COLUMN: Invisibility is a way of life and not just a state of mind

Jamil Smith, Guest Columnist Jamil Smith, Guest ColumnistYou are saved," cried Captain Delano, more and more astonished and pained; "You are saved: what has cast such a shadow upon you?" -- Herman Melville, Benito Cereno The man who stood in his place was respected by many in the University community, mainly due to his long tenure as a columnist. (A vocal minority had made their displeasure with him known in their publication.) He had carved his niche effectively here. Who didn't know the bimonthly musings of the "Invisible Man?", the person asked, smiling. I tell you this because that persuader was me. For a moment, I tried to be blind to my realities. I considered my invisibility again and thought of a phrase Ellison wrote early in the novel: "Would not this go against my speech, and was not this a moment for humility, for nonresistance?" That could be said for this space, usually filled by a tearful senior good-bye or maudlin reflection. You'll receive neither here. It is funny how a moment of confusion can make the time that follows clear and focused. I know why I remain invisible after all these years, all these semesters, all these columns. First, though, I'll present a few examples of what I mean by invisibility. Being invisible here means a number of things: an off-color ethnic joke being told as if you weren't in the room (then being assured it doesn't apply to you, that you're OK); an administration that ignores your concerns, needs and voice; a classmate ignores you on Locust Walk after talking with you in class 20 minutes earlier. Invisibility is hard to battle because it's not a construction of your mind, but of those who look upon you. As Ellison's title character states in the Prologue, it lies in a person's inner eyes, which they use to look upon and evaluate their physical reality. Invisibility is something a person can be the victim of and not even realize it. Once someone lets you put your name, face and opinion on the main student publication's op-ed page once every two weeks, there's the temptation to believe you're something truly special. That is for others to believe, not you. If I've learned anything by writing on this page for five semesters, it is easy to fool yourself into thinking you represent only yourself. How convenient is it to break up a typical semester's crop of writers into the Humorist, the Frat Guy, the Sorority Girl, the Artsy Deep-Thinker, the Asian, the Hispanic, the Black one? That's the way it was for four out of those five semesters -- me as the only African-American writer. I'd hardly published my first column three years ago when an upperclassman reminded me of my responsibility to the Black community at-large. As a first-year student, why wouldn't I listen? I had no idea of how the campus politics worked. Invisibility doesn't exist for me purely in the context of my column, but I find discussing it provides the most effective avenue for articulating my frustration. Almost everyone seems to have their role in a collegiate environment; we all perform as people would expect us to. Then there are individuals who have made their own identity and stick with it (then are stuck with it). My experience at Penn and at The Daily Pennsylvanian has reinforced the notion it is nearly impossible to be an individual without being marginalized by everyone. The social atmosphere stops just short of forcing you to assume a predefined identity. Many I know tried to resist and a few succeeded. This is why I considered whether I was visible or not; I wanted to know if visibility meant individuality. Did being known by name and face by many on campus eliminate the invisibility? Invisibility is something that affects everyone to a certain extent; we all can be segregated into a group with our characteristics, interests, or beliefs. From there, stereotypes are born, individuals are no longer seen and the tension begins. Racial, religious, cultural categories -- it doesn't matter, really. There will always be someone that won't see you for who you are. As I reconsider my writing, my resistance to any compromisal of my opinions was somewhat futile, because I remained invisible to those who wished to pigeonhole me. I always feared no one understood what I meant by borrowing my title from Ellison's novel. Perhaps this has made it plain, perhaps not. It's something I can't concern myself with anymore. College teaches us all to live on our own terms, to some degree. Through my column and my experiences, I've learned to use my invisibility to my advantage rather than continuing to demand that people see me. Some might consider that acquiescence. Why, I ask?

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