside. There wasn't much conversation of racial issues either, aside from an odd explanation that black people struggle in the world because they are descendants of Noah's son Ham. That is, Noah from Noah's Ark. Apparently Ham walked in on Noah while he was drunk and naked, which led to a curse being placed on Ham that was apparently passed to his descendants, which to start with leaves me with the question of why Ham was cursed and not Noah for his lack of self control. Ham's descendants then moved into parts of Africa, so the explanation was that black people and slavery came about as a result of this alleged curse. For biblical reference look at Genesis 9:25: "And he said, Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren." This bullshit is what they actually told me about why people of color have struggled in America. For more reading on this you can click on this link, but I hope you open the link in a new tab and continue hearing what I have to say.
I was told early in life that my great grandmother on my father's side of the family came directly from Germany as a little girl to flee Nazi Germany, however an obituary I recently read says she was born in Wisconsin. Her maiden name reads as Luedtke, but I wouldn't be surprised if I was misinformed about her birthplace as I been told "alternative facts" about other parts of my ancestry. Because of the ancestral names McClenny from my mother's side and Fitzgerald on my father's side, I am fairly certain that I am Scottish and Irish as well as German. The name Downes was actually given to my grandfather upon adoption, so while I do have ancestry there I don't have genetic ties to the Downes bloodline.
There was a period of time where my mother was trying to say that the Fitzgerald family was related to the Bouvier and Kennedy family. I searched a book about the Kennedy and Fitzgerald families and cross referenced names with obituaries, but I never found any evidence to prove that my Fitzgerald bloodline is directly attached to the Kennedy family. That's bad news for my mother because she was so fond of saying that we were American royalty. She also told me that we were related to Pocahontas shortly after the Disney movie came out and that we were Indian royalty. She later changed her story to say Sacagawea after I started to learn about the Oregon Trail in fourth grade. Different name and completely different tribe, but same claims to royalty. To me it was like saying we were related to Adolph Hitler because we were also German.
A few years after moving out of my parent's house I asked my grandmother about our relations to any native American heritage. For the first time I got a direct answer that I could trust. My 3x great grandmother was full blooded Cherokee. Perhaps more surprising was when my aunt, and rather extensively my great uncle, helped show me that my 5x great grandmother was full blooded African. In his writings, my great uncle reveals that he didn't know of this part of his heritage until he was 76, after his brother, my grandfather, had passed away. It seems to me that my family was "white washed" and chose to keep this heritage hidden either because of internalized racism or fear of racism from outside sources.
My 5x great grandmother, Delila "Aunt Rosie" Bowen, is recorded as not being terribly social, but her mixed race daughter and her white son-in-law have a fascinating story of very early civil rights struggles. My 4x great grandmother, Amanda, was born into slavery. Her and my 4x great grandfather, Hartwell Fitzgerald, fell into a very controversial love. Amanda and Delila were "purchased" by Hartwell for $300, which doesn't sound like a lot, but Hartwell was considered a "poor white" and $300 meant something completely different than what it does now. Hartwell and Amanda then married each other illegally in Missouri before the three of them moved to Iowa. They faced rejection from Hartwell's father, Pleasant Fitzgerald, who disowned him and demanded his name never be mentioned in his household. When the Civil War broke out, Hartwell joined the Union army as a Private. At the close of the war and after attaining the rank of Sargent, Hartwell was honorably discharged. Hartwell and Amanda became well respected in their community and lived long lives together.
My 4x great grandfather passed away at the age of 84. Upon his passing, Amanda sought war widow's benefits but was denied these benefits because their marriage was illegal and undocumented, despite their almost 59 year marriage. Amanda passed away 5 years later at the "extremely old age" of 95 years. From the time they met until their deaths, the both fought for civil rights. They fought social standards, they fought a war, they fought a broken legislation, and they fought their own family. They didn't win every fight, but they fought hard and have made me proud in profound ways. They inspire me in my fight for civil rights.
I have been in a relationship with my partner Lyn for almost 4 years now. He has been with me as my ancestry has unfolded before me. Within this last month he broke the news to me that I don't look as Caucasian as I have been led to believe. When I asked him how long he knew he told me he knew from the first time he saw me, he just couldn't tell what my ancestry was and thought I could have been Middle Eastern. As he informed me of how ethnic I actually look, he inspired a second look in the mirror and a deeper look back on my life. Suddenly I realized that people asking about my ancestry all those years ago was because I look ethnically diverse. I realized that years of failed job hunting that led to years of poverty for myself wasn't just because of my resume or even just my sexuality, but that my ethnicity was likely playing a factor as well. When I let my facial hair grow out I once was given the nickname "Mohammed", and then I realized it wasn't just because I looked ethnic, it's because I am ethnic. Hair dressers have commented on the texture of my hair and the medical industry asked Lyn if he knew what my ancestry was because of the type of anemia I had in the hospital. People don't just look at me the way they do because I'm a bright and vibrant queer man, but because I am a bright, vibrant, and ethnically diverse queer man. My skin tone is light, but my features are dark, and sometimes it's hard to tell exactly what race I am.
My parents have blended into their white Pentecostal culture far better than I have ever been able to. Even though I had to contend with homophobia while living at home, at least I wasn't also a target of racism, or at least not an aware target. Once I began my own self expression I tapped into colorful cultures and unknowingly allowed my ancestry to shine through. I almost instinctively jumped into the fight for marriage equality, but I had reservations to start conversations about racial issues. I always remembered that girl in my first grade class, and it brought about feelings of insecurity and fears of being seen as racist simply for talking about the issues. My ancestral revelations have proven to me that race is sometimes more difficult to tell than what I had been led to believe. If I may, it's not all black and white. I have history with and a natural inclination towards civil rights issues, so whether or not I have had privilege of one form or another, my uncommon life has shown me the dangers of silence. Silence equals death, and obscurantism destroys culture.
Comments
Post a Comment