The Dolezal Identity

If you know me through reading my blogs at Fridley Patch, it is pretty obvious that I am a middle class, white woman who grew up in the Midwest, now living in a Midwestern suburb duplicating a similar upbringing for my two children.

My family comes from hearty folk, a mix of German and Swedish, still wearing the traits of blue eyes and blonde hair, with pale skin that easily burns in summer sun. Being in the Midwest, (with the one exception of me living in San Francisco for three years), the Nordic physicality of my family has always expanded further to include most of the people, of most of the places I’ve lived.

Culturally, I am most familiar with a watered down Germanic one, which is a stretch at best. More accurate would be that I grew up hearing stories of my German ancestors, any real (German) tradition having long been replaced with cherry Jell-O, fried Spam, and cold noodles tossed in Miracle Whip, making my identity to Minnesota-Americana complete.

When I first heard about Rachel Dolezal, I thought about her audacity. I felt badly for the black organization she represented and the people she must have hurt. I listened to discussions on MPR about identity, and trickery, and being opportunistic. At first blush, I made judgement about a woman living a lie to have a position of leadership, and having a feeling of loss that the position of leadership did not go to a legitimate black woman.

But now I’m not as sure about my judgment.

Rachael clearly walked the walk, altering her appearance to pass as black. This in itself is a point of fascination to me. I would imagine opting to be black (when you could alternately be white) is the harder path to choose as a whole. I say this based on my own life, having experienced and witnessed a white acceptance that often leads to advantage. Conversely, I have also witnessed a black (and other minority) un-acceptance that often leads to disadvantage.

I have heard commentary like, you cannot simply put a weave on your head, and bronzer on your skin and call yourself black. That, pretending to be black does not make you black, nor gives one the right to say they’ve had a black experience. Opinions like this at face value, seems true. I would argue though that if she chose this outwardly appearance to match her inner identity, and she chose to live a black life in a black culture, when does it start becoming a valid, or invalid experience? And who is judge for validation? After giving it some thought, I bet she really did know what it was like to be a black woman.

And not just because she merely thought of herself as black, but because other people treated her as such. For years.

There are lots of people who wonder why we are talking about this. Tired and annoyed by it. I counter that it is the first time, in a long time that the race discussion does not include: brutality, crime, guns, or death. Personally, this is a delicate thread I am happy to grasp at, appreciative for its’ hopeful hue in a tapestry of shared sorrow.

What I concretely agree with Ms. Dolezal about is that identity is complex and fluid. I am unapologetic about my white, Midwestern upbringing. It is who I am. I also happen to be Asian.

My Asian body, which of course is very difficult to get away from, has always been for me an odd mix of false advertisement, and a unique differential, elevating me from a sea of blonde. I don’t “tell” people I’m Asian, or that I’m adopted. Frankly, I don’t think much about either of those aspects about me, because they are the least two that make me who I am. But that’s me.

I have known others though whose (Korean) adoption has left them colored with shades of discontent and silent longings. As adults they have chosen to be called by Korean names, found (traditional) Asian spouses and find great comfort in going back to a genetic source that though I share, does not call to me.

I don’t think one perspective about Korean adoption is better than the other. I believe every person has the right to choose their own path that will lead them home. I don’t think any one race, or trend of circumstance (like Korean adoption) should have the corner market on the definition of transracial or identity either.

Admittedly, at first I was baffled by the physical lengths Rachel went to. It seemed absurd. I then realized I was being derogatory to the black community (there are plenty of women who fuel an entire industry to greatly alter their looks, chasing the white European aesthetic rather than a black one). And I can’t quite shake off a feeling of deception involved either.

For her though, maybe it feels more like being committed to a personal truth. Identity is a two way street after all, involving how you see yourself, but also how others see (and therefore respond) to you.

Reinvention and identity are human concepts we’ve been grappling with since the dawn of the Greek gods. It is a reoccurring theme expressed everywhere in our culture from Jesus and Siddhārtha Gautama, to Jean Valjean and Taylor Swift. Can I not be a mix of where my heart lives, and what my face might tell you?

At the end of the day, we are all trans-something; sons and daughters, takers and givers, partners and spouses, parents and stewards. None of us can claim dibs on a singular identity.

If Rachel Dolezal was not in the middle of a media frenzy, if her biological origins were not on public display, she would still be living her life as a black woman, raising black children and doing good work for the NAACP.

And the rest of the world would be treating her exactly as she chose to live.