The meaning of race and the baggage of racism vary a great deal from country to country. In the US, the weight of racism is definitely greater than it was (and hopefully still is) in Venezuela, my country of birth.
In Venezuela, race is not an issue thatās at the forefront of any national conversation. This is not to say Venezuelans arenāt at all racist though. People make racist jokes and comments, and average skin color gets perceptibly lighter the richer the group.
Blonde and blue-eyed is certainly more exotic, rare and desirable. Even if you have the features of a Halloween witch, as long as youāre blonde, youāll be seen as beautiful.Ā
My sisters and I used to joke that, at our Catholic school, the fairest-skinned girls were always the ones to crown the Virgin Mary on Coronation Day.
Yes, though it manifests differently than here, racism is alive and well in Venezuela. But itās more subtle and less institutionalized than in the US.
Technically, almost half of Venezuelaās population is āwhiteā and the other half āmixedā, with black and indigenous Venezuelans making up less than 4% and 3% of the population, respectively. A common terminology used for black people is āperson of colorā (āpersona de colorā), and, for the most part, only people who look to be 100% of black African descent are deemed de color.
Racism in Venezuela is reserved mostly toward blacks. Awful as our racism toward black people is, I will say that it is not nearly as dangerous as it is in the US, not even close.
Venezuelans of all races fear for their lives and bodies for many reasons. Race is not one of them.
What does it even mean to be a person of color?
Though Iāve lived in the US for 25 years, Iām still fascinated by how race, skin color and identity can be viewed so differently from one country to another.
Iāve always considered myself white, knowing that, on my momās side of the family, there probably was some indigenous or African ancestry (as recently confirmed through genetic testing). Such is the case in most families of predominantly Spanish ancestry whoāve lived in Venezuela for many generations.
Americans see me as white too. Because of my accent, though, Iām often asked where Iām from. Once in a while, someone will say āOh, you donāt look Venezuelan.ā Hmm, I think, āWhat does he think Venezuelans look like?ā Not white, I guess.
While I get the you-donāt-look-Venezuelan comment occasionally, my sister Rosanna, whoās blond and blue-eyed, tells me that she hears it ALL the time.Ā
Sometimes, people actually hear āMinnesotaā when we say āVenezuelaā. Despite my sisterās accent, which is thicker than mine, her āVenezuelaā more often sounds like āMinnesotaā to people. I guess her looks are more characteristic of Minnesota, where, I assume, lots of people are blonde?
I have a relative Iāll call Sergio who arrived in the United States when he was 4 years old. A few years ago, I heard him say he identified as a person of color. Given my background, this caught me by surprise. He certainly doesnāt look de color. His skinās so white it doesnāt even tan. Because Sergio and I grew up in different environments, we certainly view race differently.
Another relative (Iāll call this one Gloria) once said someone had told her āYouāre lucky you donāt look Hispanic.ā
The comment disturbed me. At first, I found it upsetting that someone would say that. Later, though, I recognized the statement as true ā which is sadder and more disturbing still. Gloriaās skin color and look make it possible for her to benefit from White Hispanic privilege at the expense of those who ālookā Hispanic (regardless of race). Such is the case for all my family members.
I know the police and people in the street would react differently to my adult autistic son were he a big black man. They just would. Diego has a real hard time with personal space and his behavior is quite atypical sometimes. But, in addition to being autistic, Diegoās a slender short white man, which, in many minds, translates into ānot threateningā.Ā
I know the black mother of a big black man with behaviors just like my sonās would have good reason for fear. Coming from her son, such behaviors would translate into āthreateningā.
A recent event also reminded me of the fact that, even amongst immigrants of similar origin, race confers immense privilege. A few weeks ago, my friend Ruby (not her real name), who was quarantining at our home, went out for a walk. She was walking past a house, contemplating the seven beautiful trees with white blossoms that lined the property, when a man walked out of the house and approached her.
He asked Ruby, in a rude tone of voice, where she lived and said she was not allowed to walk on that street because it was part of a private association.
There are many streets in my town that have āPrivate Associationā signage. Iāve run through many such streets over the past twenty years and Iāve never had a problem. If anyone interacts with me, itās to kindly say or wave hello.
Though Ruby and I are both Hispanic, people are more likely to assume that Iām a contributing member of society and to make me feel welcome. Ruby has this experience less often than I do. Itās no stretch to conclude that it has something to do with our physical appearance. Iām Hispanic, and my ālookā is that of a white female of European descent. Ruby’s Hispanic, and her ālookā is that of a female of native Central American descent.
Hispanic, mind you, is not technically about race. Itās about identifying as a person of Latin American or Spanish heritage. People of all races and looks can be Hispanic, or for that matter, American.
Our biases, prejudices and perception on race, ethnicity, ancestry, heritage are just incredibly messed up.
What happens when we transfer our specific race structure and racism to the US?
We crazy humans have created such a truly twisted concept of race that even āblackā people and āpeople of colorā can have difficulty empathizing with others of their same race.
Iāve come to this conclusion as I try to make sense of the differences between the US and Venezuela when it comes to how race dynamics and racism are structured in each country.
Yes, Venezuelaās āstructureā makes for a society where racism is not a central issue.
Transfer Venezuelaās structure to the US, however, and you get very distorted thinking, aspects of which I still struggle to understand and explain.
For instance, many Venezuelan immigrants find it confusing to have to pick a race when they fill out forms. As far as I can remember, weāre never asked to provide this information on any form in Venezuela. Is this one reason, however insignificant, we think about race less?
The thing is, the lines between white and mixed, which together make up about 93% of Venezuelaās population, are incredibly blurry. You canāt tell who would consider themselves white or mixed, and the general attitude is āWho the f*&k even cares?ā
Iāve been living in the US long enough to find it hilarious and troubling when a Venezuelan who thinks of himself as white may be viewed as a person of color in the US, while one who thinks of herself as mixed may be black or a person of color.
Heck, a dark-skinned Venezuelan who thinks of herself as white may even be black in the US! Iāve known one such person.
Iām no expert in race studies, but there are obviously historical, institutional and social components to racism, race and racial terminology. I recently read Trevor Noahās memoir Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood. In South Africa, I learned, a ācolouredā person is one of mixed white and black (or Asian) ancestry.
Doesnāt all of this also show how race structures are so made up? Get on a plane and travel to a different country and your race may change.
If you ever travel to Venezuela, know that, while youāre there, you may temporarily cease to be a person of color. Also, if you donāt look like a member of the original cast of Baywatch, donāt be surprised if someone says you donāt look American.
It turns out racist structures play out differently in different societies, which often makes it difficult for people to relate across nations when it comes to racism. You even have people who canāt see why the group they would be considered part of in the US is so dissatisfied.Ā
Itās astounding the extent to which how weāre socialized skews how we see and judge ourselves and others.
Why does this matter?
Itās impossible to see things from another’s perspective and to empathize when you donāt even realize (or admit to yourself?) that there is a different structure and experience.
No, humility and open-mindedness donāt come naturally to us adult humans. This, to my mind, is the greatest obstacle to ameliorating all of humanityās biggest issues, racism included.
The problem is that cynicism, hubris and arrogance become cemented in too many minds as weāre āsocializedā and accumulate experiences. They block our ability to even consider othersā views and realities.
I liked how Venezuelan humorist Joanna Hausmann Jatar put it in a tweet:Ā
“Yo nunca he visto el racismo!” Solo porque TU no has visto algo no significa que NO existe. Yo jamas en la vida he visto un ornitorrinco pero no me paso por la vida gritando “NO SE, ESO DE LOS ORNITORRINCOS NO ME LO CREO”
In English:
āIāve never seen any racism!ā Just because you havenāt seen something doesnāt mean it does NOT exist. Iāve never seen a platypus in my life but I donāt go around screaming. āI DONāT KNOW BUT ALL THAT TALK ABOUT PLATYPUS, IāM NOT BUYING IT.ā
Our own suffering affects our ability to empathize too. āHell, what I (my country, my people, my family) is going through is just as bad, and Iām not complaining; nobody’s protesting over it,ā we may think.Ā
I submit, however, that we do have the capacity to largely understand how someone feels, even if we havenāt personally experienced what theyāre going through.Ā
Iām not saying we can fully understand it. Heck, not even an identical twin can know exactly how his twin feels in a given situation. But to a greater extent than we give ourselves credit for, we can put ourselves in other peopleās shoes.
I see this capacity all the time in my preschool students.
Our interest in fiction and great novels are in large measure possible because we can empathize with others and their experiences, however foreign to us they may be.
I know plenty of people who arenāt parents who felt my pain, so to speak, when my son was hospitalized with a serious brain injury. I know plenty of rich folks who empathize profoundly with people who live in poverty, as well as poor folks who understand rich people may also confront real pain and suffering.
Similarly, we have the ability to relate to the pain of the victims of racism, which is the first step in getting us to do something about it.
First, though, we must be able to open our minds to their truth and remember this great lesson from writer, poet and visual artist Khalil Gibran (in The Prophet):
Say not, āI have found the truth,ā but rather, āI have found a truth.ā
Or, as newspaper editor William Allen White advised Northwestern Universityās graduating class of 1936:
Donāt build your logic upon a purely selfish structure… Such thinking rejects the possibility that there is truth and that there may be reason in the contention of another class of society.
Peace and best wishes to all.