At This Very Moment in Time

Alexis Jackson

As an African American woman growing up in the Pacific Northwest and attending predominantly white schools, I have dealt with diversity on a negative level, many times. Being that my father was in the United States Army, our family was forced to relocate several times when I was a young girl. We lived in both, Georgia and Missouri, around many other people of color up until I was about five years old. Coming from the South to Washington State was a huge reality check, as our family quickly learned that being marginalized meant being different, and to some, being black meant being ugly.

As a Kindergarten student, I was quickly met with the harsh realities of diversifying certain spaces. I had no idea that other classmates thought of me as different because of the color of my skin, and today, I reflect on how naïve I was to believe that, we, as classmates were all family and friends with the same values. As I took the bus to school on my third day of Kindergarten, I was forced to realize that I was black. A classmate asked, “Do you know how black people were created?” I answered, “No?” I was then told that God had placed hundreds of people on a baking sheet, and that black people were burned after being baked for too long, thus, resulting in “burnt skin,” my friend explained. The comment was so complex, but never-the-less, offensive. As I watched my parents’ facial expressions shift upon sharing what I had learned that day, I began to cry. I didn’t quite understand, but at that very moment in time, I knew that what had been said to me was wrong. My parents met with my teacher the following week to discuss the incident.

Fast forward to my life as an eleven-year-old. In the sixth grade, a white male student approached me on the bus and demanded that I forfeit my seat for him. I was taken aback, and I wondered if he was jokingly implying that I was the, “Rosa Parks” of the bus. Confused, I rejected his demand. Following my defiance, I was called a n*gger and further harassed. Though this was not the first time that I had dealt with the negative end of diversity, it was my first experience of blatant racism and harassment, and I was so scared and embarrassed to be black at that very moment in time. The bus footage was pulled, and my mother was immediately contacted to come to the school. I will never forget the look on my mother’s face, so much pain and confusion. How could someone be so cruel, and at such a young age? I never took that bus again, and even today, I avoid catching buses to spare myself a repeat of that level of embarrassment and disrespect.

As I entered high school, again, I was met with the harsh realities of how diversity can be used as a weapon by those who are unaccepting of the concept. Yet another fellow classmate harassed me. At this time, our homeroom teacher was caring for her newborn child, and our class had been assigned a substitute teacher for the remainder of the academic year. One day, as I sat, focused on my English assignment, I could feel the eyeballs of my classmates piecing my soul. I could sense that something strange was about to occur, as the entire dynamic of the classroom changed, and people began to chuckle and stare in my direction.

Next, a girl presented a small noose to me in front of our class. This was the third time, in my short fifteen years of life, that I felt flushed with embarrassment and fear. Being that nooses historically symbolize the hanging of African American men and women throughout periods of slavery and the Jim Crow Era, I knew that the presentation of the noose was yet another act of blatant racism. The noose presenter made the comment, “Nooses make cute keychains for black girls.” It felt like my heart fell out of chest that day. I was so embarrassed by the remark that I felt my tongue go numb and my face turn hot like fire. I wanted nothing more than to become invisible at that very moment in time. I simply lowered my head and continued to construct my assignment.

Forever changed, my idea of peace on earth was completely rearranged. From that moment on, I knew that I needed to become more conscious about my position in the world. I knew that my life could be threatened for the color of my skin at any given moment in time. I knew that as a black woman, I would be dehumanized and oversexualized. I knew that my brother could be subjected to gun violence and exposed to gangs. I knew that I was more likely to end up pregnant as a teenager than as a graduate from a doctoral program, so I became an advocate, ally and scholar. In order to navigate this life, we must understand one another despite differences in opinions, lifestyles, and cultures. I challenge you to do the same, at this very moment in time.