My Reaction to "The Question of Identity" by Kristin Lattany

I read "The Question of Identity" by Kristin Lattany and then I read it again. Then I read it once more as a strange feeling of elation grew inside me. I wasn't elated by the content in the poem, which I found quite upsetting. I was elated because the subject matter resonated with me and my experiences so much. Like when you have trouble articulating your point and someone spells it articulately out and it feels so good. We all want to be understood, and I felt like this poem, and Lattany, understood me.

I am not Black, but as a person of mixed-race, people often tell me I'm "racially ambiguous."  I have had so many of the same experiences that this poem talks about, and I feel the same frustration about  having to tell so many well-meaning people my race. I often wonder why it's so important for people to know. The conclusion I have come to (and the one I think the poem conveys) is that people want to know so they can, even subconsciously, put me in a category and possibly add a layer of bias to me that wasn't there before. Just like with the poem, I noticed that people's assumptions vary in different locations. I have not traveled to as many places as the narrator of the poem, but strangers I met in France asked me questions about my race that were different from the way people in America react. Even within America, I can almost trace the variance from place to place, even from race to race.

Another thing in the poem that resonated with me was when the narrator says she's American and people won't take that for an answer. I related to that because people often ask me where I'm from or what my nationality is, to which I say I'm American. I can't tell you the number of times they follow up with "but where are you REALLY from?" or "but what's your race?" Some people don't even ask (like those people in the poem who assume they know better than the narrator no matter what she says) and just proceed by thinking I'm whatever they think fits. Others refuse to allow me to have multiple racial identities, only putting me in one category or another.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this poem probably gives a voice to a lot of people who don't appreciate being labeled by others, especially in a society where identity is so important to everyone.  Like the poem makes clear, identity is hard. It's hard to find the balance between being proud of who I am and being frustrated by everyone wanting to know the racial labels that fit me. Just like the narrator, I take my racial identity seriously, but don't appreciate it when others are satisfied only once they've heard the one label that seems to fit. Like the narrator, I want to be in a place where ambiguity means less, where the answer to "what are you?" is just "Human."