A Biracial Reflection by a Little Not-So-White Girl Zoë Neugebohr

“Yeah, well my grandma was a Cherokee princess,” is not an uncommon phrase to be met with when I explain to people my heritage. 

“You don’t look Latina,” to which I have to respond that I’m not, I’m Spanish. 

“So you’re white with like, 2% of each...” No, I’m biracial. Genetics don’t work perfectly to make percentages an even split and blood quantum levels, particularly for me in terms of being Native, are a settler-colonialist ideology made up by colonialists to strip non-whites of their culture and assimilate them into white society. I am Spanish-Native American, that’s all I will say - even though I shouldn’t have to. 

Being biracial is an enigma to not only white America, but America and the rest of the world. There’s a sense of superiority awarded to those who have parents that happened to marry within their own race and as someone who’s biracial, I can’t help but feel like the validity of being who I am is constantly swept right out from under my feet. 

Each day is a new day in which I have to prove who I am. The concept of being Spanish-Native American in and of itself is ironic on its own with our nation’s history being as it is, but not growing up around either of my cultures and having to learn about my ancestry for myself has put up even more stop signs on my road to self-understanding. 

I grew up thinking I was just white. My insecurities that still sit with me today come from years of associating my skin color with the other girls in my class and wondering why they were regarded as the prettier, popular girls but I wasn’t, even though they were my friends. I would tuck in my lips to make them smaller, wear sports bras to bed in an effort to be flatter chested, and I tried to desperately stop the curves that were starting to line my waist from coming in. I complained of my cheekbones being too high, my eyes too small, my hair too curly. I fought with my mom about why the other girls’ parents let them get away with more while she treated me “like I was in prison.” 

I eventually came to the age where I realized I identified more with the non-white kids. Our parents disciplined the same, our facial features were similarly more pronounced, and our interests lined up together. I found pictures of my biological father who has never been in my life and spent time with my maternal grandfather, realizing they looked nothing like the other white fathers and grandfathers I saw my old friends spending time with. Realizing I was biracial came as a shock, but it was followed by a lot of loose ends getting tied up. However, even with loose ends from my childhood getting tied up, many more doors have been opened for me as an adult and I realized I am now left with more questions about where I fit in than I did before. 

Being biracial is something we have to prove every single day. Constantly under a microscope, the comments we receive make us feel as though we are lacking in some way. “You’re not 100% 

_____? Well, are you really ____ then?” Just fill in the blanks, haven’t we all heard these kinds of questions? 

The answer to such questions is, of course, absolutely you are that race. But finding a voice, finding your identity, finding where you fit into your community becomes increasingly difficult being biracial; maybe you’re not fluent in both, or even one, of your races’ languages, maybe your skin is white like mine, maybe you grew up away from your culture like me, or maybe you’re simply biracial and that alone makes navigating this society challenging. 

For awhile, I saw being biracial as a weakness. I have never felt like I am fully part of either of my cultural communities and the outsider effect has always hit me hard. But, I’m slowly bringing myself to understand that that does not mean I cannot be proud or outspoken about who I am. It’s not a requirement to have grown up on the reservation or speak fluent, flawless spanish to other native-speakers in order to be who I know I am. Being biracial does not tie me to the obligation of proving to those who don’t understand what it means to be tied to two worlds that I am able to maintain balance in my cultural life and I am not fraudulently claiming different ancestries. 

One of my biggest passions is Native rights. I’m a filmmaker, attending film school, and with my hunger for justice and talent for telling stories, I want to give a platform to the marginalized voices of America’s Native nations. Until I strip myself of these doubts about who I am simply because I am mixed with the Spanish race, I will never be able to properly represent these voices. The white privilege I have will never fuse together with my experiences as a Native woman to provide a complete picture of being Native in America today - namely as someone who is mixed. 

I want young biracial girls and boys who grew up like me, and even those that didn’t, to know that being different from your white friends is okay, and being different from your full-blooded friends is okay too. Love knows no boundaries and interracial marriage should not turn heads and elicit quiet comments from strangers in the way that it does. Biracial babies are the most beautiful and biracial homes bring so much love and understanding into this world. We need to own who we are and be proud of the fact we have shares in different cultures. It’s a long road to self-discovery when you’re biracial but that road is lined with good food, cool languages, and beautiful people. What more could anyone ask for? Your existence alone is enough proof, you don’t owe anybody full-blood or white skin.