My Experience of the Social Alienation as Black College Student

As the child of two immigrants who fostered learning and saw school as the key to the future, I was positioned for academic success at an early age. However, the work I put in didn't change the fact that I was a black student placed in a northern Virginia public school. So during my academic career, I became the "good statistic": the outlier on the chart that only further isolated me.

I have never become more aware of my differences than when I moved in middle school.

Once surrounded by a diverse group of friends and faculty, I became the sore thumb in a sea of my peers; and it wasn't just me who noticed. I grew accustomed to the goans when I asked, yet again, another question, as well as the surprise that spread throughout the room whenever I got a good grade.

In high school, the presence of (a few) more black students in my classes heightened my awareness even further.

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The reaction of white students toward my continued middle school habits didn't cease as I got older, but the glances I got from other black students left me confused. My dedication to class work was viewed as a desperate attempt to be a teacher's pet. My desire to "act while" made me the class "Oreo," and it was then I realized how much I stood out. While white people saw me as black, black people saw me as white. To everyone, I was different.

As I reached predominately white upper level courses, the isolation grew so thick that it suffocated me, forcing me to stay silent as the class discussed.

Ideas generated in my head were often suppressed by a newfound fear of tripping on my words. My opinion was the only black opinion in the class, so I had to be articulate and calculated as any misstep wouldn't just reflect poorly on me, but everyone like me. I know it wasn't fair to crown myself ambassador of my race, but at the time, when we transitioned to more sensitive topics, and I felt all eyes bury in the back of my head as we read stories such as Huckleberry Finn and A Long Way Gone, it was all that made sense.

Landing at UVA, the tension was finally dissipated by the surrounding students who valued work ethic and academic curiosity as much as I did. Regardless, I still couldn't shake the fact that the school's racial demographic, although an improvement from high school, heavily underrepresented black students. While the school has made strides to attack the problem by opening opportunities through admissions and initiating conversation with the Commision on Slavery, I can't help but think there are kids who feel the way I did during my earlier years who are quietly but desperately crying for help. Through my experience, I believe that's what I can provide. A push for action to open conversation among students; a voice, a helping hand, a role model, not just for black students, but for anyone who feels alone and misunderstood at the University.