As we close out Black History Month, I’m pleased to introduce FMH guest blogger Tinesha, a proud Mo feminist and BYU student, who gives us this important perspective on race and identity. Thank you, Tinesha! Everyone, read and learn!–JB

I’ve always been a feminist. My parents were my feminist examples and my sister and brother and I are all feminists. In high school, I was extra careful to not discuss anything feminist related in church, because it was nerve-racking to think about raising my hands in the horrible modesty cupcake lesson because I was nervous. Now that I’m a sophomore at BYU, most everyone knows I’m a feminist. If a comment is made in Relief Society that revolves around increasing our talents just for eternal companions, at least a few members of the Relief Society turn towards me, as if expecting me to make a comment. Being a Mormon feminist has become a part of me and everyone knows it. It doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting and difficult sometimes, especially when people think you’re attacking the church or hating the gospel. It’s hard to balance feminism and Mormonism but as a minority, I also balance race. This would be hard already – balancing my race, feminism, and Mormonism – but in a society and a church where race is presented as so black and white, it becomes difficult because I consider myself bi-racial.

My mother is White and my father is African. I grew up with both cultures in my life – my mother’s family is White and LDS and my father’s family is from Mozambique. I grew up eating a lot of rice and learning about my father’s culture. I’ve never met my father’s family in Africa, but certain Portuguese words and African ideals and culture pervaded into my home life. My dad lived by the rule that things weren’t his; they were ‘ours’. I mostly saw my mother’s family, and grew up with only Whites. Still, my father’s African heritage is equally as important to me and is a part of me. I’ve always loved having two cultures so intrinsically connected in my life. I love Christmas mornings – my half Scandinavian grandmother comes over and she teaches us about Smörgåsbord and teaches us Swedish words, then my family calls my Grandma Z in Mozambique and my father translates as she tells me, as she does every time we speak, “If you live in America, then work hard, don’t get married for a long time, and get a good education. Yes?”

Despite the fact that I’m exactly half Black and White, generally – and especially since I’ve moved to Utah – people assume I’m Black/African-American. However, I don’t identify as Black, but my skin is generally darker than White, so that automatically somehow makes me Black. I don’t always expect everyone to know that I’m half-white of course, and if someone calls me Black I don’t consistently rebuttal, “No, but I’m also half White too!” The first identification of my race never bothers me but I do find the most frustrating part is often people refuse to accept that I’m bi-racial. I often am berated with “if you have Black in you than you’re all Black” or “you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are”. I certainly have been ashamed of who I am. It’s weird to be live in a society that doesn’t acknowledge bi-racialism – the media screams “Pick one!” Both races, however, are equally important and influential in my life. I never once grew up believing I was more of one half than the other.

It’s a struggle with searching for a solid identity. The idea of bi-racial cultures in the US hasn’t pervaded enough to become “normal”, especially in the church. Less than fifty years ago, President Spencer W. Kimball and his counselors cautioned against interracial marriages, stating, “We are unanimous, all of the Brethren, in feeling and recommending that Indians marry Indians, and Mexicans marry Mexicans; the Chinese marry Chinese and the Japanese marry Japanese; that the Caucasians marry the Caucasians, and the Arabs marry Arabs.” Interracial marriages were discouraged and when my parents tried to get married in the 90s, there was severe opposition to their interracial marriage within the church. Even growing up in the church, I suffer through the occasional comments that served as “reminders” to me that my parents’ marriage wasn’t actually legitimate. Of course, the implications, especially when I was younger, were that if my parents had made a mistake in marrying, was I mistake as a product of bi-racial marriage?

If people in the church know both my parents and know I’m biracial, I still get assigned as Black. Most people just call me Black and tell me how much I’m like my dad, and simply ignore my mother all together. Most often, however, the concept of interracial marriage hasn’t become normalized in the church. For example, while helping my mother at an Activity Days camp, a lady I knew from my stake approached me and asked why I was helping out at a camp when I didn’t have any sisters that were attending. I pointed to my mom, explaining that she needed some more volunteers.

“That is just so sweet that you’re helping your mother,” she said. “I just had no idea you were adopted!” It took me awhile to process it, but when I realized this sister thought my mother wasn’t my biological mother, and tried to explain, she waved it off. When I persisted, she was shocked. “Oh, you mean, your father is black? Oh. And that’s your mom. Well, alright.” I don’t use this story as an illustration of an isolated event. I’ve had very few experiences where, if people know I’m bi-racial, there is a comment, an uncomfortable silence or a “oh, well that’s so sweet they did that, I guess”. When playing a “Two Truths and A Lie” with some friends during a LDS Singles Activity, someone suggested once I should say my mother is White because “it’s just so crazy!” The idea is still weird – even strangely uncomfortable – for many church members to accept.

Perhaps it would be easier for me to pick one race sometimes, to accept that since I look Black enough to be Black (whatever that means) than I am Black. Both of my parents’ heritages, struggles, and racial identities are part of who I am, and in essence, I have blended their own identities to create my own identity.

I am not Black or White, I am Brown.