With her election as the first woman Vice President, Kamala Harris also brings the issue of ethnicity to the forefront. The gospel of our brown multiethnic savior says that she—and all of us—can and should embrace the entirety of ourselves as created and beloved beings.
By Chandra Crane
I
n passing conversation, someone called Kamala Harris the n-word the other day. “That n****r ain’t black, she’s Muslim.”
No, sir. No parts of that sentence are correct. Not one part.
First, she is a human being made in the image of God, not property to be used and despised.
Second, she’s Baptist.
Third, she is Black and South Asian.
And fourth, why can’t she be more than one ethnicity? Why is the idea of a multiethnic person so anathema? I assume he was pitting her blackness against her South Asian heritage. Ironically, this man mistakenly assumed her ethnicity to be Middle Eastern, and therefore Islamic (not a great assumption in and of itself). It’s also strange, given that in 2008, then-candidate Barack Obama’s blackness wasn’t challenged so much as his citizenship and Christian faith. Apparently, among other important milestones, he shattered the notion that Black politicians are Islamic.
But it brings up a larger issue with American politics and our country in general: false dichotomies. A two-party system: Democrat or Republican. Two main ethnicities: Black or White. Or in this case: Black or Indian. Two crystal clear choices: good or evil. No in-between, no bi-partisanship, no civility, no nuance. You must choose.
Actually, President Obama is ethnically mixed, too. But given the significance of a non-White presidential candidate at the time, he identified as Black. And that mattered. His life matters. Black lives matter. And I feel that he does do an excellent job of standing in solidarity with his Black community—in centering his blackness—while still honoring his White mother (and his third-culture upbringing).
But now, 12 years later, Kamala Harris was in the race (pun intended). And once again (still, really) her race is significant. And once again, because we’re so uncomfortable with ambiguity, she’s forced to choose. Black or South Asian? A reasonable human being, or a woman? A flaming liberal or a moderate? Tough on crime, or a sell-out? Religious, or secular? Mixed people—any people who occupy the messy middle ground, really—just can’t get a break.
And her ethnicity matters. It matters that she’s black. That actually, she was raised in a historically Black denomination: Church of God. That she’s now a member of a Black Baptist church. Her faith matters. Her life matters. Black lives matter.
But it’s also significant that her husband is Jewish, and that her mother was part of the Hindu community. Harris chooses to identify firstly as an American citizen, but she is Black and Indian. So her candidacy is meaningful to a lot of people from several backgrounds. It means a lot that she’s a woman. That she’s passionate but stately. That she’s willing to stand up for herself and others. That she knows how to withstand the misogynoir and stereotyping against Black and Brown women that plagues our country. That she balances her home life and career, all in the harsh glare of the public spotlight. And backwards and in high heels or Converse sneakers.
Come to think of it, I guess one thing that man got correct is that she’s a woman. And because of the intersection of her ethnicity, gender, and profession, Harris is under a lot of pressure. She’s expected to be all these things to all these people—to represent the best and brightest of us. To be the embodiment of our hopes and dreams. It’s a lot for one person to handle.
And with the election, it seemed that we were once again in a forced binary: would we root for or against her?
In some ways, it didn’t seem possible to find a good choice. To do more at the ballot box than hold our nose and stab at a choice we were settling for. To be forced to choose Black lives over unborn lives, poor White folks over refugees, donating money through the government over stewarding money through the church. Sometimes it feels impossible to vote in good conscience. What could we do? Whoever won the election, ain’t none of them was gonna save us.
I guess that’s the point.
So we look to one human who can be—who is—the embodiment of our hopes and dreams. He was (and still is) the best and brightest of us. The sinless one. The God-man. The priest and the sacrifice. And guess what? Jesus was multiethnic, too. Not only was he Brown (not White!), but he was Middle Eastern. And not only was he Jewish, he was also had Canaanite, Moabite, and Hittite heritage. He occupied the middle ground. He was a working-class carpenter, but he shamelessly wept: over Israel, over his dead friend Lazarus, over all the sin and brokenness in the world. He was strong, and bore the cross for us, but he also came as a squalling infant, born into poverty and ignominy. He was and is all those things. Jesus knows what it’s like to have a choice forced upon him, and he chose the will of his Father.
But he also chose, within the goodness of the Holy Trinity, to submit himself to death. He did this knowing the gruesomeness of death. The horror of it. But he also knew the victory that awaited him on the other side. He didn’t just choose between life (and taking Satan up on his hideous offer) and death (and obedience). He chose Option C: life eternal, even for us sinners as we are united to him.
I think it’s pretty clear who I didn’t vote for in November, but you can’t necessarily guess who I did vote for. Because I realize, as a mixed woman like Harris, that I can also choose Option C: dignity and civility. This doesn’t have to mean voting third-party (which has its pros and cons, as well). What it does mean is that I refuse to fall into the trap of hatred. Hatred of the other, of them, of those people. Whether those people are “just” black, or Muslim, or any number of descriptors, they are my neighbor. And every time I vote, I want to do so in a way that shows love for my neighbor. Even my neighbors who spew hateful lies about Kamala Harris.
It felt like a lot was at stake. And it was. But I also know that Jesus can hold it all together. Not in a platitudinous “God is on the throne (so quit complaining)” way. Not in a way that fails to agitate for justice, for progress, for love of God and neighbor. But in a way that cries out to the Lord, and often angrily, at that.
In a way that refuses to choose sides, even though my ballot had to be cast for just one Presidential/Vice-Presidential team. More significant than my ballot mark, overall I choose Jesus. This means that I willingly enter into the middle ground. Into the mess and the struggle and the uncertainty and the lament that cries out, “How Long, O Lord?” I choose to follow my multiethnic Savior, in the liberty he has given me, wherever he leads me, in how he leads me to vote for fallen humans for public office.
Jesus is the one choice I can depend on, which helps me to make all the other daily choices, both large and small. He is the one choice we can all depend on.
Photo by Damir Spanic on Unsplash
Chandra Crane (B.S. Education, M.A. Ministry) is the Multiethnic Initiatives Mixed Ministry Coordinator with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship and a member of the multiethnic Redeemer Church in Jackson, Mississippi. Growing up in a multiethnic/multicultural family in the Southwest and now happily transplanted to the Deep South, Chandra is passionate about diversity and family.
She is a Regular Contributor for Dordt University’s In All Things and has written for The Witness: A Black Christian Collective and InterVarsity’s The Well. Chandra is the author of Mixed Blessing: Embracing the Fullness of Your Multiethnic Identity from InterVarsity Press (2020). She is also the host of the podcast Mixed Blessing: Breaking Bread at the Multiethnic Table, available now on all podcast platforms.
She is married to Kennan, a civil engineer, and they have two spunky daughters. Chandra is a fan of hot tea, crossword puzzles, Converse shoes, and science fiction. She thoroughly enjoys reading, napping, and defying stereotypes.