Diana--

2:25 PM. I am walking across Pomona College with lead-trodden feet. My mind is occupied and I am unable to notice the warmth of the summer day or the green on the towering trees. I arrive: the sign reads “Lebus 201.” I walk up the spiral concrete steps into a dim-lit hallway reminiscent of the old Sunday school building I went to as a child, with shabby brown carpets and yellowing white walls. The aesthetic breeds an essence of familiarity, but the room reeks of cigarette smoke that has seeped into the pores of the building. I have been a research assistant for only two weeks, but I am drained and apprehensive.

I walk into the room and see the intimidated faces of my frustrated peers---we had all met the dead hours of the night doing research for the fourth consecutive day, and we all had the same thing in mind: in a little over a week, we are putting on a presentation entitled “Decoding Visual Culture and Constructing Cultural Criticism.” What does that string of highfalutin words even mean? Each session consists of an analytical viewing of independent documentaries created to reveal the invisible history of groups of Africana and Latino diaspora. The terms “lead with the visual” and “form, content, and context” are swarming in my head, but I am having trouble piecing together the information.

I really want the presentation to succeed, but beyond that, I want to obtain a firm grasp of the breadth of the study. Our research professor built a rough exterior through her experiences of joining the Black Panthers in her twenties, earning a PhD, and fighting her way to become a professor at one of the most renowned institutions in the nation. She did not sugar-coat her opinions or hesitate to speak her mind. I had never been so intimidated by an educator, while maintaining so much respect. She is a fireball of scathing honesty, dangerous knowledge and formidable opinions, and some part of me wants to emulate those characteristics. I want to possess a cunning critical lens and fearlessness in expressing my thoughts.

Time passes quickly. After countless sleep-deprived nights, hours of concentration and group run-throughs, the presentation day arrives. We are the first group to present, and it is time to show the crowd of over one hundred people what we have studied. In the crowd, I see a blend of shocked faces and looks of deep interest. The half hour escapes in a snap and at the end of the presentation, I am proud---proud of persevering, proud of the information presented, and most importantly, proud of gaining a fresh perspective. Those four brief weeks in research were the most challenging and mentally-tasking experience that I have ever had in an academic environment, but I have learned that although institutions of power control the presentation of information, I have agency over my interpretation via my understanding of power structures. I will not be limited by my understanding alone; I will use what I know to give voice to marginalized individuals.