By Nova Pierce
“I felt ashamed. I felt ashamed, one, because I was lying, but I also felt ashamed because I felt like I should have some other country, and that all the other kids could trace their roots elsewhere, and I could only trace my roots to the country that had enslaved us.
I wish now that I could go back and talk to my younger self and tell her that she should not be ashamed, that this is her ancestral home, that she should be as proud to be an American as her dad was, and that she should boldly and proudly draw those stars and stripes and claim this country as her own.”
– Nikole Hannah-Jones (Project 1619, 2020)
This is a childhood experience I think most Black people in America can relate to. I for one, saw a reflection of myself in Nikole’s words.
I grew up in an affluent White and Asian community. During my early childhood, I recall being one of maybe four or five Black students in my class of 25 – 30 students. Though we made up roughly 13% of the American population at the time, our representation in my school, a building named after MLK nonetheless, we made up less than 5%. With a number this disproportionate I wondered; can we truly say that we are no longer segregated?
Growing up, I remember hating the first week of school. They always asked us to dig into our familial history and present our findings. While my peers would have a plethora of avenues they could choose, stories upon stories, names, dates, and pictures. I had little evidence of the ancestors that walked this world before me. Even still, I was luckier than most, I had Grammy, my great-grandmother. She would often tell us stories; stories I regrettably don’t remember much of. I’m sure that childhood Nova had little interest in the tales of strife and could barely comprehend the mumbles of her beloved Grammy. What she does remember, however, is the time Grammy spoke about MLK. About how she was there when he gave his “I Have a Dream Speech”. This to me was a wake-up call. Previous to this story I had believed that this was far removed from me. That the battles of racism had long been fought and conquered. I mean, after all, I was attending a school named after MLK seated beside my White peers. Yet for some reason, it didn’t feel like equality. I was… different, and for some reason, it was so abundantly clear yet muddy. It’s an emotion that even to this day I still can’t quite describe, racial paranoia if you will. That constant buzz in the back of your ear of how your skin is the foundation of your identity.
It reminds me of a time in preschool when a boy introduced himself to me saying, “My name is ___, I’m White, what are you?” I imagine the adults in the room shifting uncomfortably, as I replied, “My name’s Nova, and I’m Christian.” I wonder what sort of feelings they had when I said this. Did they feel relieved that they wouldn’t need to address this issue further? Ashamed that one of their young kin had said such a thing? Heart-warmed by the innocence of my youth not yet tarnished by the harsh realities. I’m not sure. What I do know is that when I look back on this memory, I am proud. Proud that I didn’t define myself by the color of my skin. That I didn’t allow my identity to be summarized by something that I had no control over but rather aligned myself with a belief system and values that at the time spoke to my soul. I’m glad that even then I knew that people are more than their outward expression.
Self-defined financial enthusiast, traveler, and lover of the written arts, Nova Pierce is an MSW student with a BA in psychology; with over three years of working experience in mental healthcare. She’s enamored with topics on spirituality, social justice, and the overall human experience.
