“You don’t look Dominican” — My experience as a "racially" ambiguous person

These dreaded words are pronounced by Dominicans and non-Dominicans alike.

These dreaded words are pronounced by Dominicans and non-Dominicans alike.

Nabila wearing a Dominican baseball hat.

I’m sure this awkward phrase is the same for people of any ethnicity who do not fit the expected physical “type” of their community. There’s so much to unpack here.

What this sounds like to me: “Where are you really from? Do you actually belong here (or there, if we’re outside the Dominican Republic)?”

It is no secret that I do look somewhat ethnically ambiguous. When I first arrived as a university student in the United States, back in 2016, some people asked me if I was Puerto Rican, Egyptian, or even Kuwaiti.

“Are you sure you’re Dominican?”

This phrase seems particularly patronizing to me (I’ve been told this a few times), as if I wasn’t sure where my culture comes from!

My intention here is not to shame those who are genuinely curious, interested, or confused about my identity, but to dismantle the myth that just because I look a certain way, I couldn’t possibly be Dominican.

When I’m abroad, I sometimes avoid telling people I’m Dominican to save myself from the discomfort of having to justify my Dominicanness. This means, explaining how I was born and raised in the DR and moved away at age 18 for university.

Ethnicity, nationality, and race

When discussing the issue of identity, it is crucial to understand the difference between ethnicity, nationality, and “race.” Although all of these are social constructs, I put race in quotations because there is no genetic basis for race, according to the Human Genome Project.

During my undergraduate education, I took a course called “Identity, Ethnicity, and Nationalism” (shoutout to Prof. Meguid!), where we discussed how these concepts have been used for nation-building, war, and others.

Ethnicity can often be seen and experienced as your cultural practices, language, religion, etc., while your nationality often (but not always) represents the country from which you have identity documents.

As an internationalist, when I ask someone how they identify, I do it from a place of wanting to understand the migration patterns (or specific circumstances) that lead people to move from one place and grow roots in another. I want to understand the sociological aspect of two or more different cultures interacting in a new and unknown environment.

Biases and stereotypes

We all have our biases and stereotypes. I’m guilty of this. When I meet someone new and make an assumption about their life and background, I immediately remind myself that other people can do the same thing to me as well, and try to ask myself, “Why did I just think this person was of X background, with Y set of experiences?” Why do we box people into strict categories?

I think in a way this helps to find commonalities (and differences) between our experiences and those of the person we’ve just met. Although some of our assumptions might be correct, everyone has a unique background and life story; no two family journeys or backgrounds are the same.

The issue of privilege

The rich white girl from a social bubble.

I have to admit, this used to be me at one point. I was raised in very tight social circles and my interactions with people of social classes other than my own were limited. However, I have made it a point to reach beyond those perceived barriers and truly get to know my country’s reality. This is in part why I chose a career in global health and development — after noticing the stark inequities in health outcomes for people of different socioeconomic status.

Granted, my Dominican experience is not the same as that of 99% of my fellow citizens (I’ve mentioned this in a previous blog post). But in reality, whose is? What even is the Dominican experience? Who gets to decide that?

It is not fair to assume that all Dominicans should look the same, dress the same, or even act the same.

I may look different, but culturally, I am the same as any Dominican. However, it is important to address the privilege I carry as a light-skinned woman who grew up in an upper-class neighborhood in a country where racism, colorism, and classism run rampant. I have undoubtedly benefited from the systems that be, and it would be dishonest of me to not acknowledge this.

Perhaps this is what people mean when they ask me twice where I’m from: “You look too privileged, so you couldn’t possibly be Dominican.”

Toucans are exotic, people are not

“You’re so exotic. You have ‘good’ hair and beautiful olive skin.” I grew up hearing these “compliments” in DR, but I never really saw myself as “different.”

I haven’t taken a genetic composition test, but I am almost certain that a sizable chunk of my genes are Middle Eastern.

In DR, it is well-known that there was a notable influx of Lebanese, Palestinian, and Syrian (and other) immigrants from the Middle East in the 20th century. It is often when I’m outside of DR that people are puzzled by my existence (this is not to say that it doesn’t happen in DR, but it happens much less).

Who says we can only have one identity? Who decides what we get to be?

My background

If you’ve read this far, you’re probably still puzzled at my genetic composition and cultural background. So, to put your mind at ease, I will tell you: I am (evidently) a product of migration. My maternal grandparents’ origins are in Palestine, whereas my paternal grandparents are a mix of Dominican, Spanish, and Lebanese ancestries.

This all happened as a result of the Arab (and other) migrations to the American continent in the 20th century. I will make another blog post diving deeper into this topic, so stay tuned for that!

Closing thoughts

In today’s interconnected world, the question of identity is more complex than ever before. Through sharing my own experiences and reflections, I’ve attempted to shed light on the intricacies of ethnicity, nationality, race, and privilege. Assumptions and stereotypes often fail to capture the richness and diversity of human experience.

As we navigate conversations about identity, it’s essential to recognize that each individual is a multifaceted tapestry of influences, shaped by personal history, cultural heritage, and societal context. We must challenge the narrow confines of stereotypes and embrace the complexity of human identity.

Ultimately, the journey toward understanding and acceptance requires empathy, curiosity, and a willingness to engage with perspectives different from our own. By celebrating the diversity within our communities and acknowledging the privilege inherent in our own experiences, we can move towards a more inclusive and equitable society.

So, to all my fellow ethnically ambiguous individuals and those who’ve felt the weight of societal expectations, remember: you are not defined by others’ perceptions or stereotypes. Embrace your unique identity, challenge the status quo, and pave the way for a world where everyone is seen and celebrated for who they truly are.