An unpopular opinion I passionately hold is that the celebration of African American culture should transcend beyond just Black History Month and be exuberantly integrated into the curriculum and mainstream cultural events throughout the entire year. I fervently believe in this opinion, despite its unpopularity, because it is a matter of empowering African American communities, embracing their rich heritage, and instilling a profound sense of cultural pride. Limiting the celebration of African American culture to a mere month unintentionally perpetuates the idea that their history and contributions are separate or secondary, which is an injustice to their profound impact on society. By infusing African American culture into the curriculum and mainstream events year-round, we can weave a vibrant tapestry of inclusivity, breaking down the barriers between cultures, and forging a unified society rooted in respect and understanding. Expanding the presence of African American culture in educational settings and cultural events unleashes a powerful wave of empowerment. It allows for a continuous exploration and celebration of the extraordinary contributions made by African Americans throughout history, igniting a spark of inspiration and resilience in future generations. This immersive approach fosters an environment that values diversity, cultivates empathy, and cultivates a deep appreciation for the triumphs and struggles experienced by African Americans. Championing the integration of African American culture beyond Black History Month is an audacious step towards dismantling systemic biases and fostering genuine equality. It unapologetically confronts the prevailing narrative by championing a comprehensive understanding of history, one that incorporates the diverse voices and narratives that have shaped our world. It instills a sense of empowerment within African American communities, emphasizing their inherent worth and unequivocal contributions to the fabric of our society. In daring to embrace this unpopular opinion, we pave the way for a society that not only recognizes but wholeheartedly celebrates the indomitable spirit of African American culture. Through a constant and unwavering commitment to inclusivity and cultural appreciation, we can empower African Americans, promote emotional healing, and create a more harmonious and equitable future for all. By giving African American culture the prominence it deserves throughout the year, we foster an environment of cultural exchange, celebration, and learning that benefits society as a whole. This approach allows individuals from all backgrounds to gain a deeper understanding and appreciation for the diverse experiences, struggles, and triumphs of African Americans. It encourages dialogue, empathy, and unity, challenging the notion of separateness and promoting a sense of shared humanity. Moreover, integrating African American culture into the curriculum provides an opportunity for students to develop a comprehensive understanding of history and society, unearthing narratives that have been overlooked or marginalized. It empowers young minds to question societal norms, challenge biases, and engage in critical thinking. By expanding the educational framework to include diverse perspectives, we equip the next generation with the tools necessary to combat injustice, discrimination, and systemic racism. In conclusion, my unpopular opinion stems from a genuine desire to empower, celebrate, and uplift the African American community. I believe that by extending the celebration of African American culture beyond Black History Month and integrating it into the curriculum and mainstream cultural events throughout the year, we can foster a society that embraces diversity, fosters empathy, and works towards true equality. It is through these courageous steps that we can pave the way for a brighter, more inclusive future for all.

Facing challenges is an inevitable part of life, and I have encountered my fair share. One significant obstacle I faced was battling an eating disorder. The effects were profound, both physically and emotionally. It left me feeling isolated, trapped, and disconnected from my own body. However, this experience ultimately taught me the importance of seeking help and prioritizing self-care. Acknowledging my struggle was the first step toward recovery. I sought professional help and surrounded myself with a support network of friends and family who uplifted and encouraged me throughout my journey. Through therapy and guidance, I learned coping mechanisms, developed a healthier relationship with food, and discovered the significance of self-love and acceptance. Another challenge I confronted was social anxiety. As someone who had always been passionate about advocating for social justice, it was disheartening to find myself silenced by my own fears and insecurities. However, this setback taught me a valuable lesson about the power of my voice and the impact it can have on marginalized communities. I realized that my experiences with systemic racism and the struggles I faced could be transformed into a source of strength. Embracing my identity as a young black woman, I recognized that my voice could be a catalyst for change. By amplifying the voices of those who had been silenced by systemic racism, I could contribute to dismantling oppressive structures. This revelation fueled my determination to overcome social anxiety and to use my voice as a force for advocacy and empowerment. Additionally, I encountered hair discrimination, a painful experience that resonates deeply with many individuals of African descent. Instead of allowing it to diminish my self-esteem, I decided to embrace and celebrate my natural hair. Recognizing the power of unity, I established a club at my school where girls could come together, build a sisterhood, and uplift one another. In this safe space, we shared our experiences, celebrated our hair journeys, and supported each other when faced with hair discrimination or societal pressure to conform. Through this club, we not only built bonds of sisterhood but also gained the strength to confront and challenge hair discrimination in our school and beyond. These challenges have profoundly shaped me, teaching me resilience, self-acceptance, and the transformative power of community. They have strengthened my resolve to advocate for mental health, social justice, and equality. I have learned that seeking help is not a sign of weakness but an act of courage and self-empowerment. Moreover, my experiences have highlighted the importance of community, unity, and amplifying the voices of those who have been silenced. As I move forward, these lessons will continue to guide me. I am committed to using my voice, both individually and collectively, to challenge societal norms, break down barriers, and create a more inclusive and equitable world for all.

I was told I should wear my lovely kinky hair as a crown throughout my entire childhood because it was so beautiful. Even though I thought that the middle school students at my school would disagree. I didn't always feel this confident about myself when I lived in Pawtucket. The majority of Pawtucket's population is made up of fair-skinned Cape Verdians and fair-skinned Puerto Ricans with wavy hair and looser curls. Joseph Jenks Jr. was the school I attended in the eighth grade. In middle school, I was one of a few African American girls with kinky hair. The afro or wet look was one of the most popular hairstyles at my middle school at the time. This style made the hair of all the fair-skinned girls look so lovely. I decided to wear my hair in an afro because of the innocent belief I had as a child that "being my hair is still beautiful." Getting ready for school on that particular day was a magical experience. My mother assisted me in doing my hair, and we drove to school while listening to "Golden" by Jill Scott. But by the time the day was over, I didn't feel as though I was living a golden life. Every time the bell rang, I could hear children laughing. After each class, I felt my mood shift from happy to insecure. I went straight to the bathroom at the end of the day to check on myself. In that blurry, graffitied mirror, I saw something—a realization. I realized that my hair, my beautiful kinky hair, and my crown were now considered trash. Wearing my natural hair was no longer an option at that point. I've felt compelled to wear hoodies, box braids, and straight hair, and I've even felt compelled to sit in the back of the classroom or to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. It was time for a change now that I was in high school. During my junior year, I interned at Providence Student Union (PSU), where I worked as the Action and Campaigns Co-Director and developed campaigns to address school social issues. In May of last year, I introduced the C.R.O.W.N. ACT, a bill that prohibits hair discrimination in the workplace and school, which took me back to my childhood. My first brush with hair discrimination. Even though I already advocate for the needs of other students, I was hesitant to fight for the rights that truly affected me. But then I remembered who I was at PSU and why I had to fight for those who were still silenced. I knew this was the moment I'd stand up not only for myself but also for all the other little girls who thought their hair was a crown. Soon after, I facilitated an event titled "I Am Not My Hair," after India.Arie's song. Reciting affirmations about the beauty of hair, sharing my experience with hair discrimination at Jenks, and taking photos with the flower crown we made to represent the beauty of natural hair was all part of the event. I've heard from students since then who say the event gave them the confidence to wear their hair however they wanted. I was ecstatic to learn that I had inspired another student to give a workshop about her experiences with hair discrimination. Since that day, I've sat in the front, with my hoodie down, my hair in an afro, and my head held high so that my crown is never tilted.

There are several reasons I am choosing to go to an HBCUs which have had numerous societal impacts, particularly on African American students, throughout their history and legacy. But I'd like to concentrate on one aspect of HBCUs' legacy: their notable alumni. Through movies, music, and activism, my parents instilled in me a love of black excellence. I was always aware of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s (Morehouse College) and Thurgood Marshall's contributions (Howard University). I was also familiar with Erykah Badu's (Grambling State University) and Common's incredible, soulful, and moving music (Florida A&M University). By portraying the first African superhero in the Marvel Cinematic Universe,  Chadwick Boseman (Howard University) broke down barriers. Or Kamala Harris (Howard University), the first woman of African and Asian descent to serve as United States Vice President. Alternatively, Anika Noni Rose (Florida A&M University) was the first black princess in The Princess and the Frog (which is my favorite movie). I was impressed not only by their achievements but also by how they achieved them. That being said, it was professors, faculty members, friends, and their HBCUs that assisted them in reaching their purposes. I already knew I wanted to make history, but I didn't know where to look for a community to support me. There aren't many schools in Rhode Island with a lot of black-enriched histories. I want to attend an HBCU because I want to surround myself with people who look like me. I want to attend an HBCU so that I can leave a legacy, not just any legacy, but an HBCU legacy.