I’m pretty damn black.

A DMV-born son of a Delta and an Omega, I’ve been steeped in Black culture since birth. I was raised in a church full of paper fans and five-hour services. I’ve got 4c curls that are usually in a natural afro, which my Sony headphones always seem to deform. Those same headphones are usually blasting jazz, R&B, or some slow-paced lyrical rap as I walk from class to class. Don’t even get me started on the chokehold certain songs have over me when I’m at a function.

Despite what I’ve mentioned and all the things I didn’t, there’s one comment I’ve received more than any other in my 21 years on this planet.

“White-washed.”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been called that, my tuition at UNC-Chapel Hill would be paid for three times over. It’s no surprise I hear it a lot. Despite my parents’ crossing, I never had any intention of following that family tradition. I’ve only attended Predominantly White Institutions (PWIs) and even a private high school, thanks to some generous aid. I’m fully aware of my proficiency in codeswitching; in fact, my friends and I often joke that I’d never fail a phone interview.

But the blessing of opportunity comes with the burden of conformity.

It was made clear to me as a child that there were certain parts of yourself you don’t show at school.

“Bring your voice up a couple of octaves. It makes you sound interested.”  

“Always smile when you see people, you wouldn’t wanna scare them.” 

“Always take the high road; you’ve got to hold yourself to a higher standard.”

“There’s always an awareness that something might happen,” Duke University African American studies professor Dr. Mark Neil said. “Even if nothing does happen, that awareness is always there.”

I got used to that.

Being black and being a scholar were to be kept separate. It’s just easier that way outside of a Black Student Union (BSU) meeting or some sort of race-related scholarship. To put it simply, it’s much easier to be “one of the good ones.”

When I had to choose a university, many family members went up to bat for North Carolina A&T, Howard and many other Historical Black Colleges and Universities. I promptly struck them out. A HBCU just wasn’t in the cards for me. But some people still felt the need to belabor a point.

“They won’t love you like we do!”  they said.

Did it sting? Of course. But if the education I want comes with being one of the only black people in the room most of the time, and the disapproval of certain family members, so be it.  That’s a bitter pill I can swallow.

It’s been nearly four years since I made the choice, and while I don’t regret it, I’d be remiss to ignore the many headlines UNC has found itself in the center of the last couple of years.

Whether that’s a national championship, or poor attempts at “satire,” or university policy, the Tar Heel faithful are always the talk of the town. One of the most controversial events since I enrolled occurred in June 2023, when the university struck down affirmative action and repealed diversity, equity and inclusion efforts university-wide.

Black or African American students make up about 9% of the student body at UNC. For the incoming first-year class, that number falls to only 7.8%, a 25% decrease from the last semester when affirmative action was in effect. Narrowing that further, only 49 black men who aren’t involved in athletics have been admitted to this institution for the upcoming school year.

“With the smaller number of black students coming in, it’s going to be really hard to be friends with people just because they’re the same skin color as you,” former Black Student Movement President Adam Sherif said.

There’s an assumption that people with shared characteristics naturally have something to bond over. Which may be true, but the spectrum of blackness is rife with in-groups. There are times when you’re interested in a specific space but don’t feel comfortable entering it –that’s because of an experience you had in the past or because that space is occupied by someone you don’t quite care for. This problem is only exacerbated when the acceptance rates of such groups are in a downward spiral.

It’s not a knock on the incredible organizations; certain organizations just might not be for you, and maybe they never will be.

That’s the tension nobody tells you how to hold: that you can be fully Black and still be misunderstood inside Black spaces, fully ambitious and still be questioned in rooms that say they want you there, fully yourself and still feel pressure to edit the edges of who that self is.

Yet in the quiet place between those labels, I learned something. Being “too this” or “not enough that” only matters if I accept someone else’s rubric for my life.  I don’t have the luxury, or the interest, in shrinking myself to make other people more comfortable with my presence. Not in how I speak. Not in what I study. Not in where I choose to sit in a classroom or who I choose to become.

So, if there’s a final word for the kid walking into this place carrying every version of themselves at once, it’s this: you are not a contradiction to be resolved. You are a person to be lived. And if the world insists on trying to define your boundaries before you even draw them, your responsibility is simple – keep drawing anyway.

Edited by Olivia Jarman and Keenan Baker