Where Are My Roots of Optimism?

Micah E. 

High School Freshmen

I remember the first day of kindergarten. I had just moved from New York City and I was attending a predominantly white school for the first time. My mom walked me to class, leaned down and told me to always be excellent, never mediocre. She also told me that “I am the dream and the hope of a slave.” This profound statement by Dr. Maya Angelou reminds me of the privilege and responsibility that I have as a Black girl in America. There’s much reason to be optimistic!  Look how far we’ve come!  However, every day I am reminded to seek optimism when others scold me for being too loud and outspoken; too colorful and fun; too different; too black and dreaming. My ancestors hoped they would remain safe in the comfort of their native home and that they could overcome others’ greed. They hoped that they could stay with their families and build something stronger than themselves. All they hoped for was that they could survive and build legacies.  I have naturally inherited hope because they were optimistic.

They were then taken from all that they knew to be good and sold to a strange land, where there were people who were optimistic about wealth. Yes, America!  The “home of the free and the brave” owned people. There were slavery and segregation and after all of that, there is discrimination which still occurs today. The secret has been out for quite some time, but people choose to ignore it. It makes their palms get all sweaty and they get embarrassed. Whenever this topic is discussed, there’s always that one person who shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sometimes people just don’t care and “getting through the conversation” is ignoring it, and that’s not okay. However, when millions of my ancestor's dreams are ignored, my ancestors are ignored and all that hope is gone. So again I say, I naturally inherit hope. 

I find optimism because my ancestors managed to stay alive on several month journeys before being sold into slavery. I find optimism because my great- great -great grandmother who was a slave had optimism. I find optimism because we were able to fight in wars. I find optimism because we were able to hold office. I find optimism because they did and they kept it through the grave and the worst because there was hardly ever a better. I find optimism because I am free and I am able to tell you about a passion, a small piece of something that is larger than I am. I find optimism because I know that my life is so much better than what my ancestors had. I have optimism because of what they went through, what they strived for, fought for, died for and lived for.  Lastly, I have optimism because I can achieve anything I want to achieve because of them; I have hope because of them. When I don’t succeed initially, I try harder because that is being excellent, not mediocre. My root of optimism stems from my ancestors. “I am the dream and the hope of a slave.”


Photo Credit: @mediocremarie

How Ignorance Influenced My Education

Alliyah 

Major: Psychology Child Life 

Being an African American student in a predominantly Caucasian student body definitely played a role in my education. Freshman year, I remember going into classes looking around for other people of color. I was looking for people who looked like me for comfort in this new setting.  I was no stranger to being in this kind of environment, as my high school experience was very much the same. It just made me aware of how my race could cause my Caucasian peers to act, so it kind of put me on edge. 

I never really participated or was active in many of my classes because I simply was not comfortable. The environment and my peers sometimes weren’t welcoming and I didn’t feel like I could be me. This is not to say the experience was always horrible. I also had classes where I was the only African American in the class and I felt like I was with friends. However, for majority of my educational experience I was on edge.  It didn’t help that my fellow peers, people I walked passed everyday or lived in the same building with, were writing racial and offensive slurs all over campus and administration tried to sweep it under the rug. I wouldn’t let this interfere with my education and it in fact influenced me to work even harder.

last years of college, I attended many educational forums and community talks in an effort to educate those who are simply ignorant and fix campus diversity issues.  These events taught me so much that I know will be useful in the world. I guess you can say race played a major part in my educational experience but I’m forever grateful for the knowledge I’ve gained. 

Uncomfortable

Names: Gabriella 

Major: Nursing 

I never felt deprived of any resource or opportunity due to my race in a classroom; nor did I ever feel unsafe, or at risk of any harm. If I had to choose one word to describe my experience in school as a Dominican, with a complexion that immediately labeled me as black, it would be: uncomfortable. I grew up under the assumption that Black meant African-American. I knew I was Dominican so I didn’t consider my race to be Black until it became clear. Until I noticed awkward stares from classmates throughout the unit of slavery, in a history class where I was one of just two people radiating melanin. Until the day that I was in a library study room and a group of white students next door erupted into a volume above the appropriate noise level, but the librarian barged into the room of me and my colored companions appalled at “our” outburst. I came to the realization that race was nothing more than a label based on physical characteristics. I’ve heard so many people refer to human beings as the human race, but somewhere, somehow, it had to be further divided. So now there are ethnicities identifying what country your family is from, and your race identifying what you look like. Your race will place you in a category that many people will use to predict your behavior and eliminate your individuality. Me and the only other black girl in this one class were placed in a group for a class activity and after inputting my contribution to the assignment, a white student told me “wow, I’m so glad you are at our level.” I saw a look of relief on her face as if when I first introduced myself, she assumed I was beneath her, intellectually at least. She most likely would not have understood what was wrong with her statement if I would have chosen to tell her because she most likely will never be treated as inferior. A microaggression is equivalent to a paper cut. If you’ve never experienced the laceration inflicted by a single piece of paper (usually white people) first-hand, you won’t understand how painful it can be. You can witness the entire scene and still fail to understand why this cut, that was so minor, and quick, can cause such deep pain. You will also fail to understand that it is not only a single instance of pain. What I mean by this is that even while you are performing simple daily tasks in following moments, this cut is susceptible to further irritation. This paper cut will feel brand new if it were to encounter hot water, hand sanitizer, excessive pressure, a lot. So being a woman of color in a predominantly white classroom is uncomfortable. There are constant encounters with actions/statements implying inferiority and your only options are to bite your tongue and think about what you could’ve said, or express your pain and look like the angry black woman they assumed you were. 

Dear nameless imbeciles,

Gabrielle

Major: Global and International Studies

Dear nameless imbeciles,

You are the one that expressed

that her voice and skin don’t contest .

While you hide behind the lies

fake ASS empathy and pitiful disguise.

No better than the evil you came from ,

If you truly tryna help , do something to change them.

Who are you tryna see ?

The FAKE or the REAL she?

The watermelon eater ,

The drinker of iced tea ?

Cause she is none of the above ,

Just someone tryna teach herself how to reach self-love.

But apparently her ink is all dried out ,

If you really think so that shit can be replaced no doubt!

Since when has cultivation meant historical erasure,

This is meant to be a shot , drank straight with no chaser.

Now you’ve done it, there’s nowhere to hide ,

Releasing everything she had bottled up inside.

She will NEVER neglect her ebony ,

Trust and believe It’s her entire IDENTITY !

But in order to reach ignorant ,uncultured simpletons

The “oreo language” is something she has to be gifted in.

Therefore do not mistake her lack of chatter ,

For the belief that shit does not matter.

Nothing can contain this cognitive blab,

Oh so the only way yall understand is if somebody gets mad?

So what do you really want ?

The FIRE or the ICE

How about being under your total control AGAIN?

Would that suffice ?

Tired of your input

And telling her to who to be

She’ll BLEED regardless a dark and relentless she !

This could keep going , but you ain't ready for more

Cause if words were a killer , this would have started a war.

Sincerely,

An educated, indissolubly vexed woman who has found her instrument