This article is part of the “Black Voices” collection, an ongoing collaboration with Dalhousie Black Law Students’ Associations.
Imagine living with a red dot from a sniper’s beam constantly being projected perfectly onto the center of your skull. Everyone can immediately notice this distinct difference when you walk into a room, and you see the uneasy look in their eyes when you come face to face. It feels as though everyone knows something about you that you don’t, and no matter how caring or easygoing you try to come across, this visible difference introduces itself before you can utter a word.
The Black experience is truly second-to-none in contemporary society. Being phenotypically Black alone comes with its own trials, but the depth of the experience is multiplied in predominantly white spaces like law school. The legal profession was never built to include Black people, which shouldn't be surprising, considering some of the same laws that we live under today were used to equate us to literal property. In the eyes of the law, we were worthless beings meant to work for our oppressors and gain our freedom like animals.
Preparing for law school
Entering law school, I had no idea what to expect. I took in every piece of advice that was graciously given to me from every aunt, uncle, and parent. I listened to past students and faculty members alike advise me on how I should go about taking notes, writing exams, and even making friends. I was privy to all this knowledge, yet my biggest concern entering this school year was whether I should cut my hair.
My main internal conflict before entering the biggest academic challenge I had ever undertaken was whether my loc’d hair would be considered unprofessional in an environment like law school. If I wanted professors or classmates to take me seriously, I would have to look the part, right? I genuinely thought that I would have to change myself to further my career.
Navigating community support
It’s even more saddening to think that my own Black friends and family not only supported but actively encouraged my delusions. This mass hysteria within our community has caused us to believe that we need to limit ourselves to be accepted. Black elders perpetuate this idea the most because, during their rise in the workforce, they had no choice but to kneel to a hegemonic power that controlled the job market with very openly racist hiring practices. Conformity is all they know, so they instill it deep into the minds of their children, creating this disgusting, deep-rooted self-hate that is the source of so much insecurity and anxiety.
At the time of writing this, I'm currently two weeks into my first year of law school, with my hair very much still intact. I was out recently with some non-Black friends from the first year law class, and I told them about my internal query regarding cutting my hair for law school. They all seemed to echo statements that essentially boil down to “who cares dude, everyone’s chill.” On the surface they are right, but it's so much deeper than that. I realized that I was talking to people who couldn't even fathom their appearance affecting their perception. Maybe because they had never been judged in that kind of way before. I envied this state of mind, and I wished I could step into their blissful world for just a moment, but then remembered I couldn't move.
The sniper’s beam on my head was permanent.
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