Let’s just talk about racism for a second.
This adorable kid is causing quite a stir in our community…And it’s all because her mom is white and her dad is black.
Cheerios released a commercial last Tuesday, featuring a Biracial family, that has received an outrageous number of racist and derogatory remarks.
Camille Gibson, vice president for marketing for General Mills on TODAY, released a statement saying:
“The comments that were made were, in our view, not family-friendly, and that was really the trigger for us to pull them off.”
I find it really interesting and alarming that this rather adorable commercial is causing quite the stir. This is a huge step in the right direction to being inclusive of interracial families and highlighting what is a “norm’ in our society today.
Here are some statistics on multiracial kids and interracial marriages in the U.S.:
- Among American children, the multiracial population has increased almost 50 percent, to 4.2 million, since 2000, making it the fastest growing youth group in the country, according to a report released by the Census Bureau in 2011.
- The number of people of all ages who identified themselves as both white and black soared by 134 percent since 2000 to 1.8 million people, according to a report released by the Census Bureau in 2011.
- In 2010, 1 in 12 married couples in the U.S. were interracial couples, according to a 2012 report by the Pew Center.
- The share of new marriages between spouses of a different race or ethnicity rose to 15 percent in 2010.
- Four in 10 Americans say lifting anti-miscegenation laws was good for American society; three in 10 say it made no difference and only one in 10 say it was bad for the country.
- 63 percent of Americans say it “would be fine” with them if a family member married someone of another race.
- 8.4 percent of all current U.S. marriages are interracial, up from 3.2 percent in 1980.
So, I’m confused as to why this commercial is causing all this ruckus. People really need to find a hobby because this kid is fuckin’ awesome.
My mother told me that once when I was about three, I sat down next to my dad and tried to color my foot with a black crayon. She asked me what I was doing and she said my reply was that I wanted to be like my dad. Most people probably see me as just a random Asian person. I myself will never forget the other half of my origin nor the man I strive to be like.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”
Language, culture, travel, food and people. Some of our favourite things in one small, powerful story.(via superlinguo)
Yes to multiculturalism.