I knew Jeron DuHart ’21 would be a fun person to interview from the moment I saw his Gmail profile picture. The spiky hairdo, white crop top and flamboyant posture reminiscent of Salt Bae all had me very much looking forward to picking his brain over Zoom. He did not disappoint. His enthusiasm and confidence reflected his journey at the College of William and Mary, which has been filled with bumps along the way but is reaching close to a triumphant destination — for Jeron, a double major in computer science and business analytics with a passion for singing and dancing, his choices are myriad.

 Once I asked the first question, I basically took a backseat and let Jeron do all the talking. “I'm sorry that I ramble. I’m a big rambler.” Jeron’s vibrant yet chaotic upbringing, coupled with his intersectional identity, has given him plenty of food for thought. In turn, he has lots to say about his role at a predominantly white and wealthy institution like the College. As you read on, you will learn that rather than conform to the crowd, Jeron DuHart stuck to his true self and made a name for himself as a carefree, multi-faceted and introspective figure among his peers. The following conversation has been edited for clarity.

Linda Li: So right off the bat, what does it feel like to be a gay, Afro-Latino man in this day and age?

Jeron DuHart: I honestly think it’s interesting — it is difficult, I would say. I do not think that people recognise the issues, the actual personal issues [and] why it’s so difficult, how people act in reference towards me, being a gay Black man, is something that I do not think you will recognise as much if that makes sense. In today’s day and age, it also depends on where you’re located. So I’m in Puerto Rico for this semester, which is super, super exciting. It’s definitely easier in some instances here than it has been for most of my life when I was just in Virginia. I guess it’s [also] interesting just because of the fact that we’re not necessarily represented in the media. The only time that you ever see any Black gay man in the media, their entire character is about them being a Black gay man, which is totally understandable — my main identifying factor for myself is the fact that I’'m gay. It’s just unfortunate because most of the roles that you see displayed are like, oh, here’s your side character. He’s Black and gay, ooh, knock both of those out of the category. I also think it’s difficult with George Floyd. Just the amount of regression that the United States has done as a country within the past four years under Trump’s presidency, we have a lot of nerve now. Two or three months ago, I was at a protest in Williamsburg, and there were only about 12 or 13 of us. At that protest, there was this group of white men without masks that were screaming in our faces, not willing to have any sort of discussion at all. I think that’s a really good example of the way that a lot of conservatives have a certain ideal against people who are Black or LGBTQ, that’s like I'm not trying to have a discussion, you just need to see that you’re wrong — which is so unfortunate because I was born this way. Knowing that I was born this way, it can’t be something negative. I’m so proud of myself, and I’'m so happy to be gay. It’s a very difficult life, but I’'m stronger from it.

LL: Have you always been proud of your intersectional identity? What has the process been?

JD: Honestly, no. I’m half-Black, half-Puerto Rican, [so] I was raised religious. I’m a Seventh Day Adventist, which is kind of a small sect of Christianity that goes to church on Saturdays. My parents met in the military, so being in a strict traditional household, you guessed it: I was homophobic until I was 14, 15 and then I went to an art school. Interestingly enough, my dad two years ago was like, “Oh, sometimes I regret sending you to that school.” And I was like, “because I learned who I was? So sad. Oh my God, that’s tragic.” Anyway. I wasn’t necessarily outwardly homophobic, but I definitely wasn’t all for it. And then I realised I had been doing sketch shit since middle school. But I was like, “oh, I was just releasing sexual tension with fellow male friends — still a heterosexual!” [The art high school] was where I got to know myself a lot more. You could be anything that you wanted to be, nobody cared, and everybody celebrated you. I realised I was bisexual when I was 15. And then once I got to college, I realised I’m definitely more male leaning, I’m definitely gonna end up with a man. I definitely would say coming into the person that I am today, that was by the grace of William and Mary to an extent. I’m definitely in a way better place than I was before — but it took a lot of time.

LL: Yeah, I read your profile in The Flat Hat last year. You said you had a pretty rough freshman year and it was difficult to find your community. Could you elaborate on how you transitioned from your diverse high school to a relatively homogeneous campus like the College?

JD: Going from that very diverse school to a predominantly white, upper-middle class was a huge difference when I first got here. I realised that I wasn’t necessarily integrating myself into the Black community as I should, all my friends were white because that was just everybody around me. There were only two other Black people in my freshman hall. There were so many times where I felt like I literally couldn’t breathe because I was the only person darker than the wall in any building. I couldn’t necessarily be my true self. As soon as I got into the school, I auditioned for an a cappella group. That’'s how I got my main group of friends at first, but I dealt with a huge amount of microaggressions — and that was not something exclusive to a cappella. But because I spent most of my time there, I guess that is where I had dealt with most of them. People don’t recognise what it’s like to not have as much money or how to speak in terms of your own situation. We used to have this be-all and end-all [where] if you couldn’t sight read [read and sing at the same time], you wouldn’t make it into [an a cappella] group. That’s not necessarily fair, because a lot of people — a lot of POCs — come from lower-income schools and neighbourhoods where you don’t necessarily have that kind of expensive choir that can teach you how to look at a piece of paper and learn how to sing.

LL: How do you think William and Mary can better support marginalised communities, especially with COVID-19 restrictions?

JD: With the COVID restrictions it’s definitely more difficult. I think that there should be some form of required education on the backgrounds of minorities that needs to be like Intro to Africana Studies — there are so many cultural programs that William and Mary offers. We have all these Gen Ed requirements like COLL 200 and NQR or whatever, you need to have a lot of those classes, [but] I did not learn anything important from those. The real things that I really need to know about are like how to be a decent human being and what it means to be somebody that’s not like me. In terms of what William and Mary can do, it needs to have mandated education on how to change your views and be a more inclusive person in general. It has to be required because people are not going to do it. People are too busy. We’re all too busy.

LL: What are your thoughts on the Lemon Project?

JD: So I don’t know everything about the Lemon Project. I would say it is clear to me that the William and Mary administration consists of primarily older, most likely white people that are kind of trying to throw [around] like, “Oh, this seems like it’ll work. This should work. This might work.” When there have been multiple requests and half of what a protest is about is you removing a bunch of Confederate statues, your fix-all is to spend more money on a memorial to slaves on the same campus that celebrates people who owned said slaves. Clearly, you’re trying to brush over the problem. It seems like such a cop out.

LL: If you could go back to any point in your college career, would you change anything about your experience?

 JD: I would, yes. I started going to the gym in February. I didn’t realise how much physical fitness and taking care of my health helped me mentally. I was so much more comfortable with myself. After I was taking care of myself on a regular basis, being active really put me in a much better headspace than I was before. So, if there’s anything I could change, I guess being more active and being more fit and taking care of myself earlier. Also, I guess something I would change is maybe taking a class on how to be confrontational. I’'m still not great with it. There have been so many times where I’ve been spoken over or just disrespected, but I was too scared, and I didn’t feel comfortable enough to say anything about it. I wish I had done more of that sooner.

LL: How would you try to have better conversations in the future?

 JD: It kind of comes back to getting out of my comfort zone and being willing to confront somebody about some things. I definitely have noticed even nowadays, there’s still a lot of microaggressions. And the amount of continuous hype that “Save the Tribe 7” has gotten from a multitude of people on campus when Black Lives Matter has been prevalent for months — I want to speak on that. I understand that people might not feel comfortable, but it is your place to [speak on those things] because, at this point, the whole reason why we’re talking about this is because this is an injustice in society as a whole. That means that every single one of us is responsible to at least try harder to understand how to be more inclusive, how to be more diverse, how to change the system so that it’s equitable for all, not just equal for all — so we’re all on the actual same playing field. Something that I definitely want to have more conversations about is where do you think your place is in reference to calling out problematic behavior, spreading awareness, things of these sorts, or with people as to why they felt so passionately. I’ve seen a lot of you who aren’t even student athletes be very, very passionate about “Save the Tribe sports” as well as the fact that the protests themselves have been headed by a lot of student athletes and now we have all the teams coming together. That kind of energy could also be put into Black Lives Matter. I totally understand — sports, your livelihood, your history, how your life journey has been in reference to your sports. But when it comes to you graduating and the world that we live in for the rest of our lives, the colour of your skin plays way more of an important role than the sport that you play. So yeah, I want to have more conversations making sure Black Lives Matter wasn’t just a trend that happened at the start of quarantine. We need to fix this. And we’re not going to shut up until it gets fixed.

LL: Powerful words.

JD: Thank you.

LL: Okay, full disclosure: I stalked your Instagram yesterday, and your outfits are really cute. How has your sense of style changed over time?

 JD: Oh, my God. This is another thing I think happened to me going to the gym. I felt so much more confident. And even now that I don’t go to the gym, I still like to put on these little shorts, you know? Even when I was in high school, I’d always love to be the kind of guy who can rock a crop top — that was always a dream for me. During my senior year of high school, I bought my first pair of short shorts. And I was like, dang, my legs look nice in this. Even though I dealt with a lot of homophobia at my house and everything, my mom made sure to raise me knowing that I have to love me, regardless of if nobody else in the world loved me. I don’t know how she did it, but I do. You know, I’ll sit there and cry about how lazy I’ve been, and how much I’'m not doing and how I’m a shitty person at times. But I know for a fact that I genuinely care for myself. That is something I continually reminded myself whenever anybody would ridicule me for what I was wearing. Then as I started delving into it, of course, I got some hate. But I think that people vibe with the fact that I was expressing myself more than the hate I would receive. And so whenever anybody would give me any hate, I was like, “I’m sorry. Is that toxic masculinity? Is that misogyny I hear? Your problem? Why did you feel the need to say that?” Whenever anybody would bring up any sort of comment on what I was wearing, I would always come back because it makes me angry [that] that’s where it stems from. Because gender is literally a social construct. There is no reason as to why because I have a penis, I have to do all these things. It’s one of those things where when you look at it, there is no real reason for gender at all. So why do I have to follow it? I don’t; I’m gonna look cute.

LL: I really respect that.

 JD: Thank you. I mean, there are times when I don’t feel very confident. At least for me, if there’s this 11 or 12-year-old that already knows they’re going to be a little non-binary, I want them to know that it’s possible. I want them to be able to look at me and be like, “Oh shit, he’s doing that and he’s rocking it. I can do that.” I think that’s the main driver as to why I wear what I wear so confidently. There’s no room for wavering on confidence.

 LL: What’s the twampiest thing you’ve ever done?

 JD: What does it even mean to be a twamp? Let’s see. I would honestly say when I’m on campus, I spend more time doing the stereotypical on-campus things than most people. Oh my god, the amount of times I’ve streaked the Sunken Garden is problematic. Any sort of tradition that William and Mary has crafted, I’ve tried it multiple times. Yeah, the twampiest thing I’ve ever done is if you tell me that something’s twampy, I’m probably gonna do it, you know?