Personal Narrative: My Minority Status In The Bronx

When I was young I didn’t really realize the impact of being African-American until high school. I went to a predominately white school for elementary and middle school. I was just like any other youth. I had my group of friends who were white; I was active in school activities and clubs. I was a student athlete and I got along well with my teachers. Everyone saw me as an upbeat person with a bubbly personality. Surprisingly, race was never brought up it wasn’t an issue for me during that period of my life. However, as I got older I realize there was a difference. As an adult I could really see the prejudice in others. I recall working a on a special project for the

As a middle-class Somali-American, I have an identity that very few individuals in the United States have. As a result, I have never fit into a particular group of people. I had not realized this until college because I had always gone to small schools throughout my academic career. From elementary school to high school, I never belonged to a particular group; instead, I associated marginally with all of them due to the small class size. I had created a superficial sense of belonging with a large amount of acquaintances; however, college’s different environment exposed this superficiality immediately.

This is one of the most painful subjects for me as a part Hispanic and part African-American. When I relocated to the United States in 1988, I was not prepared for what I experienced concerning racism in America. The racist and ignorant comments made by Hispanics towards and about African American and the racist and ignorant comments made by African Americans towards and about Hispanics were disturbing and offensive to say the least. And each and every time I stood up for my Hispanic roots and my African-American roots. Added to that, the issue of “dark skin and light skin within the African-American community. First time, I heard the term “high yellow ______” was when an African-American woman used that term about me. I didn’t even know what

Growing up in the ghetto is one of the toughest endeavours anyone can go though. I’m not talking about a ghetto that's inherited by nothing other than a single race as defined, but the stereotypical ghetto with guns and poor housing, houses without doors, that make a Sunday driver want to get out of there as soon as possible before they get mugged or worse. Living in South Lansing on Martin Luther King Jr. and right next to Board of Water and Light weren’t the worst ghettos in Michigan, however, they still weren’t the best place for anybody to live around. Once when I was living in Traditions, on MLK Blvd., two people were shot right in our backyard, which wasn’t even a surprise for us because something like that was always happening around

Life was to challenging for a young African American boy like me. My mother always yelling at me, “Jonathan stay inside, you are more safe in here!” People tell me I am different in a bad way. But when I try to enjoy my life, I am told to leave. I can not go to many places, as they have many signs saying, “No Negroes Allowed” Or when I am able to live a normal life, I am separated and put into a certain spot. Life was very challenging, but as life went on and I went to school, I gained more knowledge on what was really happening. The whites were being biased on African Americans. They thought they were better than us, and we were the minorities. This was very unconstitutional of them. I realized that we did not have the equality rights of others.

All throughout time people have been “the other.” Pratt refers to the other as being “Someone who is perceived by the dominant culture as not belonging, as they have been

Growing up as a Latino in a community where most of the population are Hispanic had made me blind, detached from the reality of the world and the reality of the college experience, especially in Santa Cruz. Looking at the world I have always known to an extent who had more privilege than others, special attention, and more rights. I have also vaguely known which groups have been treated with less respect seen as less, but all of this didn’t really seem to matter to me in my immediate world. Coming to Santa Cruz on trips such as ORALE and JUSTICE has made me see, made me realize that it does affect me, my family, and my community that privilege is something that isn’t gifted to us but which we fight for, which causes us to be looked at differently

After getting the news that my family and I have to move into a ghetto I had to decide

I devoted my energy to the sciences and humanities in search of career sheathed in the satisfying guard of knowledge. However, I could never separate myself entirely from the preppy, entitled demeanor. From Boy Scout camps, church outings, job opportunities, and even a new school, I am still treated by people that have never met me before like the kid I grew up as: a white kid who has always had it made for him and will never have to worry about the future so he doesn’t cherish the opportunities and knowledge he has now. They could not be more inaccurate and I take it upon myself to prove it to them by not just words, but actions. Even still, I cannot enlighten them to my true nature. My only option left is to find a new community. A community that has been unmistakably swaddled in diversity for its existence: Tulane

17 years. I have been on this Earth for 17 years now. Looking back on the years I’ve already spent make me wonder, not who I’ve been nor who I am now, but who I will be. I choose to live in the now, for the later. I often think about what I may be or do later in life. But everything I do and every choice I make in the present is what will lead me to my future. Now, all I know is that to get somewhere you have to be someone. So who am I? And what makes me who I am today?

They think that just because I’m from the Bronx I will barely graduate high school and live my entire life under the shadows of government assistance. They think that because I’m from the Bronx I will settle for less than my potential, getting a mediocre or low paying job rather than a career. This is when I came upon the realization that being a first-generation American born minority from the Bronx came along with low expectations and generalizations that I had to prove false.

Growing up in New York City is a very unique experience. You grow up surrounded by a diverse population of people packed tightly into one city. But with this kind of diversity come the questions of self-identification and how others view you. I was born and raised in the upper Manhattan neighborhood of Washington Heights which is known for its mostly Dominican population. Moreover, growing up in the public school system and everyday New York living has exposed me to many different Latino and Black communities and culture. I have experienced racism; I have experienced the implementation of hegemonic ideals and I have been exposed to poverty. Even after all the civil rights movements and activism that have

“I'm stuck between who I am, who I want to be, and who I should be.” - Unknown

In my experience emerging in a country where most people look and act a certain way, while I am the outlier thanks to my different looks and traditions, has made me a minority. Being born in Mexico City from a Jewish family that immigrated from Poland two generations ago, and then going to college in Texas, has made me feel the differences of being lets say, “different”.

Since coming to America, I have moved to an ample amount of places because my father’s job concerns. I changed school frequently and in each new school I was never greeted with a warm welcome. With one glance my classmates saw I was different from them. I was often bullied and teased because of my racial difference from my classmates, from these experiences I became a quiet and docile girl. This way I thought I would not get in anyone’s way. I had closed up in the world in front of me; I never expressed my own opinions and always agreed with the majority. However secretly inside of me, I was frustrated not being able to express myself and yet I was unable to change. I craved to be what I was in the inside to be on the outside. Still by