Fully habituated

habituation

Oftentimes, we minorities exclude ourselves, self-segregate and try and gain pity over our inability to integrate with other social groups. We label a group as a majority and another as a minority, but honestly, as a Brazilian immigrant, I have never felt like a minority. Oftentimes (though clearly not always), segregation is a self-fulfilling prophecy; we expect to be discriminated against and therefore deter ourselves from other social groups and only end up causing ourselves to be more segregated. If there is one place where different racial groups can stand together, while also maintaining their individual cultures, it is here at Princeton.

I moved to America when I was four years old. As any other Brazilian, non-English-speaking immigrants would, my parents quickly fell into a Brazilian community, where Portuguese, soccer and Sunday BBQs stood in the way of other neighboring cultures. After school, I would come home and play in my neighborhood, consisting entirely of other Brazilian kids; we had created a “little Brazil” in South Florida. Even our church was Brazilian. Four hundred members all speaking Portuguese and listening to a Portuguese sermon followed by a typical Brazilian barbeque — “churrasco.”

Even though Brazilian culture consumed me, it never made me ignorant to other cultures in the world. Growing up, I was rarely around other kids who weren’t Brazilian. But finally, right before high school, I moved to a new city where “little Brazil” no longer existed. I took the opportunity to allow my culture to thrive in diversity, rather than hide in segregation. In high school, there were always “Latino” groups, but I never wanted to be a part of those. They shunned anyone who didn’t wear Brazilian jeans, who didn’t own a pair of gold hoop earrings and who didn’t bring paella for lunch every day. I was still friends with them but no more than I was friends with American kids, Italian kids, Jewish kids and black kids (we didn’t have too many Asians in my town).

My high school friends were well-aware of how Brazilian my family was, but they loved it. When I picked up the phone and started rambling away in Portuguese, everyone would start trying to imitate my words. Or when I’d say an American idiom incorrectly, they’d quickly laugh at my foreign unawareness. But it was always in good fun. Who doesn’t enjoy coming over and having a strong-accented Brazilian mother kissing you on the cheek and showering you with food and a Brazilian dad rambling on about soccer and cooking steaks in the backyard? Let alone Brazilian desserts, music and dance. When we’d talk about Carnival, Pops would always offer up our apartment in Brazil and those white Americans’ eyes would glaze over with excitement. A weeklong party down the streets of Brazil sounded like heaven.

Arriving at Princeton, my level of comfort with other races and cultures has only deepened. My roommate was Israeli, and my suitemates were Asian, Indian and Jewish. Our cultural and religious differences humbly added to the fertility of conversations and debates. I became part of a dance group, which brought together members of many backgrounds over a common interest. I got an internship working for a company made up of seven employees, all of whom were Indian except for me, and never once did I feel left out. There is nothing like seeing a Google+ screen with six brown kids and one Brazilian kid to make you realize how incredible it is to be able to live in a place where race doesn’t stand in the way of comfort.

We are all part of one Orange Bubble, and I have never felt separate from it. Over winter break, one of my friends came to visit — a white boy from Atlanta, Ga. wearing jean cutoffs and a camo hat. He is part of the “majority,” but he didn’t hesitate for a second to speak (try to speak) Portuguese with my parents over dinner. Over spring break, I brought home four of my closest friends: two guys, two girls. Israeli, Pakistani, American and Chinese. Jewish, Muslim, Christian and Agnostic. They all got to experience my Brazilian family firsthand. They bonded with my Brazilian family from home, partied with my Brazilian friends and even came back speaking a little Portuguese.

Oftentimes, we assume a “majority” culture. We oversimplify this “other” group in order to alienate what we assume is the minority. Even if we are the minority, rather than being offended when someone doesn’t make an effort to accommodate us, we should volunteer our culture and let it flourish. Race isn’t something that can be separated from who we are, nor should it ever be. I am proud to be a representative of my race, where my personality and thoughts reflect my childhood and my country. It gives me pride to be able to offer others a glimpse of what it means to be Brazilian. For me, it isn’t about shoving my culture down someone’s throat; it’s about blending my background and culture into a conversation to make it more diverse and stimulating.

If we always assume that we are a minority, aren’t we overlooking the possibility that the person whom we are talking to might have another minority culture of his or her own, which we are failing to acknowledge? To assume you are always the minority, and to be burdened by it, is often hypocrisy.

Andre Belarmino is a psychology major from Coral Springs, Fla. He can be reached at abelarmi@princeton.edu.