From the standpoint of a Black woman, scholar, at an Historically Black Institution
Growing up, I knew early how the system granted you keys to certain spaces. I knew there were gatekeepers who sat at the entrance of these spaces and sometimes if you did not have the key, they would make the decision for you to enter or not.
As a black girl, a rather brown-skinned girl, I did not have the key to enter spaces my cousins considered sacred. I was too dark and my hair did not have the same curl pattern as my sister. They invited my sister into the room, invited her to attend church, leaving me home. In middle school, I attended a majority white school and auditioned for the play, CATS, and was rather proud of my audition. I had been a part of choir since elementary school and had many solos. I remember running to look at the casting list, I was nowhere on it. I remember talking with the choir director and her telling me “I just didn’t fit the part.” She was a gatekeeper and, while I had the talent, she did not seek to grant me access to that space on the stage.
As I grew older, education became a major driving force in my life. I realized that if I could maneuver this system, get people to see this intelligent black girl, then I could enter sacred spaces. Of course, attending high school in an urban, majority Black and Latino, and economically fragile city helped me with this. Teachers recognized my talent early and recommended entry into the Academically Talented program. Every summer I attended college-prep and readiness programs. There was a trend here, other brown-skinned and intelligent girls, gaining entrance into sacred spaces. We were meeting doctors, and scientist, and attending fancy dinners and events. In my senior year in high school, I met the former Maya Angelou through a poetry competition I won. This was after a White English teacher in high school spoke admirably about my writing and entered my poem in a regional competition. She was a gatekeeper.
If I could get people to believe I am intelligent and talented then I would be able to access sacred spaces. I knew if I attended an Historically Black Institution it would be a place where I was validated, affirmed, and could build up confidence and learn more about my cultural heritage. I got into Howard, Hampton, and Spelman and could not afford any of them. No one at home was willing to take out any additional loans for me to attend these institutions and the scholarship money did not cover the entire bill. I attended a smaller HBCU in North Carolina.
Somewhere, I did not have the formula completely correct. While pursuing education granted me access to certain spaces, I still encountered gatekeepers who were there to inform me, “I did not have the right key.”
The thinking that an educated dark brown-skinned intelligent girl could access sacred spaces did not take into consideration other factors. For example, how racialized perceptions around Historically Black Institutions (HBIs) make it harder for us to write scholarly work from these spaces and engage in research. I never considered these perceptions of HBIs as “less than” Historically White Institutions (HWI) until I attended a HWI for my first graduate degree after undergrad. I never knew the disparities in loan rates between Black women and other groups until after completing this degree. And, never realized this constructed identity of Black women scholars who overwhelmingly appeared to be lighter skinned or from HWIs.
This realization did not deter me. I went on a mission, I wrote blogs for the American Evaluation Association, American Psychological Association, commentaries for Psychology Today. I tried sending my research to the top journals in the field, more rejections than acceptance, but I kept pushing back. Yes, I partly obtained this PhD because I wanted to enter sacred spaces, I wanted the key, and I wanted the gatekeepers to invite me into these sacred spaces. I had this notion, once I am in these spaces, then I would be able to enact change and alter the system in a way for other people like me to be successful. However, there is some serious battle fatigue in this approach and it is extremely exhausting.
I know these gatekeepers, the journal editors, the funding committees, and others. Whether they act consciously or unconsciously, they create systemic barriers for us who are writing about novel and innovative ideas. I know what it is like to walk into school systems to do research and in other spaces and people to deny you access because you are black, a woman, and from an HBI. I know what it is like when people question your intelligence, expertise, and legitimacy. They sit on their seats, watching, sometimes letting some of us in, but more often, they let the others weave the stories — they perpetuate the idea that only the Harvards, University of Pennsylvania, Duke and the others can create the narrative or do the work.
I will continue to do the work, continue my research, and keep my faculty position at an HBI. I am open to those who no longer choose to be gatekeepers and those who are willing to challenge the idea of “sacred spaces” and recognize the beauty of Black woman scholars from varied places and institutions.
Audrey Lorde is quoted for writing “…the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house. They may allow us temporarily to beat him at his own game, but they will never enable us to bring about genuine change. And this fact is only threatening to those women who still define the master’s house as their only source of support.”
To all my Black women scholars, those who are at HBIs, who write, do research, and mentor the next generation of scholars, let us construct our own sacred spaces. Those of us who sometimes struggle to pay loans, other bills, and taking care of our children, let us connect. To all shades of black and brown, let us build each other. Let us find ways to build bridges so we can help each other move our work into journals, social media outlets, and into the hands of people whose lives we seek to change.
