More than any other character, Mr. Spock is forced to confront his ancestry, and what it says about him, time and again. His actions, his way of thinking, his way of being in the universe, is almost always tied to his heritage. And his status as a green-blooded “half-breed” freak foregrounds the difficult entanglements of race and culture.
In turn, Spock’s difference forces his crewmates to be self-aware. It makes them examine their own assumptions, and the ways their perspective is derived from their own culture, rather than from some universal objective truth. They sometimes resent this, and even blame him for it. Spock is often singled out for merely being who he is — an experience that rings true for many people of color, pointed ears or no. It’s little surprise that Spock has inspired mixed-race artists and writers.
Spock is, dare we say it, a fascinating confluence of cultural signifiers, intended and otherwise. (That’s perhaps unsurprising for an actor who, as NPR’s Neda Ulaby observes, was getting by in Hollywood playing “ethnic roles — Cherokees, Basques, Mexicans, Russians, Italian-Americans,” before donning the blue Starfleet uniform that would make his career.) For instance, if you always thought Spock was Asian, or at least looked like he could be, you’re not alone. The jet-black hair and steep slant of the brows, combined with personality traits that seem to align with model-minority tropes — cerebral, emotionless, skilled in unusual submission holds — lend an air of Asian-ness, for lack of a better word.
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