By jlorthe
“If Haitians don’t think I’m Haitian and American black people don’t think I’m really black, then
what am I,” I asked my friend who looked back at me with a completely blank face.
I was in the midst of completing the analysis section of my freshman thesis for my UW class
when for the first time ever, I realized I had no idea who I was. Up until that point of my paper, I
was analyzing the significance of the word black among the Haitian culture versus the American
black culture. When it came time to provide a three-page reflection on the 18-page analysis I
had just written, I was beyond lost for words. As I tried searching for the answer through my
friend’s destitute stare, I remember beginning to feel the ache from my throat swelling up as I
tried to fight back the tears.