"America Is Coping with Black Excellence" by Madison Spence-Moore

Approximately twelve percent of the people living in the United States of America are black, but as a child growing up in the tiny hamlet of Boyertown, Pennsylvania, I could have sworn my family was the only black family in the world. Then, of course, I got a little older; my world got a little bigger. I found out that there is much more to the color spectrum than just black and white. I realized just how different I truly was, and I was unwilling to accept it. It was difficult for such a shy girl to stand apart from everybody in such a way that I could not hide. It took my entire childhood to grow into my identity. My personal sense of self was constantly being challenged as I was surrounded by people who just did not look like me; this helped me to build endurance when faced with racism and injustice. My identity grew once I stopped holding certain elements of the color spectrum to such a high standard.

It was nearly impossible for me not to notice that my dreadlocks and tanned complexion were so different from the blond strands and pale skin that surrounded me. It had been this way from kindergarten through second grade. I was sick of it. I did not like all of the random kids touching my hair without asking, or the adults in the mall asking me how I washed it. All of this attention simply did not appeal to me, which led to a very little Madison marching up to Mom and proudly stating, “I want straight hair,” which led to my very confused mom replying, “What?” However, she could not refuse me for she had been straightening her hair all of my life. So the next day we bought a box of relaxer, chopped off my dreads, and straightened out my hair.

At the time the change was fantastic. I could brush and style my own hair, I felt like I was more like my peers than ever before. Little did I know what I was really doing to my true identity. As stated by Rosheen Awais, a brilliant Hijab-wearing Muslim,“We are victims of our own conscience. We work for this audience, we earn for this audience and often we do what we hate to do in order to reach the infinite expectations of this audience. However, we should not fall victim to these expectations and the expectorants, who hide us from our true self” (Awais).  I was never trying to be more like me; I was trying to be more like them. I was putting on a mask; I was performing to fit a mold that simply was not meant for me. It was not until the end of junior high school that I was able to let the curls grow and cut the broken ends.

Now I had entered high school with brown skin made darker by the sun and curly hair that I did not know how to style. This is one of the troubles with being a brown girl attending a dominantly white school. I had no one to turn to for help within my school and no one who could give me any advice on how to take care of it. No one within my school shared the same struggles. The loneliness stung. As Muslim writer Arbaaz Khan, who was born and raised on Long Island, wrote: “This oppression is something that I dealt with throughout my high school years, which aided in masking my true self” (Khan). What questions would they ask? What racist remarks would be made? My overwhelming fear of judgement and ridicule caused me to keep my curls out of sight. I usually kept it braided, twisted, in a bun or in a ponytail. I could deal with the fact that I could not hide my skin, but I kept trying my hardest to hide my hair. I was holding on to fitting in for a little bit longer.  

There comes a time when it all becomes too much. Pretending to be somebody you are not just to please everybody else is actually quite exhausting. Dr. King expresses it best in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” stating, “If I sought to answer all of the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would be engaged in little else in the course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work” (King). King’s words truly helped to deal with criticisms in a smarter way. For my whole life I had only been doing what was expected of me based on the critical eyes of the white people who surrounded me. I never took the time to focus on myself and understand who I really was or what I actually wanted. I was offering less time for my own self work. I had to understand that my true identity is more important than the identity expected of me by others. For my situation, the only way that I would be able to focus on my own identity was by first blocking out any and all hateful and ignorant comments. I had to stop seeing white people as white people, and just see them as people.

I thought all of the white people around me were the same, and I was the only different one. However, I realized that I was only categorizing white people the way they had been categorizing me. We are not all only black or white. We try to divide ourselves, attempting to fit into these different boxes labeled by shape, color and size. I needed to understand that each individual person is different and should not be characterized based on things like race and gender. I had to look into one of the most well known Martin Luther King quotes for help: “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character” (King). In a way, I was creating barriers around myself as my peers had been creating barriers around me. I was believing that I was the only one who was different, but in reality we all are. At face value I was seen as different in my small town, but I came to appreciate that the ignorant people who stared at me in the hall or made racist remarks are just as different to each other as to me.

This realization led to my curls coming out of the cave and into the light. At first it was difficult wearing my hair in an Afro style surrounded by such flat strands. However, by the end of the day, it truly felt right. I was more confident than ever. I focused on the love and support of my close friends, and the hateful ignorant comments slowly started to fade away. It was only after I stepped into this part of my identity that I became able to inspire my mom to go natural and for my sisters to stay natural. It took a little while, but once I was secure with myself, I could, like Raymond Chappan, a Syrian Jew growing up in Brooklyn, focus on leading others (Chappan). My mom cut her relaxed hair a few months after me, so we actually embarked on our curly hair journeys together. My younger sisters did not really have much of an opinion on the state of their hair. I was happy to know that they had our curls to look at and be inspired by.

Watching my sisters grow up in that same neighborhood I did, I realized just how much black community culture I missed out on as a child, especially music and dancing and food. An interesting question arose in my writing class: “Do you think you’ll be able to experience the culture that you missed out on now? Will the experiences have the same impact as they would have when you were younger?” Yes and yes. I did miss out on a lot culturally growing up, but that does not mean that I cannot grow to become a part of the culture. “...My sense of freedom came from going to college. I left my 'bubble' cave and went on to learn things on my own. It took me some time to adjust to the light, but now that I see clearly, I am learning a lot about the world and can finally begin to morph into my own” (Chappan).

I repeated the words of Malcolm X in his speech, "The Ballot or the Bullet" to myself: “So, where do we go from here? First, we need some friends. We need some new allies” (X). At Hofstra University, I have been able to do just that. My number of black friends has grown tremendously from high school (zero) to now (eight), four of whom live in my building. I know it does not seem like much, but after growing up in an all white area, I will take what I can get and be grateful for what I have. My new black friends do not even realize how much they are helping me to grow my identity as a black woman. Ditto the many clubs and organizations centered around black culture, such as the NAACP and the Black Student Union.

I was shocked at how perfectly Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” mimicked my situation so well. As a child I was ridiculed for how my hair looked, so I changed it. I was being chained inside of the cave, and when the shadows told me to change it because that is not how it was supposed to be, I did. I then became more aware of just how unhealthy my habits were for my hair and my health overall. I had to break free of the chains and walk out into the sun. It took my eyes a long time to adjust to the brightness and beauty of the sunshine, but soon enough, I was able to proudly walk into the sun. After I made it out, it was all Brother Malcolm. I was now able to accept myself, even though some of the white people around me could not. I had pulled my chair up to the table, but I was still unable to eat. Does this mean that I should sit back, relax and watch as Caucasians eat at the table while I stare down to an empty plate? (X) Of course not. Only when I ignore the hateful comments and embrace the color of my skin will I break down my barriers. Only when my hair grows so high that it touches the sky will I truly be satisfied. Only when my sisters can grow up to fully embody their curls as I have will I have done my job. We are all different. However, more importantly, we are all people. Only when we embrace our perfections and imperfections can we come together as one and really be happy.

Unfortunately, America was only designed for the success and prosperity of white people. It is even worse because they know just how powerful black people are, but they refuse to give up any of the credit. They cope with my excellence by telling me that how I look is wrong, and how my appearance should be changed to something less intimidating. Many folks are going to have a rude awakening once they learn that they are just as different from me as I am different from them. However, it will be a good thing. Their world will grow to be a little bit bigger, and the color spectrum will not matter as much. The chip will fall right off of their shoulder. My brown skin and curly hair are a huge part of my personal identity, and I recognize that I am different, but I also understand that we are all members of one cohesive unit, and that “every individual is an expression of the realm of nature, a unique action of the total universe” (Watts).

Works Cited

Awais, Rosheen. “A Hijab-Wearing Muslim Reflects on Identity in the Age of Trump.” TakingGiant Steps. February 2017. Web.

Chappan, Raymond. “Bursting One’s Bubble to Discover One’s Identity.” Taking Giant Steps, March 2016. Web.

Khan, Arbaaz. “Internal Jihad: My Identity as a Muslim American.” Taking Giant Steps, December 2016. Web.

King, Martin Luther. “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” August 1963.

Plato. “The Allegory of the Cave.”

X, Malcolm. “The Ballot or the Bullet.” 1964.

A Hijab-Wearing Muslim Reflects on Identity in the Age of Trump by Rosheen Awais

Self /self/: In psychology, self is defined as the set of attributes, abilities, attitudes and values an individual believes defines who he or she is. We believe we are beautiful, smart, loved, hated, short, tall, poor or rich. For some, it takes until adolescence to define oneself, and for others, it takes us a lifetime to define ourselves. Unfortunately, we define ourselves based on the approval of others. But who are the "others," the judges, the expectants? This "other" is not a person, or a group of people, yet is the invisible audience we believe are standing in front of us; we are victims of our own conscience. We work for this audience, we earn for this audience and often, we do what we hate to do in order to reach the infinite expectations of this audience. However, we should not fall victim to these expectations and the expectorants, who hide us from our true self. I have been a victim to this audience for far too long; even today, I dress, I act and talk the way others want me to talk, the way I believe I will be able to fit into society. Even if I stand out in a sea of blonde hair and blue eyes, I work to act like one of them despite the fact that I am a brown-eyed, hijab-wearing Pakistani. In the words of Malik El-Shabbazz, “We’re all in the same boat and we are all going to catch the same hell from the same man. He just happens to be a white man” (X, 1964).

Let me identify myself: I am Rosheen Awais, an 18-year-old daughter, sister, and student. I am a Muslim from Lahore, Pakistan, but born in Woodside, Queens, New York. I am smart (smart enough to get into Hofstra University), I care about the people around me, and personally, I believe I can care too much, but if anyone takes advantage of my affection, they’re nothing to me. I just identified myself in the “worldly” or “material” sense; how I perceive myself as a person, who I am, what I do, even my interpersonal characteristics are part of “me.” The real me is who I am as a whole. I am a follower of Allah, a believer of the six articles of faith and a follower of the five pillars. I believe in the immortal, the King of kings; I believe that the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was the last prophet, and I believe in the final revelation. Nevertheless, Islam is not about believing; it is not a religion. Rather, it is a set of principles for life: I pray five times a day and I fast for one month each year, devoting this month to God and remembering the less fortunate. The same Sharia law that some Americans fear is taking over the original law of the land is not a law; it is a lifestyle. In the Qur’an, Surah 5 Verse 32: “If you save one man’s life, it is as if you have saved the lives of all mankind.” How could a religion that preaches love and sympathy for every human being, regardless of what they believe and who they pray to, have such mercy on a non-believer? I could be just like many other young adults who “did the physical part of their religion, but never let their heart out.” I could, like millions of others, still be standing in a dark tunnel, waiting for a ray of hope; but no: I have found my ray of hope in my religion, in the perfected religion, even though I admit every day that I am in fact far from perfect. Islam is not a material characteristic; it shapes one’s life, how one should act, and remember that no matter what: God is “Al Basir and Al Sami” (All Seeing and All Listening). If us humans cannot identify our whole self, remember: even God needed to use 99 names to convey his identity.

Earlier I had said that I was an American, but now I will say I am an American by name. Malik El- Shabbazz states that: “Being born in America doesn’t make you an American, you wouldn’t need any legislation, you wouldn’t need any amendments to the constitution…”, and he is absolutely correct. Most of the people who call themselves “Americans” have ancestors as early as grandparents who moved from Europe or Asia to America (X, 1964). America is stereotypically seen as the Christian, melatonin-deprived, deer-hunting Republican population who managed to get a man addicted to spray tan into office. In reality, America includes the little ripped pieces of cloth left on the floor, in a reservation, living poor lives or managing casinos on the U.S-Canadian border. Even though the Indigenous live in their homeland, America is nothing like home to them. Taken over by strange outsiders and their diseases, the real America is falling through. My point is: who am I to say I am an American because I have a blue and gold passport, or I speak English with a New York accent? I am simply a guest who is long due to return home. Referring to the quote by Mr. X, if this had been our home, we would not fear hate crimes and seek deportation; we would pass legislation just so that a hijabi can work at an Abercrombie and Fitch. Who I am is who my ancestry is: Pakistani, from a family as early as my grandmother, who came from Amritsar to Lahore at the tender age of 6 months came to create a new identity that was nothing much more different than their Indian roots but moved to Pakistan to enjoy the freedom of an Islamic Republic. Now one may argue that my grandparents, who came from another country are not technically Pakistanis. Well, I must refute: Pakistan was created by Quaid E Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah to give Muslims in India a new land to identify with, a land with legislature following Sharia law, where a country can be run the Islamic way. My grandparents and great grandparents belonged because the law, the legislature, and the country was founded for them. I am a Pakistani because I know that if I am ever forced to leave a country that is not mine, Pakistan is the only land that will ever embrace me like my own mother. I just returned from Pakistan after eight years of constant yearning. Like an addict, I begged to go back one more time, with each passing year, thinking about what I would sacrifice to jet set back to Lahore for one week. Even after living in America for 18 years, my country and my culture run through my veins. I have lived amongst people completely opposite of me for my whole life, yet I still am shocked at some of the habits and lifestyle of the people who live in America. Instead of blood, ganne ka ras (sugarcane juice) runs through my body, and the burning smell of sittay (wheat chaffs) floods my nose with each memory.

My material self---where I was born, my ancestry, my religion---extends to my whole self, who I am from the inside, my past, my upbringing and where I really am from. I described two attributes that define myself as a whole, my religion and my ancestry. Personally, I feel more comfortable around people who are like me, who dress like me, eat like me, and have a lifestyle similar to mine. Although I come from a third world country and I am living in America, something inside always attracts me back to Lahore and Pakistan, and attract me to people who are from Lahore and Pakistan. I have lived in America my whole life, but what I know is that I will always feel like an outsider, no matter how well I speak the language, dress myself and how educated I become. There will always be someone to say, "Go back to your own country," so go ahead and buy me a ticket back and I will gladly pack my bags! In regards to Islam, being a Muslim is comforting to me; I know that in every high and low there is a greater Being who I can resort to, even if every human on earth is against me. Although I have never seen God, I have a blind trust, a trust that has been reinforced by the miracles in my life. Some may refute that miracles are only coincidences, but I must refute that these so called coincidences which are often out of my reach happen so perfectly. I am comfortable in my hijab, and I am comfortable on my knees on a prayer rug.

 

The mosque at Lahore

Works Cited

Malcolm X: “The Ballot or the Bullet.” Malcolm X: The Ballot or the Bullet. Social Justice

            Speeches, n.d. Web. 08 Dec. 2016.