Born to an Ethiopian mother and a German father, Tigist Selam enjoyed the diverse experience of growing up in Nigeria, Argentina, and foremost Germany. In an article featured in the book “One Drop: Shifting the Lens on Race“, Tigist explores the complexities of racial classifications, and the different ways that people live and experience Blackness.

I personally identify as Black racially, Ethiopian, and German/ American culturally. I never say that I’m Black except in a political context because I don’t even know what that means. Like being Black. What is Black culture? Is it African culture? Is it the Caribbean? To me, culture is very specific and I’m multicultural. So, when I identify as Black, I’m making a political statement; I am not trying to simplify my own cultural complexity.

My father was born in 1945. That’s the end of World War II. He still had the swastika in his passport and on his birth certificate. And my mom, she survived Haile Selassie and Mussolini. Both of my parents are very proud to be German, very proud to be Ethiopian, respectively. Very, very strong people identity-wise. But they’re not very sensitive when it comes to race. To them, everybody else is an idiot. And that was really helpful growing up because my mom never backed down. When she didn’t get seated, she would say something or not pay for the meal. My dad took me voting when i was 11. I was forced to watch international news every day. So me and my brother got politicised at a very early age. But it was also the experience of living everywhere-Nigeria for two years, Argentina for three years, Germany ten years, and now America off and on for 10 years.

We went to Germany when I was 5, and my father’s family was like, ” Hello ?! I can’t believe this is your wife and you’re bringing her to the house!” After two years of resisting, my grandmother and aunt finally accepted it. That experience was traumatizing, but it makes me respect and loves my father even more. He would’ve given up his own family for us.

I remember the little kids there were like, “Why is your mom Black? ” I was like, “I don’t know. Is she? Because to me, she was Ethiopian. Some kids didn’t wanna play with me, but I wasn’t quite sure what was about. But I was everybody’s favourite at the same time because I got exotified. I had this long curly hair and I was cute. I got more aware of certain things when I was 12 or 13. I realized, OK, I’m not like them, and that’s why some people treat me like that. And, you know, as a teenager you’re just figuring stuff out, so I got really political. When I was 16, I told my mom, “I gotta go. I wanted to have a place of belonging. I wanted to actually be around people that looked like me or were the same thing as me. But also I was very aware that my career choices and opportunities as an artist were limited in Germany. So I needed to leave. My mom cried, but she let me go because she understood. Now I realize how much of a privilege it is to have a Black mother when you’re Mixed-race. I’ve heard some horror stories from Mixed-race people in Germany with White mothers and an absent Black father. They had no connection to being Black. Treated as second-class citizens and got the worst of racism because of their dark skin, but yet nobody to protect them. I always felt like my mom protected me.

Up until that point, I was so convinced I was Ethiopian and German. Then I got to South Sacramento, and all of a sudden it was like, OK, people see me as Black. And you just adapt. You’re thrown into that and you act real quick. So it wasn’t really about choice. That choice was made for me, by Black people and White people. They didn’t even know where Germany is, let alone Ethiopia. Like,“What? Germany? They got Black people there?

My New York experience has been very different. People assume I’m Middle Eastern, Latin, Jewish, Southern European. I get all kinds of stuff, but people never guess I’m Ethiopian and German. I mean, who’s gonna assume that? Some Black people know that I have some Black in me. Some people don’t. Some people don’t know what is going on. So I get that question every day: “Where are you from? Maybe it’s my accent. Maybe just the way I look. Depending on how I wear my hair, what I m wearing, who I’m with, where in the city I am. Different people assume different things. I think my dating outside the race is actually a big issue when it comes to this idea of ” she’s not really Black.” When I dated a White Jewish guy, a few of the people that knew were like, “Oh, so that’s how she rolls? ” I think Black men see me as betraying, like I’m sleeping with the enemy. But he looked like my Dad. And I love my dad fiercely, so for me, it’s not a betrayal. And no, I don’t have daddy issues and I don’t have an inferiority complex. I just don’t discriminate. Why limit yourself?

Quite frankly, if I think about it honestly, I’m probably more at ease in a White environment than in an African American environment. Especially when we talk about political spaces. Super-conscious Black people — you know, ” fight the power” Black people – they wanna fight me! I could walk into a room full of Black women and they would just dismiss me. Not see me as a “sista.” My experiences are completely undermined because I’m so light. I know there’s light-skin privilege. Absolutely. I’ve gotten jobs because of my light skin, for sure. But you don’t have to rub it in my face and exclude me. It’s like they don’t recognize their own privilege because being “full-race,” so to say, is a privilege in itself. I can’t stand that. It’s like who you are? I wish more women would just have this conversation among each other, but when light-skinned women openly talk about it, it’s almost like we don’t have the right to be angry. If you’re dismissive of our experiences, and Whites are dismissive of our experiences, then who do we run to? It’s a division and its exclusion and I feel that a lot.

On the other hand, I believe in the right to identify as whatever you want. It’s a certain privilege and freedom in itself. We really need to actually accept and not try to override each other’s experiences. If you wanna call yourself Ghanaian, then so be it. If you wanna call yourself African, so be it. That’s you. I’m not you. If it makes sense to you, then that’s your truth, and I am nobody to judge. But on the other hand, the whole thing with identification is we gotta look at numbers. You know? And I know that being Mixed-race I can go to ” Other ” or to “ Mixed -race.”But at the same time, when it comes down to it, we gotta make that choice, and that choice is highly influenced by how other people look at us. And I don’t that will change.

Ultimately, though, I hope that we do come on common ground and really look beyond Black, White and everything else-that we have honest discussions about our own fears, within our families, within our friendships, within our relationships, within the Black Community. But we also need a lot of healing on both sides that needs to be done. My whole thing is about conquering fear. And that’s the core thing when it comes to race and to every disease of society. It’s fear that is the opposite of love and that is what is lacking in this society most.