a letter to my younger self: attending a PWI (and being the Black friend)
to younger maya,
this letter is long. but you need to know. you need to be prepared for being the token, the Oreo, the Black friend. I can’t fully describe what it feels like, but maybe if you know now, perhaps you’ll find yourself with a stronger suit of armor.
as I write this, at age 25, we have attended 3 PWIs. I’m sure you are by now familiar with the term, PWI, but in case you’re reading this in your much younger years, it means: predominantly white institution. in other words, a place where you’ll be drastically in the minority.
you will attend a PWI for all of your schooling (including college and beyond), which you’ll love, overall, but will not leave without being on the receiving end of racist remarks from students and faculty alike.
at one of the PWIs, you will find yourself the sole minority - not even the sole Black person, but the only person of color - in a majority of your classes. *as a Black woman working in healthcare, and taking primarily STEM courses - you’ll be repeatedly disheartened by the lack of diversity of the other students in this learning environment. we desperately need more POC in these fields.
and then you’ll visit your fist HBCU. as a relative of HBCU alums, you aren’t unaware of what the experience is like, but it’s nothing you’ve ever experienced firsthand. when you visit, you’ll feel home. you’re surrounded by people who look like you, it’s comfortable, and you feel utterly and totally supported. ultimately, you change plans, and wind up not even applying to any institution that year.
now for the heart of what I want to say to you: you will go through, put up with, and regret a lot during your time at PWIs.
at an early age, you’ll learn that people will dislike you simply because of your skin color. they will have certain expectations of you because of your skin color, and as one teacher will have the audacity to state, “you will be seen as a disappointment to both Black and white people for not being Black enough.” in other words - you will fail to meet the stereotypes that have been thrust upon Black people for centuries.
you’ll frequently be told that you “talk white,” (aka you don’t speak in AAVE, but really, that’s just due to code switching); and you’ll be inundated with the ever popular “you’re so articulate!” you’ll be told that “for a Black girl, you can’t dance,” (for any girl, I can’t dance, for the record), and you’ll get the “you’re pretty…you know for a Black girl,” from classmates, or hear “I mean I guess he’s cute for a Black guy,” as they look at pictures of the few Black boys at neighboring schools. you will be told that your natural hair isn’t “liked by everyone,” and in third grade a classmate will hug you, then say that it’s “petrifying to see a Black person and a white person hug.” you’ll be called an “Oreo,” (which, yes, is your favorite cookie at this time), more times than you can count, and hear comments about how someone’s white friend is “blacker” than you.
a faculty member will quite literally try to get you in trouble, and when you go to speak to the head of that department, they’ll say that they “believe you,” but then also say “well let me just play devil’s advocate here for a minute,” and then never stop playing devil’s advocate.
and while there will be many teachers and professors who have your back, the few that don ’t will forever tarnish your opinion of your schools. there will also be many, both Black (though few in number), and white, who will have a lasting, extremely positive impact on your life.
a girl (not in your grade), and a friend of hers, will block you and your (Black) friends in the hall one day. they will make a comment along the lines of not letting “you people” through. they’ll proceed to make fun of your skin, your hair, and the fact that you likely are from a poor area. none of you will say anything. you’ll let them get it out of their systems, laugh at their idiocy once they leave, and proceed with your day.
you’ll tell a teacher that you live kind of far from the city. she’ll ask you “where else you could possibly live.” (for those who don’t quite understand, it’s code for “you’re Black, so you must be poor, so where else could your family afford to live, because it certainly isn’t anywhere around here.”
you will regret not speaking up for yourself. for standing your ground. for laughing off the racist comments and jokes. but at the same time, you know that you bit your tongue because saying anything would just get you into trouble. no matter how innocently you said it. you say what you want to say - and just like that, boom, you’re the angry Black girl.
all of your schools will be small, and for all of them, there will be an even smaller handful of Black students.
at various points, you’ll be confused for other Black students by teachers and professors, though you look nothing alike.
the dean of students will reprimand you and your (white) best friend for being out of uniform one day. you’ll both apologize, saying you didn’t know, because it was literally considered part of the uniform last week. she’ll tell you two that she "told you, personally, about it yesterday.” problem is, we both weren’t at school that day (I guess now that it’s been over a decade, I can tell the world that we were both at the Phillies’ World Series parade), so there’s no way she could’ve told us. you tell her this, and she’ll insist that she did tell you. make it make sense.
I could go on, but I think you get the point.
you will be “the Black friend.”
throughout high school, you will be the token Black friend. you’ll be aware of this, you won’t care enough to make a change until later in life. but at the time, you’ll be their go to for answering questions like “is it racist if I…” or “why do you guys do…” and after every summer vacation, you’ll let them hold their arm up next to yours to see how tan they are. some will be shocked that you too have to wear sunscreen.
being a sounding board for your friends’ racism, as well as the token black friend will drain you. as a result, you lose the desire to maintain friendships with some of your fellow classmates.
to this day, you find yourself the lone Black person in the room quite often. you field questions about your hair, your skin, your culture, your everything.
to some extent, it’s fine. you don’t mind answering questions about yourself. but you now understand that it is not your job to answer all of these questions. especially with things like, you know, the internet.
*for those who have questions and want answers- do a little research first. can’t find an answer that’s really helpful to you? ask a Black friend. don’t have a Black friend? I think we’ve identified an issue. but if you do, bring it up in a way that’s clear that you’ve tried to put the work in - that you aren’t expecting your friend to just speak on behalf of their whole race. you know why you shouldn’t do that? because no matter what you think - if you’re an adult, you will never be the first or only person to ask us this question. and we are tired.*
in college, you’ll do poorly in a chemistry class. your professor, an older white man, will ask you if “your parents are educated.”
you’ll hear more of the same “…for a Black girl” comments here, but you’ll also take classes on African-American history, read more books by Black authors, watch films by Black filmmakers, and just generally learn more about being Black in America than you ever learned before ... aside from what your parents have taught you.
luckily, here, you won’t be the Black friend. your friends are a beautiful spectrum of colors and you never feel the way you did in all of your other years at the aforementioned PWI.
but you’ll see groups of white frat boys who dress up like prisoners (complete with cornrows) for Halloween, friends of yours will be called a gorilla, a n***er, and everything in between.
your freshman year, public safety will get a call about a Black girl in your dorm who did something terrible, (let’s leave it at that). let’s call her jane. you and jane live in the same building, but on different floors. that’s about all you have in common. the officers will accidentally come to your floor, see you in the common room with your friends, and walk away. then they return a few seconds later, looking at you, asking “jane?” you and your friends will roll your eyes and say “no. wrong floor.” and they’ll move on.
I think your college experience will tie in nicely to next week’s letter, so for now, we’ll leave it at that.
in this somewhat long-winded letter Ii’ve feel like I only shared micro-aggressions. I provided you with the fact that you will regret your lack of reaction in most of these instances. truly, younger self, I wish you’d spoken up. not worried about falling into a stereotype. not worrying about losing friends (and if you’d lost them over speaking up for what’s right - they weren’t real friends to begin with). though I could end this letter and provide you with some other things I wish you’d done, instead, i’d like to address someone else:
to allies, administrators, and those generally in positions of power at PWIs - you need to do better to protect your Black students and students of color. no, having a “climate survey” and a BSU is not enough. yes, it’s a start, but it does nothing if you don’t make changes based on the feedback you receive.
parents, I wish for you to raise your children to be accepting of all. that you discontinue harmful, hateful, racist, sexist, homophobic, etc. discourse in your home.
allies, I wish that you help boost your POC friends’ voices. that you amplify their stories. that you refuse to be a bystander when you see injustice.
administrators, this is not a wish - you need to make your institutions spaces where everyone feels not only welcomed, but protected, and encouraged. you need to demonstrate equity - not equality.
you need to LISTEN when your students come to you and report injustice. you need to hire a diverse faculty. one in which students can see themselves represented, and know that their problems will be taken seriously when addressed. unless all of your students are treated fairly, none of them are.
with love,
older maya
