NPH volunteers from around the world are a diverse group, and don't always fit the stereotype of how others may expect a "gringo" volunteer to look. Volunteers of color can face stereotypes, awkward questions and lots of teachable moments about race and ethnicity while serving at NPH. Former volunteer and Diversity Taskforce member, Kimmie, shares some reflections from her volunteer year in Honduras in 2010-2011.
"You look like Mulan."
"Put your hair in a bun like they do in your country."
It never occurred to me that my race would come up as a volunteer at Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos Honduras. I’m mixed race (Asian and white), but it honestly hasn’t been much of an issue in the United States. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve experienced a slew of microaggressions (mostly of the "Where are you from? No, where are you FROM?" variety). Most upsetting were the occasions when people wanted me to explain why I didn’t speak Vietnamese. Because apparently bringing up someone’s painful family history is an acceptable consequence of satisfying one’s own curiosity. But I won’t pretend to have it as bad as many people of color in this country do; no, if people make assumptions about me, they tend to be positive.
So imagine my surprise upon arriving at El Rancho Santa Fe
and immediately being labeled “la china.” And yes, every one of the above
statements is a direct quote from a pequeño. I remember one night early on in
my volunteer year, all the kids gathered in talleres (workshops) to watch the latest Karate Kid movie and every time the little Asian girl appeared, I
would hear shouts of my name. It was crazy. I don’t even think I look
particularly Asian (I know that most people who ask about my heritage just want
to know why I’m brown). It wasn’t just on the Ranch. Walking around the streets
of Tegucigalpa, people would frequently point at me and refer to me as “la chinita.”
I kind of get it. Honduras has a surprising number of Chinese restaurants run
by immigrants. Latin Americans are used to gringos looking a certain way
(blond, blue-eyed). I suppose they were trying to make me fit into their schema
somehow.
I did my best to clarify. My dad is Vietnamese, a refugee of
the war. My mom is white. Both are American, as am I. This sometimes backfired.
One night, I was eating with the boys in the hogar Arca de Noe and my ethnic background
came up. 12 year-old Carlos insisted I must be Chinese. I explained that I was
half-Vietnamese and that Vietnam is a country to the south of China. “Ohhhhh,”
he replied. “I know. You’re a geisha.”
Another volunteer tried to delicately explain what a geisha was, which only
resulted in him requesting that I paint my face and entertain him. Fail.
Despite incidents like these, I did have my share of
success. I worked in the hogar for the oldest girls, Hijas de Pilar. I developed incredibly close-knit
relationships with my girls. Through those connections, I was able to share my
background with an audience that cared about me and wanted to understand who I
was. It was incredible to watch the girls jump to my defense. When a young boy
asked me to say something in Chinese, María explained, “She’s from the States.
She speaks English.” Sometimes they were a little too forceful. Upon hearing me
called “chinita”, Sara exclaimed, “She’s Vietnamese,
you moron!”
As a volunteer of color, you have to walk a fine line. You
want to be respected and have your identity honored, but you have to remember
you are in a foreign country with its own cultural norms. In Honduras, it’s
quite common to use nicknames based on appearance. One of my girls was “Pecas” (“Freckles”)
and a dark-skinned boy in the baby house was referred to as “Frijolito.” This
might be considered offensive in the U.S., but we have to be careful that we’re
not trying to bestow wisdom on the ignorant natives (hello, Savior Complex). I
also recognize that it’s problematic to ask people of color to constantly
educate. It’s never bothered me personally, but I think it’s inappropriate to make
assumptions about whose job it is. I’m okay with taking on that role,
especially with kids, because I know their questions come from a place of
curiosity rather than malice.
Being a volunteer of color was definitely an interesting
experience, but it didn’t define my year. What defined it was relationships. Relationships
like the one I had and continue to have with Carlos. He still calls me Geisha,
but it’s now a tongue-in-cheek term of endearment. He recently drew this
picture of me as a new mother. He sees my race, but he sees me too. And that’s what’s important.
I would say that this pretty much sums it up as one of the other volunteers of color. They can only understand the world through their lens which is often times filtered through the mainstream media ideals. Not only did the pequenos ask me about some cultural stereotype (such as all black people can dance which just so happened to be true in my case lol) but some of the other volunteers such as the Spaniards often asked me about preconceived notions about black culture. As you said, I didn't take anything personally, I let them know the truth as it applied to me and I didn't take it as they were coming from a place of malice. I have heard of other past volunteers being offended by being called "negrita" I personally thought it was a little off putting at first but then I understood that it was a term of endearment (like Geisha lol) and I know my girls are expressing their closeness to me when their say it. I didn't feel like I had to correct their view or usage of the word. Thanks for your blog, it is very necessary to share your viewpoint for future volunteers of color!
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