I remember the first time I got on a meal plan. I had been on a waitlist since I was a freshman. “We won’t make room for you” became “there’s room but it’s just too much work to get you into the system”, which then became, “The laws said we have to put you on the meal plan or we’ll be in trouble." It was heartbreaking to have to go through the waiting process for something I shouldn’t have had to fight for but something told me that my complaining would not be welcomed in this setting. I got swiped in quickly by the lady at the checker counter, but not before I saw the side-eye she gave me. She made the kind of face that you only make when your nose crosses paths with a foul smell. Again, there was no use in giving the situation any attention because I knew deep down not everyone would see why it was so problematic.

I’d made it. I struggled to get through the doors but I made it... or so I thought. Now that I had this entire buffet at my disposal, it made me wonder if this was enough. My parents told me that beggars can’t be choosers and that they would kill for the meals I’m eating today. They reminded me that people died just trying to get the meals I have been given. So I put on my brave face as I filled my plate with items that could have caused anything between an upset tummy to a rash to a full blown inflammation of the throat. It sounds ridiculous, but what choice did I have. I couldn’t go back to being on the other side where I almost starved to death in broad daylight and barely anyone extended a hand to help me.

I scanned the sea of unfriendly faces for a place where I could sit. My plan was to keep my head down and ignore the world around me if worst came to worst. However, in my heart of hearts, I knew that having friends to sit with would be nice. I just didn’t want to get my hopes up that someones heart would suddenly change to be kind and go out of their way to make an outsider feel welcome. It was a lonely first few days, but keeping to myself kept me out of trouble and I’ve already seen enough trouble as it is.

The next day was more or less the same. There were the same gasps as I walked up to the caf with a valid card that granted me access, the same look of disgust from that old lady, the same food that made my skin crawl because it was so foreign and the same loneliness at the table. However, the next day, this changed when a group of friendly looking people put their trays down next to mine. My instincts made me get up at first because I thought I was in their way, but they assured me that they intentionally wanted to sit with me. It was a pleasant surprise that opened up the possibility that the world didn’t always have to be so unkind. I had people who were willing to talk to me and listen to me as well. For a while, this felt like just enough... until it wasn’t.

I remember absently reaching over to that familiar wooden box and realizing that I was grabbing air. There was no silverware. This was a mistake. It had to be, right? I went to go put my tray of food down for a second only to discover that all my friends had silverware. “Why haven’t you started eating? Your food’s gonna get cold.” I looked at them feeling very confused. Did they not notice the difference? I ignored it and walked over to the office in charge of the caf. I was met by a man who made it clear from the get go that whatever complaint I had would be a bother to him, even if it was valid. Nonetheless, I asked for some silverware in the most polite way I could. The fork and knife were thrown on the ground and made such a resounding noise that it made people in the room jump and turn around. As usual, no one helped me but one girl made sure I knew how picky and ungrateful I was for not just eating the hot food with my hands.

As I sat back down at the table, I could already sense the tension, the judgement and the eye rolls. I dig into my meal because I was really hungry at this point, but something yet again is amiss. Each bite that slid down my throat did the bare minimum to fill me up. I can’t believe I got my hopes up that there would be seasoning on this stuff. After the hassle I went through, I didn’t think I was asking for much. In four words, I proceeded to open a can of worms. “Pass the salt, please”.

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH. CAN’T YOU JUST BE HAPPY YOU WERE LET IN HERE? FIRST YOU COMPLAIN THAT YOUR BODY DOESN’T REACT WELL TO THE FOOD. THEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT THE PROSPECT OF EATING WITH YOUR HANDS. NOW YOU WANT TO SEASON YOUR FOOD BECAUSE IT’S BLAND. I’M NEVER MET ANYONE WHO COMPLAINS SO MUCH AND STILL HAS THE AUDACITY TO COME BACK AND ASK FOR MORE. WHAT ABOUT THE REST OF US? WE ALL WANT GOOD FOOD, SILVERWARE AND SALT!”

“But you’ve always had all that”, is what I should’ve said at the time. Instead, I was silent. I was in shock. Never had I heard such a strong opposition to the fact that I wanted the bare minimum out of my cafeteria experience. I grabbed the salt myself and finished my meal in a room full of people who had pre-seasoned custom meals that they were given silverware for at the tables where they would always have a seat reserved. I put my tray away and dragged my feet and contemplated starving so that I wouldn’t have to come back.

Here’s the truth:

None of that has actually happened to me or anyone that I know of who goes to my school but there’s a reason I told the story. What if I told that systematic oppression works in similar ways? For centuries, black people have been colonized, enslaved and killed at unspeakable rates. Yet somehow it has been deemed inappropriate for many of us to speak up and address our history for fear that we might is use it to “guilt and shame” our oppressors. You don’t have to look far for examples. We’re not even done with a quarter of 2017 and two productions which highlight the long lasting effects of slavery and racism, namely “Dear White People” and “Get Out”, have been slammed by the very people that they seek to educate.

We look back at the resistance movements that got black people to where we are and there seems to be a consensus that those movements were necessary happenings that paved the way for a better future. However, just like the present, a lot of people at the time that the movements were started became angered because they believed they were being robbed of something. They genuinely believed that they were being attacked. No one could get through to them to explain that the fight was against inequality and oppressive systems. It continues even in our present day. One of our biggest enemies today is the All Lives Matter “movement”. Here’s some reasons why: 1) It’s not an actual movement. It’s only a hashtag that was created to silence the Black Lives Matter movement. 2) Apart from sitting at home and tweeting about a pointless hashtag, I have yet to see any ALM rallies where there’s advocacy for any kind of minority. You name it, they’re not standing up for diddly squat. 3) Not everyone has to be directly involved in your oppression to be a threat to you. Just because someone isn’t doing the actual lynching, doesn’t make it any better that they sold someone a rope for it and looked the other way. The thing is that not many people have an understanding of racism that’s nuanced enough for them to fully grasp the effects of it. It’s more than just mistreatment due to the color of your skin. A grassroots activist form South Africa by the name of Sobantu Mzwakali wrote:

Prejudice refers to a positive or negative evaluation of another person based on their perceived group membership. Racism, on the other hand, refers to social actions, practices or beliefs or political systems that consider different races to be ranked as inherently superior or inferior to each other. Furthermore, racism is socio-economic, with systemic structures which promote one race’s powers over another. Socio-economic being the operative word, I am certain you will agree that black people do not have the resources to impose such oppressive structures which enforce their superiority. White people, on the other hand, have, and had imposed them on blacks for over four centuries of slavery and colonialism. Black people can be prejudiced, but not racist.

It can be so hard to get this idea across to people because most will hit back with the argument that it isn’t the same as the dictionary definition. After much research, you may come across articles like this (http://everydayfeminism.com/2015/03/dictionary-definition-racism/ ) which explain just why the dictionary definition doesn’t cut it. The dictionary was written by people in positions of privilege. So I think it’s safe to say that one cannot define within their limited experience the full extent of a struggle that they’ve never been a part of.

Another allusion about racism is that it is contained to places that have been known for it historically (i.e. the US and South Africa). The sad truth is that anti-blackness is very much a global phenomenon. Even growing up in my little East African slice of heaven, I can say that even colonialism, long after it “ended”, is still a huge problem because it has only continued to evolve over the years. I know this may all be news to some but I’m not surprised. How would you ever know if you never stop to listen? Not just hear people, but really listen. Being an ally is not to say that you never have problems of your own but that you are acknowledging that your privilege saves you from ever having to experience some of the problems others have. To be an ally is to raise your voice for those who are voiceless. It is to stand alongside those whose legs were beaten and broken before they could even get into the race. I know not everyone can be a full blown, megaphone wielding, sign carrying, street marching activist. What I do know is that it doesn’t take much to at least start getting involved in some small way. Sometimes you just have to start with acknowledging that something is wrong. Sometimes you just have to be still and listen to voices that aren’t like your own. Sometimes it’s really as easy as passing the salt.