Harry and Meghan, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, may be considering a move to Africa sometime after the birth of their child. Just as with their wedding, the proposed move is being framed in largely positive terms — with Meghan wanting to explore her and her child’s African roots. Unfortunately, the reality is that the only tradition the couple would be embracing is the long colonial history of Britain in general — and the royal family in particular. When black radicals talked about a “back to Africa” movement, this was not exactly what they had in mind.
Most Indian families still prefer marriages arranged within their religion and caste. Marriages outside these rigid boundaries have often led to violent consequences, including “honour” killings. But some young Indians are still willing to defy their families and communities for love, reports the BBC’s Divya Arya.
The previously untold history of Britain’s mixed-race community and the many love stories that created it. In the first of this three-part series, George Alagiah tells the story of romance in the First World War between female workers and foreign seamen, the street riots it led to, and how Britain just escaped laws preventing mixed marriage and the excesses of race science.
Mixed Britannia #2: 1940-1965
Mixed Britannia #3: 1965-2011
BBC Series, 2014
For the past two hours, I’ve been sitting here alone in my tent, trying to figure out just what I should do and what I should say in this letter in response to your letters and some questions you have asked. I have purposely not told you much about my world over here, because I thought it might upset you. Perhaps that has been a mistake, so let me correct that right now. I still doubt if you will be able to comprehend it. I don’t think anyone can who has not been through it.
I live in a world of death. I have watched my friends die in a variety of violent ways…
Sometimes it’s just an engine failure on takeoff resulting in a violent explosion. There’s not enough left to bury. Other times, it’s the deadly flak that tears into a plane. If the pilot is lucky, the flak kills him. But usually he isn’t, and he burns to death as his plane spins in. Fire is the worst. In early September one of my good friends crashed on the edge of our field. As he was pulled from the burning plane, the skin came off his arms. His face was almost burned away. He was still conscious and trying to talk. You can’t imagine the horror.
So far, I have done my duty in this war. I have never aborted a mission or failed to dive on a target no matter how intense the flak. I have lived for my dreams for the future. But like everything else around me, my dreams are dying, too. In spite of everything, I may live through this war and return to Baton Rouge. But I am not the same person you said goodbye to on May 3. No one can go through this and not change. We are all casualties. In the meantime, we just go on. Some way, somehow, this will all have an ending. Whatever it is, I am ready for it.
( INTRO )
In Mississippi, being a conservative white woman is embraced and those who turn from those beliefs risk abuse, rejection or public humiliation
“I love you,” Chera Sherman’s mother told her before driving away in her Jeep Cherokee, leaving her daughter, then 19, bawling fat tears in front of her boyfriend’s home in Laurel, Mississippi.
It was 1994, and Sherman had made the life-altering mistake of falling in love with Jerry Breland, a lanky, black 19-year-old she’d met through a friend back when she worked at Kmart.
Her mother had finally told her stepfather about their six-month relationship earlier that day after a local cop pulled Breland over while he was driving his girlfriend’s yellow Sunbird. When her stepfather heard she was violating his code against race-mixing, he drove to her job to tell her she had to move out.
“White men aren’t going to want you,” her father told her.
“Oh, God, another Asian girl/white boy couple,” I groan, dropping my fiancé’s hand.
He hates it when I do this. So do I, really. I know it’s unkind and self-loathing, but every time I see another couple of our racial makeup, a little part of me sinks. We live in San Francisco, so this dip is as common as the hills. In these moments, I wish we were anything else ― that he were my gay best friend or we were startup co-founders, that he were Asian and I were white, that we were exquisitely ambiguous races, or that I could sink like my feelings into the sidewalk, be a little worm, and date whomever I want without considering social perception.
Perhaps close enough?