"Where are you from?" asked a taxi driver recently as we crawled through snarled traffic in Manhattan.
"New York," I told him.
He looked at me in his rearview mirror and asked again.
"No, where are you from?" he persisted. "Where are your parents from?"
I understood the question was about my race. Despite being born in New York City, I get asked where I'm "from" often.
I have light skin, a broad nose, full lips, thick dark wavy hair and dark brown eyes. I am a Latina of Puerto Rican descent, which means I could have European, Native American and African ancestry. To many, I'm racially ambiguous. So I am often asked a version of this question.
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Some social scientists consider the question a "microaggression," which Merriam Webster defines as comments or actions that "unconsciously or unintentionally express a prejudiced attitude toward a member of a marginalized group." The word was first used
by Harvard professor Dr. Chester M. Pierce in the 1970s, and in the past few years has reemerged as part of the American racial justice lexicon.
Latinos, Asians and people who fall in between the black-white racial binary in the United States are those who are most likely to be asked, often in casual conversation, about their racial or ethnic roots. On the surface, the question, "Where are you from?" seems innocuous. And for many of those asking the question, it is often an expression of genuine curiosity, an effort to connect, or a way to learn more about someone. But for those on the receiving end, like me, it can be a different experience.
As someone who writes about race and relishes a good conversation about it, maybe I should be the last person saying that being asked where I'm "really from" is tiresome and predictable.
But it is.
Critics of microaggression say people like me are being too sensitive about harmless, everyday questions.
I think it's about time we questioned the question.
Because it wasn't just my cab driver, but the esthetician who asked, repeatedly, whether I spoke Spanish, what my ethnicity was and then -- my Latinidad uncovered -- began to talk about how her Mexican neighbors are "family-oriented and hard working."
Then there are the men I go out with, who want to know my ethnic background before they want to know anything else about me. And of course, the constant barrage of questions that follow my name: "What kind of name is that? Where is Tanzina from?" The truth is, most people don't want to know the history of my name. They want to know what box they should put me into.
"The impact to the person receiving that persistent questioning is that you are not a true American, you are a perpetual foreigner in your own country," Columbia Professor Derald Sue told me. The people asking those questions generally don't have bad intentions, said Sue, but "they are not in contact with their unconscious world view that only true Americans look a certain way: blond hair, blue eyes."
If a person of color challenges the question or refuses to answer will they be seen as difficult? I am sure many people reading this column will say, "Sheesh, it was just an innocent question."
Except it isn't always.
British journalist Reni Eddo-Lodge recently wrote
about the discomfort even seemingly progressive whites have when it comes to racial issues. "Amid every conversation about Nice White People f