A Peak into a Life of Intersectionality
Navigating Identity, Intersectionality, and Lived Experience as an Artist and Student from Newark
My name is Avionna Green, and since this is my first article, I wanted to write an introductory piece that peeks behind the curtain of an artist and full-time student. However, this article does not feature my artistry, but it does create a path toward it.
Navigating the world of academia and the professional sector has been interesting and very telling of how people interact with the knowledge of where I grew up. What I mean is that when people hear me say, “I grew up in the Newark, Irvington, and East Orange areas of New Jersey,” I am met with, “Oh wow!” This “oh wow” is not quite at the level of someone discovering an image or hearing a song they did not know their favorite artist contributed to, but also not quite at the level of someone finding out that their friend is related to a serial killer like Ted Bundy. It sits squarely in the middle, where horror meets intrigue—where rumor, speculation, stereotypes, and a loose understanding of an environment intersect.
Unfortunately, such interactions did not start when I entered college or the professional sector. They began whenever I interacted with people who (1) did not look like me and (2) were not from the same social class as my family and me. Having a doctor in Livingston express shock that a 16-year-old girl from Newark liked K-pop and Korean food was jarring—not in the way you might expect. That experience was jarring because the disbelief was rooted in the notion that someone from Newark could not like such things, rather than being grounded in race alone.
As I grew up, I came to understand that I have always existed within a space of intersectionality—where limitations and expectations are shaped by where I live, how I was raised, and my life experiences, rather than simply because I am Black. However, it was not until I started attending Kean University that I began to fully conceptualize this reality. Hearing stories from fellow students about the various places they grew up, and their negative or positive experiences traveling to or through Newark, opened new perspectives that reflected my own lived reality.
At Kean, among my classmates, I became something like an encyclopedia of surprising, violent, positive, and humorous stories about growing up in Newark. The laughs and gasps fell into a deafening silence when the Black Lives Matter movement gained momentum during the pandemic. At that time, I found myself crying while also trying to convey the Newark I know—the one that is creative, vibrant, and full of talent, even with its difficult moments. I became more self-conscious about the stories I shared, worried that my lived experiences—many of them rooted in violence—might cast Newark and its Black and Brown communities in a negative light.
Perhaps my stories were easier to digest because of where I was in life (college), my personality, and the softness of my voice, which seemed to soften the impact of experiences that were anything but soft. The way I spoke, often with an unusual sense of calm or indifference, became, in a way, the punchline. My stories were never exaggerated or fabricated for shock value—they were real and consistent. But I have come to understand that when people experience or hear accounts of trauma, there is sometimes an uncomfortable reaction that can manifest as laughter or disbelief.
It sounds bizarre, but it happens. And it is, unfortunately, both a difficult and inescapable part of my experience.
In my next article, I will share some of the life experiences that have shaped me and how those moments have influenced my interests, my academics, and my artistry.
