When I tell people that I am a public policy and music double major with a concentration in Vocal Performance, I usually get a variety of responses ranging from “Wow, that’s really cool! What are you going to do with that?” to “What type of music?” Now when I respond to their questions about the type of music that I study, I usually receive a look of surprise and then they’ll glance at my twisted, natural hair, my crop top, my large hoop earrings, or my cowrie shell necklace and say “Wow! Why did you choose that?”

Honestly, it’s a fair question. If you look at me, you aren’t necessarily going to be able to deduce that information right off the bat unless you see me in my performance attire or with my standard black music notebook. Studying classical music is also not necessarily the most common hobby among my generation either, but there’s still something in the look that goes beyond the understanding of the difficulty of mastering classical music. For some people, there is an added air of condescension in their tone that I can pick out in a millisecond. If they have to look me up and down before responding, that’s a dead giveaway. If they have to squint their eyes and shake their head, that’s a dead giveaway. If they have to quiz me on the difference between Schumann and Schubert, that’s a dead giveaway.

Being black and studying classical music can be seen as dichotomous and contradictory, and moments like these make that all too clear for those of us who are a part of both communities that we are not welcome. I have been in spaces where my fellow black community members have clowned me for being “too white” and in other spaces where members of my choir have ostracized me for being different and afro-centric (Yes, even at one of the most liberal universities in North Carolina). To both communities, I am often seen as crossing some proverbial line. Girls that look like me do not sing in choirs or spend hours practicing Italian pieces unless they act a certain way. I am not allowed to protest, argue, take up space, and fight for my community’s rights while singing pieces written by old white men in society’s eyes. I have no room to argue about injustices when I spend every day engaging with pieces created by people who would not have acknowledged me as a human being.

I honestly cannot say one way or the other, whether both groups are right. Maybe there is some validity to the argument as far as what I should and should not be singing. Maybe there is a reason why African music and Western music sound inherently different and I am bending the laws of nature. However, the time for fluidity and a decrease in polarization between the two parts of our American society is now. All music comes from the birthplace of civilization (fun fact: it’s Africa) and therefore the need to delineate certain forms of the art to different races and leave no room for fluidity between groups is not only very reflective of ignorance in the American psyche but contradictory to the basis of art itself. Fluidity and inspiration are what have always driven the creation of artwork. Art is just as inconsistent and temperamental as man and just like members of my choir can quote popular rap songs and appreciate its content, I can invade the fragile realm of the classical music.

Yes, I can sing both Mozart and Whitney Houston and there are others like me that hope to be just as versatile and true to their interests. To the community of minority classical musicians, you are worthy and talented enough to participate in this craft. To those who tell us that we can’t, watch us do it anyway. To music, “du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafur.” (“Oh hallowed art, accept my gratitude.”).