Why I Stopped Saying 'Minority' and Started Saying 'Global South'

(CREDIT)

First and foremost, Happy 1st day of AANHPI Heritage Month!

Let’s talk about the word minority, a word so deeply embedded in everyday conversation, media, and policy that most of us use it without thinking twice. I know I did. Until I didn’t.

As a South Indian woman living in the U.S., I’ve heard myself referred to as a “minority” in everything from school forms to corporate DEI statements. The label never sat quite right with me, but for years, I couldn’t quite articulate why. 

Then I discovered the terms Global South and Global Majority.

It wasn’t just new phrases. It was a shift in perspective, and one that didn’t define people like me by lack or marginalization, but by geography, history, and a collective identity. The Global South refers to regions in Latin America, Africa, Asia, and Oceania that have experienced histories of colonization and continue to navigate the legacies of economic and cultural imperialism, which accounts for approximately 85% of the global population. It centers our lived experience, global context, and resilience. Most importantly, it refuses to define us by what we are not.

Two obvious examples of our "otherness" evokes are "Go back to where you came from," and my personal favorite, "But where are you REALLY from?" Let's keep in mind

This question might sound harmless to some, even well-meaning. But for those of us who straddle cultures, especially folks from immigrant families, it’s a question that pokes at our sense of belonging. When someone asks, “Where are you from?” and I say, “I’m from [insert city/state],” they often respond with, “No, but where are you really from?” That really is where the problem lies. It suggests that the first answer wasn’t good enough. That my identity as an American, or as someone born and/or raised here, isn’t believable because of how I look, speak, or what I eat. It implies that I'm an outsider, a guest in the only home I've ever known.

Let's see, I was:

1. Born in Oman in the Middle East, where my mom was attending nursing school.
2. Lived in India for the first 5 years of my life, which I literally don't remember.
3. Or the US, where I have spent almost 40 years of my life. The first 10 in Pasadena and the rest various areas of Houston.

For many of us, the answer is layered. I’m from here, where I grew up, went to school, and made memories. But I’m also from there, where my parents were born, where my name and traditions come from. I carry both, proudly. I don’t have to pick one over the other to make someone else comfortable.

So the next time you feel the urge to ask someone where they’re really from, consider what you're actually asking and why. Here are some other ways to respectfully ask the same question without giving weird "Why do you seem different?" vibes: 

1. What’s your story? (also, tone matters...LOL)
2. What’s your cultural background?
3. Do you identify with a particular culture or heritage?
4. Where did your family originate from, if you don’t mind me asking?
5. I’d love to learn more about your background, if you’re open to sharing.

Respect is essential.

Not everyone wants to explain their identity, especially to a random stranger, and that’s okay too.

The word minority, especially in the U.S., often reinforces a narrative of smallness, otherness, and lack of power. It subtly positions whiteness and Western norms as the majority default, with everything else existing in relation to it. It doesn’t reflect the fact that globally, people of the Global South make up the vast majority of the world’s population. We're not the minority, we’re the global majority.

Does the term Global South have its limitations? Absolutely. No label is perfect. It’s not a monolith, and it shouldn’t be treated as one. But it moves us away from deficit-based language and opens the door to solidarity across continents and communities. It reminds us that our stories are global, not marginal.

You will never see me use the word minority to describe BIPOC anymore. Not because I’m ignoring systemic oppression, but because I’m refusing to let language reinforce it.

Words shape how we see ourselves, and I choose to see myself as part of a global collective with history, power, and purpose. I stand in solidarity with any and all marginalized communities. Everyone should be treated with kindness, respect, and understanding.

Until next time...

Sharon