Tresha Miller
Welcome to the United States
Unlike the other in-person interviews, Tresha has decided to conduct hers virtually due to the rise in COVID cases. It’s October 28, 2020 and Cook County is averaging about 1,000 new cases daily. Luckily, neither of us have caught COVID and we want to keep it that way. Grabbing my notebook and laptop, I head toward the kitchen. As I approach, the sweet smell of the apple cinnamon plug-in fills my nostrils, ummm. This prompts me to make a cup of herbal tea. I think to myself, since I’m at home, I might as well be comfortable. I log into Zoom, a video platform, and wait for Tresha to join. I’ve arrived early to ensure there are no technical difficulties. After several minutes her face appears on the screen and we both smile at one another. It’s been several months since we’ve seen each other and like two old friends we dive right into talking about our families, careers and how COVID has upended our lives. As I sip on tea, I listen to the new changes in Tresha’s life. She shares that she has paused her small business and returned to working a 9-5 — something she’s still adjusting to. “Just working it out day by day.” While listening to Tresha, I’m drawn to her skin and hair. Her sandy brown skin glows under the living room light and her curls are perfectly in place. She’s absolutely radiant! With all that life has thrown at us this year — sheltering-in-place, mask mandates, civil unrest and the list goes on — her demeanor is calm and relaxed.
Naturally, Tresha segues the conversation to Black Lives Matter and why the movement resonates with her as a Jamaican immigrant. It all began when she first immigrated to the United States in the early 2000’s to attend the University of Florida. Prior to starting school, one of her early exposures to overt racism was when she found employment at a retail store. At the “tender age of 18”, she hoped this position would acclimate her with American culture. “I’ll never forget. I got a cashier job at Office Max. There was a girl from Guatemala, an Italian guy, someone from Peru and then my supervisor. This lady (supervisor) was maybe six foot and red-headed. She was the gun-toting, chewing tobacco type of red head. After the day was over, our team would have a little powwow. I remember I used to relax my hair and when I moved to America I couldn’t find a hairdresser to do it. I was stru-gu-ling to keep it the way it was in Jamaica. But I never let that stop me from doing what I’m doing. I remember her (supervisor) touching my hair and saying, “Is your hair always that nappy?” and what made it worse was, as we were in the circle, the girl from Guatemala who had silky, long Peruvian hair went like, “spu” and laughed at me. As an 18-year old that was WILDLY unaware of these things, it took my soul out of my body. I was SO embarrassed, I wanted the ground to open up and eat me in that moment. That was my first time FEELING like I was Black and not just a human being.”
The damage was done. Insecurities about Tresha’s image and her depleted confidence began to surface following this traumatic event. “It affected me alot, so much so, I started doing wildly ridiculous things to my hair. (I) tried to relax it myself and damaged it — it fell out. It did so much damage to me that I started to physically damage myself. You never really know what's happening until you look back. It’s a moment in my life I’ll never forget.”
Tresha’s job was successful in acclimating her with America's racial caste system. Quickly, she learned about our centuries old, racial hierarchy, with her white supervisor representing the dominant culture and Eurocentric beauty being the standard. The Guatemalan colleague who is not part of the dominant culture but holds similar beauty standards is accepted. Leaving Tresha at the bottom, with “nappy hair”.
The dehumanization of people of African descent is nothing new to African Americans. From coon caricatures to extreme police violence, African Americans have had to learn to rise above the deep hatred and systemic racism placed on their shoulders. I ask Tresha to think about her experience and frame it within the context of Black Lives Matter and the Orland Park protest. She pauses for a while before she responds. “It was not ok for a White woman to criticize me or call my hair nappy. I wish I didn’t have to find that out the hard way. And so I’m going to approach (racism) head on. I don’t have a huge sphere of influence…but what I know I can do is, I can move myself. So I decided I was going (to the protest) and I primarily kept thinking about my daughter. Thinking that, if I don’t do something even in the tiniest way to make sure what happened to me doesn’t happen to her, then I feel like I would have failed her.”
I wonder how Tresha plans to explain race and racism to her daughter. As a Jamaican immigrant Tresha grew up in society void of racial categorization. Her ideology of race stems from the Jamaican motto: out of many, one people. When I ask her how she plans to teach her daughter about race and racism she laughs, “Hmmm, good question.” She stares into space for a second collecting her thoughts and slowly responds. “I don’t know. I do know that I will not shy away from it. Right now (my daughter) has books that identify Black women in history and she has a Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. book. She’s going to recognize that these books are about people that look like her. In my own way I’ll tackle it, but one thing I promise I will never do is shy away from it.”
The ability to face confrontation is why Tresha decided to attend the Orland Park protest. Prior to the event Tresha heard about the protest on the Neighborhood App. “I happened upon the protest. Someone posted about it being on 143rd in LaGrange. I live nearby, so I thought it was fate. People on the app were talking wildly terrible, just so disrespectful about the Black Lives Matter movement…and I told my husband I was going.” Listening to the fervor in Tresha’s voice I knew she wasn’t afraid, yet I asked if she was concerned about counter protesters or the pandemic. She quickly responded, “No. I was ready to defend my cause. I’m entitled to my opinion and to be in this space.” In terms of the pandemic she said, “My husband and I had a discussion. I promised that I would be safe. The pandemic wasn’t going to stop me.”
Nothing stopped Tresha from coming. She came prepared to make a statement with her Black Lives Matter t-shirt, sign and natural hair. I asked Tresha to share a moment from the protest that resonated the most with her. Pursing her lips, she looks away while tilting her head back onto the sofa. Her eyes dim with sadness, she takes a deep breath and lets it out, haaah. “When we were kneeling together in honor of George Floyd. I cried. I cried because you don’t REALLY understand. Eight minutes doesn’t sound like a long time when you’re watching the news, or when you’re on social media. Eight minutes is a long time when you’re sitting on another human beings NECK! THAT made me really emotional and that was a HUGELY impactful part of the protest for me.” I wholeheartedly understood her sentiments and shared, “I cried as well. Like you said, it doesn’t seem like a long time, but when you’re down there…kneeling and everyone’s quiet, you realize that this was very intentional and evil.”
As we approach the end of our conversation I reflect on Tresha’s experience with racism in the United States and her plan to explain this concept to her daughter. I wonder what Black Lives Matter means from her perspective as a Jamaican immigrant, coming from a society where “racism is much less prevalent”. “Change. It means we’re finally acknowledging the existence of the underlying problems that we faced as Black people in America.” One of those problems being access to wealth. Tresha believes as a community, there is an absolute need for Black people to be exposed to avenues to gain better financial literacy, which is crucial to creating and maintaining wealth. The lack of knowledge leaves the Black community vulnerable and largely below the poverty line, forcing Black people to live in overpoliced neighborhoods and learn in underfunded schools. It’s a terrible cycle she believes is rooted in racism. Racism she wasn’t exposed to until she came to the United States. “I grew up in a country where racism doesn’t exist. I grew up in a country where you are taught you can be anything. The fastest man in the world is Jamaican and he never grew up in a country where he was taught YOU CAN’T. African Americans don’t realize that Jamaicans are a product of not having to deal with being told who you are and what you should represent.” For Tresha, her Jamaican mindset is an advantage. She plans to continue to advocate for the advancement of the African populace across America.
Copyright © 2022 Aisha Scott. All Rights Reserved.