All things being equal (which clearly they’re not), Rachel Dolezal is wrong. But before you throw stones/pat me on the back for sharing/not sharing your politics, know this: I’m not talking about her actions in regards to her role as an activist or educator. I’m talking about her take on race and motherhood.
Dolezal added that her racial identity “solidified” when she gained full custody of her son, Isaiah (who was in the Today studios along with his brother, Franklin).
“He said, ‘You’re my real mom,’ ” she told Lauer, “and for that to be something that is plausible, I, you know, certainly can’t be seen as white and be Isaiah’s mom.”– NPR
Oh, Rachel. Tell me that that came from the PR person who prepped you for that interview, not from your own heart. Because you know what you did there, right? You, a supposed champion for a minority group, just belittled the experience of folks in the trenches, day in and day out, of living and loving without regard to skin color.
Every blond Momma who grew up with straight pigtails and bangs but now works at mastering cornrows for her beautiful dark-haired daughter.
Every light-skinned, freckled Momma who has ever had a stranger insistently pepper her with questions about her darker-skinned son’s “real mom,” in the produce section.
Every Momma who has wanted to seriously slap someone for asking if her child likes salsa, is good at math, or was “a crack baby” based solely on a stereotype.
Whether we earned the title of “mother” by navigating paperwork and standing in front of a judge, or if we found ourselves married to men whose backgrounds meant that we gave birth to babies who blurred the lines of “red, and yellow, black and white,” we all have one thing in common: we are moms. Real moms.
Trust me when I say this: the last thing you think about when your child is running a 103 degree fever at 2 a.m. is whether or not your skin color is the same hue. The last thing on your mind when you settle on the couch with a worn copy of “Where the Wild Things Are,” is that your bloodline has roots in England and his are in Korea. When that child pedals her two-wheel bike for the first time, or masters the guitar chords he’s been plugging away at for days, skin has nothing to do with your pride. It’s all about love, and love is not skin deep.
There are plenty (too many) places in this world where race matters. I am not saying it doesn’t. It is real, it is not invisible, and we can’t pretend otherwise. But when it comes to loving a child? When it comes to being a family? When it comes to being a real mom? It shouldn’t matter. It’s plausible, Rachel, to be the white mother of an African-American child–no perm, no tanning bed needed. Not only is it plausible, it’s certain. It’s happening. Look around you. Families that cross racial divides are becoming more and more the norm. And they are real. Let’s not feed into racial misperceptions by saying otherwise.