Mya Zuniga
The Office of Disabilities is proud to spread the word that one of its own, Ms. Mya Zuniga won the HT Louis Gregory Essay Contest. Please read and enjoy the essay. Ms. Zuniga shares a powerful message for all of us living in these exciting times:
I was going to catch her. Her shiny blonde hair flowing behind her back was only inches from the fingertips of my outstretched arm as we ran. As seven-year-old sisters usually do, she’d made me mad. Chasing her through the yard onto the front porch, I caught her. I grabbed a handful of hair and shoved her in the back at the same time. When her head snapped back, her body jerked to a stop. She wheeled around with her tiny fists clenched and spat, “Nigger!” In my nine years of life, I had heard the word, but never before had it been aimed at me personally. My mind and body recoiled as though I’d been slapped. I didn’t know how to respond so I opened my mouth and yelled, “Honkey!” We stared at one another for a few seconds—wounded, angry, and confused. Emotions which were quickly replaced by shock and fear as the front door was flung open and my mother flew through the doorway. She must have heard our exchange through the living room window.
Race has always been an issue for me. My mother was white—red-headed, green-eyed, freckled-skin white. My sister is white—blonde-haired, blue-eyed, burns-under-fluorescent-light-bulbs white. My father is black. I have always known I was mixed and I have been asked and answered the question, “What are you?” more times than I could possibly count.
I remember one night during the end of my senior year in high school; my mom came into my room and asked me what I wanted for graduation. “I want to get my tubes tied,” was my truthful reply. She was stunned and asked why I would want something like that at my age. My answer was simple, “because I don’t want my kids to have to go through life like this—being mixed.” I didn’t get my tubes tied for graduation; I went to Cancun like everyone else at my school. Thank God for that!
I am now much older and wiser and less sensitive about my being mixed. Plus I am the mother of three racially mixed children. They are Black, White and Mexican (though on the U.S. Census form and at their school they are Black/White, of Hispanic origin). My daughters go to school but my children don’t pay attention to the color of their friends’ skin or the shape of their lips or noses or eyes; as far as my girls are concerned “race” is a contest to see who runs the fastest. As a matter-of-fact, my five-year-old will correct you if you refer to her best friend as Black, because as she says, “No she’s not, she’s brown!” My children and others like them are the key to combating racism in America. There will be no option, but to accept people as they are, in whatever skin they are in, with whatever hair color and texture, with whatever the shape of their eyes, nose or lips. People hopefully will recognize the fact that a smile is a smile no matter the fullness or lack thereof of the lips on the face.
I have also learned that one of the most effective ways to fight racism is to speak up. Proudly and loudly. I meet people on a daily basis and they meet me. The best way to fight ignorance is with knowledge, so I learn from others and I try to help them learn about me. I feel strongly and passionately that people should be properly and correctly identified racially if that is their choice. I believe my children should be able to say they are Black, White and Mexican—because that is their background. Hispanic refers to origins from Spain. My husband’s family is from Mexico, not Spain.
I believe strongly and passionately that ugly, disparaging, derogatory, and racist words should not be used—by anyone. I don’t believe that I should have to hear the word “nigger” or “nigga” or “nukka” or any of it. It is an ugly, hateful, and hurtful word. Period. If people stop using it, it will die out. I firmly believe that. That goes for all the other hateful things that have been spat at people for years by others who are trying so desperately to prove their supposed superiority. I not only believe this, I speak it. I tell people I am offended. I tell people why I think they should not use these words. Sometimes the person I’m speaking with agrees with me and may refrain from the phrase now and again. Some people keep talking the way they always have and I don’t change that. That is alright with me. I can’t change everyone, but I can speak about it. Maybe I’ll change one person, who may go on to say something to someone else, and it will pass from person to person like a game of “telephone.”
I have been shaped and molded by society’s ideas about race, race-mixing, racism and all of the other little nooks and crannies that race can squirm its way in. The woman I have been, the woman I am, and the woman I will become have all been affected by race. At the same time, this woman will no longer be defined by race. I will not sit quietly back and simply answer the questions of “What are you?” I will now engage in conversation regarding race and culture and I may even ask a few questions of my own. Why is it important to you? Does it make a difference if I answer Black and White or just Black or just White? In fifty years, will my racial background have profoundly altered time and space? I know the answers are irrelevant. I hope others will find that the answers are irrelevant as well. I won’t know for sure until I engage in that conversation. Those conversations and my three beautiful children—who will have more racially-mixed children, who will have racially-mixed children, and who will have racially-mixed children—are my weapons against racism.
My mother grabbed each of us by one arm and dragged us into the house. My sister and I stole looks at each other—fear filled our eyes. We didn’t know what was going to happen. Apparently, my mom was an equal opportunity spanker, because she pulled out a wooden paddle and tore us up! Then she calmly sat us down on the bed and explained that we are sisters. I will always be mixed, my sister will always be White, and we will always be sisters—and sisters don’t care about color. My mother was wise beyond her years and I’m damn lucky she was!