I am ‘other’: The dreaded ethnicity checkboxes
I am writing this from the gynecologist's office.
When you come to the gyno (or any doctor's office, really), you are given that clipboard with the form to fill out your details while you wait. Should be easy enough right?
Name: Kira Carrington
Address: [redacted]
Email & phone number: [doxing is a very serious issue guys]
Ethnicity: ...
... Fuck.
Those little checkboxes that ask you to categorise yourself into an ethnic group for their statistics.
NZ European
Māori
Samoan
Tongan
Chinese
Other
Some questionnaires say you can only select one, some say select up to two. The cool ones don't put a limit on how many you can select (shout out to you guys).
In a world that is more interconnected than ever before, people can come from everywhere, and nowhere.
People like me.
Every time that dreaded question comes up, it feels like I’m being punched in the gut for not having a clear answer.
If you were to ask me where I'm from I would say I'm British. I was born in London, to a Kiwi mother and a British father. I speak with a British accent. So perhaps that’s it, then. I'm British and NZ European. Two easily recognizable ethnicities that I can put down on any gynecologist's form.
There is one slight wrinkle though.
Once, I ticked NZ European. When I handed the form back, the nurse gave it a once over and gave me a weird look. She would have assumed I was anything but NZ European.
I am ‘pigmented’, ‘exotic’, ‘ethnic’. My hair doesn't adhere to the laws of gravity, and my skin doesn't burn after 20 minutes in the sun.
I am not white.
But also, ticking the British or NZ European box feels like a betrayal.
Once, there was this little thing called the British Empire. During that time, the British took people from Africa to the Carribean as slaves to work the sugar plantations. I am descended from those people. My father's family come from the Caribbean island of Barbados.
After slavery was abolished, many families–like my grandparents–moved to the UK. As much as they identify as being British, they also identify with the island they came from (or where their ancestors were taken to).
To identify myself as just British feels like ignoring that crucial part of my history, in favour of those who oppressed and enslaved my people, but who also happen to be my people too.
This leaves the dreaded 'other' box.
I am... 'other'.
‘Other’ is unfamiliar, unknown, different. Yet I have lived here all my life.
Art by Keelin Bell
I'm sure there are plenty of people who would say to just tick a box and move on with my life. However, the checkboxes are a symbol of how it really feels to come from everywhere and nowhere. That I don't really belong anywhere.
Over the past few months, we have seen the strength of Te Ao Māori in the face of the government's attacks against Te Tiriti. I have seen the sense of community and love they have for each other, the strength they have when standing together. I admire them so much for that.
It also makes me kind of jealous. Māori culture, philosophy, their way of life was damaged by the British Empire. But they did not lose it. They know who they are.
There are many people who on first sight would assume I am one of them, but I am not. It would almost be simpler if I was.
I have never been to Barbados, and I have only met one other person who is from there. I don’t really know much about the place, being raised by my Kiwi mother. I know the people have their own unique and beautiful culture, but I have never learned it.
I wonder if going to Barbados will give me that sense of belonging Māori seem to have with each other. I hope so.
Maybe I'll even find a consistent answer for that gyno form. Or maybe they can just get rid of the boxes altogether.
I sit at the gyno now, fidgeting with my pen – deciding which box to tick.
I decide to tick ‘other’, but not because I am ashamed. I am the accumulation of hundreds of years of history that span thousands of miles.
I am proud to be ‘other’.
All of humanity lives inside of me, as it lives in all of us.