Jordanne Semper-Scott
Contributing Writer
When I was a little girl, I had no concept of how my presence could affect others in different social spaces. Whether it was in ballet classes, piano lessons or school, it never occurred to me to adjust myself to casually be accepted into those spaces. I just simply … had to be … me. But then middle school and high school came along, and it completely shifted the paradigm of my girlhood — a time when life was so carefree and incognizant of the hardships and vices of this world.
I started to doubt myself based on how people were perceiving me. From the way that I dressed, to the way that I spoke, to the very interests and activities that I excelled in for intellect and comfort. It was as if an invisible wall of limitations was built around me. I didn’t realize what it was until recently when I came to Wooster, I did not fit the illusive mold of being “Black” — in both Black spaces and non-Black spaces.
Tokenism is a detriment to the upbringing and livelihood of women, minorities, disabled people and other historically marginalized communities. It imposes a myriad of rules that no matter how many times one follows them down to a tee, it’s not right… it’s not enough.
I listen to a wide variety of music genres, ranging from classical to gospel to country (old school country music like The Judds, Randy Travis and Loretta Lynn), and suddenly, I have “too many options.” I prefer to be in the comfort of my solitude because the world is often too loud and overstimulating, and then I come across as “mean” or that I “think too highly of myself.” It’s a broken record that I’ve stopped playing but cannot ignore the melodies of dissent and contradiction reverberating in my mind. I change my demeanor for other people in various spaces like a chameleon who must change their skin to camouflage themself from predators. No matter what I do, say or believe is not conducive to the idea of “Blackness.”
During this Black History Month, I make this proclamation: I am not your “only Black girl” nor “the other Black girl.” I am beautifully, fearfully and wonderfully made — multifaceted in my Blackness.
The mask as referenced by Paul Laurence Dunbar in his poem “We Wear the Mask” is one that was designed and crafted for me to wear — to perform for the masses. The mask that “grins and lies / [that] hides [my] cheeks and shades [my] eyes.” I am now at a place where the solitude and company of those who truly understand me is much more important and valuable to me than trying to put on a “mask” in certain spaces.
There was always a sense of affirmation and determination that I carried but never realized. I am proud of who I am and where I came from. Furthermore, I am proud to be an ambassador of the four generations of women on my mother’s side of the family who have forged themselves to be in spaces where they were not meant to occupy. I am especially proud of the legacy and history of my ancestors. Their story of survival is one that must not be taken for granted.
My Blackness is not determined by the expectations of society. It’s determined by my very existence alone. When I find myself being “the only Black girl” in mostly white spaces or “the other Black girl” in majority Black spaces, I remember this quote from Nina Simone: “I know I’m different, but I don’t think about it.”