Elizabeth: A tale of being black in Scottsdale

My children will go through their most formative years most likely never seeing their faces reflected in the teachers in their classrooms, the principles that greet them each morning, the doctors and dentists we visit or the police patrolling our streets.

I am a resident in one of America’s “Most Livable Cities.”

My family moved to north Scottsdale because we fell in love with the mountain views. I love being close to great hiking trails, lots of restaurants, wonderful parks and an overwhelming number of choices of after school sports and enrichment activities for my kids.

But, in my case livable doesn’t always equal welcoming.

Being a black woman in north Scottsdale can feel like riding around town on a unicorn. I recently wrote an Instagram post about how being black and moving in predominately white spaces is to have a spotlight on you and yet be invisible at the same time.

A spotlight because people tend to notice when I walk into a room. I have dark brown skin and very curly, wild hair.

Years have taught me trying to tame it is futile. I have simply embraced the fact this hair will do what it wants and it will not be ignored. Quite a few innocent friends have been victim to standing behind me in a photo only to be completely wiped out of view by my vivacious curls.

All that to say, I don’t usually slide into a room unnoticed. I tend to make an entrance in a place where dominant culture is sleek ponytails and messy buns.

I don’t mind that people notice me, the hurtful part is immediately after the notice comes the ignore.

In the Instagram post I mentioned earlier I wrote about an experience I had at my local Starbucks.

When my children were in kindergarten I would stop two-three mornings a week with my them in tow. We were usually picking up PB&J lunches and chai lattes on the way to school.

I’m not proud of how many times this harried mama had to stop before school because I forgot lunches on the kitchen counter but nevertheless we became regulars.

In the year we visited that particular Starbucks I would see the same baristas and each time they would ask my name as if it were the first time they had ever seen me.

I remember being bothered by it midway through the school year. Around Christmas I started calling the person, usually on the register, by his name.

His tag read “Justin.”

After a few times he seemed startled that I knew him and asked me my name. Enthusiastically I gave it to him thinking this was going to be the beginning of a Cheers relationship for us… Perhaps now each time I opened the door I would be greeted by a chorus of “Good Morning, Jill! Forgot lunches again? Let me get those chai lattes going for you.”

My Starbucks fantasies remained just that.

By the time I saw Justin again the following week he had forgotten our exchange. He was surprised (again) that I knew his name and noted that I looked familiar.

He tried to place the connection… could it be that we took a yoga class together recently? It took me too long but I finally quit that Starbucks.

It just became too painful to walk in every morning see the same customers greet each other by name. It was painful to hear the baristas call out drinks and greet other patrons while treating me as a stranger.

It hurt.

It hurt to walk in to this exclusive morning club that clearly was not open to me becoming a member.

The final straw to me quitting was seeing a Jeep consistently parked outside with huge “OBAMA MUST GO” in large letters across the rear window.

Since my adorable 5-year-old son, who looked uncannily like our president at the time was beginning to read I figured this was a clear sign we were not welcome.

I quit that Starbucks. I received the message I wasn’t welcome there as a wound.

To be a black woman moving through predominately white spaces is to experience small heart wounds like this daily. It is to figure out how to keep smiling at your neighbors, hoping they will offer a smile back.

Moving through spaces where no one looks like you can feel isolating and often makes you feel unwelcome. I am pretty confident in my right to occupy any space, but I worry about the cumulative effect of lack of diversity for my children.

My children will go through their most formative years most likely never seeing their faces reflected in the teachers in their classrooms, the principles that greet them each morning, the doctors and dentists we visit or the police patrolling our streets.

I worry about what message this sends to them. Will they feel welcome in their own community?

I strive to embody the words of Gandhi, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Although sometimes it feels like there are no minorities in Scottsdale I know that’s not true.

Last year I participated in a campaign called Scottsdale for All. I passed out posters highlighting some of our city’s diverse population.

It was invigorating to visit local restaurants and businesses asking them to display the poster. Hopeful that marginalized residents might see the posters and know this is a welcome space for them.

I have hope that there are enough people working towards inclusivity that this will be the message of Scottsdale. I hope we can embody the title of Most Livable City for all our residents.

Editor’s Note: Jill Elizabeth is a Scottsdale resident and mother.