More Than the “Diverse” Kid

Written by Christipher, Youth Voices – Fall/Winter 2026 Cohort

Learning new perspectives has always intrigued me: from storytime videos on YouTube to  the people I befriended around the world on Roblox. That curiosity extended through adolescence, when I began seeking opportunities to break free from the constraints of my home county. One of these opportunities was a 10-day exchange program that I believed would bridge cultures, foster understanding, and break down barriers worldwide. Instead, the racial and cultural dynamics felt uneven. Almost as if some identities weren’t as worthy of being seen and heard  as others. 

I was one of only two Black students and the only openly queer person of color in the American cohort. Early on, I noticed that most students made little effort to include me. Conversations were short, and I was rarely asked to join pictures unless they were for my “American Pop Culture” group or an all-boys picture. Most of how people perceived me felt superficial: loud, upbeat, and “overly sassy.” When others showed similar wit and passion, they were praised as clever and engaging. For me, those same traits were met with distaste, labeling me “overdramatic,” “sarcastic,” or worse. 

I’m not a perfect person. I know my passion can come across as intense. But a part of me felt that my identity shaped how people interpreted my words and actions. When someone gave me a chance, I noticed they saw me beyond those traits. One peer described me as “an observant and intelligent person in reflections and actual, deep conversations.” It made me wonder: What if everyone had the chance to see me and others like me that way? Not just a voice brought for diversity and sidelined for easier representation.  

What if everyone had the chance to see me and others like me that way? Not just a voice brought for diversity and sidelined for easier representation.

For my group project on American pop culture. I chose to focus on music because I wanted to feature underrepresented artists like Lauryn Hill. For me, she represented a significant part of American culture I grew up with. But when a group member found “Ex-Factor” too difficult to memorize,  we replaced it with something “more familiar:” Katy Perry’s “California Girls.” A part of me hated that we didn’t get to showcase a voice from Black culture, my voice, as if it held little importance to the other students, and even the counselors in their criticisms. I pushed back, arguing that familiarity should not be the only consideration and that the presentation should challenge limited perceptions of American culture. We ultimately paired Miley Cyrus’ “Party in The USA” with Ariana Grande’s “Hate That I Made You Love Me,” but I got the message they were trying to send loud and clear. 

After the project, I began noticing a pattern: each time I spoke up or stood up for myself, I was the problem. Comments like “you don’t have to approach the world so defensively” only made me question if my attempts to voice my experiences were being seen as destructive and exaggerated, rather than necessary. 

Then, two white students told me, “Don’t take offense to this, but there aren’t a lot of you where I’m from,” which they clarified was in reference to me being a gay Black person. It wasn’t said with malice, yet it made me realize how unfamiliar my identity was to some people and how much it shaped my experience. As one of only two Black Americans and the only openly queer person of color, I was hyper-aware of how few people shared my identity. It wasn’t just about being one of the few; it was about how much that shaped every interaction, from who I sat with at meals to whose stories were centered in our discussions. 

It wasn’t just about being one of the few; it was about how much that shaped every interaction, from who I sat with at meals to whose stories were centered in our discussions. 

My experiences taught me that these programs could fulfill their promise of bridging cultures, fostering understanding, and breaking down barriers worldwide, if organizers took intentional steps to prioritize representation.

Recruiting students from a wider range of racial, cultural, and intersectional backgrounds would better reflect the diversity of our societies and ensure every voice is amplified, not just the ones that fit the mold. Another small step that could’ve been taken was for the counselors to have more structured conversations highlighting underrepresented students, or inviting students like and unlike me to share their experiences in presentations similar to what the Japanese students did in their hometowns. 

This could’ve led to more progress that would’ve been crucial for two reasons.

First, with my American cohort consisting primarily of white and Asian students, much of the cultural exchange naturally centered on those experiences, and many voices were left out of the conversation. My experience with the presentation on American pop culture is a prime example.

Second, greater representation could create spaces where students don’t have to navigate their identities alone. For someone like me, this could make all the difference in truly feeling included. Not just for people of my community, but for all marginalized and intersectional students.

Recruiting a wider range of backgrounds isn’t just about numbers; it’s about living up to the core purpose of cultural exchange. It’s about ensuring that every student, regardless of their background, feels seen, heard, and valued. We shouldn’t just be tokens, but essential parts of the exchange, and voices that shape narratives and enrich the dialogue. 

I hope future students like me can participate and have their perspectives included, without feeling that they are carrying their identities alone. If these institutions are serious about their mission to foster cultural exchange and unity through difference, then it must prioritize representation. Not just in words, but in action.

We shouldn’t just be tokens, but essential parts of the exchange, and voices that shape narratives and enrich the dialogue.