“But You Don’t Sound Black!”
“My blackness is mine and mine alone.”
- Kaya O’Rourke
Hi. My name is Kaya O’Rourke. I am a 20-year-old college student in St. Augustine, Florida, and I am biracial. Not in how Rashida Jones is biracial, but in how Tracee Ellis Ross is biracial. People see me and know I am Black. However, for most of my teenage and early adult life, I have had that aspect of my identity questioned.
Image Courtesy: Instagram
I grew up in the suburbs on the Westside of Jacksonville, Florida, an area that is majority Black. The elementary school I went to had more people of color than not. Having that sort of community from a young age was incredibly important while I was growing up. It held weight, and it made me feel normal. When I moved to middle and high school, the people I went to school with started to look less like me and more like teenagers on a CW show.
Image Courtesy: Instagram
In the media, college is portrayed as this place where you get to be your most authentic self without fear of judgment or hypocrisy. This is not me saying that college has been bad, because that is not true, but going to a PWI (Predominately White Institution) has had its struggles. I have been at the center of countless acts of racism and microaggressions. I have sat in classrooms where I am the only Black person, and when the topic of slavery or Jim Crow was brought up, all eyes were on me. I had a campus job where I answered phones, but when I would talk to the same people face-to-face, they would be confused because my voice did not match the color of my skin. They would say, “You don’t sound Black!”
How could I sound Black? That does not make any sense. Races do not sound like anything. They do not even look like anything. They do not smell like anything. So, what the hell does that mean?
My identity as a Black woman is no one’s business. It never has been and it never will be. My blackness is mine and mine alone. My people have been fighting since the beginning of time for the ability to be treated equally and respectfully. It is something I have fought with internally and made my peace with. It belongs to no one but me. Yet, time and time again, people try to take that away from me with their words. How does my Blackness equate to the way I sound? How does it equate to the clothes on my back, the music I listen to, or the people I choose to surround myself with? Why does my identity get diminished to something so minuscule and meaningless with five simple words?
Image Courtesy: Instagram
I grew up being told that I would have to work twice as hard to get the same opportunities, respect, and admiration that my white, or white-passing, peers just had handed to them. I have big dreams. I want to make something of myself and leave my mark on this earth. I cannot do that if I am being held back by nonsense, like the color of my voice.
It does not help that the world I live in does not give a damn about my identity as a young, Black girl. Things have to change, and that starts with the ridiculous, gross statements and comments on the way my people speak. Sorry I am not Black enough for you. But guess what? That is not your call to make. The next time someone tells me I do not sound Black, I will not even think twice before correcting them. That is because my Blackness is mine and mine alone.
Strike Out,
Kaya O’Rourke
Saint Augustine
Editors: Maya Kayyal, Jessica Giraldo, Emmy Brutnell
Kaya O’Rourke is a writer for Strike Magazine, Saint Augustine. She’s a big fan of film and art houses, curating the perfect Spotify playlist for every occasion, and spending time with her besties. When she’s not shelf-reading at the library, you can reach her on Instagram at @kayaorourke.
