[Note: This is a guest post to this blog. Please contact me if you would like to make a contribution.]

Living brown and Black on a white campus:

navigating predominantly white or culturally limited environments

 

Introduction
In spaces where diversity is often the exception rather than the norm, such as in predominantly white institutions, the act of self-expression can become complex, layered with unspoken rules about how much of oneself to reveal. For first-generation individuals, immigrants, ethnically diverse, or those from historically underrepresented backgrounds, navigating these spaces often involves a strategy of carefully balancing an act between authenticity and assimilation. This concept speaks to the unspoken need to be agreeable, and to shield certain aspects of one’s identity in order to fit into environments that may not fully understand or accept experiences and perspectives.

In this collaborative piece, several voices come together to reflect on their personal journeys of navigating predominantly white or culturally limited environments. While the specifics of each experience differ, a common theme arises through all of our stories: how to present ourselves in a way that feels both genuine and acceptable to others. Whether it’s the decision to soften certain opinions, avoid certain topics, or adopt a more neutral tone, these strategies stem from a shared desire for both safety and belonging.

Through these narratives, we aim to shed light on the unspoken challenges that come with inhabiting spaces where one’s background, race, or ethnicity sets them apart. By sharing our experiences, we hope to spark broader conversations about identity, representation, and the ways in which inclusivity must extend beyond surface-level acceptance.

Natalia’s Experience as a Polish-Palestinian Student
As a first-generation, half Middle Eastern individual entering a predominantly white institution like Elon, the pressure to assimilate became even more pronounced. In settings where I was often one of the few who didn’t fit the cultural or racial norm, I found myself constantly monitoring how I communicated. There was a sense of needing to manage others’ perceptions of me, especially given the stereotypes tied to my Middle Eastern background.

In moments where I had strong opinions or wanted to share a perspective rooted in my heritage, I hesitated. The thought of being misunderstood, or worse, being reduced to a single story about what it means to be Middle Eastern, specifically Palestinian, often made me choose my words very carefully. For example, in conversations about global events or cultural topics, I might have downplayed my personal connection to these issues to avoid being seen as too political or “different.”

At the time, it felt like I was constantly shielding parts of my identity to avoid conflict. The stories in my mind revolved around potential alienation. What if I spoke too passionately and someone labeled me as angry, radical, or a terrorist? What if I revealed too much about my background and unintentionally made others uncomfortable? These fears led to an ongoing internal debate about how much of myself I could show while still being accepted in an environment that felt unfamiliar and sometimes unwelcoming.

This hesitancy wasn’t just limited to words, it extended to how I chose to express my culture outwardly. One incident stands out in particular. I wore a keffiyeh to class, a traditional Palestinian scarf symbolizing resistance and solidarity with my people. For me, it was a quiet statement of pride in my heritage, a way to acknowledge my roots in a space where I often felt I had to conceal them. But what I hoped would be a subtle expression of identity quickly turned into an uncomfortable confrontation.

A student approached me, remarking that I “didn’t know what I was supporting” by wearing the keffiyeh. It was a frustrating moment, one that embodied why I often hesitated to express my culture. In that remark, I was not only questioned but subtly accused of ignorance, as if my connection to my heritage was somehow invalid or misinformed. I felt exposed, misunderstood, and immediately defensive. I found myself wanting to retreat inward, instead of explaining or defending the complexities of my identity or the history behind the keffiyeh. The moment reinforced the idea that revealing too much of myself, whether through words or symbols, risked uncomfortable confrontations and, worse, being reduced to a stereotype. Even though part of me wanted to stay silent when I was confronted, like I would have done before, I stood my ground, remaining proud of my heritage and taking the opportunity to defend my identity, and educate the individual about the significance of the keffiyeh as well as my ties to it.

At that moment, I realized how deeply the concept of agreeing to avoid conflict shaped my behavior. Wearing the keffiyeh, I had stepped outside the boundaries I typically adhered to. However, this experience strengthened the internal debate I had been grappling with: how much of my identity could I truly show without drawing unwanted attention? The keffiyeh incident was a reminder that, in spaces where my identity wasn’t fully understood or welcomed, any expression of culture could be met with criticism.

These encounters reinforced the need for being cautious in differing environments, not just to avoid conflict, but to maintain a sense of belonging and security or safety in a space where my background was often misunderstood. It often wasn’t just about politeness, but it was about survival. I had to adapt to an environment where revealing too much risked being reduced to an uncomfortable narrative that felt incorrect and misaligned with who I am and what I stand for.

 

Asia’s Journey as an African American Student
My name is Asia Green, and I’m currently a junior at Elon University. Over the past few years, I’ve taken on roles that have developed both my leadership skills and my understanding of navigating predominantly white spaces. As an Admissions Student Director, I’ve represented the university to prospective students, gaining valuable insights into Elon’s efforts toward inclusivity. Additionally, my role as a Resident Assistant (RA) in the Bridge Living Learning Community (LLC) has allowed me to create a welcoming and supportive environment for underrepresented students.

When I first arrived at Elon, I was excited but also aware of how different I was from many of my peers. As one of the few Black students in many of my classes, I felt the pressure to fit in and conform to spaces that weren’t designed with my background in mind. Like many underrepresented individuals, I experienced the unspoken expectation to be agreeable—to soften my opinions, avoid sensitive topics, and adjust how I presented myself to make others comfortable.

This balancing act of trying to be both authentic and conforming to my environment was challenging. I often found myself holding back in conversations about race or social justice to not draw unwanted attention to myself. I even adjusted my appearance and behavior to fit in, feeling as though I had to change myself to be accepted. I often found that most of the time I would not share my thoughts, perspectives, and experiences around students that I did not feel comfortable with. This constant effort to assimilate left me feeling invisible in my own identity.

However, over time, I started to push back against the pressure to assimilate. The Bridge LLC became a space where I could express myself freely, knowing that I wasn’t alone in my experiences. Through my roles at Elon, I found the courage to embrace my identity and stop feeling like I had to downplay it. The support of faculty like Dr. Madison Chandler helped me navigate these challenges and reminded me that my voice and experience mattered. Their mentorship gave me the confidence to show up authentically in spaces where I had once felt outnumbered.

Elon has made progress toward promoting diversity, equity, and inclusion, but there is still work to be done. I’ve witnessed efforts to diversify the student body and increase cultural representation, and it’s been rewarding to contribute to those changes. For students coming after me, especially those from underrepresented backgrounds, my advice is to take up space. Seek out communities where you feel supported, and don’t be afraid to be your true self and express your identity and culture. The discomfort of standing out is outweighed by the empowerment of embracing who you truly are.

Being a Black student at Elon hasn’t always been easy, but it has been transformative. I’m proud of the growth I’ve experienced and excited to continue contributing to the ongoing progress at Elon.

 

Anjun’s Story of being an Indian-American Student
As an Indian-American, I’ve often felt like my parents’ immigration story was misunderstood by others. When hearing the word immigrant many resort to thinking of people who had to flee their homeland due to war or other extenuating circumstances. My parents, however, simply left India for higher education and better opportunities for themselves and for their children. Resulting from this, I never had any reservations in saying that my parents immigrated from India, since I thought people would understand.

Growing up in school, I was constantly the minority. It was not until the first grade that I realized that I differed from my classmates. We were learning about Indigenous people, and as a result, my teacher frequently referred to them as ‘Indians.’ While this word was used to describe Native American tribes, many of my classmates would turn to look at me, with a few even asking if we were learning about “my people.” As a child I did not think much of the statement and did not realize the power it held. Looking back now, I realize that many of my peers had little knowledge of different cultures from a young age and didn’t fully understand that people can come from diverse backgrounds.

This treatment followed me throughout my middle and high school years. As one of the few Indian students, I was asked each year if I would present to the school about Diwali, a holiday I don’t celebrate as a Sikh. Still, I would always say yes, believing that some representation was better than none. Not only was I a minority as an Indian student, but also as a Sikh— a religion that most of my peers and teachers hadn’t heard of until they met me..

In the past, I didn’t believe I could say I had openly experienced racism. No one ever shouted racist slurs at me or told me I didn’t belong. But over the years, I’ve come to realize that racism isn’t just about blatant derogatory comments—it can also be the subtle, backhanded remarks that don’t seem racist at first glance. For example, comments about my house having ‘a different smell’ because of my mother’s cooking may not seem offensive, but hearing them repeatedly from visitors made me feel small.

Perhaps this lack of awareness came from feeling like an outsider myself. Many families in my hometown had lived there for generations, so the idea of different cultures was unfamiliar and intimidating to my peers. Through their friendship with me, many of them were able to experience and learn about my culture, which helped them—and others—become more aware of the privilege they had.

As a first-year student at Elon, I’ve encountered a diverse mix of people, some from privileged backgrounds and others not as much. I recognize the privilege I’ve had in receiving a quality education and growing up in a stable family. However, many still struggle to understand the role white privilege plays in everyday life, an experience some will never fully grasp. Elon is making efforts to become more inclusive by supporting more social groups on campus, but I believe awareness is key. We need to educate ourselves about different types of privilege and how they shape daily life. By increasing student outreach and spreading awareness, we can foster a more inclusive environment where everyone feels valued.