melsa17

[melsa17]

Racism won’t end

On Monday morning I opted for a change and decided to take the metro to work instead of my regular work shuttle. It was that perfect weather, cold but comfortable enough for a short walk. Then 5 minutes into my walk I remembered I forgot the oven on, since I decided to be healthy and bake my salmon for lunch that morning. I called the leasing apartment they could handle that problem and I continued listening to Kerwin DuBois’ Touchdown because Soca is still life. I was determined to be in a good mood and have a great Monday. You see, because just last week my co-worker in jest made the comment “Melissa do you not like being happy?!” This was in response to my choice of morning podcast, which turned out to be a bit too heavy for the morning. Honestly, child molestation is heavy at any time of the day, and that was one episode I couldn’t get through. So that morning, Soca and a walk sounded like a good start. At the metro I smiled and said hello to the man handing out the Washington Post Express, said amen because Trump was not on the cover, turned up the volume on my headphones and headed to catch my train. My commute is 7 minutes by train so I wouldn’t get through a lot of the paper so I started with the article about the Metro and its need for more money (that’s a whole other story) and at the bottom of that page was a short blurb that caught my eye. The Express usually has these short blurbs, at the bottom of the page because there’s not much to be written about this particular subject but they make it eye catching enough to get the reader’s attention. This strategy, works because “$3.8M” in a large blue font leapt up from the page, and this is why I’m writing today. It’s also why my Monday mood was dampened. You see in my quest for a great day, I once again became angry and regretted not just continuing to listen to my fire mix of the latest 2018 Soca. At the bottom of this article I’ve inserted a picture of this blurb. First of all, this “black Bowie State student” mentioned in the article has a name, but hey I guess he’s just another dead black boy to most. How do you take the time to name the school’s President but you can’t be bothered to name the victim of a hate crime? For those who may not be familiar with the subject, Army 2nd Lt. Richard W. Colllins III, was a graduating senior at Bowie State University. He was stabbed to death on May 20th, 2017 while visiting the University of Maryland, College Park (UMD) campus. He was 23 years old, three days away from graduation and murdered because in 2017 he was black. A coward killed this young, bright, accomplished black man. This coward was a white 22-year-old male student of UMD. Now let that sink in. In 2017, a seemingly educated white man carries out the kind of crime you thought was left in the time of segregation. Don’t get me wrong, I know they gun down our men everyday, but this is different. This isn’t some white man in power saying he felt threatened and fired his gun out of fear (rolls eye). This was a stabbing, he had to reach over, hold on to the body of Lt. Collins, and dig that knife into his chest. These two men didn’t know each other and Lt. Collins was murdered because he didn’t “step left” when ordered to do so. You can go read the entire story for yourself. Eventually, this white man was indicted on a hate-crime charge due to digital evidence gathered from his phone and computer. At the age of 22 he was a member of a Facebook group Alt Reich: Nation where group members share white supremacist memes (why is this a thing?). This kid was born in the 90s, went to school with black people, was getting a college education at a great school with other black students but he still held on to this superiority complex. How? My university experience changed me, I learned a lot about myself, I matured and I was not the same person when I graduated. Granted, I was never taught to hate a whole race of people, but I left college a lot more open minded and accepting of all types of people. If I could change why couldn’t this white man change? Well, I sort of answered that. The same way I was taught to love and not to discriminate, this man was taught to hate and he was taught that he was better. I don’t know by whom but if at 22 you can take the life of another man because he is black and wouldn’t step left, then you’ve probably always felt you were better than black people. Can you imagine being told all your life that you’re the best and you are superior to a whole race of people and then you get to university and these people are doing great things and they don’t bow down to you?! Yeah his ego was probably hurt. But I’ve digressed for way too long. I am angry because $3.8 million for diversity is bullshit. How do you use that money to convert racists? I laughed while typing that because it is such bullshit and that’s why I am angry. Its 2018, why are we still begging to be seen as equal? We are capable of doing everything they do, AND we tan better. That money is a slap in the face and a weak attempt of saying “Hey black people we care!” Nah, nothing will change. As long as black people continue to excel, a select group of people will stay mad and pray for their downfall. At the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C a noose was left at an exhibition on segregation. This museum is my happy place and I’m sure many others feel the same way. It’s a representation of black people, where we’ve come from, what we’ve overcome, and how we continue to prosper and do exceptional things. That noose was left by a coward; a coward who could not handle black excellence. So $3.8 M won’t help this widespread problem. Lt. Collins’ parents never saw him cross the stage, that moment was stolen from them. Can you imagine how proud they were of their son? They were probably telling everyone about their son the graduate, I know my father did. This young man was about to do great things, and unfortunately this kind of crime will happen again. So what do we do? Donate another couple million and tell people racism is wrong? How about you give black people the same start in life that was taken away from them because of slavery? Exactly, that’s not possible but black people will still continue to be great. It may take some of us longer and a lot of us will fail and more of us will be wrongfully killed but we will still be great. I don’t have a happy ending to this piece, but I would like to know how others feel. How do you feel when you see our brothers and sisters murdered because they’re of the wrong hue? How do you feel, when you know people will quickly forget the name of the next black 12 year old gunned down? Or when another black woman mysteriously dies while in police custody? Back to some Soca music because this feels like its about to be another heavy morning. I’ll also avoid reading the Express today.  

[melsa17]

How I learned I was  #blackgirlmagic

I’ve never really sat and thought about what it means to be a woman of color in science. My environment has always included intelligent, strong, black females and to me that was the norm. I was born and raised in Dominica, a small island in the Caribbean (NOT the Dominican Republic) and I attended an all girls’ catholic high school. Black women were my teachers, spiritual leaders, coaches and role models. Being in a class of thirty bright minds fostered a healthy competitive spirit and left me with friendships that still exist today. At the age of fifteen you do not really appreciate the role these women and girls play in your life, but looking back, being surrounded by them influenced the person I’m becoming.

Women are just as capable as men, no one taught me this. It was common sense, if we have the same opportunities and we both have a brain, why shouldn’t we be? Growing up, when taking exams at the national and regional level where my competition now included males I never thought twice about being any less capable. As far as I was concerned I was just as good if not better. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no genius and I’m pretty average but I’ve always been a good student.

In 2007 at the age of eighteen, I moved to Baltimore, Maryland to attend Morgan State University (MSU). Morgan belongs to a group of academic institutions termed historically black colleges and universities (HBCU’s) where both the faculty and students are predominantly black.  Most of these institutions were established after the American Civil War to serve African American communities, but have always been open to all races. Prior to moving to the United States I’d never heard of an HBCU and over the past ten years I’ve described attending an HBCU as living in a bubble. And at that point in my life, I think I needed that. It was hard enough adjusting to life in a city like Baltimore.

Despite having totally different backgrounds, at Morgan everyone looks like you, everyone is treated equally and skin color never played a part in my college experience. This was probably not the case for everyone but I was sheltered because I seldom left my bubble. My teachers, deans, provost, president were all strong powerful black men and women. So when my general biology professor talked about being black and being a black woman in America, growing up black, dealing with racism and being one of the only black students when doing her PhD I really couldn’t relate. I didn’t understand their struggle because honestly I hadn’t experienced it. Growing up black in Dominica is totally different from growing up black in America and so my HBCU experience wasn’t like most of my fellow students.

Recently, a white man asked me if there was slavery in the Caribbean and I looked at him dumbfounded. There are almost 40 million people living in the Caribbean and this educated man didn’t have a clue how we got there, and we both live in the same hemisphere. Once I stopped judging him in my head I explained to him that yes, our countries were also built on the backs of slaves. However, unlike countries like Trinidad, Guyana and Jamaican where you see a lot of diversity among the people, in Dominica everyone looks pretty similar. Yes our complexions vary but at the end of the day we all call ourselves black. Racism did not exist, which is why even at an HBCU where I looked like my peers I didn’t see race the way a young black man who grew up in Alabama saw race.  For me, the most difficult thing about being black in America was being away from home and just trying to figure out who I was, something that didn’t involve the color of my skin back then.

Once I overcame my initial doubts (self-doubt is something I’m still working on) and stopped underestimating my abilities I was able to excel at Morgan. I didn’t see it then but not only did MSU provide a solid foundation and help boost my confidence in my academic abilities, it gave me a glimpse into what many people may now call black girl magic.  My teachers included strong black women and I attended conferences such as the National Organization for the Professional Advancement of Black Chemists and Chemical Engineers, where black women ran things. Over the course of my undergraduate career seeing black women in positions of prestige in academia was normal. At Morgan, I was no longer the girl from the Caribbean just trying to keep her scholarship; I was the Chemistry major who knew her stuff and who did research and was good at it. However, through all that I never saw myself as a woman doing well, much less as a black woman doing well. It was simply Melissa, expected to do well and getting it done.

Fast-forward to 2011 when I moved to Gainesville, Florida for graduate school and my bubble popped. University of Florida (UF) was nothing like Morgan. It is a predominantly white institution (PWI) and in a class of over 30 PhD students there were only two black people, including myself. For the first time in my life I was a minority, and self-doubt started creeping in, and I felt extremely alone.  I was a small fish in a very big pond and the familiarity and support that existed at Morgan was gone. And my doubt had nothing to do with the color of my skin and that’s because the same way I was never taught boys are better than girls I was also never taught white people are smarter than black people.

This probably saved me in grad school, because had I been doubting myself based on skin color or what these people though of me I’d have been a basket case. My self-doubt was because these people seemed so damn smart and experienced; some had worked in industry, gotten master’s degrees, or been doing research for years and here I was feeling all-good about myself because I got a couple awards in undergrad. I remember calling my mom telling her be prepared I’m going to fail out and I’ll be home soon, sorry for being a disappointment (this was all before the first test). However, my mother is my biggest cheerleader and prayer warrior and so she ignored me like she normally does when I say these things. She probably said something like: “Melissa I know what you’re capable of and you’ll be fine, God is in control (West Indian mom lingo101).”

In the Caribbean its ingrained in you at a young age that you can’t fail and you don’t quit. However, growing up I was a lot harder on myself than my own parents, and they were often the ones telling me to relax. On the day of my Common Entrance Examination (an exam that allows Caribbean students to move on to high school) my dad took me to the river at 6 am for a swim so that I would just relax and stop panicking. Yes, at ten years old I was already that hard on myself.  I’ve always been competitive and for that first year of grad school I was just trying to keep my head in the game and not disappoint all the people who believed in me. Looking back, I wish I could tell my 23 year old self: “CHILL, listen to more Kartel and go have a drink!”

The first year of grad school was the toughest and though I came in with a strong chemistry background all the biology material I was presented with was sometimes overwhelming. Chemistry and math had always made sense, and biology just wasn’t my favorite. I made it through the first year, did pretty well actually and kept that fellowship. And like at Morgan I found my footing and did well, my project worked, my lab environment was great, I made good friends, learned hard lessons and apart from Gainesville, being the most boring place ever, life was good. I have no horrible PhD stories and sometimes I feel guilty about it. I have a lot of friends who’ve gone (and are still going) through some tough times. My PhD mentor was great and I enjoyed my PhD experience. Not many PhD candidates can say they graduated with almost twenty peer-reviewed publications and for that I’m grateful and also very lucky (also another story).  

Even though I attended a PWI in Florida I still lived in a bubble; not the kind of bubble I experienced in Baltimore but a bubble nonetheless. I hadn’t experienced blatant racism, just the usual stares or stereotypical questions and comments. My former mentor is white but his wife holds a PhD in Biophysics and is a brilliant black woman at the top of her field; she is also the only black faculty member in the Department of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology. She may not see it because she is also extremely humble but she is the perfect example of  “black girl magic” and to me this was all so normal. Of course black women were killing it in science and engineering why wouldn’t they its all I had seen since moving to the U.S. Granted, I saw less of it in Florida and even though it bothered me that most of the black women I saw in my building were janitors who others wouldn’t even take the time to greet, it was ok because I knew we existed. And then Trayvon Martin was killed, and it never stopped. Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, John Crawford and we know how it goes. I’m not naïve, I know oppression and racism didn’t end with slavery and I know this had ben going on in America for years but I was now experiencing it first hand.  And over the past 5 years I’ve come to understand what it means to be black in America and I’ve also learnt slavery didn’t end just because it was abolished. It doesn’t matter if you’re an MD, CEO or lawyer, all certain people see is the color of your skin. I finally understood what my undergrad professor was talking about.  Seeing young black men and women being targeted because their hue was slightly different was my rude awakening.

It came to the point where watching movies like 12 Years a Slave filled me with so much anger that I’d need extra time to myself before talking to others at work. I left every movie asking why, watched every breaking news update and every not-guilty verdict and just asked “but how?” I’ve always being quick to correct others when they called me African American because I’m extremely proud of my West Indian heritage. “I’m not from this country, I’m West Indian!”  However, I’ve learned, that in America it doesn’t matter what kind of black you are, racists see in black and white and if you’re black you’re beneath them. For the first time in my life I was being told that I was not equal to a certain group of people and that I was not as qualified. After more than twenty years I was being taught what some children had been told all their lives. It has left me angry, filled with hate, hurt and so confused, not because I believe them but because somewhere there is a child who’s accepted this as their fate. Also because I know its not the truth.

This week I saw the film Hidden Figures, which tells the story of three exceptionally brilliant black women who worked at NASA in the 1960s, at a time when segregation still existed in the state of Virginia. The movie focuses on the critical roles they played in the launch of the astronaut John Glen into orbit using their skills in mathematics and physics.  Despite the rave reviews I’d seen I wasn’t excited about this movie. I entered the movie theater with the mindset that this would just be another film that would leave me filled with anger and asking, “why do black people have to endure so much?” This movie made me angry; the way these women were treated solely because of the color of their skin and lady parts was ridiculous and let my blood boil but it also made me realize how much I take for granted. My circle is filled with women in science that I’ve met over the years: chemists, civil engineers, nuclear engineers, immunologists, mechanical engineers, physicists and biochemists; we do it because its what we love and what we’ve always done.  I am a black woman with a PhD in Biochemistry in the field of X-ray crystallography and there are not a lot of us (I checked the numbers). Like I said, I’ve always seen black women doing extraordinary things so I’ve never dwelled on how long it took us to get here. Its not about not playing the race card (a term I despise), its just that I know that a black woman is just as capable. I have the kind of parents who think I’m capable of anything I put my mind to, some days I doubt myself but they never do and more black girls need that growing up. This movie left me feeling empowered on a day where once again I had been questioning my abilities and worrying about my future.  All women need to see this movie whether you’re a scientist or economist or you’re just trying to figure it out; this movie is for all of us.

Currently I work as a research scientist at the National Institutes of Health, as an X-ray crystallographer and most days I still find myself asking “Melissa what do you want to be when you grow up, what do you want to contribute with this skill-set?” Not too long ago, I went to the store on campus to buy a couple items for the lab with my white lab mates and at the register, I shared “the nod” and a smile with the cashier, a forty-something year old black woman and placed my items on the counter. She then asked me if I was a doctor and I responded yes without much thought of it and paid for my items. When we were done with my transaction she told me how proud she was of me and thanked me on behalf of her family for all my work. I had never met this woman and she had no idea what my research entailed but the fact a black woman was a doctor and was trying to make a difference filled her with pride. I hadn’t thought about that moment much but I remembered it after watching the movie and I realized how blessed I was and how grateful I should be.

I may not think what I’m doing for a living is a big deal, most days its just a job where I do experiments that may not work, or where I question what I’ll do with this PhD. Other days a band on a western blot and a protein crystal in a drop make me smile, and I meet intelligent people who make me want to do better. But there are a lot of people out there, who look up not to me but to the idea of people like me. I have a community of people who are rooting for my black girl magic friends and I because it is still an amazing thing to see.