Many students come to Notre Dame with absolute certainty of who they are and why they are here. I was one of those students.
When I arrived at Notre Dame I was sure of my self-identity, and even more sure of my goals for the next four years.
Hailing from California, a more tolerant state than the average, I did face some insensitivity as a child. However, beyond the rare misguided comments, I hardly thought of my own identity or race, because it never came up in conversations or daily life. No one described me as or introduced me to people as their “Mexican friend.” And certainly no one asked me where I was from because of my race.
My identity was salient. It was whatever I wanted it to be. I was the scholar. I was the daughter of two hard working immigrants. I was Mexican-American. I was brown. I was aware. And I was loved.
After being here for a week I was so self-aware it was painful.
I felt as if I was no longer a multi-faceted individual, but rather a statistic, part of the 7% that makes up Notre Dame’s Latino population.
This feeling worsened when my great-grandpa and uncle died during midterms. It is a difficult task to try to understand who you are amongst so much pain. It was like rummaging through shattered glass and trying to catch a glimpse of yourself, but with the risk of getting hurt in the process. But in that pain, I found solace in trips to the Grotto, in my friends, and in the memories that remained of my lost loved ones.
At Notre Dame, I struggled with my identity even more during these harrowing times.
I am never “Mexican” enough. Never “white” enough. Whatever that means. I was born in the United States. I am Mexican-American. However, when I go to Mexico, I’m not Mexican enough, and in the U.S. I am not American enough. I feel like a contradiction. But there is never a limit on what you cannot see, and no “enough” for the intangible that one’s identity. I am, but I’m not. I am Mexican, but not enough or as much as I am American. I love both countries passionately and acknowledge both as my home country, my patria.
Our Other “Lady”
The combination of my identity conflict and my uncle’s death made me feel alone my first semester. However, I eventually found comfort in the presence of others. I had friends who listened to me when there was no end to my pain in sight. Friends, who held me and told me that despite what I thought now, I would eventually feel like myself again.
Because my friends were there for me, I grew comfortable and opened up to them. I have met amazing individuals at Notre Dame, many of whom I already consider lifelong friends (even though we just met this year). I found comfort in words, arms, and late night talks. I came to realize that regardless of who I understand myself to be, my friends will be there to love and support me. I told them of my struggle with identity and they sympathized, despite not being in the same situation.
As a freshman in my second semester at Notre Dame, I now realize love and support are cross-cultural.
No matter what race, or religious affiliation, people will love you, understand, and support you. Racism, sexism, micro-aggressions, and cultural misappropriations should be treated this way. Sexist comments should be treated as inappropriate no matter if they are offensive to your particular sex, or not.
It is crucial to acknowledge that these things happen, that people are hurt by those kind of comments. Moreover, it is important to realize that something has to be done. Regardless of how much or how little racism/sexism/etc. you have experienced is the first step to solidarity and unity between us all. Recognizing that we are at fault for the way racism and mistreatment goes unheard. Acknowledging that we can make a change if only we stopped pointing fingers and started supporting each other. This kind of solidarity could help a lot of individuals on campus struggling with conflicts of identity similar to my own.
We are a community at Notre Dame and must always act that way.
Some strides have been made like the “I, Too, Acknowledge” project that runs alongside the “I, Too, Am Notre Dame” campaign. Despite this mentality of the wonderful individuals who started both of these projects, unfortunately, not everyone thinks this way at Notre Dame.
However, if we all strived for equality in the way we treat others we would be more of a family than a community. A family loves each other, supports each other despite differences, and acknowledges how our differences are beautiful and wonderful. We are a family.
We are a community. But overall, we are ND, and together we can make a change.