Leyla Omar

What’s your full name?

Leyla Omar.

Where were you born/brought up?

I grew up in the countryside just outside of London. For most of my formative years, my sister and I were the only people of colour at our school, so I’m well versed in navigating white spaces and being made to feel the odd one out.

What do you do for a living?

I work as Diversity & Inclusion and Operations Director for a tech company in London.

What’s your ethnicity?

Somali, Irish and British. My grandparents were one of the first Somali families to arrive in London in 1959, settling in the East End. 

How old were you when you became conscious that people saw you differently? What impact did that have on you?

One vivid memory is from primary school when we were asked to design cards for Father’s Day. I’d addressed mine using the Somali word for dad, and my teacher snuck up behind me and grabbed it. She smugly paraded it around the class, desperate to teach an ill-timed and under-researched lesson about the wonders of multiculturalism. Her language was extremely othering: all it did was hammer home that ‘Leyla is different to the rest of us’. Everyone was in hysterics at the ‘funny-sounding word’, and later I was hounded by kids in the playground asking me how to say different words in Somali. Pretty mortifying for a five-year-old.

Describe your most memorable moments when you were made aware of being mixed race.

I used to work as a model, and was cast in London and Paris Fashion Weeks. I had naively assumed that once I’d made it into certain circles I’d be considered an equal, but sadly this illusion quickly shattered as I experienced some jarring racism. One designer tried to cover my body in white powder to make me appear lighter, another banned me from his show, telling me he ‘only works with white models’. 

Experiences like this teach us from a young age that no matter how hard we work, which spaces we occupy or how much we try to assimilate, racism will still follow us. It’s also worth highlighting that I benefit from the privilege of being light-skinned; if my skin were darker, I would have been treated significantly worse. 

Do you feel your parents prepared you for life as a mixed race person?

I’m not sure how monoracial parents can prepare mixed-race children for a reality they haven’t experienced first-hand, particularly twenty years ago when there wasn’t much nuanced discourse around racism. Lots of parents nowadays seem to adopt the ‘colourblind’ approach by never mentioning race, teaching children that talking about skin colour is rude, or even racist. Whilst well-intentioned, shutting down the conversation is ineffective at best and damaging at worst: it doesn’t equip children for the harsh reality that people are treated differently (and often unfairly) because of their race. This ignorance is in itself a privilege: in a world where skin colour is weaponised, many don’t have the luxury of simply ‘not talking about it.’ 

What ignorant comments have you heard about being mixed-race that really rile you?

When I was young, a stranger approached my mum to ask her where she adopted me – is it really so ludicrous that a white mother could have a brown-skinned child? I’m often told my mix is the ‘perfect balance’: that I have the ‘good bits’ of being Black whilst ‘sounding white’. My personal favourite has to be the one-two punch of being called a racial slur, then being told that it shouldn’t offend me, because I’m not really Black. 

These microaggressions are usually delivered with a disarming smile, which makes it even harder to know how to react. You have a split second to decide: do I let an offensive comment slide and feel guilty later, or do I acknowledge the degrading, racist subtext and risk being dragged into a hostile argument and stereotyped as angry?

What do you wish people who aren’t mixed-race understood?

It frustrates me when people say I’m ‘just as much white as I am Black’. The ancient one-drop rule dictated that even a tiny amount of Black ancestry meant a person was considered Black, which is an attitude that persists culturally today if you aren’t white-passing. Obama is often called the first Black President, despite having a white mother. 

Identity is inherently sticky for mixed-race people, so these obtuse statements massively oversimplify our complex existence. It overlooks the fact that, despite having Caucasian heritage, I don’t look white and I’m visibly unable to use white privilege. The labels we choose aren’t about you; we use descriptors that reflect our life experience. Always remember that identity boundaries aren’t yours to police!

Do you think mixed race people/families are well represented in the media?

It’s disappointing that the media only really platforms mixed-race people who are light-skinned: usually half white and half Black, eg. Meghan Markle, Drake, Mariah Carey. I’d say these half-white mixes are overrepresented in the media due to colourism: racial ambiguity makes us more palatable to white audiences than our dark-skinned counterparts. 

I still haven’t come across any mainstream literature, film or TV that accurately reflects the complexity of being mixed-race. Most portrayals churn out tired, lazy stereotypes and almost always centre mixed characters who are half white. In reality, the voices of the mixed-race population extend far beyond this narrow representation.

Back in the late 19th century/early 20th century being mixed race held a stigma, as it was clear proof of interracial relations which was seen as an affront to society’s morals. Do you think it’s easier nowadays to be mixed race or is it more that racism has become subtler?

The nature of racism towards mixed-race people isn’t necessarily improving, but it does seem to be changing. Overt bigotry is morphing into fetishisation. Magazines gush over adorable mixed babies – #perfectlyblended is an actual trend on Instagram – and mixed race is casually cited as a popular dating preference. ‘Blackfishing’ has also become a common and disturbing form of appropriation in which white people manipulate their skin tone, hair, and features to appear racially ambiguous for monetary and social gain (think Kylie Jenner or Ariana Grande).

Although seemingly less discriminatory, all of these trends are still reductive, minimising mixed-race people to a sum of our parts, and ultimately still contribute towards the racial hierarchy. It will take a great deal of collective action to dismantle centuries of ingrained systemic injustice.

Is being mixed race a burden or a blessing for you?

Being mixed does come with its challenges: there’s a lot of emotional labour involved in constantly enduring invasive personal questions about my ‘exotic’ heritage. People you’ve never met feel entitled to have their curiosity and fascination satisfied, and often end up violating social boundaries (much like the stranger who sympathetically asked whether I’d had FGM upon discovering I’m Somali). 

As is common to the mixed-race experience, I often don’t feel ‘enough’ of either side to call it my own, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to embrace my ethnicity as one of my favourite parts of my identity. It’s definitely a blessing.

Have you felt a struggle with your identity? If so, how did you deal with it and if you are now at peace with who you are, how did you come to a place of self-acceptance?

I used to identify as mixed, but nowadays I find the term itself a bit meaningless. ‘Mixed race’ can never fully illustrate our experiences; all it does is compress an endless mass of racial combinations into one homogenous group. Of course, there are universal challenges – there’s something hugely comforting in other mixed people relating to the same struggles that can be tricky to articulate to someone monoracial – but we are not a monolith. ‘Mixed’ could also be considered a bit pejorative, as it suggests confusion (feeling mixed-up, or giving mixed signals). We are the fastest-growing demographic in the UK, but language hasn’t managed to keep up.

I’ve never felt a true sense of belonging that I imagine is innate to the monoracial experience. I haven’t been to Somalia and don’t speak much of the language, but in a society that sees white as the default, any deviance from this ‘norm’ demands an explanation. (Unsurprisingly, nobody ever questions my Irish heritage). Having said that, this year, thanks to engaging conversations with friends and lots of thought-provoking articles, I feel more secure in my identity and more confident in claiming my Blackness as more tangible than mixedness. 

What advice would you give yourself?

Worry less, stop straightening your hair every day and don’t waste one drop of energy debating with anyone who denies your right to exist.