We'll Never Be a Colorblind Society — And That's a Good Thing

When I was in fifth grade, my very liberal teacher decided to familiarize our class with the concept of race. Since teaching a roomful of 12-year-olds about things like the cycle of oppression can be somewhat complicated, he turned to some abstract metaphors to help him out.

"A melting pot is the belief that all of the cultures represented in America are fused together to form our singular culture," he explained. "A salad bowl is the belief that different cultures are mixed together, but are still individually distinguishable." While both of these examples made me hungry, the following one he invoked made me feel just nauseated.

"A colorblind society," he continued, "is the belief that we are all equal, and our differences should be overlooked."

At that moment, had I known just how often I'd come across proponents of this color-blindedness, I would've stuck my ears in the pencil sharpener.

Why do I shudder at terms like "colorblind" and "melting pot"? I do so because they devalue not only my ethnic identity, but also my experience as an American. While the concepts sound harmless enough, the idea of a homogeneous American culture can only exist when we ignore — or worse, forget — the history that has shaped this country. While I fully support the idea of a world in which I'm not judged by the color of my skin, that doesn't mean I want everyone to treat me like a plastic mannequin. Nor do I want any experiences of mine that are related to race to be written off or dismissed as anomalies.

The debate over colorblindness is nothing new, though in the past year, we've replaced the term with the phrase "post-race." (Though I don't know how we got "past" race, since we supposedly have spent years being colorblind to it.) The problem with both these terms is that they abridge crucial conversations about race. After all, to speak of being "over" or "beyond" race fails to resolve the issues that have perpetuated racial disparities in the first place. Calling ourselves "colorblind" in the face of ongoing inequalities is like saying that you're invisible because you've covered your eyes with your hands.

It's easy to understand why the desire to be racially colorblind is so appealing — it stems from the desire to be politically correct. American society may not be known for being shy, but Americans can be quite tight-lipped when it comes to asking each other questions that might offend.

And I admit, such questions are tricky. Conversations about race in America are complex, not only because of our country's overwhelming diversity, but also because every diaspora has its own histories and cultures. For example, a first-generation Vietnamese American may react differently to a remark than a Vietnamese American who was born and raised in the U.S.. An American of Kenyan descent may respond to a question differently than a Ethiopian American. There are layers of nuance within every culture, and sorting through those layers can be tough. But silence — and the assumption that we're all the same — is more harmful still.

True, it's much easier to sweep dirt and differences under the rug and call it the day. But when it comes to talk of melting pots, salad bowls, post-race and colorblind societies, it's time we accepted that culture and identity simply can't fit inside a one-size-fits all perspective.

Photo Credit: Bandita