Mixed – Remixed

Posted as part of the @_MixEDUK discussion 

Most of my life I’ve been identified as ‘Mixed’ – but never felt that this is what I am. I am not mixed. I am a whole – a whole that is often in flux – shifting with the perspective of others. 

Viewing those of ‘mixed heritage’ as a set of smaller parts is easier for others. As a child, a teacher and, now, as a producer of educational content, I know that labels matter (a bigger topic than this post can contain)  but it has always seemed wrong (selfish? greedy?) to hold more than one label, each of which ‘belonged’ more to others than me. So, ‘Mixed’ it is. 

I now feel each of the multiple links I have available to me, and love them – but I have often felt jealous of those who have one clear set of discrete identities. I envied the simplicity. Most often, I looked at those who take their identity for granted (especially those who might feel well served by English society) and I feel … well… different. 

I’ve come to love that difference: the spaces on the edges, where things overlap uneasily, where one perspective isn’t enough;  those are the places I belong. When I was teaching, I sought out the families who were on the outside – and spent time listening to children for whom the books we read were not telling their stories. I try to keep that lens now. 

For example, I am currently a ‘Super Trainer’ at Pearson – leading the rollout of of the new EDI guidelines – and am deeply involved in similar work as a trustee at A New Direction – London’s creative education agency.

But it is possible that when others see me – they only see or hear the three most obvious things about me and wonder why I am drawn to this work. My sex, my skin colour, and my age – doors should open easily for me – and, mostly, they have. More specifically (in no particular order) , I am nearly 50(!), I am able bodied, I am from London, I am male, I had a university education,  I am cis-straight, my skin is white (ish), I am middle-class.

It’s like a full set of keys, right? So – why ‘go on about it’ (as I’ve been asked by white colleagues before)?

 
Firstly, there are not many people who look like me. Even in London, where I grew up in the most diverse boroughs (Hackney/Haringey/Camden) people would ask where I was really from. They could see something was different – but not quite place it. Turkish? Italian? Eygptian? Their need to put me in a box forced me to explain that I was in at least two boxes… which often just lead to a change of topic.

Secondly, for many years I seemed to crash through English social conventions without knowing why. I seemed to overwhelm people with my gesticulation and challenge: interrupting everyone in conversation. Even when I was older, asking what we were going to eat first, not where we were going to drink. I think I was the only clubber at the Megatripolis New Years Eve party who was discovered by the bouncers smuggling in food for a nosh mid-rave, rather than drugs.

Finally, there’s my name – the give away that I am not ‘normal’. I have had to explain my name to new people my whole life – and correct the pronunciations for ages after. “Eileen? Elaine? Alan? (sigh) … We’ll just call you Ian.” I don’t ever mind doing it and it often opens up interesting conversations, but it’s not my choice to talk about my ethnicity – or my gender! People who have only seen my name on a list tend to assume I am a woman so that’s another disconnect.

So what is in the mix?

My Mum’s family are Eastern European Jews –  I am Ashkenazi (though not all Eastern European Jews are Ashkenazi). A more recognisable story from media and history books – but as my family got here before the 1930s forced by the pogroms and everyday state-sanctioned anti-Semitism of Europe.

My dad’s family are Jew’s from India – I am Bene Israel. There have been Jews in India for over 1000 years (maybe as much as 2000 years) and my family tree can be tracked back quite a way.

Our mix is, in part, a product of colonialism and racism – but also love, adventure and luck

I grew up with my Indian grandparents, as they lived with us for most of my childhood, doing a lot of the childcare. However, my grandfather, from a very well-to-do family of high-achievers,  who’d helped manage the railways for the Raj in Bombay (as was) – was careful that we did not pick up Marathi – as he wanted us to be well assimilated. This lesson of assimilation was one he’d learned since arriving in Britain from the East End Jews he shared benches at shul with – and the families his children married into.  Assimilate, but not too much, keep your traditions – but keep a low profile – and never marry out!

My ancestor – Joseph Ezekiel Rajpurker https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Ezekiel_Rajpurkar

In the late 60s, my Dad, an architect, married an Ashkenazi – a white woman. From a lower class white family with no connections or property – and not much education. This caused a whole set of issues – class, race, religion, …  added to by sharing a house. My parents are amazing and more than proved the prejudices wrong, but this wasn’t easy. Though, as you can imagine- growing up in the 70s – I saw and experienced racism inside our family, from all sides – even before I saw it outside. I was finely tuned to prejudice from a very young age and had to learn how to ‘pass‘ in both worlds.

But these facts, and the complexity that accompany them, are not always evident. I am not brown skinned, I do not have the genetic markers for Tay-Sachs, and I do not dress or behave in ways that make me evidently one or other of these two things most of the time. Jewish – but not Jewish. Indian, but not Indian. English – but not English… I could go on. 

The census this year was fun! Worst of all is the distinction made between religion and ethnicity. I don’t think that there is a difference for me – or for many Jews. It’s not just a matter of genetic consistency – there is something deeper.

I used to define myself as Jewish  (I once claimed myself a Jedi) and would now say I have no religion. But being Jewish is more than about faith, it is an ethnicity, as racialised as any other – so, that’s a hard one to pull apart. I still feel Jewish – just one with no belief and very partial practice. For example, we observe the Shabbat rituals – but don’t mention god – apart from intoning prayers that are just mysterious songs to my kids. We sing in Bene Israel tunes to those many of those prayers – not the Ashkenazi ones. 

As my wife is not Jewish,  for our children, their identities are even more complex. So while they describe themselves as Jewish – most Jews would say they are not. So, we have had to work harder to carve out an identity for them that is not a ‘given’ from a larger community – one that includes the influence of colonialism, history and culture. One that is mixed, with pride – and one that empowers, rather than burdens. 

So…I am mixed. But this label does not tell you anything really. It does not tell you why I travel miles to buy beigels as opposed to bagels; why have a weakness for fresh jalebis and bhel poori; why I’m likely to ask about the meaning of your name (ready to tell mine) – but also why you might need to put your neat boxes aside – as those won’t work.

We need better ways to talk about those of us who are mixed… than…’Mixed’. 

But, that said – there are more important systemic issues to tackle first, around ethnicity, class, gender, and power  – where those of more singular identities need intersectional understanding, activism and political support to change things for the better. There is a huge amount of work to be done yet.

And that’s where We – the ‘Mixed’ can come in. 

Who better to help build bridges than those who have spanned multiple worlds their whole lives?

Who better to help heal the pain and fear of different ‘sides’ in the culture wars than those who’ve had to manage these uncomfortable feelings within their families and themselves?

Who better to show that in a world of ‘Either/Or’ there is joy in ‘And’?

SO – if you or your children are Mixed, or you teach children who are mixed (and chances are you are more likely to than you were at the last census), then you have a responsibility to give them the same sense of strength that those with more singular identities do. Listen to their stories, value their complexity – inspire them to ask others – and love their Mix.