It’s weird – being simultaneously conspicuous and invisible. Conspicuous because you stand out, ‘a fly in the buttermilk’. Any thing you do is magnified, arriving late to class, leaving early, checking your cell phone for messages, speaking, changing your hairstyle…And at the same time you’re invisible. When it is time to select lab partners or interject a criticism to a research project design, or you raise your hand to ask a much-needed question, suddenly you’re sporting Harry Potter’s cloak. ~ from Confronting Marginalization: Internal Influences
About a year ago I was ranting writing about how challenging it is to promote diversity in the sciences when you’re often the sole embodiment of that diversity. Being the diversity pioneer can be a very overwhelmingly lonely experience; but not just because you’re the only one. I think it has more to do with how other people – the majority – seem to never register that you are there among them in the first place.
Wait, let me back up and share a little about my experiences. For college and graduate studies, I have only attended majority or predominately white institutions (PWI) of learning. Being a science major only seemed to magnify my minority status. Being the only one (or two) black persons in a lecture hall of 30, 75, or even 200 students became not a big deal by my sophomore year.
Graduate school was a little better. Classes are smaller and instruction is more one-on-one so it didn’t seem so extreme. Plus, my masters institution had a total of 6 (maybe a few more) African-American students in the combined Life Sciences Departments. But in all of these places, I experienced something I have yet to comprehend. Some of the same people I would meet and casually interact with in the department would see me out about town, look me in the face, and then walk by without so much as a hello. I’m not talking about friends with whom I studied or went to happy hour; I mean the guy down the hall or the lady whose mailbox was next to mine or the student who sat three seats down from me at weekly seminars.
Seriously, once you remove me from the context of our academic building, you can’t recognize me as someone familiar? Heck, even a confused I-know-you-from-somewhere look seems more fitting than blankness. How can you miss me? Not only am I the only colored person around here but I’m loud and sporting a big effing afro. How can a person (ahem, ME!) be so completely invisible to a host of people that pass in the hallway every day!
Part of the problem is due to my cultural background. I’m southern. You see there is a rule in The South. You speak to people every time you meet them in passing. Every time. Along the corridor, down the aisle or on the street, if you come within three arm lengths and/or your eyes meet, you greet that person. Period. That’s just good manners. At the very least you offer the cordial nod that acknowledges them. So, I find it rude when people don’t greet me when we may happen across each other in a new place. For real? You’re just gonna walk past me like you haven’t seen me before or held the door open for me to the ladies room. Hmmmf!
I just don’t get it. Wait, yes, I do. Much like Ralph Ellison’s protagonist in the acclaimed novel, Invisible Man, minority students at majority institutions often feel invisible to their peers and instructors. And maybe I’m stretching it a bit, but I think this invisibleness says a lot about the culture of inclusiveness of a place. Promoting diversity is all fine and good, but it means nothing if there isn’t a genuine effort to include those ‘new’ people into the fold and make them feel welcomed and apart of the department. The fact that one can’t be bothered to remember my face long enough to spot me in the parking lot or at the coffee house or bookstore speaks volumes about how dedicated to diversity an organization is.
That’s my opinion. What’s yours? Have you ever experienced the Invisibility Syndrome in your life? How did you handle it? How do we work to create more inclusive environments for minority students?