This I Believe

When you're already searching for your place in the world, how do you also find your place in a movement? The Mess is proud to introduce our Special Guest tonight, she is a long time fan and a dear friend, please give your undivided attention to: Malaika.

"Racism is like a box of nails, at first glance it looks painful and chaotic, but after a while those nails were used to build the structure of who I am today. The nail that stabbed me in the past is the same nail used to secure the foundation of my beliefs today.

As a child my innocence guarded me from the concept of race, leaving me blind to the fact that my skin color was different from everyone in my family. Once my other siblings were added to the family, I quickly identified myself as the outlier. Being biracial caused me to look darker than my siblings who turned out much lighter than me, which sparked ignorant questions and judgmental stares. My younger self grew up believing she was the only one of her “kind”; many days went by when she wished to be either fully black or fully white. It felt like I did not fit in with any crowd. I decided I was Grey. A mixture of both black and white. People laughed when I told them, but I believed it adamantly and nothing they said or did could ever change my mind.

I viewed my skin color as a visible curse, displayed on the outside of my body for everyone to see. Maturing, my view of myself changed. Although my appearance displayed “more” African than my family, when the question arose, we would inform people that despite our skin and hair color, we were all the same amount of African. I soon started to welcome our diverse appearance as making us unique. With the change in society, more and more people were quicker to realize that we were all related, bringing a smile to my face. At that point in my life I could never think of changing the color of my skin.

Although skin color played a big role in my life, cultural differences did too. My father was born in Kenya and my mother grew up in the small village of Plainfield. They do love each other but their relationship revolved around conflict. Both of my parent’s beliefs were rarely the same, which caused conflict within me. Growing up with yelling and being told two different things at the same time scared and confused me. The house was always loud with arguing or music or just my siblings being little kids, screaming and hitting things. With all this chaos I forgot what it was like to have silence. When finding the silence, I would grasp it, making sure to use every second to the fullest. I developed into an introverted person and I cherish that. The silence blocked out the other voices so that I could decide what my beliefs were going to be. Picking which “race” I wanted wasn’t necessary- it was time to create my own.

I would not change a single thing about my race or my past, because I’ve realized that they have shaped my views and opened my eyes to what I view myself as and not how my race is viewed by others. Without the introduction to racism I might have thought otherwise. Each challenge faced was a nail used to build and construct my unique personality.

I believe racism is like a box of nails."

I wrote that essay for my junior year of high school and it’s still relevant today. With the black lives matter movement I have found myself conflicted internally. “Am I allowed to speak for the black community if I am only half black?” I have experienced both racism due to my skin color and I have also experienced privilege because almost all of my family is white. I definitely feel safer walking with my white mom than I do walking with my black father. A harsh reality I learned at a young age.

In the beginning of the BLM movement I felt that the term "black" only meant “dark skin” Africans. Through social media posts, news reports, and research I’ve realized that the black community includes me and any person of African descent (even my white skinned siblings who are just as African as I am). At one point in school, I had been told by fellow black classmates that I didn’t count as “black”. Their words affected me in a negative way and I felt left out. If I wasn’t black, then what was I? I realized I didn’t need to be “black” to be African. I knew I was an African American. Although the name Black Lives Matter made me personally feel left out, I had to realize for myself that I am treated just like any other black person. I was given looks in public, labeled as a minority, never complimented like my whiter looking siblings were, probably will be payed less because of my skin color, and could potentially be brutalized by police or racists in the future. I realized this was my fight too. I’ve signed every petition I come across. I pray for the black community and against racism. I’ve been out to protest. No matter how dark or light my skin may be, I am still a part of this movement.

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A word from Allipwells:

I am so in awe of the writing Malaika brought to me this week. I am thankful for her perspective and her willingness to share it with our readers here. I have known her and her family for a decade now and have had the incredible honor of watching her grow into the amazing women she is today. Malaika is about to head off to college and I know she is going to do world-changing things, so watch out world! As always I ask you all to keep up the good fight. As our Independence Day passes let us be reminded that there is still a lot more worth fighting for.