In fourth grade, I made the best decision of my life. Actually I made three of the best decisions of my life. I picked my two best friends, and the high school I was going to attend. (wtf do you mean you picked the high school you were going to attend?)
My middle school always pushed us to think about the next step. So when my reading teacher asked me where I was thinking about going to school, **** was the obvious choice. She was shocked at my answer, I mean I was nine years old talking about boarding school. Everyone assumed I would grow out of this, but it wasn’t something I’d decided on a whim.
I don’t decide anything on a whim, in fact, never have.
This was early in the year at a brand new school. Once the shock wore off, I announced the test score we were originally talking about. I’d outscored every fourth grader to ever take that standardized test by 30 points. I’m sure the boarding school thing became a lot more believable after that.
I am a Black girl.
I have spent a lot of time in white spaces.
Places filled with people who fit the molds casted for white bodies only.
Not only do I survive these spaces, I thrive in them.
Those are my credentials.
Take the following advice with as much sodium as you want.
Can you stand up for yourself?
When I was 11, I tried on a dress that I really liked. Unfortunately, the tag had Ivanka Trump on it, which meant that it was a HARD no for me.
I didn’t want to tell the stylist why I hung the dress up, so I lied and said it didn't fit. This was a win in my head, I avoided confrontation and stayed in that “child's place” I'd heard so much about.
My mom was NOT happy with me. She expected me to stand up for what I believed in at all times, damn the awkwardness. I was raised to use my voice whenever I could. I was to stand up for the little guy and the big guy.
This wasn’t reckless of my parents, they just knew that their kid had a gift.
You will run into these situations often in PWS. (predominantly white spaces) There will be times when someone makes a questionable joke, and too many people chuckle. Or an administrator will assume the worst and no one will be around to defend you. Maybe you’ll have a meeting where the weight of the world is placed on your shoulders. Or your friend will say something that reveals previously hidden ignorance about country music or presidential elections. `
The details don’t matter, the principles are the same. Black women do not have a designated protector. Everyone hates Black women, this world is designed to make us feel isolated, weak, and undeserving. There isn’t a movement in this country that was successful without the sacrifice of Black women. Instead of being celebrated for this, we are ignored and disrespected, of course until we are needed again.
A prominent Black man can dehumanize Black women his entire life and when white supremacy eventually crosses his name off the list, we will be expected to take up his cause. To defend him against the people who’s acceptance he’s groveled for his entire life. Black women are being murdered at despicable high rates and we get nothing but rules on how to avoid being victimized. A woman is murdered by a man who she hasn’t dated in over a decade and suddenly everyone has a think piece on hybristophilia. A word no one knew until it was time to avoid holding men accountable.
No one will come to your aid in these situations. You will learn very quickly that it is up to you to make some noise, because those around you are going to take a vow of silence.
This will be hurtful. You will learn the extent of your friendships and you’ll spend a lot of time feeling abandoned. Truthfully though, you probably never had anyone in your corner in the first place.
Do you think that you’re pretty?
If you do, then go ahead. When you start wanting to look like your white friends, call your mom and ask her how she handled this.
If you don’t, good luck!
Can you handle disappointment?
The story I am about to tell is a very raw wound of mine. Yes, I do still hold a grudge about this. I am, in fact, bitter. All of this still annoys me.
(For the record, I went to an incredibly small school, around 250 students, so like it or not, everyone knew a little too much about you.)
I am a natural leader.
I always have been.
My high school did not have many leadership opportunities. Our most prestigious title was that of Head Prefect. That person was a senior, who would lead our Prefect Board throughout the year. A liaison between students and administration, this person typically was someone already looked up to by the student body. In order to be an effective one, you had to be outspoken and socially adaptable. The process required essays, interviews, and a speech to the student body, followed by a vote.
The person in charge of this process was an old white man who we will call Mr. Temple. His wife, Mrs.Temple, was also an administrator at my school. She was in charge of diversity and inclusion. She was a Black woman, something her husband made sure to remind you of when he was accused of any form of racism.
I walked into high school with a chip on my shoulder. Something that Mr.Temple took incredibly personally. He took every opportunity to chide me for things that no normal human would go back and forth with a 14 year old about. Fortunately, our time together was cut short when covid chopped my freshman year in half.
My school did outdoor learning sophomore year, so we were back in no time compared to everyone else. This was the year that Mrs. Temple paid extra attention to me. Her and our discipline director spent hours of their time in meetings with me. (surely they had better things to do) They reiterated that I was a leader, so there was a certain level of behavior expected of me. I was to be excellent at all times and be aware of how I was perceived within the student body. I was reminded that I had a smart mouth and needed to pick my words better. They told me that my friends (I hung out with a lot of juniors) were graduating before me, and I wouldn’t have anyone to protect me after they left. I was called a bully and a tyrant. I was furious. Everywhere I looked, I was met with more expectations. People were constantly telling me that I wasn’t allowed to slip up or have an off day. My leadership was too invaluable to the ******** community. I was fifteen years old crying to my friends because I was trying so hard to be kind and it felt like no one could see this about me.
My junior year was the year I finally put my foot down. I took a lot of underclassmen under my wing and never met with Mrs. Temple about my behavior again. This was also the year that those who wanted to be Prefects had to apply for next year. Of course I applied, I had so many tangible ideas on how we could make our school better. I’d built a relationship with almost everyone in our school. In April, I went on a trip with three of my closest friends. The return trip didn’t go as planned and it led to the ending of our friendship with one of the girls. This girl was wealthy and white and her parents were “influential”. (They were on the board of some random high school in Indiana). My desires to be head prefect were well known, so after her daughter and I fell out, her mother took it upon herself to call the school and tell them I shouldn’t even be considered for the position.
I didn’t get the title. The person it was given to did not deserve the title. The prefect board was made up of 11 white people.
Plenty of students and faculty didn’t agree with the decisions made that year. But there was nothing anyone could do about it. I co-founded the Black Student Union my senior year and was constantly told how remarkable of a person I was for taking my loss in stride. I completely took over our Black History Month and MLK day celebrations, and overcame obstacles that I couldn’t even talk about most of the time. Mr. Temple told the coach of the team I managed that I’d matured into a wonderful leader and I wanted to wring his neck out. I wanted to be Head Prefect more than anything. But it was never going to be me.
Everyone praises the person that lets disappointment and rejection slide right off of them. You’re supposed to move on and let go.
I say don’t.
Never let people forget that you were wronged or robbed.
Don’t allow systems to be complacent.
Don’t let administrators pat themselves on the back for being a little less racist than they were before.
As my mom likes to say to me often...
Fuck them people.
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