[ Dedication ] [ Table of Contents ]

[ Acknowledgements ] [ Foreword ] [ Prologue ] [ Opening Poem: The Greatest Human Right ] [ Introduction, Part 1 ] [ Introduction, Part 2 ] [ Introduction, Part 3 ] [ Introduction, Part 4 ]

The little Black Chinaman refers to a piece of artwork I made when I was a child, about the age that young children make such artwork. I wanted to make a Chinese “Kung-Fu” man. I can remember it as plain as day. I took a piece of notebook paper and I drew the outline of his face. Next, I took some shoestrings and cut them up to use for his long hair, moustache and beard and I carefully glued them into place. Finally, I drew him almond-shaped eyes with long eyelashes, slanting eyebrows and voilà!, my masterpiece was complete—my Chinese “Kung Fu” man. I proudly carried around my work of art like a badge of honor for everyone to see. It confused me, however, when one of my elderly neighbors told me, “Isn’t that funny? He looks like you.”

My elderly next-door neighbor may have been the first to comment on my so-called Oriental or Asian-looking features, but he has certainly not been the last. I have been told of this resemblance on more than one occasion. One of the most frequent encounters involves people asking me if I am related to Akeel, a close friend of mine who happens to be of African American and Vietnamese ancestry. Akeel is nine years my junior and many people say we look alike and could easily pass for brothers, or even worse, father and son. One of the most obvious differences between the two of us, as one person puts it, is Akeel’s lighter, “paper-sack-brown” complexion. The first time Akeel and I were asked if we were related, we just stared at one another with the same look of bewilderment on our faces, shrugged our shoulders and laughed it off. Then it happened again and again. As it did, I remember how noticeably uncomfortable Akeel would sometimes look when asked if we were related. It was difficult for either of us to understand. I am sure that he had his questions and concerns. I certainly had mine. I wondered how it was possible for us to look so much alike. We both have very dark-skinned, African American fathers, yes, but his mother is Asian, from Vietnam . My mother is Black—albeit light-skinned—from North Carolina . Later, Akeel surprised me too when even he confessed to me that he could see the same “Asian” features of which some people speak. 

Questions, comments and situations of this type presented more of a challenge to me. When it came to people asking me if I was from Africa , I could relate. After all, I am of African American descent. Being asked if I was from Asia , however, caused an immediate culture shock to my American way of thinking.  Now that I look back on it, it makes perfect sense, but at that time it was beyond my comprehension. Then, without warning, the “you look Asian” comments evolved into, “You look Indian,” which was more puzzling than being asked if I was from Asia . Once such comment came from an Asian shopkeeper who, during a conversation, happened to ask me where I was from. Just out of curiosity, I decided to answer her question with a question by asking, “Where would you say that I am from?” It totally blew my mind me when she told me, “You look Indian.” “Indian?” “Indian?” was all that I could manage to say. I thought she meant from the sub-continent of India , but she clarified by saying, “American Indian. You look Native American.” “But I am much too dark to look Native American” was my knee-jerk response. She simply laughed and said, “Look. I am from Hong Kong . In my country, in the north, people are light, like me while in the south they are dark, yet we are all Chinese.” She then asked me, “Really, you don’t have any Native American relatives in your family?” “No.” I replied, “Not that I know of,“ but then I recalled some oral traditions of there being “Indian blood” in the family. So I told her, “Well, my mother is supposed to have some Indian ancestry on her father’s side,” but before I could finish my sentence she responded, “See? What did I tell you?”

After this life altering experience, being told that I look “Asian” started to make more sense as it suddenly dawned on me that American Indians were indeed Asians, some—it is believed—by way of the Bering Strait. So I concluded that if my mother were to possess any Indian ancestry, it could account for some of the other comments about my looks.

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