Black Lives Matter: Mixed Race, Mixed Feelings

Amidst the Black Lives Matter movement currently sweeping the United States and the subsequent protests against police brutality that have spread across the globe, Australians have once again been reminded of their own shortcomings when it comes to the treatment and systemic racism of Indigenous Peoples of Australia. Since 1991, there have been 432 Indigenous deaths in custody but not a single conviction (The Conversation). Despite making up a mere 3% of the population, Indigenous adults constitute 27% of the national prison population (Australian Law Reform Commission). While these statistics are indicative of deeply-rooted problems in Australia, focus should also be given to the voices and stories of Indigenous individuals. Now, looking at the back of another annual National Reconciliation Week, Irene Higgins pens an impassioned personal essay on the complexities, difficulties, and racial discrimination she has experienced as a mixed race woman in the 21st Century.

Foreword by Nicolette Petra

Irene Higgins

I was born to parents Asian, black and white. I was raised in small, country-town Queensland where all of the kids were blue-eyed and blond-haired. I was bullied for being different. I tried to scrub the brown away in the bath. I wasn’t white enough. 

My family moved to Korea. My name was twice as long as everybody else’s. My skin was still too dark. I wasn’t Asian enough. 

My family moved back to Australia. My friends claimed that they were allergic to kimchi, fried rice and sushi. I ate lunch alone, a metre away from everybody else. I wasn’t Australian enough. 

In year 5, my sister was called a n***a and a split-eyed jigaboo. 

In year 10, people would see my fair-skinned Wiradjuri father and I walking together and give us strange looks. Since I was 12, people have assumed that I was his young Asian partner. I avoided being alone in public with my own dad. 

In high school I met other Aboriginal kids who were outside of my family. I told myself I wasn’t black enough. 

When we moved to Sydney, my mother was yelled at by a man in Aldi. She was on the phone to her mother, speaking in Korean. He told her she was giving him an ‘Asian bitch’ look. 

At university, I was given the opportunity to speak about the importance of Indigenous education in closing the gap. I was told by a fellow Indigenous woman that I was too Asian. I wasn’t black enough. 

Through the years, I’ve developed mixed feelings about being mixed race. I felt ashamed for never fitting in. When I avoided specific prejudices due to my ethnic ambiguity, I felt lucky. Then I felt ashamed for feeling lucky. 

Last year, a transport officer assumed that I was involved with two other women who were fighting on a train because we were all brown-skinned. I was trying to explain the situation to the staff member as a concerned passenger. Nobody spoke up for me. I got off the train. I avoided the police as they came on board. I cried the whole way home. 

This movement has given me hope, but Australia, you have given me so much heartache. 

I lose black brothers and sisters to murder, abuse, incarceration, domestic violence, chronic disease, mental health problems, alcohol and substance dependencies, and above all else, trauma. You took away our children. You murdered my people. Today, children continue to be taken from their families. Today, Indigenous people are murdered and Australia turns a blind eye. We are a generation faced with a mountain of pain.

My great grandfather ran away from a mission when he was just a boy. He never saw his mother again. My great grandmother cried and fought for four days when the government tried to take and separate her from her fourteen children. Our family was luckier than most. 

But in our efforts to survive, my family and many others have let fear fester in our hearts. I am part of a generation who is lost; desperately searching to regain our culture as the government seeks to destroy our land, and us with it. 

Today I am a product of three very different worlds. 

I am proud to be a Wiradjuri woman. My father taught me how to respect and care for the land. 

I am proud to be Korean. My mother and Korean culture have largely shaped who I am today. 

I am also proud to be an Australian. It is my home and it always will be.

Being mixed race has brought about mixed feelings.

Today how I feel is clear. 

Now, reflecting on Reconciliation Week 2020, I weep for my brothers and sisters, my aunties and uncles, both here and overseas. I will remember their names and I will continue to tell their stories. I will stand for them and for all of us until we have justice. Until then, Australia, perhaps it is you that is not enough for me.