You can only find it if you’re looking for it

Each year, thousands of students create and harbor memories to last a lifetime- but we are not all promised the same experience. This literary essay follows the erasure of marginalized identities in relation to how the culture of CU Boulder is informed, and how it is upheld.

Sometimes when I’m walking on campus, I realize just how beautiful and grand this place is. Aren’t I so lucky? One of America’s natural wonders and famous places of beauty, the view of the Colorado flatirons, invokes more than admiration but feelings of gratitude and appreciation. The flatirons stare down upon a town called Boulder, hosting one of the most well-known universities in the nation.

The sun was glistening against the snow as I strolled through the CU Boulder campus as part of my regularly scheduled programming for class. While visiting the campus’ historical archives from the Black Student Alliance, I read a type-written piece called “Rodney King and I.” In short, it is a first-hand account of a young black student in the 90’s being racially profiled, falsely accused of a crime, and ultimately handcuffed and detained. 

To my knowledge, it was a complaint posted for the Boulder Police Department. I couldn’t help but wonder how alone he felt during his time at CU Boulder. I’ve read a few similar stories of Black individuals being profiled on or near campus while doing mundane tasks such as taking out the trash. 

I would say these accounts inform the culture of Boulder more than most things that are held at the forefront of CU’s image. Yet it only exists in a folder, in a box, in a room, in the back of the Norlin Library. You can only find it if you’re looking for it. 

I remember how much I loved this place when I first got here four years ago. I had never been to Colorado before, not even to visit. I found it so odd yet comforting that everyone smiled at each other, held doors open, and invited small talk-even if they didn’t know each other. Being from California, I had just come to find out what ‘midwestern friendly’ truly meant. I was hopeful for new places, people, and experiences. Every time a friend from home asked me how Boulder was, I had nothing but amazing things to say. It was the best four days of my life. 

I originally wanted to title this piece, “I Hate Boulder, Colorado,” but people often get uncomfortable when I say that. To slander the shared home which creates and harbors such sweet memories for some is just like calling someone’s baby ugly. It doesn’t matter if you’re being honest, as long as you don’t harm the perception of something they hold dear. I’m just saying, no one has ever called someone’s baby ugly and been met with, “Thank you for your radical honesty.”

Why is Boulder known for being liberal? Who is being liberated? We could probably debate the true definition of liberalism all day. Like any place, Boulder has a culture of its own. But it is important to understand that within any set of cultural practices, a network of norms and actions are constantly creating advantages for those who conform and disadvantages for those who resist. Culture is informed not only by the cultural group in question but also by the dominant structures in place. 

The “face” of a culture is determined by those who can produce and reinforce the narrative that sticks. When the narrative becomes dominant, it can then be used to explain the positions of other groups. The erasure of experiences from people who are relegated to the margins contributes to how CU Boulder’s image of ‘liberalism’ is upheld.

I don’t remember ever thinking of the demographics before I came here, not even once. It’s hard for me to remember what my exact reasons for coming to Boulder were, but if there’s one thing I can’t forget, it’s how happy the students look. I think about this every night when I hear the roars of drunken laughter by students who are just as hopeful as I once was. I don’t feel jealous of them for what they’re doing, but I could argue that I am envious of how they feel. I miss the time when I thought I could do anything, and that I would be promised the same experience as everyone else. 

One of the best feelings is being included. As I had difficulty making friends upon my arrival to CU, I remember just how thrilled I was when I had finally befriended a few students from my introductory CMCI course. Soon after, one of the students had created a Snapchat group message, with more students being added with time. I didn’t think the first big wake-up call I had about the culture of Boulder would be delivered to me via Snapchat.  

I know it was a Thursday night, it was late and the two girls were white. I clicked the purple box with no idea what I would witness next.

“Guys, my roommate is so drunk!” my classmate narrated as she recorded the video from their dorm room.

“N****r! Ha Ha Ha!” cackled the other girl.

She was howling with laughter, throwing slurs as she slurred her words.

The most egregious entity of hateful speech that our vocabulary contains, the last words of my ancestors before they were beaten and killed; all reduced to the punchline of a Snapchat video.  It was so violent, yet so casual the way she said it. This is the school we go to. No one said anything, not even me. I didn’t have the courage, wisdom, or language to speak up. I just wanted to have friends, and I knew if I said anything that I could be compromising that. 

To say I experienced disillusionment in this place would be an understatement. I will never forget how alone I felt at that moment, and this scenario was merely a glimpse of the standstills Boulder would put me through. The culture of Boulder is what lured me here and it will also be what sends me away. 

Maybe this will help you understand why things aren’t fun for me, even when they get to be fun for everyone else. The reality is that I just don’t like Boulder. I never cared about the mountains, and I never found them pretty. I think their beauty masks how we engage with violence here. Ignorance truly is bliss, and I feel like I know too much to enjoy it here. I don’t feel like I’m suffering but I don’t feel happy to be in this place. My last year of college almost feels as lonely as the first.

When I got here, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted the friends and status that came with the typical rich, white, Boulder experience. I came here as an ignorant child and I will be leaving as a powerful woman. You will not take away my ability to self-define. 

There is joy and liberation to be found in the struggle. Read that again.

It’s not that marginalized students cannot assimilate to the culture, but rather the culture of this university was built on the backs of our sacrifices and exclusion. In February, I gave an educational presentation regarding Black History Month and anti-Black racism. I also presented at the Norlin archives, telling the story of “Rodney King and I,” because I didn’t want another story of Black pain at CU to be forgotten. 

I never thought I would find myself speaking in front of hundreds of students, sharing the truth about the culture of the school we go to, and being thanked for my radical honesty. The culture of Boulder is ascribed and I am choosing avowal. 

Maybe I don’t hate Boulder, Colorado. Maybe I just love the person who was able to outgrow her surroundings. This never felt like the right place. But I am in the right place.