Race: White or Caucasian Black
I snorted loudly as I read and then corrected my race on a medical form this morning. Don’t you hate it when that happens? This wasn’t my first visit to this doctor’s office. I really thought they knew I was black. Not because most people do but because I thought I’d already checked that box on a form years ago.
And then I started wondering: Does the doctor think I’m white? He goes to my church and my sister is his patient, too. Does he think our family is white?
This isn’t the first time my race has been recorded incorrectly.
I watched a police officer write down my race incorrectly as he was filling out an accident report. Yes, I was looking over his shoulder, not because I wanted to check his grammar, but because I had a feeling he was going to put me down as white. Which he did. And then I told him he was wrong, “Um, Officer? I’m not white. I’m black.” He scratched it out and explained he wasn’t sure. I know. Why didn’t he just ask me?
I filed a police report over the phone when a package was stolen. The female who recorded my information listed me as white. I found out when they sent me a copy of the completed report. Granted, she didn’t see me in person, but she didn’t ask me about my race while we were on the phone.
A DMV employee also incorrectly marked me as white, which then translated to my voter registration card. Nope. She didn’t ask me either. I had to contact the State Board of Elections to correct my race: “Dear BOE: I’m not white. I’m black. Please correct this in your system.” While race is left blank on voter cards, it does show up online. That’s how I found the error.
As you know from reading this blog, strangers ask me about my race on a regular basis. Why are people more comfortable asking me about my race when it doesn’t matter but not when it does?
Light and All Write 