The Choice – A somewhat lengthy letter from an exhausted Black person

Jazmine Vaz-Baker, class of 2021

It has been a rough month for the black community. Well every day is rough, but I think we have learned how to muscle up and shoulder on despite the challenges. But this month, this month has just been too much. This month we have had to deal with the death of Ahmed Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd. We had to watch a woman fabricate a story about a black man “threatening her life” when all he did was ask her to put her dog on a leash. Then there was a story about a woman who drowned her 10-year-old autistic son and blamed it on two black men.  And I am sure there are other recent stories I have not mentioned. 

It has been a rough month.

I have talked at nauseum about these topics with my black family and friends. I am so sick of talking. I am exhausted. The conversations always end the same way… What more can we do? Why do people not understand what is happening? Why do people continue to find ways to justify racism and discrimination? Why can’t black people be safe going about our daily lives? Why are we always targeted? Why is there a racial double standard? WHY? We have been asking these questions for centuries. 

It seems like we have tried it all, both peaceful (remember Colin Kaepernick got blackballed for literally doing the very thing that the Minneapolis police officer did to Uncle George’s neck) and violent protest. We have tried marches, sit-ins, speeches, petitions, the list goes on and on. Nothing seems to be working. I feel as though black people are shouting their grievances out in the void. I feel like we are alone in this fight, fighting a war we did not create. Racism has somehow become our burden to bear – ALONE – and it sucks. Black people cannot fight this alone, we need help, we need genuine and active allies. My question is, where are they?

I know a lot of white/ non-black people. I have a lot of white/ non-black friends. Yet when injustices occur is seems like I can consistently count on ONE HAND my white/non-black friends that speak out against injustice. The rest are always eerily silent. Posting pictures of their dogs, significant others, cooking recipes, vacations, etc. but no words of outrage for black lives being lost. Is it that they do not know what to say? Is it that they prefer to keep their social media pages neutral? 

Or is it that they do not care? 

Are they afraid to speak out?

All these possibilities run through my mind when I step into the virtual spaces of social media and take stock of my friends’ silence. It is appalling and discouraging. 

Yet these are the same people who always have such words of wisdom and insight during government, history, psychology, and health care class debates. 

We, and by we, I mean your so called “black friends” need your voices and support during this time. I need you to see Ahmed and George as my brother and my uncle and do more than just like a post and keep scrolling. I need you to weep and mourn with me. I need you to get angry with me. I need you to demand justice with me. 

You have spheres of influence in social spaces that I do not. I need you to do more than like a post about representation in politics and make textbook points about diversity. I need you to stand up to that racist uncle at Thanksgiving when he starts telling his yearly racist jokes. Inform him how his racist ideology is hurtful and hinders our country’s progression. Make him uncomfortable when he starts spewing out hate. That is how the small battles are won. No one is asking you to storm the KKK’s stronghold (10 OUT OF 10 - WOULD NOT RECOMMEND), but you are failing us when you stay silent.

We are simply asking you to really listen to our grievances, take them to heart, make and demand change where you can. If you do not know what to do or how to do it, ask for guidance. But staying silent is getting harder to accept.

I have always found more comfort in expressing my most inner thoughts to paper than people, because paper does not judge, neglect, or put down the words written on them, it simply displays them for the reader to form their own interpretation. I often do not express thoughts like this to my peers or friends. As a black woman I occupy mostly white spaces. Since the 6th grade I have been 1 of 2, maybe 3, on a rarest of occasions 1 of 4 black/brown/POC in my class. Moving from a predominantly black elementary school, it was jarring at first, then I got used to it. Now it is my normal.

I remember crying hysterically as a little girl when my dad got pulled over for driving in the HOV lane without a second passenger (I was too little; the officer could not see me in the back seat). I thought he was going to arrest my father. The police officer was embarrassed when my dad explained to him the reason for my tears. Maybe I watched too much of the show COPS as a child (the theme song is still the jam), but my fear was extremely real. 

Have you ever cried when your father has been pulled over by the police?... *waiting for you to share your traumatizing cop experience* (my dad and I laugh about it now… we can laugh now… it was not funny to me then)

I had a group of young white men (who I did not know) call me the N word while I stood at the bus stop waiting for the school bus. I cried, I went to school, I went home. I moved on. I do not think I ever spoke of it, but I know I will never forget it.

I realize now that calling a black person the N word does not kill them (it wounds them deeply and should NEVER be used ever), but health care disparities, racial profiling, and police brutality does (just to name a few). These are the things we are fighting to change.

Anyway, I say that to say this, I often feel uncomfortable expressing my views on race within my social and academic spaces, because I have seen how it goes. You express sadness, anguish, and frustration at racial injustice, and they hit back with a “but racism doesn’t exist anymore” 

“but slavery ended so long ago” 

“things are so much better now” 

“Obama was president for 8 years (AND?! BRUH BE QUIET AND JUST STOP)” 

“ALL LIVES MATTER” 

“black lives matter is anti-cop (IT ISN’T BUT OKAY BECKY)” 

“not everything is about race” 

“I’m colorblind”

“You’re not like the other black people OR I am not talking about you” (Lord have his mercy with this one)

“I have black friends, so I am not racist” (This one just takes the cake every time)

“maybe if he listened to the police…” The list goes on and on. 

[IF YOU HAVE EVER SAID ANY OF THIS… PLEASE STOP!!!]

And after they’re done explaining, disregarding your feelings as a black person, neglecting to recognize the struggle we face, and flat out not listening to a word you said, you have to wonder is this person really my friend?

Better yet, does this person understand me? Do they see that I am black? DO THEY SEE ME?! 

After a while, hearing this rhetoric from white/non-black peers and friends both from CHURCH…

• Quick Side Note: [which hurts in ways I cannot explain…it’s disturbing to know that if a video of one of your black church members surfaced of some officer or man otherwise crushing their fragile neck, the most you can do is text their mother and father of a bible verse about peace and being “one race under God” or “we are all God’s children”.  Remember your black church members can see your posts on Facebook and the like and you are disregarding our feelings. DO BETTER PLEASE!] 

…and school, I learned to keep those opinions quiet. I just observe, I listen, I take note. A whole lot of people have black friends that they do not really understand. They will joke with them, ask them to “spill the tea, tell Felicia goodbye, and laugh about being an independent woman who does not need male companionship”, bop to the latest rap song with you (because some of them still think getting down to rap music gives them an in with the people), cry tears at 12 Years a Slave and turn around and look dead in your face and tell you…

“but slavery ended so long ago… I don’t understand why people are still racist” 

*somewhere MLK rolls in his grave*

SIGH. As T-Pain once said…

“If you ain’t got it by now, you just ain’t getting it.” – “Kiss Kiss” by Chris Brown ft. T-Pain 2007. An iconic line if you ask me.

I share my true opinions on race and how racial injustice really hurts me with a few trusted people outside of my family, because I do not want to be hurt. I do not want to be let down by friends I have come to know, share laughs with, and made memories with. Sometimes it is just easier to laugh about memes and vent about the stress of work or school, then to subject myself to hurt by exposing my friends’ while non-malicious, unhelpful ignorance towards deep race relations. 

Do you know how hard it is to see another black person killed for no reason or witness someone call the cops on them for literally breathing oxygen outside their home, and then turn around and walk out into the world smiling and choosing joy?

To never have anyone ask, “hey, I saw everything that happened on the news this past weekend, are you okay?”

I don’t expect this of course, but every once in a blue moon, it would be nice to be seen for the black girl that I am, and that I am affected by seeing my brothers, fathers, uncles, friends, mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, etc. killed on TV like animals. It is painful to watch; it is painful to hear. It is heart wrenching to see people defend this evil behavior.

I must navigate spaces surrounded by people who do not look like me every day. While I do this I actively choose love, I choose joy, I choose forgiveness, I choose hope, I choose to see the good in people, I choose not to be angry, I choose not to blame descendants who are not responsible for their ancestors actions, I choose not to hate. I choose Jesus and his grace.

I choose these things because the alternative leads us nowhere. 

I choose these things because I believe change is possible. 

Black people have been crying out for mercy, justice, and equality for centuries. We cannot fight this battle alone.

Please understand your black friends are hurting. The pain is centuries old and unbearable. 

I am choosing to march forward to the vision the Dr. King so passionately talked about.

You for so long have chosen silence.

I implore you now to make a different choice. The choice to truly stand with us and speak out. 

Sincerely,

Jazmine – an exhausted black person
class of 2021

Graduate School and Graduation during the COVID-19 Crisis

It’s 7:30 on a Tuesday. I hop off the shuttle from the parking garage and make my way to the E building. I’m feeling healthy today, so I take the stairs up to the 5th floor. I badge in and sit down at my desk to respond to a few emails before our 8:00 Advanced Genetic Counseling class.

It’s 7:45. My classmate April walks in. In keeping with our daily routine, she asks if I want to make coffee with her. Of course I do! We grab our respective mugs and K-cups and shuffle over to the break room, catching up on each other’s evenings. Piping hot coffee in hand, we trickle in to our classroom along with our 10 other classmates. We each take our unofficially self-assigned seat around the table. We’re all chatting as though we haven’t seen each other in weeks. (We had class together 15 hours ago and then went to Monday night trivia at MadTree together). Joshua says something funny and/or very Canadian, we all laugh, and eventually Carrie gets started with class. Today’s topic is compassion fatigue and burnout in genetic counseling.

It’s 11:00. I’m heading back to my desk from a meeting with my clinical supervisor. We reviewed the plan for this afternoon’s patients and agreed to meet in clinic at 1:00. In the meantime, I make some revisions to my thesis and schedule a meeting with my research advisor for the following day.

It’s 2:30. Clinic is busy today!

It’s 5:45. I arrive home after a busy day. My dog greets me enthusiastically as I unclip my badge and take off my shoes. A few minutes later, I get a text from my classmate Chloe: “Burgers tonight?” Yes! I put my shoes right back on and head out the door.

It’s 9:30. Dinner was fun! I’m exhausted, but I’m glad I went. I set my alarm and my head hits the pillow, ready to do it all again tomorrow.

The COVID-19 crisis forced a transition from normal life to completely uncharted territory for everyone in a matter of days. We as a program had to quickly adapt to the many challenges that came with this unexpected transition to remote learning and social distancing.
For me, the biggest challenge of being a genetic counseling student during the COVID-19 crisis has been dealing with my own feelings of loss and grief. As a second year student growing more and more eager to add that “MS” to my name, there was no world in which I ever anticipated a cancelled graduation. I could not wait to put on that cap and gown and celebrate all of my class’s accomplishments. I was so excited for my parents to see all of my hard work, meet my classmates and faculty, and enjoy some of my favorite places in Cincinnati with me. My classmates and I have been talking about ideas for our graduation reception for literally almost two years now. This was going to be the culmination of everything we’ve done on our journey to become genetic counselors. And it was just...cancelled. I knew it was coming. Everything else had been cancelled. Businesses were closed. We were ordered to stay in our homes. And yet, graduation was the one thing I was still holding on to. Maybe, just maybe, things would be normal again by April 30th. Up until that point, I had been bottling up all of my grief. Seeing the email pop up in my inbox with the subject line “Spring 2020 Commencement Postponed” was what finally broke me. I knew the university was making the right decision. “It’s not safe to hold a graduation ceremony right now,” I told myself. I sat on the couch and cried anyway.

Over the last two years, my classmates have also become some of my closest friends. As we started accepting jobs around the country throughout our final semester, I was already feeling particularly sentimental about making the most of our last few weeks together. We were going to go to brunch every weekend, go on tons of hikes as the weather got nicer, laugh our way through many wine-filled game nights, spend lazy days at my apartment pool, work separately but together at our desks on E5...and I was ready to cherish every last moment.

But we left for Spring Break and never came back. It has become increasingly clear that I may not see any of them again in person before I move to Chicago.

Our entire program has been flipped completely upside down over the last few weeks. We have had to learn a completely new normal as everyone has been figuring out how to work from home. Technology issues have been frequent, classes and meetings have often been interrupted by partners/pets/kids, and yet, nobody seems to mind. We are all in this together, but apart. Despite the lack of in-person contact during the COVID-19 crisis, we as a program have really worked hard to maintain a sense of community. We hold weekly virtual lunches for everyone in the program to attend. Topics of conversation have included: quarantine baking, unique challenges we each face while working from home, and of course, Tiger King. This 45-minute get-together is something I look forward to every week because there’s something about just hearing and seeing everyone that makes me feel a little less isolated. Our second year class group chat continues to be very active, a constant stream of memes and pictures of our pets. We hold Skype game nights at least once a week and have managed to come up with an arsenal of phone-based games we can play together remotely. More often than not, several of us linger on Skype calls after class a little longer to keep chatting.

Classes, clinical rotations, and research have also required some major adaptations. All classes and thesis defenses were switched to remote. Instead of a triumphant thesis defense photo of me in a sharp blazer in front of my title slide, I’m now presenting from my bedroom with my dog barking in the background. In-person clinical rotations were cancelled, but these experiences were supplemented with an assignment related to our online Case Series as well as telemedicine role-plays with supervisors. My community education experience that got cancelled due to COVID-19 turned into this blog post. Program interviews, which have always been some of the most exciting days of spring semester, were made remote. I imagined how hard it must be for applicants this cycle, many of whom have been unable to visit campuses and meet faculty and current students in person. We typically host an informal meet-and-greet for interviewees and current students called Dessert Night the night before each interview day. I wanted to come up with some sort of remote alternative to give our remote interviewees that same opportunity, and so Bring Your Own Dessert Night was born! A virtual recognition ceremony for the Class of 2020 is in the works as well. We as a program have truly risen to the challenge and adapted to this entirely new normal in just a few short weeks, and I think that’s pretty remarkable. It’s not the same, but I do feel fortunate that we’re living in a world where we have these electronic resources to keep in touch and maintain a sense of community while we’re all stuck in our respective homes. And so, we’ll continue doing what we’re doing. We’ll keep rising to new challenges to adapt to these ever-changing and unprecedented times.

I never factored a global pandemic into my graduate school plans. We talk a lot about grief in the genetic counseling setting, and one of the types of grief that often comes up is a loss of normality. I never quite understood what this meant until now.

I am safe and healthy. I have a roof over my head and plenty to eat. I have supportive friends and family that love me. I’m about to earn my Master’s degree!!!!!

I have so much to be thankful for, and yet, I’m grieving. I’m grieving the loss of my normal and the loss of my plans. The coping process has not been linear, and some days have been harder than others. Despite the grief, I know that my training has prepared me to be a competent and confident genetic counselor, ready to take on the real world as soon as it re-opens. It has truly been an incredible two years, and I got to experience it all with some of the most amazing people I’ve ever known by my side (and/or by Skype).

The finish line wasn’t what I expected, but I sure am lucky to have taken the journey.

Kelly Buh

Class of 2020