More than One Perspective

by Isabelle K

There is a different kind of exhaustion that comes with being turned into a mirror. Ever since,  I wrote my last article on the poor state of Black History month and  corporations’ sense of no shame with mass DEI rollback and it got published, people haven’t been talking to me; they’ve been talking at their own reflections. 

The article got 32 reads. Not much—but based on conversations I’ve had after it got out, you’d think I just declared myself the leader of a revolution. 

People are suddenly very interested in my “bravery” and "fearlessness." But is it really brave to advocate for my own humanity? Corporations should treat their black workers better. That’s not a subjective opinion or shocking hot take. 

 You can’t call a student brave for simply stating a fact about their existence without admitting that the environment you’ve built is a hostile one. 

I shouldn’t need courage to be honest. Labeling me as “fearless” feels like a way to ignore the reality that people like me shouldn't have to be made afraid in the first place.  I know people mean well, but intent doesn’t change impact or connotation. 

57% of college-educated Black adults feel their race has hindered their success and mention living in  predominantly white environments that require navigating and educating others on racial prejudices. I'm not even college-educated yet nor an adult, but still I can relate and feel for Black adults. 

I’m a journalist, which is not anywhere close to an activist.  I’m a student just trying to turn in assignments and graduate. I love writing. I’ve read hundreds of books. I’ve spent years watching loads of anime and analyzing my favorite characters because it makes me happy.  I make jewelry and enjoy many art forms. I am versatile, yet many people assume i’m a monolith. I could write about any one of these things. 

Some people have a lazy assumption that the black experience is universal, while, of course, although similar, we all live different lives. We're not a hive mind. I’m Congolese-American. I don’t celebrate Juneteenth or many of the other black American holidays, but I exist at crossroads. I navigate the daily reality of being a black girl in America while also having a heritage that’s uniquely mine.  My culture is the air I breathe, not something I chose to willingly study or adopt. I’ve seen people who haven’t lived the identity try to claim it as "theirs." I caution, there’s a very thin line between appreciating a culture and trying to own it.  You can respect something without stealing or touching anything that’s not yours. 

But many people assume I’m only Black American. I just make an effort to be well-versed in the history of the community I live in.  Rarely do people think to ask me about my full culture. 

I’ve come to realize that for some, my presence seems like an invitation to unpack their own baggage—even adults.  Don’t ramble to me about your moral and identity crises. To make it clear, I'm not a mirror for your insecurities or your spokesperson to go to.  If you’re looking for a way to ease your conscience, look the other way. I have the right to be mundane, and I’m busy being a student. 

 We’re in the age of technology; a simple google search would tell you everything you need to know. You don’t need to corner a sophomore in the middle of the hallway for answers.