The Tartan

Editorials featured in the Forum section are solely the opinions of their individual authors.

In mid-January last year, a few hundred spring enrollees filled Rangos Ballroom and were set aflame by one statement, “Welcome Tartans.” It is a moment that I will never forget. I was welcoming a new reality and an entirely new version of Pittsburgh. Adding to the paradigm shift, a white woman sits next to me and says, “Phew, finally someone I can relate to!” I instantly did a double take to see if she was talking to someone else, but no, it was just us at the table. What could she mean by that? I then panned the room to find no other black or white students in the orientation. With 83% of the 2.3 million people in our Pittsburgh metro area being white, and 7% being black, there aren’t too many rooms where we are simultaneously underrepresented. I then realized I’ve experienced moments like this before, but never here. I’d seen this type of relief on a stranger’s face after they spotted my Terrible Towel while very far from home. When you’re traveling, any familiarity can feel like the closest thing to family. Walking into this ballroom was a trip out of Pittsburgh, but instead of a passport, all we needed was a student ID. At that point, I knew that CMU belonged to the world.

I am proudly a product of Pittsburgh, but that also means being the only African American in the room is not new for me. But this — this was new. It’s fascinating to discover what makes things, places, and people special. I quickly realized after my first class that Carnegie Mellon is special because it is a melting pot of experiences. I now have friends and classmates from Australia to Afghanistan, and they are all brilliant. There is a sense of pride that overcomes me while thinking about our reach around the world, but also a sense of “Job’s not finished,” in the words of Kobe Bryant. I was in Carnegie Mellon’s backyard most of my life and never thought this could be my school. I was never part of “that stuff over there.” The buildings and logos erected year after year didn’t do much to change the fact that this was not my ecosystem. Truth be told, with the acceptance rate that we have, most people with Carnegie Mellon dreams will never get the opportunity to experience them. 

Regardless, the more I involve myself in the university, the more I am in awe that this was here all along — from the buildings and curriculum to the collective power you feel when you begin to see the work happening alongside you. We are connected by proximity and aligned by a global mission to advance the world. I call this place a time machine in plain sight because the future is being built within these walls. I had to be exposed to this to truly internalize the fact that the buildings were for me. The logo was mine. I am now part of “that stuff over there.” 

Truly belonging here can be an intoxicating feeling, but reality has a way of sobering me up the further I step foot off campus. Five minutes from an innovation capital of the world are generations of people in neighborhoods that have no hope. How can I share something that is, by design, one of the most selective experiences in the world? Everything isn’t for everybody, but this place changes lives. What we do, we do greatly — better than anyone — but can we reach even more? Is that now up to me? 

I think the questions we ask tell a story about our lived experience. If I am the one asking this question, I believe the answer is part of the “me”-shaped hole I am supposed to fill in our long and historic legacy. This university prides itself on teaching us how to take an idea from concept to launch, but these ideas were never meant to live and die in labs and lecture halls. My lived experience is my first invention, and I’m the only one with this patent. It’s now time to share my invention with the world. Each perspective is unique and contributes to Carnegie Mellon’s larger mission to have a transformative impact on society. Understanding that no one else in the room could ask my questions begins to make them seem more like directions. Ultimately, it’s our individual voices that make this place what it is, and hopefully, mine will be used to encourage the next generation of hometown hopefuls.