Let Me Fail

Our hearts were full of gratitude towards American women of color this summer.

I saw, for the first time in my life, a television screen filled with so many women of color like myself. The shades of their skin—so similar to my own and that of my community—took center stage as a symbol of the best that our country has to offer.

And I—an older brother—watching the Olympics with my two sisters, two young Latina women who spend hours in the pool and on the soccer field, I felt pure joy at the American exceptionalism on screen.

Simone Biles controlled the gymnastics stadium, winning multiple gold medals and proving her unparalleled talent. Simone Manuel became the first African American woman to win a medal in a swimming event, and the prize was a glimmering gold that represented victory over an ugly, hateful past. Michelle Carter embraced her femininity towards the United States’ first medal in shot put.

And finally, Laurie Hernandez won the silver medal on the individual beam just days after helping the American team take gold in the women’s all around in gymnastics. The Puerto Rican girl from Jersey put it all out there to become second in the world, at just 16-years-old. By any standards, Hernandez is a shining example of excellence.

On the international stage, she represented American excellence. To us, and quite possibly all the brown people watching from East LA to the Bronx, Laurie Hernandez represented Latinx excellence. In an election season where hatred against our melanin and our resilience as immigrants runs rampant, Hernandez glows and her silver shines, reflecting the best our country has to offer.

While her exceptionalism can move and inspire young, God-loving brown girls all over the country, it’s also a rogue attempt at survival. If Hernandez were to fail, Americans would be disproportionately unkind. Her skills would be called into question; her athleticism and past performances irrelevant. People of color, especially black and Latinx people, are held to a higher standard in the very country that they’ve uplifted in these Olympics. It’s as if white mediocracy is valid, and brown and black mediocracy is not.

Gabby Douglas, the star of the London Olympics, was met with criticism this year when she unintentionally failed to put her hand over her heart during the national anthem. Her patriotism was under fire at the same time that her hair was. Something so tied to her anatomy—her blackness—was criticized. This double standard undermines her success. In this case, even her excellence could not save her.

Upon joining university communities, Latinx individuals are questioned from the outset about their worth. The assumption is that brownness is our key here, and our supposedly lacking intellect is the loose baggage we bring along with photographs from home. We are held to a higher standard than our white peers. There is no way of mincing those words. No one assumes that I am a legacy admit. I am an affirmative action admit.

Our intellect is never central. Our skin is.

To make up for this, we have to be twice as good. There is a pressure to reach academic excellence at elite institutions right after leaving high schools that were under resourced. The disconnect is not addressed—with institutions like Harvard lacking bridge programs—so Latinx students are stuck between unequal levels of expectation and preparation to reach them. Even though we’re often ill-equipped, we have to maintain perfect grades to prove our validity on campus.

While this stress overloads our brain, we also don’t get the mental health attention we need. We’re not allowed to give up, or ask for help, because we’ll come to represent our communities negatively. Latinx students have to be excellent, because we are few and far between and represent communities whose majorities are barred from these institutions. If we’re the first in our family to go to college, we’re beacons of a disappearing American Dream. There’s no room to be weak. There’s no room to be mediocre.

But that’s something we can change.

We should work to reach a point where my excellence is not a requirement, and when my failure will not be seen as a failure on the part of all Latinx students. In my future, I am allowed to be mediocre. I am allowed to fail. I am allowed to be human. I cannot wait for the day I am allowed to feel human.

Ruben E. Reyes, Jr. ‘19 and Zoe D. Ortiz ‘19 are Crimson editorial writers. Ruben lives in Leverett House and Zoe lives in Mather House. Their co-written column appears on alternate Tuesdays.