Guilt is an interesting emotion. Unlike sadness, anger, and loneliness... it matches perfectly with anxiety and eats at your soul in small fragments taking minutes off of your life, feeding into the disease of overthinking.
This situation was different
I haven’t been one of the only Black peoplez anywhere in a while, and surely not the only Latina. Well... I hadn’t been, until I started my graduate MBA program in the fall of 2018. I did attend a white ass high school, and also white ass undergrad, but I left them behind for the diverse and black ass (although being gentrified) city of DC. And although I adored my time in the Chocolate city, it was time for a change.
I had mentally prepared myself to go back to school and for the sake of furthering my education plunge myself into an environment that was out of my comfort zone... to put it frankly a white ass SOUTHERN program. Now hear me out y’all, I am not new to this...I am true to this. I am no stranger to white spaces, not even a little. My family is already multicultural af and if we keep it a buck, is leaning toward the direction of Diana Ross and friends at this point.I grew up with a Swedish step grandmother sending me bday cards every year. My high school had about 9 black people in my graduating class out of about 130. I went to USC undergrad, home of the admissions scandal. Despite this, things are different when white people are joining your Black/Latino ass family, or when your high school at least attempts to create a safe space by sending you off to diversity conferences once a year. And do not get me wrong USC was a mess, but they had endless outlets for me to be amongst like community when shit gets real. This situation was different.
When I entered the room on orientation day I could sense the nervousness in the air. Everyone was a bit scared. I knew that all of us, especially those of us from out of town, had reservations and similar thoughts. Who looks like someone I could be friends with? Who seems obnoxious and likely someone I need to avoid? Who seems smart and can teach my slow ass the material? (okay maybe that one was just me). What I did know was that no one else except maybe the two other black girls (no men) out of the 41 students were concerned about how their race would affect their experience.
I quickly became the token black person...GUILTY?
For a while I managed to stuff my feelings down to create the most normal and healthy experience possible for myself. My classmates were actually really cool, extremely nice which I attributed to many of them being southern or southern affiliated. And the best part? They were and still TO THIS DAY are fun as hell. And unfortunately, as me and the other two black girls didn’t have much in common (large age gap for one and lack of joint interests for another) I quickly became the token black person of my cohort friend group.
Truthfully I didn’t mind it. I never hid my blackness or attempted to assimilate in strange ways because I am who I am. It helped greatly that our socio-economic classes were not extremely different, even though some of them have money money. In addition many of us went to similar high schools and colleges, and of course I had been in plenty of white environments before. Due to these circumstances, it was (and still is) easy for me to enjoy myself, maybe even a little too much, despite my situation. Unfortunately though the longer I was in the program, microaggressions, despite being unintentional, did occur and I began to feel a strange feeling... which I now can identify as guilt.
See the thing is diversity is wonderful. In a room where everyone is different we can all grow, learn and check the fuck out of each other. No one is singled out because everyone can contribute to the peace or kaos. I have had work experiences in these environments and never felt so safe. But when YOU are the diversity, when your existence meets a quota... things are different.
Pick your battles or feel guilty
The bottom line is no one wants to be friends with a complainer. Because of this it is much easier to ignore, pretend, turn a blind eye, and mostly pick your battles. Despite my strong opinions, I refuse to engage in political banter on a serious scale, which is my way of avoiding conflict. However I would have no choice but to speak up if someone slipped the “n word” as they rapped along to a popular rap song. At various social events I found myself in situations where I ignored a comment that was questionable if it didn’t involve Black or Latino people, yet at the same time would say something if it directly related to me. Due to this, often I would find myself reflecting on the times I didn’t speak up and feeling guilty I didn’t. It's hard knowing how embarrassed my friends and my community would be to know that I didn’t take the opportunity to make something right for the selfish reason of not wanting to be singled out for constantly standing up, again...guilt. Plus Grad student relationships are complex; You are co-workers and friends. You see these people everyday, more than your family. Relationships are important.
I have been wanting to write this forever, but have been terrified of the consequences of my classmates realizing that I do notice things. Things don’t always roll off of my back, sometimes I be wanting to slap the hell out of some of my fellow students! Sometimes I want to be able to be my full self with no sensors at all without facing the consequences. And sometimes when I deny an invitation out so I can sleep, it’s because I am mentally drained from the upkeep and need to refresh and reflect. The variety of incidents drove me to write this though, and I felt a responsibility to write this so others in my situation can know that I see them and I get it if no one else does.
Here comes the N word
On a chilly night in Argentina I sat with my classmates eating sushi and living my absolute best life. A classmate who hangs in my immediate friend group and is known for being funny and out of pocket was telling some story of his youth. To be honest, I half way zoned out until he turned my direction in the midst of his story and said “ma nigga”. In that moment, time legit stopped. This isn’t the first time I have been in this situation in the past, however this time was different. I didn’t feel angry or even annoyed.
The first reaction that overtook my body was guilt. I was the only Black person at that table and everyone looked dead at me. My existence alone had ruined the dinner. One, because everyone who knew he was wrong was uncomfortable, and anyone who didn’t think what he did was a big deal knew that I (known affectionately as the Dusty Diva or Big D by my classmates) was about to PICK this BATTLE. I went off y’all. I don’t even remember what I said. I blacked out for most of the interaction but know I remained as calm and poised as possible while making it clear it wasn’t okay. As I was seeing red I could hear whispers in the background from some of my classmates saying “I mean that’s fair” in reference to me exclaiming that what he did was never acceptable. I felt supported, but mostly guilty. Did I enable this situation by letting the small things go in an effort to maintain my own mental peace? Did I even want to continue these friendships with these people? And of course without question dinner was awkward for the rest of the night…
A burden I do not deserve
Some incidents are not as aggressive. For example a while ago, I witnessed a member of my group have a very uncomfortable conversation with a young black woman friend who was not in my class. The conversation was loaded with micro aggression after micro aggression. Topics such as hygiene practices and beauty, perceived socio-economic status and more were brought up. It was clear there was no intent to come off as racist or ignorant, but I immediately cringed at the whole interaction. After the conversation, I felt uneasy and like I put my friend in that situation. I approached my friend and asked her if she was okay and we talked about it... but I had no idea how to approach my group member and discuss her behavior without causing a heap of drama. Surprisingly, my group member approached me later in the day and brought up the interaction. I was relieved to be able to use that moment to explain how she was wilin, but I was also frustrated that I had to be the one to do it... because as the token black friend I have no one else to support me when these situations occur. Situations like these happen time and time again. I have no problem checking people, explaining why things are wrong, and teaching people to do better. My classmates know this if they know nothing else. On the real though, sometimes it feels like a burden I do not deserve. It would be nice for people to just not say insensitive things in the first place, but a pattern that tends to begin in these situations is a loss for me as well. You see, if you bring up every indiscretion, microagression and strange remark no one wants to hang out with you because then they begin to fear they will always fuck up. And that’s how you get the infamous white tears. They suddenly are the victim. It's a lose lose.
Getting rid of the token
I wanted to share my story because it is not good enough or even an accomplishment to be the only one of anything in a room. May that be woman, Black, Latino or immigrant. Sometimes, minorities or oppressed groups in general bask in the glory of being the first or the only at something...because that is a catalyst for change and because it seems like an honor to be accepted in spaces we did not always have access to. But that is not an accomplishment in my eyes. I will be satisfied when rooms are filled with various types of individuals from a variety of backgrounds, when I am not one of the few black women, Latina women or women of color in general. I will be elated when exposure to these diverse environments alone causes people to be more aware of other cultures, and therefore helping people be less ignorant. In Black History Month 2020 we are a ways from the plight of those before us, but we still have a LONG ass way to go. Many may feel accomplished by being the only “other” in a room. I don’t think my ancestors wanted me to simply be allowed in spaces that were originally not built for me… essentially existing in borrowed space, trying to navigate and make change in the small ways I can. I will be my ancestors dream when I can sit my Black, Afro- Latina ass down anywhere the fuck I want, comfortably, without a single worry in di wurl.