I met my wife Nadia when we were twelve, and although I’d like to say that our relationship has been that frog and princess story we all love, life is never so perfectly simple. Thus, the fact that we are married means we have accepted the responsibilities and overcome the institutionalized social constructions that pervade our greater world, and more intimately my Jewish and her African American culture. Some of these social constructions are positive forces in our lives, and some we have mastered or manipulated and made such. Of course, there are also those that continue to serve to do nothing more than tear us down and apart and we have to find a way to overcome despite the fact that we were infected with a degree of first love syndrome that has thus far proven to be eternal, and the more days we share a life together, vital; at least, that is, for me. What I am talking about is race, and racism, and what it means to be an interracial, intercultural couple on the cusp of parenthood in Brooklyn, New York in the year 2010.

Truth be told, Brooklyn isn’t so bad; with its economic and cultural diversity, it can seem like its own country, a largely liberal magnet for immigrants from various religious and ethnic backgrounds that is disconnected, perhaps even immune, to the positions proffered by the right wing. So its America at large that I have a quarrel with, and the manner in which we divide and distinguish each other, how we use preexisting divisions to justify holding ourselves apart, and how any necessary classifying, be it to reverse trends of discrimination or bring investment and governmental funding to communities and peoples in need of support, is often manipulated to forward inequitable policy. Perhaps I am naïve, but I recently read an interview with Henry Louis Gates in which he said he was looking forward to when we all look “Samoan.” Although I love our collective physical idiosyncrasies and variations, I can’t agree more; for, it leads me to believe that how we divide ourselves, and how we mask racial divisiveness and prejudice with pro-American rhetoric such as that put forth by the Center for Immigration’s Executive Director Mark Krikorian and his supporters, will be all but impossible. But this is far away in the future, and based on the history of social progress and civil and human rights movements, I am sure there will be much consternation and wrangling, perhaps event violent confrontations, before America becomes a place in which Americans judge each other, “not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

This thought, as most of my thoughts do these days, brings me to the reality that I am on the verge of fatherhood and thus invested in the future in a manner I have never been invested before; for I will soon be the father of a child who, solely speaking of appearance, will take a large step towards Gates’ “Samoan” ideal. By itself, I am not concerned with this fact at all. Interracial parents and biracial children are not oddities in Brooklyn. So what I find myself reflecting on most is what it will mean for such a child to be born into a country like ours; and what it will mean for me, a Jew, to be his or her father (Nadia and I have chosen not to find out the baby’s gender). Most of the thoughts I have are constructive, and the responsibilities or minutiae of parenthood don’t stress me much. Parents of all races, creeds, and economic class have succeeded and failed since the dawn of time, so I have no doubt there will be things I’ll excel at and things I’ll fail. But when I think about the larger social constructs and trends in America, things like the high rates of incarceration of people of color, and racial profiling by the police, and discrimination at the workplace, I also know that the country my son or daughter will confront will be cruel and presumptive in a manner which I, despite the vileness of Anti-Semitism did not have to confront as a child and, for all intents and purposes, do not have to confront as an adult; that is, unless I am with friends or extended family members and we have ventured into some part of the country or some conversation or reality where I am privy to the fortitude, frustration, and intellectual and emotional agility required of being educated, black, and “well-adjusted” in and to American society.

Perhaps, my consideration of this reality is the beginnings of nascent fatherly instincts – to not only nurture, but to protect and defend my family in the manner in which I was protected, and my grandfather, in flight from the Russian pogroms was protected by his; and Jews, throughout the course of our history, have protected and housed each other and others in the face of injustice and oppression. I don’t presume that this sense of responsibility is in itself a quality of being Jewish, but Judaism is the lens through which I consider myself in this world, and consider my roles and responsibilities. Thus, when I think of fatherhood, I aspire not only to be like my father, but like the fathers whose stories I have known since I was child – brave men such as Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and, at this time of year, Moses and Aaron as well. But whatever it is, one of the things becoming a father has caused me to think about recently is the Census; or rather, what the Census means.

At the most basic level, there is a part of me that thinks that participating in the Census does nothing but perpetuate and cement the divisions that have fractured this country since its inception, and therefore provides some level of justification for those who preach and ascribe to racist and/or separatist rhetoric; and so my first instinct is to refuse to fill the Census out, to take the position that I will not participate in defining and categorizing human beings according to aesthetic appearance and place of origin. Of course, I see the value of the information the Census gathers; and I don’t assume there is some great conspiracy to utilize the gathered information in a detrimental fashion – I understand the Census’ constructive social use. But I also wonder what might become of our collective social psyche if the categories that the Census affords us – African-American/Black, Asian, Caucasian/White, etc – were abolished, and the only box to check was “Human.”

I admit this is not only a naive proposition, but it is also one that can be construed as support for the socially injurious proposals of people such as Krikorian and Michelle Malkin who have suggested answering the Census questions related to race by writing “American” in the space provided rather than checking boxes meant to identify one’s race. Of course, Krikorian’s suggestion is overly simplistic, and it demonstrates either a blatant disregard or an inability to either consider or admit how deeply entrenched race and racism is in our society. Thus, what distinguishes the platforms of people and institutions such as the Center for Immigration from my concern is that I understand how rooted race and racism is in the fabric of America and, as a soon to be father, it simultaneously enrages and scares me; so at this juncture of my life, my disquiet is not related to the betterment of our greater society as much as it is related to a more selfish concern, the bond between my child and I. In other words, the Census does not make me worry about America, or what it means to be American. Rather, it makes me wonder that if no matter what love my child and I share, teach each other about, and construct, America is a country that won’t allow us sameness, what will it do to our thinking of ourselves; and of each other

Perhaps this is a trivial concern, and how deeply I will love my child will trump any box or set of parameters imposed on us by the government or narrow-minded individuals. But I still cannot deny that the Census is forcing something into my life that has no business being there; for it imposes a distinction between my identity and the identity of my child that is not actually possible. After all, how could my child even have the chance to be in a box if he or she was not first within me and therefore in my box as well; or more specifically, how can a child’s identity cause it to be separate from its father, and in what way and at what time in our history has this ever proven to be constructive?

Maybe I should speak to Nadia about this and request that we make a family commitment to check the box for “Other” from here on in. No, this would support Krikorian, and contribute to the diversion of funds and the focus required to create a more just and equal society. Well then, maybe I should abandon my box, and check the box “African American.” After all, as a father of a child who will be identified as African-American, am I not now responsible for, at the very least, life long, in depth, and critical consideration and investment in what being Black in America means? In addition, checking such a box, would pay respect and establish the fact that as a family we are together as one, and that no mortal authority has the power to divide us. But perhaps all of this is inconsequential; and the aforementioned considerations will soon be replaced by sleepless nights and changing diapers. I don’t know, but I doubt it. However, what I do know is that as a man on the cusp of fatherhood, there are positions and beliefs that one must take and defend and forward with even greater veracity and vigor than he did previously; for if even if I cannot reside in the same box as my child, I have learned from my fathers that if I have one but responsibility as a father, it is to ensure that my child’s box and future is not just equal but greater than my own.


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