Language Matters

Mixed, Mulatto, Multiracial, Interracial

In this country we all have a right to choose how we refer to ourselves.  Naming becomes paramount to self-determination.  I am biracial with a Black parent and a White parent, and hearing Danzy Senna call herself and others in our community “mulatto” makes me uncomfortable.   

The word’s historical origins are painful. A mule is an infertile horse-donkey hybrid. During enslavement Whites gave the offspring of Black-White relations this diminutive.  European thinking about the superiority of their blood has led to the colorism that has plagued us in the Black community. I don’t want to be associated with animal breeding or infertility, nor do I see myself as an improvement of any race or species.  While Adding a suffix like “otto” or “otta” may roll off the tongue, the word’s romance-language origins doesn't cancel out its ugly history.   Embracing it feels like a step backward. 

Could this be a case of biracial re-appropriation?  Communities often draw from other’s examples to empower themselves.  Is Senna doing what some African Americans have done with the “N-word” or what some LGBTQIA+ community members have done with “queer”?  In using “mulatto” are we Black-White biracials taking our power back?  Does it erase the tragic mulatto trope which persisted until the emergence of the bridge-builder alternative—the SuperMulatto—who would eliminate racism?  

In playing this out, will calling ourselves “mulatto” be a term of endearment like when Blacks call each other “my N”?  Will adding an “a” at the end make it less offensive?  Since mulatta already exists as the feminine, that won’t work.  What about those of us who are non-binary?  Will placing an x after the root, as Latinos and Latinas have done with Latinx (mulattx, mulattax, mulattox…sounds like an antacid), make the name inclusive?  To be even more gender neutral, do we add an e as with Latine (mulatte—Should I trademark this new coffee drink before Starbucks does)?  

In the same way that we might use the term affectionately for one other, will we also call those of ourselves who make bad choices “dumb [insert whichever we choose for the plural–mulattos/ mulattx/ mulattes]”?

Perhaps we should only use this word in each others’ company.  If those outside the community hear us calling ourselves whichever version we agree upon, they may also use it to show that they are down with us.  Then if one of us hears some outsider using our preferred term, we may think it derogatory.  I ask myself this whenever someone who isn’t biracial says it.  Will it be considered hate speech if the speaker’s intent is ill?  

I’m not trying to be crass as I roll through possible scenarios.  I want anyone who considers using this name to think through its impact.  Even our Black-White biracial sister, the rapper Latto, changed her original stage name, Mulatto, realizing the controversy it evoked.  My inclination is not to adopt this outdated language.  

No community is monolithic.  We’ve all had different experiences.  Everyone who is Black-White biracial identifies differently.  There is a wide lexicon from which we can refer to ourselves.

Various influences impact our perspectives; our perspectives change; thus, we see names for groups of people come in and out of fashion.  Some of us integrate whatever words are in vogue into our vocabulary.  Others become particularly attached to the language our community used when we became activated, or woke, around our identities. 

This happened to me in college (1990-1994) when I congregated with others born to parents of different racial groups.  We were all racial combinations though most of us were White in addition to another race/ethnicity.  (At the time Latino was codified with the other “races”–White, Black, Asian/Asian-American, and Native American).  Those who had founded the interracial student organization, Interracial-Pride, or I-Pride, a couple of years earlier deemed “interracial” to be the most inclusive.  Not all of us were biracial; some had grandparents from three different racial groups.  “Multi” was rejected by those who felt several sounded like more than two, and the majority only claimed two races. 

We distanced ourselves from the language our parents had used with us as children to explain our identities.  We weren’t “half-and-half” (or “half-X” and “half-X”); we were whole.  “Mixed,” short for “racially mixed,” was too close to “mixed up.”  We were not confused; we were clear that we were both, three, or all of the above. 

Some mothers and fathers had also oversimplified our double, triple, or multiple existences with food analogies…particularly ice cream.  Chocolate and vanilla.  Chocolate chip.  Chocolate chocolate chip.  Swirl.  We had outgrown these.  We didn’t care for Coconut, Oreo, Apple, or Banana either for the implications of being White on the inside and another color on the outside. 

Interracial—between or among two or more things, or, in this case, races–fit best.  It brought us together regardless of the specifics of our parents’ and grandparents’ racial backgrounds.  

While finding others who have encountered the dynamics specific to being both Black & White has been my priority, I’ve also connected with those who are part Black (with another race) and those who are part White (with another race).  In addition I’ve discovered commonality with individuals who have completely different combinations.  Being able to come together with people whom at face value I have nothing in common makes this part of the human experience beautiful.   I find it so freeing when my preconceived notions and biases are contradicted.

Multiracial is now the term du jour; the U.S. government has selected it for the new box on the Census. Technically that box most accurately classifies my racial background.  Multiracial may not be my name of choice, but it doesn’t give me heartburn. I’ll take one for the team.  If we are referring specifically to those of us who are specifically of Black and White parentage, any of the bi-, inter-, multi-racial options are not too clinical for me.  I’d even take some of the words my peers from my alma mater and I previously rejected over mulatto.  Nonetheless, we’re all entitled to call ourselves what we wish.

Photo by George Potter on Unsplash