Something occurred to me early this year. It was something I always knew, but had hidden deep in my mind so as not to nag at my daily routine. It was something that often worked its way to my conscious thought, before I would shove it back to the depths of my subconscious because I didn't know what thought should come next.
However, as I read an
article on an actor I enjoy, I couldn't help acknowledge the thought, and the longer it stayed on the forefront of my mind, the more compelled I was to address it. The article in question was an interview with Utkarsh Ambudkar—best known for his role as Donald in Pitch Perfect or his appearances on The Mindy Project—in which he was discussing his rise to fame, which lead to a sidebar on the limitations and lack of Indian actors/actresses in Hollywood. No one can deny the obvious validity of his statement, but as I continued to read the article, he stated that Hollywood was dominated by both White
and Black actors/actresses.
It takes time for brown people and people of different ethnicities to get into the Hollywood world, which is predominantly Caucasian and African American.
-Utkarsh Ambudkar
As a Black person, I had to read the statement twice. Hollywood predominately Black? Are Black people not brown people? I would hardly compare the success of Black actors/actresses in Hollywood, who are either relegated to "Black" movies or play the sidekick/underdeveloped character, to their White counterparts. But there was that buried thought resurfacing, and I completely understood Mr. Ambudkar's point. There
are "Black" movies, and I
can name multiple Black actors and actresses—it may not be perfect, it may not be equal, but its more steps down the road than Asian, specifically South Asian or Indian actors.
Think about this: between the first day of kindergarten and the last day of my senior year in high school, I took 13 English classes in which we read at least 4 or 5 books a year, possibly more (especially if you include poems and short stories). Yet, I was only required to read 4 books by minority authors—
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor,
The Glory Field by Walter Dean Myers,
The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, and
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston—over the whole 13 years. That's about 7% of the total curriculum, and roughly .28 of a minority book per year. My history classes followed roughly the same statistics, brushing over Native Americans and the impact of colonization on their societies and cultures, rushing through slavery and the civil rights, the brief mentioning of when Texas was part of Mexico, but only a flicker for each minorities and nothing outside of these initial struggles.
I realized very early on that our curriculum—our society—was white-washed, but it took longer for me to consciously acknowledge the fact that this didn't just mean devoid of Black people, like myself, but devoid of other minorities who's histories and cultures deserve to be told as well. My classes averaged about 2 or 3 Blacks to complain about the lack of Black inclusion and about 2 Asians to complain about the lack of Asian inclusion out of maybe 25-30 students, but no one to complain for representation of other minorities. We should have been fighting for inclusion together.
We as minorities often are fighting our own individual wars—sometimes even fighting each other—even though many of our problems are similar, even though we have so much in common, even though we should be most likely to understand each others struggles, and even though together we could be stronger.
-Eillya-Marí Kocumba
In America, White people are the majority, and we—Blacks, Asians, Latinos/Hispanics, Native Americans, etc.—share the role of underrepresentation. We have many differences, but we have many similarities, too. Unfortunately, we're all so busy fighting for our own race, we often forget to see or understand the struggles of other races. There are countless websites and resources dedicated to Black history and struggles or Latino history and struggles, or Asian history and struggles, but how often do I, as a Black female, worry about what it's like to be Asian or Latino or Native American in America? How often does someone who is Asian (like Mr. Ambudkar) assume that because he can see a Black person on TV, the Black struggle is over (note: I'm not saying that is what he wanted to imply, I'm speaking in general terms here)? How often do we stand together?
My whole life I've been blessed with friends from all over the globe, from many races, from many backgrounds, and I've seen parallels between all of our stories. I enjoyed Mr. Ambudkar in his roles, and when his statement forced me to reconnect with the idea that we ignore each other too much, I was overcome with the desire to create a place where we could share our literature and history, where we could learn about each others' cultures, struggles, and triumphs, where we could explore our similarities. Yes, I want to see people like me on TV, on the radio, and in the classroom, but I also want to see people like you. That desire manifested into this site.
Here, you'll find information on minority literature and blogs, you'll find discussions on culture, but most importantly you can join the conversation and express yourself. Check out the
Get Involved page to find out how you can add posts and start conversations, or simply comment to join conversations. Make yourself at home and don't be shy, its all love here.
