Always the Help

My dream had always been to live in politics, study the laws of this land, be versed in democracy, and dish out justice to poor, immigrant, and other marginalized people en route to my post as Compton’s first Latina mayor. I was an eager sophomore at UCLA majoring in political science wearied by the level of competition. I was a nobody, not a star student, not known for my potential, just another student floating amongst the many over achievers swimming like salmons upstream where our future lay. I knew I had to do more if I wanted to stand out, get a letter of rec to an outstanding law school. I needed the guidance from other outsiders who had trekked this path before. I a young brown girl in a discipline, white as the walls of its department, traditions older than the building it was housed in, saw myself in you, Professor Star, fresh blood, eager faced Associate Professor with the energy and smarts that had broken through the political science glass-ceiling. I took you in and was excited by your voice, assured, strong and booming which filled the intimidatingly big lecture hall as you fielded questions from white, male students who sat back, so cool and comfortably in class knowing they belonged. When I watched you dialogue with that lone white female student whose outlier-ness was masked by the pep in her voice I thought of how I could get time with you after class. I was hungry to pick your brain; feast on your survival skills, so I became your research assistant. Each time I waited outside your office, listening to your womanly boss-voice rattle out your door as you guided your other young mentee, a white girl my, flame quivered, feet got heavy and doubt came over me like a chill. When I walked into your office, you’d ask me “how did the research go? Did you find and summarize the articles?” Never any formalities with me, never asked me how I was or how school was going for me. I coveted the platitudes I overheard you have with your young white mentee. But for me just a hello then my “to do” list. In those moments I felt like my mom, no I wasn’t working on my feet all day for meager pay, I was in the halls of a prestigious university interning for a white scholar who saw me as labor. The dream had always been to be in politics, after two quarters of feeling undervalued I went into your office placed your research on your desk and told you I quit. Your eyes looked at me as if recognizing me for the first time and you stayed quiet not knowing how to field my emotions.