It’s Tiring being Your Token Black Friend
Tokenism is an extremely consequential issue people of color face that is rarely addressed. In the workplace, it appears when companies recruit a small number of people from underrepresented groups to give off the facade of both sexual and racial equality within the workforce. Tokenism has a massive impact on personal relationships just the same. This includes white peers using your friendship or companionship as an excuse to be microaggressive.
Many marginalized groups face this issue intersectionally; those of Asian descent face model minority stereotypes, people that identify as LGBTQIA+ deal with the gay best friend stigma, and Black Americans deal with being the "only exception." As a young dark-skinned black girl who attended schools in a predominantly white community my entire academic career, I was accustomed to being placed in this role. I was used to being an outlier; many classmates rarely acknowledged my race in an uplifting way.
The media is guilty of tokenism as well; most famously, Dionne from “Clueless,” played by Stacy Dash, Bonnie Bennet from “Vampire Diaries,” or Chris Rock in literally every movie he's ever been in. Viewing these TV shows and movies with the token trope brought two things to my attention:
1) Black people are only acceptable in small amounts.
2) We're only tolerable if we have personalities that don't necessarily threaten whiteness.
It seems like the world is run exclusively by white people trying to sell the idea of diversity, all while failing miserably.
Naturally, minorities that deal with these similar situations in their personal life are used to tuning microaggressions out. Whether it's to stay in a job, sports team, or even a friend group, it's all rooted in an underlying fear of being penalized for giving racists the satisfaction that their stereotypical perceptions are true. Sometimes these remarks won't register in their minds until the incident is long over. This is where feelings of guilt and insecurity begin to accumulate overwhelmingly.
Others will also brush stereotypical comments off, reassuring themselves into believing that it "wasn't that deep." It wasn't until I experienced racists being comfortable around me that reality slapped me across the face. It all goes much deeper than you could even fathom.
Growing up, I was prideful of my race and Haitian background. While extremely outgoing, I struggled severely with debilitating insecurities in middle and high school. Resulting in me developing a lack of boundaries (like absolutely none). I wanted everyone to like me, never wanted to start drama or be mean-spirited, even if it meant being compliant with microaggressions thrown at me.
Except, it wasn't until enrolling in my high school cheerleading team that I faced the harsh reality that race had to do with everything. Being one of three Black girls on an Xtra large team, I overlooked countless incidents of subtle remarks, stereotypes, and blatant racism. Many of these girls were childhood friends who I thought viewed me the same. But soon, I was forced to realize I was never seen as simply funny or a social butterfly; I was the Black girl before anything else. Yet I remained silent, mainly because I was outnumbered.
The initial incident that made me realize I was just a token to my white teammates was when they began to make flat-out racist remarks towards other Black people in front of me. For instance, while cheering at a football game, the opposing team's quarterback left players trailing behind in his dust and scored a touchdown. My coach decided to make a remark that caused other white teammates to laugh. When I asked what was so funny, she said, "No, it was a bad joke." I went on to another teammate I considered my friend to tell me what was said. As she giggled, she revealed the coach said, “That must be how fast he runs from the cops." I told her that wasn't funny at all, and she had the nerve to disagree.
Another moment was during practice; I was back spot and, of course, the only person of color (POC) in my stunt group. I stood directly in front of the girls as they began talking about specific Black first-year students being "reckless" at a homecoming after-party the night before. One of my teammates decided to refer to a girl as a "Black B*tch," only to turn then and look at me and say: "Oh, sorry, Gael, I forgot you were here." An eruption of laughter followed soon after.
Frozen in disbelief, I felt an explosive anger wash over my body. They were confident in disrespecting me because they viewed me as their "get out of jail free" card. Using what they would consider a "relationship" with me as an excuse for being racist. I didn't fit their bigoted perception of what a Black person was like. I was their layaway. To them, being "not too aggressive" or not having an AAVE accent meant I could be tolerated. It's almost as if they felt cool with flaunting their bias in front of me. I hated the fact that those girls were comfortable enough to act this way so openly. But I hated myself even more for allowing it to happen without saying a word. All I could do was showcase my disgust on my face and walk away. In all actuality, I was afraid that if I reacted the way I truly wanted, I could jeopardize my spot on the team. Either way, this just made me feel even more invisible and helpless than ever.
Cheerleading was my passion throughout my teenage years. I worked my way up from varsity football cheer to the competitive team, achieving two state championship titles. My ambition for the sport was strong, hence my turning a blind eye toward its well-known racist history. According to the Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport, NFL teams as a whole are 70 percent black, but inclusivity stops right there. There is an undeniable disparity in the amount of Black women cheerleading versus white women. The eurocentric beauty standards of the cheer realm make it difficult for BIPOC women to express themselves without restrictions, especially when it comes to options for hairstyles and makeup, something I experienced constantly.
I can still hear the warnings my parents would always drill into my sibling and I's brains: "Life's colors are not always pink," or "You will always have to work twice as hard." All BIPOC living in the United States grow up self-aware that we will ultimately face severe racism at some point in life. Meanwhile, this does not mean we always have to limit our abilities. Neither can we nor cannot develop friendships. It is always important to be kind while setting standards for how we want to accomplish goals and want others to treat us. We must hold people in our lives accountable for their actions.
Microaggressions should never stop BIPOC from pursuing their passions; they should make you work even harder for your own gain. Yes, you should continue to play any sport if it makes you happy, regardless of being one of the only two POC on the team. It makes you stand out even more; they just don't want you to realize it. So take advantage of it! It's not easy; you will sometimes feel hopeless like I have. Let go of feelings of regret for how past situations have gone. It is 10x more difficult to navigate a world when its systems were built to benefit from your struggles. Still, never let the anxiety of discrimination hold you back from joy and achieving goals, even if they require you to be uncomfortable in certain environments. Relish in your culture always and never be ashamed.
And for those reading this who are white, recognize your privilege in every setting. Racism is taught but can also be unlearned through acknowledging offensive ideologies. If you truly love your minority friends as much as claimed, there should be no issues repping for genuine inclusivity unapologetically. That said, it's important to note that your Black friends are not obligated to be your history teachers. It is mentally exhausting to overly explain the hardships and trauma we face. With the technology we have access to in this day in age, information is at our fingertips. Deciding to remain ignorant is an inexcusable choice.
Strike Out,
Gaél Laguerre
Boca Raton
Gaél Laguerre is a content writer for Strike Magazine Boca. She’s a textbook Aquarius: super hyper-independent but also super hot. In her free time, she enjoys music festivals, writing sad poetry, and oversharing on Twitter. You can reach her at lgaellynn@gmail.com.