Unheard.

As I walk through campus, my melanin alienates me. A sea of whiteness flows in every direction, from students to professors, walls to buildings, statues to names.

I am reminded of my foreignness. On my commute to class, I pass the Chemistry Annex, a white building with the name of a prominent KKK leader etched on its entrance, and arrive at my lecture. I sit in the middle of the room and start a conversation with a neighboring student. He asks me to repeat my name. I happily comply and space out the phonetics. We converse politely until he finally asks the question we have been dancing around: “So where are you from?”

“Tulsa,” I proudly respond, “What about you?”

“Sorry, I meant where did you grow up?” he clarifies.

“Oh, I was raised in Alabama.”

His forehead wrinkles and his lips purse. He pauses in confusion. We both know that answer was not satisfactory and so he persists, “What’s your ethnicity?”

I answer: “I was born in Pakistan,” and the professor begins class.

To be a minority in America is to be reminded of your lack of belonging in your home, so this interaction is quite common. People of color struggle to be seen as more than just our racial identity, often being referred to as the “black/brown/Asian/etc.” person instead of by our own names. Minorities at predominately white institutions accept that despite their best efforts, they will not fully belong in the university’s culture. We have this feeling of alienation because of the treatment we receive by our peers.

In my time at the University of Oklahoma, I have been called a “terrorist” while sitting in lecture. When applying for a campus award, I was told that I am privileged because my minority status would give me the edge over white applicants. As a resident advisor, I have had to debate a white resident because he believed the use of black/brown face was not offensive and wanted it to be a part of his Halloween costume.

In group discussions, white students argued that my “people” were better off subjugated by imperialism. When recounting my experiences of racism, listeners dismissed my claims by suggesting my treatment was only happenstance. Finally, even as a non-black student at OU, I have been called the n-word.

Those who were shocked by the recent blackface video are living in an ignorant bliss that people of color on this campus do not have the luxury of. Although well-documented bigotry is rare, racist acts on campus are not only common but a part of the culture. The same students carelessly throwing around the n-word on Friday will be cheering for black football players Saturday.

The administration must make large leaps to shifting the campus culture, including: updating the Student Code of Conduct to facilitate a no-tolerance approach to racism, creating a mandatory four-year diversity enrichment experience, encouraging multicultural exposure by allowing students to substitute general-education requirements with courses in AFAM/IAS departments, and diversifying campus by hiring qualified people of color.

Although the administration is a great player in shifting the narrative on campus, it is the students who ultimately hold the power to do so. To end racist behavior on campus, uncomfortable conversations must arise among houses in Greek life, campus organizations, and friend groups. The fight against systemic racism cannot be shifted to just punishing racist behavior or else that evil mindset will still silently linger among us. With the administration committed to leading diversity education initiatives and students dedicated to creating an inclusive learning environment, the future of our university could be far brighter than its past.

The University of Oklahoma now has an opportunity to lead the rest of the nation in combating the prevalent systemic racism that exists in almost every institution. It is now time to be bold in the face of national scrutiny and declare our war against the agents of vast carelessness that would allow incidents such as these to be swept under the rug. There will be obstacles, there will be friction, but the knowledge that this fight is worth any inflicted injuries should carry us forward. Let us listen to the voices that have been left unheard so that they may finally lead the way.

***

Months after these events, I still feel the ramifications. Multiple racist events plague our campus and city, including group-chats targeting minorities and hate speech spray painted in local parks. Yet, our community persists in the fight for equality, acceptance, and diversity enrichment. Between the scared glances and hopeful speeches exist moments where we fall back into a harmonious rhythm. I lay back on a wooden bench facing the South Oval with a chocolate-chip muffin in hand and a class-assigned novel resting in my lap. I breathe in the spring air. The tree to my right, in full lavender bloom, releases its pollen over an unsuspecting crowd. I see a large group of brown and black children, no older than sixteen, being shown around campus by a student in a red shirt. He smiles and waves toward me. I politely nod back. The bells adjacent to my bench thunderously toll, and the tour guide rushes his diverse group toward their next stop. I can’t help but smile and silently hope that when they step foot on this campus as students, they will feel heard.