Black Lives Matter
The first time I realized I was black, I was in first grade. My white friend, as most of my friends were throughout grade school, Hannah, approached me one day and said that her mom told her that the schools were going to separate the black kids from the white kids. I asked her what that meant, and she held up her arm next to mine for comparison. “Like you and me,” she said. The first time I ever heard the n-word was in fourth grade. Another friend, Bailey, and I were discussing “bad” words, as most curious nine or ten year old’s do. We went back and forth, thinking of all of the ones we had heard of. After I said that I had finished naming the ones I knew, she looked at me and asked, “What about ‘nigger’?” In both of these situations, I had to have a talk with my parents, but I was never sure what they were trying to tell me. How do you tell a child that they will never be treated the same as their peers based on something they have no control over? How do you explain the lasting ramifications of 400 years of oppression?
In 2012, I remember watching the news of Trayvon Martin’s death and feeling more anger than I knew was possible. It happened again in 2014 after the murder of Mike Brown. The Black Lives Matter movement came to fruition around this time, and I became an avid supporter. Unlike what we have seen recently, saying “black lives matter” caused much more controversy. There were no country-wide protests or statements from corporations voicing their support. It was a very isolating time for me, realizing that the people I considered to be friends and teammates did not value my blackness, and therefore, me. I started questioning myself and wondering if it was worth losing these friends and my good reputation. As shameful as it is to admit, the fear of becoming an outcast outweighed speaking my mind and my truth. I stopped watching the news, even as the police brutality cases increased. I allowed myself to feel the anger for only a moment before mentally pressing it down.
Growing up in the South as a person of mixed race has been a grueling experience. It comes with countless microaggressions and plenty of implicit bias; it comes with having to be twice as smart, talented, and funny than your white peers, just so they deem you worthy of being befriended. It’s being one out of only two black people in your classes, at your dance studio, on your cheer squad, and in your friend group. It’s altering your appearance to make you look more white—straightening your naturally curly hair, avoiding getting darker from being outside, wondering if you can somehow minimize your black features. It’s trying to numb yourself to racial injustice because you can’t risk voicing your opinion for fear of being ostracized.
Despite the shame, anger, and fear I endured, I have learned to love everything black about me. I have learned that it’s okay to say “black lives matter” without regret or further explanation. I have learned to embrace my identity, my features, and my fight against oppression. Being a student at Mississippi State has helped immensely with this process. Through Chi Omega and other organizations, I have been able to meet and learn from people that have vastly different perspectives than the ones I grew up around. I have made genuine connections with other black people who continually support and encourage me to feel secure in my skin. Most importantly, I have found friends who are more than willing to join me in speaking out and standing against racial inequality.
In the end, that’s what it’s all about, standing against what’s wrong—racism and police brutality. Listen to your black friends about their experiences growing up in America. Learn how to help combat racial discrimination and maybe even confront your own bias. I challenge you to be an ally for black people, not just on Instagram for likes, but in your daily life.
