#black side dates back before the civil war (black ancestors fought for the union- one’s honored in dc for it)

[seilon]

I should learn tagalog just to really completely confuse white people about my race

[rndyounghowze]

Black Noses And My Personal History With White Supremacy

I finally got the courage to talk about something that Dana has been challenging me to post about for a while. #blm #stopwhiteterrorism

By Ricky and Dana Young-Howze

Mays Landing, NJ

Venmo: @rndyounghowze

I have a very vivid memory of being teased on the school bus in elementary school for having “a black nose and lips”. Until I got glasses and was diagnosed with Tourettes it was the common theme of my playground bullying. My biggest role model at the time was our bus driver Mr. Garland (I think that was his name) because he defended me. I remember trying to make up some story about how I got plastic surgery and they messed up my nose. He looked me dead in the eye and said “we have to be proud of what we look like. We are beautiful inside and out. They’re ugly on the inside. That’s what makes us better”.

I lived with my grandmother during the week and my parents on the weekends. My mom and dad lived in one of the first “projects” in the US and at that time they were one of two white families living there. I would be playing with the kids in the playground and a Black mom who would be watching us would tell me to come up to them and she would hold my chin in her hand and turn my head for inspection to the other mothers sitting there smoking cigarettes. She would tell me “I don’t care what your mom and dad told you” and would let me go back and play. I never really knew what she meant.

Flash forward to high school. I decided that I wanted to dive into my family history. I was in a play about the Confederate Flag and I remembered that I had family on both sides of the war. I had enough info about my family to join the Sons of Confederate Veterans. I also knew that my family up In Kentucky had fought in the Union. I was proud to have “heritage” on both sides.

I was rooting through photo albums in my Dad’s mom’s house. I came upon a family bible that was really old. It had to be old enough to be owned by the parts of the family that lived in the Appalachian Mountains in the 1800��s. Family bibles used to have these front pages that listed weddings and births. Listed in the middle is a marriage between a woman with the last name Jung and a man named Richard with no last name. This would not have meant anything except that after his name they took the time to list him as “a n*****r”. They then spent a paragraph talking about how he fought in the Civil War and saved lives in a battle by shooting a superior officer and allowing the company to retreat. So he was a n*****r but he was a “good n*****r”.

I knew that the story was that our family had changed our last name from Jung to Young to avoid discrimination. My Dad’s side of the family has an outstanding military history and I know they were worried about appearing to have German ties in the war. I eventually went across the street and asked my great grandfather about this. The only thing he ever told me was “marry a girl with the Irish in her. It’s the best thing you could do.” My great grandfather passed away while I was in Highschool. My grandfather passed away in college. After the funeral I went to the house and looked for the family Bible. I had held it in my hand four times in three years. It was gone. I have never found it again. My Dad has special needs, his mom has dementia. The rest of my Dad’s family has never spoken to me after the funeral. It may be because I married a Black person. Maybe not. I will never know.

One time while driving through my mom’s side of the family’s hometown I saw a church sign that had the family name on it. I asked why we never went there and she just casually said “that must belong to the Black families that live here that share our last name”. I was floored by this. We had a black side of the family? What!? She was quick to tell me that they were in no way related. It was just that the family was as old as we were and had lived in that town as long as we had. My family has lived there and owned land there since before the Civil War. I have been digging into the genealogy based on what she has told me and after two or three generations the family line with our last name seems to disappear. Two white branches of the family go back eight or so generations and seem to have married into the family three generations or so back but there don’t seem to be any birth or death records in their town that support her story that the family had been there for a very long time. There is no not-slave-owning explanation for this. To this day my grandmother refuses to talk about it. She leans into the Scots-Irish side of the story.

In grad school when I first met Dana they made sure to do two things: Tell a very wrong Obama joke and then ask me what I was mixed with. The joke was to see if I reacted to the joke in a ”white way” (their words). If I did they would never feel comfortable being alone with me ever much less date me. The second question is because they saw what every other Black person I know saw. I told them what I knew about the probable Black man on my Dad’s side and my theory about my Mom's side. They kinda looked flabbergasted. Like they were surprised I admitted it.

Dana and I fell hard in love and spent three years trying to do the long-distance relationship thing. We had very long talks about race and whiteness. We had to have massive discussions about privilege and culture. I had reading lists and albums and homework that I had to do and Dana readily admits that in a lot of ways I already ”got it”. However, it was never enough. They wanted me to make a conscious decision to marry into a black family and know what I was getting into.

In August of 2014, I had just gotten back from spending a summer with Dana and I was using my hour before work to buy an engagement ring. I had two months to move to NJ so that we could start a job together. I heard on the news that Michael Brown was shot by a white cop in Ferguson. It hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the first time that the weight of what I was doing rang home in the deepest parts of me. I was marrying a Black person. At the time I wanted to bring children into this world. It finally dawned on me that those children were going to be Black. Just as the math in my childhood was Black nose+white skin=white guy the calculus done in a cop’s head was not going to add up well for our children. I worked at a church so I went to the altar and prayed. I prayed for a whole hour. I got the ring and moved to NJ. Dana and I were married five months later. I never looked back.

Why am I saying this now? Because white supremacy is the scourge of American Theatre. It's the reason why our Asian American artists are afraid to walk the streets at night. It's the reason why our Black artists are having to stand up and form their coalitions to get work done without a ”white yes”. It's the reason why even though I have photographic proof that the Cis males in my family have slowly gotten paler with every generation and that I know with absolute certainty that there is a Black contribution to my heritage somewhere that they locked it down and hid it from me like it was a crime (and it was until Loving V. Virginia, the very state my Dad's side of the family hails from). They appear to have bred as much of it out of me as possible by marrying women with ”Irish” in them. I feel like I was force-fed the blue pill and sidelined from my culture. I will never be black. I’m not even trying to be. I am just sickened that something that every Black person I’ve met can see may or may not come from a heritage that was stolen from me and hidden so well I can probably only prove it with a DNA test.

Whiteness is not a culture, it is an allergic reaction to the existence of BIPOC contributions to American life. It is cancer in our American Theatre and we have predominantly white institutions that are standing out like tumors in our cultural landscape. I am singularly focused on rooting them out not just because I'm married to a BIPOC artist. I'm rooting them out so that I can claim all of my cultures so that I can make reparations for the harm that has happened in my personal history. To create me BIPOC heritage may have had to be bred out and hidden and I may never be able to prove it. The sheer insinuation is enough to sicken me. I will uncover it and amplify my ancestors’ stories if I can find them. I will create a culture where this doesn't have to happen again. It ends with me.

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