Visible, But Not Always Centered
By Amaya Ashanti Brown
Representation at Georgetown looks different depending on who you ask. For some Black students, it means community and collaboration. For others, it means having conversations that might otherwise be left untouched. What unites them is not a single experience, but the awareness that visibility here is layered.
When asked what comes to mind when thinking about being a Black student on campus, the answers were not identical but they were intentional.
“Active,” said Tiffany Okane, 26, a law student at Georgetown Law Center. She described there is a strong presence within the Black Law Students Association and collaborative events with other Black law schools across D.C. In her experience, there are “enough bodies to be active,” enough people to build community and show up for one another. But her understanding of representation extends beyond numbers. Visibility, she explained, is not just about seeing someone who looks like you in a classroom. It’s about the narratives being pushed, whose histories are included, whose perspectives are centered, and whether uncomfortable conversations are acknowledged rather than avoided.
For Ahmed Finoh, 39, a graduate student in Urban and Regional Planning, the word that came to mind was “space.” As a Black male in a postgraduate program, space is not assumed, it is navigated. “What space can I hold?” he reflected. He described moments of subtle surprise when others ask, “You go here?” Visibility, for him, is rooted in empathy in validating perspectives that might otherwise be dismissed, especially in what he called today’s political climate.
Semoni Weaver, 23, a graduate student in the Public Relations and Corporate Communications Program, views the campus through a different lens. “Diverse,” she said. Having moved to D.C. for graduate school, she finds comfort in student-led spaces that are created by and for students.
For her, visibility is tied to being heard, “change can’t really happen unless people offer a listening ear.”
And then there is Shenika Shindano, a second-year Master of Science in Foreign Service student, who chose one word: “Powerful.” As one of two Black women in her cohort of 120, she carries the weight of representation in nearly every classroom. Visibility, she said plainly, means wanting to “physically see Black women” in positions of authority. If change were up to her, it would begin at the top, hiring more professors of color and opening space for broader perspectives.
Across these conversations, a pattern emerged. Representation at Georgetown is not a singular experience. It is layered, shaped by program, background, gender, and discipline. Some students find strength in community organizations and alumni networks. Others question institutional pipelines and the absence of local representation. Some feel supported. Others feel they must fight to be heard.
What unites them is not uniformity, but intention.
To navigate campus as a Black student, several interviewees described a quiet balancing act: advocating for funding, speaking up in classrooms, challenging narratives, and challenging ideas that often go unquestioned. As Okane noted, “Sometimes you just have to say something,” even when it feels isolating.
Black History Month often brings visibility in the form of events, flyers, and programming. But these students’ reflections suggest something deeper. Visibility is not seasonal. It is structural. It is intellectual. It is lived daily in classrooms, committee meetings, internships, and informal conversations.
And perhaps most strikingly, it is resilient.
“It’s difficult,” Shenika said, reflecting on navigating Georgetown as a Black student. “But if you can do it, then you can do anything.”
On a campus where history, policy, and power intersect, Black students are not only participating in the conversation. They are shaping it, actively, deliberately, and often against the current.