Playing My Race Card

I work at a nonprofit and so I’m undoubtedly a fundamentally good person.  My fundamental goodness (and, I’ll be honest, others’ recognition of that goodness) gives me some considerable satisfaction but, still, I feel as though I’m not reaching my full potential, career-wise.

These days, the typical employer (like society generally, I hope) sincerely appreciates diversity, particularly racial diversity, as a value to be embraced, and this is especially true in the nonprofit sector.  As a person of color, I’ve never fully exploited this premium on diversity, which I could be using tactically to more fully impose my will at the workplace and/or to stay out of trouble with all of my various bosses and rivals.

I’m an American, living in America (Oakland, CA…hellz-ya!) and born in Vietnam to a Vietnamese mother and a Caucasian, American father.  (I didn’t want to insert a comma into “Caucasian American” but I suspected that those words placed together so closely as one term might, illogically but understandably, seem redundant, and my purpose was to present my dad’s citizenship and his whiteness as discrete criteria.)  This makes me Amerasian.  I suppose that one could accurately describe me as being hapa or as being Asian American, but “Amerasian” is definitely the most specifically accurate term for what I am.  There aren’t that many of us, although there are certainly enough of us that we’re a thing.

So I’ve decided to start actively using my status as a racial minority to my advantage.  I could be using my ethnicity to get me out of all kinds of jams.  For example, say that white lady from Accounting comes at me with some problem:

Finance Manager:  your Regional Center invoice doesn’t match your monthly billing reports.

Me:  oops.  My moms was Vietnamese, so, you know, what do you expect?

Finance Manager:  I thought the stereotype was that Asian Americans were good at math.

Me:  what makes you assume that my mother’s an Asian American?

Finance Manager:  I was thinking that you were an Asian American.

Me:  actually, I’m Amerasian.

Finance Manager:  what’s the difference?

Me:  maybe HR can explain it.  Let’s go see.

Finance Manager:  nevermind; just get your reports right next month.

Me:  will do.

Or say that I’m at an all-staff meeting…there’s one last slice of pizza, and the black guy from Human Resources and I are both reaching for it:

HR guy:  score!  Last piece.  Sorry, dude.

Me:  what are you sorry about?  There’s no dog on this pizza anyway, right?

HR guy:  what?

Me:  there’s no dog on the pizza.  That’s what Amerasians like to eat, right?  Dog.

HR guy:  I never said that.

Me:  you didn’t have to.  What if it were anchovy pizza?  Would that be okay, or would the anchovies have to have their little heads still on ‘em?  What if this pizza were made out of rice flour and soy sauce and had fish heads all over it?  Would that be okay?  Could I have it then?

HR guy:  dude, just take the fuckin’ pizza.

Me:  will do.

This could be a real game changer for me.  If I play my cards right, this could take me to the next level of my professional development.  Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be on the lookout for business situations in which I might be able to leverage my racial heritage.