This article, as the raw draft, inspired my light-hearted newsletter piece titled 'Mastering the Art of Complaining: How to Secure What You Deserve in an Unequal World.'
Carolina Almeida, a philosopher, internationalist, and political scientist, shared that as children, they are raised with the understanding that the farther they are away from Blackness, the greater the person they are going to be.
She says, “So, identifying as a Black woman or as a Black man in Brazil is a great step, actually a great social and, also, emotional step to be achieved, because we are constantly being persuaded by everything around us that being Black is bad, it’s ugly, it’s not interesting.”
Geledés: How Afro-Brazilians are combatting racism.
Earlier tonight, Dr. V and I decided to go out spontaneously for dinner in Boston. At the first restaurant, the hostess, polite but prim, told us the wait would be about an hour. Fair enough, it was busy. At the second restaurant, something felt off. The hostess, looking somewhat wary, directed us to the bar, insisting there were no available tables—even though several were clearly open. We weren’t the customers they wanted. Rather than argue, we left.
At the third restaurant, we were seated immediately—no questions, no hesitation—by a cheerful, welcoming hostess. It was only later that I realized the difference. The hostesses at the first two restaurants had both been white, while the one who seated us without issue was Asian American. The contrast was undeniable, and the pattern became clear: access was subtly controlled based on how we were perceived. It reflected how colorism works—quietly but unmistakably shaping who is welcomed and who is turned away.
I’ve written before about experiencing subtle discrimination in Boston. And while I’m usually one to complain when things are off, I didn’t make a fuss this time (I understand how these situations can escalate, and confronting the second hostess wouldn’t have ended well, she would have brooked no dissent over her dictactes). Plus, honestly, I can’t get too worked up about food in the U.S. These days, something just feels wrong about the ingredients, and the value-for-money equation is off, especially in New England’s food scene, which I’ve covered before.
Earlier, while I was trying to buy sunglasses, I noticed two Persian girls nearby, also browsing and chatting in Farsi. Even though they had likely only been in the U.S. for a few years, I could see they were already fitting into the “ethnic white” category. Despite sharing the same cultural heritage (I’m fluent in Farsi), it felt like we were on different sides of the ethno-cultural divide.
Colorism and Caste in South Asia: A Tripartite System
South Asia’s social hierarchies have been shaped by five founding populations: the indigenous tribals (AASI), the Elamite-Dravidians of the Indus Valley Civilization, the Aryans from the steppe, Muslim invaders, and later, British colonizers. Over centuries, this blend created a tripartite spectrum of status and skin tone, mirroring the Latin American racial system.
At the lower end of this caste spectrum are the indigenous tribals (AASI), often associated with darker skin. In the middle are the Elamite-Dravidians (Indus Valley), connected to the Indus Valley Civilization, and at the top are those with Aryan steppe ancestry, typically linked to lighter skin and higher social status. Later, the Muslim invaders and British colonizers reinforced these divisions, with lighter skin becoming synonymous with power and prestige.
Genetic analysis often confirms the correlation between social status and ancestry linked to various invader groups, with more recent invasions generally showing a stronger association with higher status just as in Latin American.
But ancient South Asian traditions also celebrated darker skin. Lord Krishna, one of Hinduism’s most revered deities, was famed for his dark complexion. His blue skin symbolizes this, showing that at one time, darker skin was seen as a symbol of beauty and strength. Similarly, in the Arab epic Leila and Majnun, Leila is described as dark-skinned, with her name meaning “night” or “dark.” These cultural stories highlight how dark skin wasn’t always viewed negatively, in contrast to the modern lens of colorism.
In modern South Asia, though, colorism is deeply entrenched. Bollywood is a prime example, where actresses like Kareena Kapoor, Alia Bhatt, Katrina Kaif, and Kiara Advani—often lighter-skinned and at least a quarter European by ancestry—dominate the industry. Their success is a reflection of society’s deep-rooted colorism, where lighter skin is considered synonymous with beauty, desirability, and higher status.
Latin America: A Similar Tripartite System
The same pattern exists in Latin America, where Spanish and Portuguese colonizers introduced a tripartite racial system—white, Native, and Black—which remains entrenched today. Lighter-skinned individuals, often of European descent, are positioned at the top, while darker-skinned Afro-Latinx or Indigenous populations find themselves at the lower end of the social ladder.
For instance, Mexican soap operas consistently cast blonde, light-skinned actresses in lead roles, reinforcing the idea that beauty and status are tied to proximity to whiteness, even though most Mexicans are mestizo (mixed European and Indigenous). This shows how colorism persists across both South Asia and Latin America, quietly maintaining a racial hierarchy.
The U.S.: Asianification and Colorism Replacing Racism
In the U.S., colorism is increasingly replacing traditional forms of racism. Historically, the one-drop rule clearly defined race, categorizing anyone with African ancestry as Black. This was a harsh but overt system. Today, colorism—like in South Asia and Latin America—operates on a subtler, more complex spectrum. Skin tone determines who is included or excluded, not just racial categories.
The Asianification of America exemplifies this shift. Take the amazingly talented Helane Zhao, who was accepted into all the Ivy League+ schools. Asians are often seen as overachievers who work through societal barriers without disrupting the structures that prioritize whiteness. By excelling within this system, they reinforce the color-based hierarchy, benefiting from certain privileges while leaving deeper issues unchallenged.
This is especially clear in media and beauty standards. Mixed-race Zendaya, for example, has become an icon of Black beauty in Hollywood, yet her lighter complexion places her in a separate category from darker-skinned Black women, who face more overt exclusion. This dynamic mirrors what we see in Bollywood and Mexican telenovelas, where lighter-skinned actors dominate, reinforcing the idea that light skin equates to success.
Even within racial groups—whether Black, Asian, or Latinx—there is an unspoken hierarchy based on skin tone. The north-south, light-dark divide often goes unmentioned, but it influences opportunities, perceptions, and access. Colorism, unlike racism, operates subtly, and it’s harder to challenge because it’s embedded in everyday experiences—from media casting to who gets better service at restaurants.
Reflections from African American Struggles
In the end, it’s my ongoing immersion in African American struggles that has taught me to see the quieter forms of exclusion. If I hadn’t been tuned into these issues, I might have brushed off the night as a random series of events. But once you start to see the patterns, they become impossible to ignore. Without claiming the African American story as my own, I’ve learned from their experiences how to recognize the subtleties of colorism and gatekeeping—even when it’s hidden behind politeness or plausible deniability.
A quote often attributed to James Baldwin expresses a profound truth, “To be African American is to be African without any memory and American without any privilege.” Radiance Talley