JUDSINE BLAISDELL WHYTE, 19
Judsine Blaisdell Whyte is an afro-latinx woman, born and raised in Boston, Massachusetts. Growing up, she has always had a strong attraction to art, expressing herself through painting, sketching, sculpting, digital media, and writing. She aspires to one day open up a nonprofit arts center to encapsulate all of her passions— social activism, art, and philanthropy—into one place.
Blaisdell Whyte’s participation in the YW Boston’s Youth Initiative, a nine-month leadership program, taught her valuable social justice education and leadership skills, and how to communicate powerfully and effectively. She also worked at Artist for Humanity, where she was given the opportunity to improve and cultivate her artistic practice. Her writing is not only very freeing and therapeutic, but creates another voice for Whyte. She says it can be hard for her, physically, to speak up, and writing is another way to make sure her thoughts and opinions are heard.
Blaisdell Whyte sees that America has many problems, but racial tension is one of the most glaring and will not dissipate any time soon. Despite great strides made throughout history, many people fail to recognize that real impact requires real change. She says that more people have to be willing to be a part of this conversation. By being active within the conversation of race and recognizing the system built against minorities, youth are recognizing the detrimental effects for themselves and future generations and opening the channels for change. Whyte hopes for a future where people can sit down, converse, and hear each other out. She sees a future where people are not afraid of their own ignorance and are receptive to change. She hopes for a world of acceptance.
Blaisdell Whyte attends the University of Massachusetts Amherst, creating an individualized degree program, with a concentration in social entrepreneurship.
by Judsine Blaisdell Whyte
Sometimes I wonder if when my mother gave birth to me she bled out because I was broken from the beginning. A broken vase that has always been there, broken during horse play with your siblings. You try to sweep the broken pieces under the sofa and hope she doesn’t notice. But she does. She doesn’t mention it because it wasn’t the first time you’ve disappointed her and she knows it won’t be your last. And the cuts from cleaning up just won’t cut as deep as when you were born. I think a piece of me is still there, and when life gets a little too hectic, she starts bleeding again and wonders why she couldn't have given birth to a kid that was whole. Someone with all of their pieces, someone who didn’t need to be put back together every once in a while. Sometimes she wonders if it was even worth the blood, sometimes she gets light head from how much she’s lost and sometimes she wishes she can just get rid of it all. Sweep up all of the pieces and dispose of them, but some pieces are so small that a broom can’t rid her of all of them. She will walk around the house in shoes so I can no longer penetrate her.