The Problem With Asking “What Are You?”
Words by Erin Barber
I am set to inherit my grandmother’s kimonos as well as the Hinamatsuri doll set that she hand-sewed for me shortly after I was born. Her kimonos are an assortment of fabrics and colors; muted tones, decadent silks, and pleasant patterns. The doll set is made in the traditional Japanese fashion with 15 figures; each representing a member of the imperial court of the Heian period.
And while I will cherish these mementos of my grandmother and my Japanese heritage, I sometimes wonder if these are the only things that I will have as “validation” of my mixed identity and upbringing once she’s gone.
See, I was raised, for a good portion of my childhood, by my grandparents. Grandparents who are unique in their own right.
My Japanese grandmother grew up in the Miyagi prefecture of Japan to a well-to-do, traditional family. My Black grandfather grew up poorer than poor in Ohio to travelling-minister parents.
So there is a stark and marked Japanese influence in my upbringing, in my values, in my blood.
But if I could choose how I identify, or rank the layers of my identity, it would look something like this:
Erin
Human
Woman
Daughter
Sister
Friend
Wife-to-be
Writer
Artist
Buddhist
Cis/straight
Aquarius
Communication Coach
African-American, Japanese-American
My identity, and the identities of so many people like me, is layered, multi-faceted, multicultural, complex and gendered.
And this is why the question of “What are you?” and its cousins like “Where are you from?” and “Where were you born?” and “Where are your parents from?” are problematic. A person’s entire identity becomes whittled down to only one component: race.
Even more uncomfortable and dubious are the job applications, college applications, medical forms, and standardized tests that ask for “Race” and then direct the applicant to “Select one.”
These questions make bi-racial and multi-racial people feel that they must pick a side or reduce their identities to their connection with one parent or one color. These questions make mixed people feel that they are something calculable; a fraction, a percentage, only one-tenth of a whole.
What’s more is that these questions are incredibly antiquated and unfair. They remind us of a time when we, mixed people, were not allowed to exist. They are reminiscent of a time long gone. A time when our society operated on only two aspects of identity: sex and race.
I like to think that we have evolved.
I like to think that we have evolved or are evolving toward a world in which you come as you are, and who you are is enough. A world in which no one needs to ask you about part of your ethnic origin in order to accept your humanity as a whole.
And yet, I still wonder what will happen to the Japanese-American aspect of my identity once my grandmother is gone. How will I prove my Japanese-ness to a world that still wants me to check only one box?
This is why I look forward to inheriting her artisan kimonos and the Hinamatsuri set that she lovingly, painstakingly made for me with her bare hands. No matter how many times I am asked the question “What are you?” I will always know in my heart.
From all of the times we sang the Japanese nursery rhyme, Donguri Koro Koro, all of the times that we offered gohan and mikan to the ancestors at the Butsudan, and all of the times we knelt together on the living room floor, fanning sumeshi.
I will always answer:
I’m Erin
Human
Woman
Daughter
Sister
Friend
Wife-to-be
Writer
Artist
Buddhist
Cis/straight
Aquarius
Communication Coach
African-American and … Japanese-American.
About the Author:
Erin is a life-liver, writer, innovator, and dreamer with an immense love for people, storytelling, music, and dogs. She lives in Germany and has a B.A. from the University of California, Santa Barbara in Film, Media, English and Communication and an MBA in Media Management from Cardiff University in Wales.
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