As a young boy, before he became an actor and social justice activist, Ryan Holmes’ father told him not to blast music on the big speakers in their house. But one day, he wasn’t home — and Holmes, who identifies as Black and Asian American, had just gotten a CD of Dr. Dre’s “2001” album from a friend. 

Holmes, at that age, thought being a Black man carried a certain physical identity. He put on his baggiest clothes and his durag, turned up “2001” and tried to be his version of what he thought being Black was, he said. 

When his father came home, he “lost it,” Holmes recalled. 

“He sat me down and told me that there's a way that they portray our people in the media and that what I was being fed is not from our community,” Holmes said. “I didn’t grow up with a prominent Black presence until later in my life, so I had turned to the media. Unfortunately, when I was a child, the way we as Black people were portrayed were as drug addicts and criminals.” 

Holmes was a guest panelist at a “Conversation on Colorism” April 8 Zoom event hosted by Chapman’s Cross-Cultural Center (CCC) in honor of Asian Pacific Islander Desi American (APIDA) Heritage Month. Emily Lam, president of Chapman’s Asian Pacific Political Alliance (APPA) and Preetha Raj, a lead assistant of the CCC, joined Holmes in sharing their personal experiences. As members of the APIDA community, they discussed moments of identity confusion due to microaggressions, colorist views and remarks from the media and even people within their own communities. 

To start the conversation, moderator Patrick Hooverson asked the panelists to define the term “colorism” and clarify how it is different from racial discrimination. 

By the dictionary definition, colorism refers to “prejudice or discrimination especially within a racial or ethnic group favoring people with lighter skin over those with darker skin.” But Holmes said that for him, colorism and racial discrimination are intertwined. To explain how colorism operates in our society, he compared the term to an imaginary game we are unconsciously playing. 

“Your score is determined by how white or light your skin is. People can sort of cheat in this game and get skin-whitening creams to get a higher score in this absurd game,” Holmes said. “And for me, when I think of racial discrimination and colorism, because I am Black and Chinese, they've always sort of come hand in hand — like a two-for-one deal — because colorism is also a devaluing of Black skin.”

Lam asserted that colorism can often be seen within one’s own ethnic community. As a Chinese American, she reflected on how comments regarding her skin tone made by people in her own community affected her self-confidence growing up. 

“I was athletic growing up, so I would tan pretty quickly,” Lam said. “My family members would say things like, ‘Why are you so dark; you’re not pretty’ and, ‘You don’t want to look Filipino.’ Saying Filipinos are less than East Asians goes into the colorism that exists within the AAPI community.” 

As a Desi American woman, Raj also discussed her experiences with colorism, saying it’s prominent and non-discrete within Indian culture. 

“When seeking a bride or groom for an arranged marriage, the information that’s given is the person’s skin tone: are they a wheat-ish brown or are they a darker brown,” Raj said. “With my family being South Indian, I was considered light-skinned for being a South Indian and my family always praised me for that, which I found super weird.”  

Reflecting back on the conversation with his father, Holmes said he is lucky to have family who engage in important racial dialogues. Chapman alumna Sydney Cheung recognized that increased racial awareness within Holmes’ family and deemed that the most inspiring takeaway of the event.

“When Ryan Holmes was asked what solidarity looks like, he answered ‘my family,’” Cheung said. “That reframed my view of what we want the future to look like.”