From Flatbush to Brooklyn Heights: Reaffirming Blackness
I’ve lived through many “awakenings” in my lifetime as I’ve struggled to defend my blackness in spaces that rejected it, ignored or silenced it, or tried to make it conform. One of the greatest awakenings of my life highlighted race in a new way and intersected with a concept I didn’t understand at the time, class. The year was 1993, I was six years old and had no idea how my little world would be shaken up.
When I was in first grade my mom and I moved from Flatbush, Brooklyn to downtown’s well-known Brooklyn Heights. Until that point, my whole world in Flatbush was surrounded by cultural diversity. Most of my community had immigrant roots in the Caribbean, Central and South America, as well as African countries. I was familiar with being around tasty food, unknown languages, loud music, boisterous conversations, most of my mom’s close friends being my “aunties” and having cousins that extended beyond blood. Flatbush was a community, it was my community, and it felt like love.
I remember the transition to Brooklyn Height’s being difficult and, in retrospect, I now recognize that I was struggling with my identity. I only knew my neighborhood as an extension of myself and my family. Losing my neighborhood felt like I was losing, me. And if I was moving to Brooklyn Heights, would this now define who I was? How could it, if it didn’t represent the me I was used to? Would I have to change because it didn’t reflect a version of me?
Moving to Brooklyn Heights was a culture shock. I felt black. Very black. Like my blackness was a shadow I could not escape, and for the first time I noticed it and felt uncomfortable by it. At six. I’d never wanted to escape myself or change myself prior to our move but the discomfort of being surrounded by whiteness was deafening. I felt like my presence echoed my blackness, that’s when race became apparent to me. I could see a very clear distinction between my black self and our white neighbors/community. That’s when my mom and I had a second edition of “THE TALK” that most black parents have to have with their children. This time our conversation centered around us; a little family that couldn’t be shaken by our location, a reminder that we’re not gone from where we once were there’s just distance, and memories of our beauty and resilience in times of challenge as a people and culture. THE talk reaffirmed what I needed – I am beautiful, I don’t need to ever change who I am for those around me, and I am deserving of everything I am and want to be.
As one of the few black children in my new predominantly white community, I didn’t feel seen, loved, or valued. I yearned to connect with something and for a while I found comfort in school – I still attended my school in Flatbush by commuting daily. However, the following school year I transferred to the local school in Brooklyn Heights and struggled academically for the first time. I encountered what Lamar Johnson, Nathaniel Bryan, and Gloria Boutte (2018) define as a fake love when what I was seeking was a revolutionary love—the type of love that “arms Black children and educators with critical consciousness and the essential-tools to fight for the mattering of Black lives and against white supremacy in and beyond PreK-12 urban schools.” Fitting in became a theme I encountered throughout my academic experiences, from primary school until high school, because I was a minority in every setting I encountered. Not being a part of the majority led to negative internalized ideas of myself because examples of me didn’t exist in the white dominant narrative and curriculum. Due to a lack of representation my mom taught my history at home, and I developed a curiosity that led me to begin researching on my own.
My experiences as a student of color consistently made me feel minimized which led me to teach. I wanted to be an example for other students of color of what they could be and to ensure that the stories of diverse perspectives exist in academic settings and are uplifted. My feelings of “otherness” made me want to prevent other students like me from ever being “othered” themselves. For the last seven years of my teaching career I taught with a revolutionary love approach to combat any inferiority and empower my students to be themselves as fully and powerfully as possible, always. I never had that growing up and I decided to teach because every child deserves and needs that, regardless of their race.
Today, I still encounter moments of my awakening where I’m reminded of my blackness. Instead of shrinking, adjusting, conforming, or minimizing myself I’m leaning into my discomfort and challenging it. I want to know why I’m the only woman of color in the room and how that inaccurately reflects perspectives that have a voice. I want to know what we can do to be more inclusive of BIPOC identities within spaces that lack diversity and representation. I’m asking questions to bring awareness so that we can acknowledge this truth and work towards dismantling the systems that continue to diminish the presence of people of color.
Victoria spent the last 7 years as a teacher in Newark, NJ. She’s currently living in Brooklyn, NY working remotely as a Learning Designer with a focus on creating content around Inclusive and Responsive school practices. Although no longer directly in front of children Victoria is proud to design content that supports educators in developing their equity toolbelt for our youth to receive diverse learning experiences that honor their culture and experiences.
