Cardi B once said, “I’m just a regular degular shmegular girl from the Bronx.”

When I heard that, I leaned in and listened. Cardi was like every girl in every hood who wanted to do something big and the world could not see it. Like Cardi, I was surrounded by people who could not see, refused to see or were completely indifferent to the idea I could be successful.

I was born in Zambia, raised in Britain and have lived in Russia, the Arab Emirates and Japan. In 2005, I moved to New York City with a dollar and a dream. I was in a new country with no alumni network, no line sisters or life-long friends. It was just me, two kids and a job working in a television newsroom — that did not pay enough — with co-workers who were disrespectful, biased and racist. To them, I represented all Black people, when in reality, I was just me — rocking a blowout and a British accent. In fact, I was actually the only type of Black person they tolerated. And because I’m darker-skinned, they chose not to put me anywhere near a camera.

When I came to America, I thought I would meet women like Ashley Banks from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air or guys like Dwayne Wayne from A Different World. I thought Black America was what I watched on TV — but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It irritated the hell out of me that more Black people were not represented in the newsroom where I worked.

As Black women, we often have to show people what we can do before they believe it and give us a chance. In 2011, I started volunteering at hackathons around the city and took a particular interest in the ones geared toward Black kids. I decided to start a business to advise organizations interested in engaging Black kids in STEM. Eventually, I secured a contract working opposite Google’s external affairs team. While there, I began to chart a future as a Black woman in tech.

As far as I was concerned, I had made it. The offices were beautiful, the people were nice and the Black people were either new immigrants like me or first or second generation. Life was good.

Then in 2015, I saw a tweet by software engineer Jacky Alciné, pointing out that he and his friend were labeled as gorillas by Google Photos.

That tweet changed me.

I was livid. I felt sick. Up until that point, I assumed tech was “neutral.” I immediately told my boss and she was baffled. My colleagues were like, “How?” And my friends were infuriated, but told me to drop it and mind my business because I had a good job where I could make good money.

As Black people, we’re too often taught to choose comfort over courage for fear of the consequences of whiteness. But I couldn’t stay silent. As a journalist, I knew there was a story, and as a technologist, I wanted to know how the system worked. I continued trying to engage colleagues because I loved my job, but it became clear no one was hearing me. I knew I needed to leave — and quickly. So, I began to plot my escape.

I had a network of African friends who helped me plan the next move. A friend of a friend from back in England told me about a friend of hers coming to New York. Like us, she was a British woman of African descent, and exploring academic work on race and social media in the UK. She was coming to discuss this at a research institute and invited me along. Honestly, I had no idea what a research institute was or the idea that I could work there. But I knew this was my way out so when they had a fellowship opening, I applied and started in 2018.

While there, I learned that the Google Photos platform Jacky was using incorporated a technology called facial recognition — a type of artificial intelligence (AI) technology that is used to recognize human faces. Facial recognition systems can also be used to compare a series of pictures for identification purposes. These systems are used for boarding passes on planes, to identify people accused of crimes and at self-checkouts to make sure we don’t steal. Now, imagine being misidentified and not allowed to board a plane, getting falsely arrested or denied service because your face does not verify your age?

Being a “regular, degular” Black girl also means technology can be biased against us. Right now, the overturning of Roe v. Wade suggests our right to privacy is under attack by the U.S. Supreme Court. 45% of us live in the 22 states that have full or partial abortion bans — forcing Black people to continue with pregnancies for which we have higher mortality rates. And in some states that have made it harder to vote, the tracking and surveillance of period apps, texts or online searches could be used to criminalize us.

Ghanian American computer scientist Joy Buolamwini found commercial facial recognition systems were only 40% accurate on dark faces and misgendered Black femmes more than any other group. Boulewimi also found the systems were primarily trained on white men and could not recognize dark-skinned people. Technologies like facial recognition and biometric technologies are also sold to police and can harm Black people. Police use of facial recognition has already led to the wrongful arrest of Black men.

The truth is, we are becoming more dependent on technical systems and there are very few Black people explaining how these technologies impact our everyday lives.

While I was learning and building this new meaningful life, my bills were piling up. I received my first eviction notice. It was the first time I realized I could lose my house and my children, and I wouldn’t even have the money to go home so people could say, “I told you so.” I was under pressure and my family had to rely on food stamps and housing benefits — part of the very system of surveillance I was trying to disrupt.

I stopped eating. My hair began to fall out. I was now experiencing firsthand how the use of algorithmically-driven decision making systems are biased against Black people. This was my calling. My brain and body said to give up, but my spirit said to keep going. All I could do was pray and promised God that if he did not send me a sign, I would give this up and look for a “real job.”

At the research institute, I was interviewing product managers across Silicon Valley. As we talked about race and technology, they told me they liked my accessible delivery style and referred me to their manager to come in and do a workshop. It was the sign I’d hoped for — the workshop was a resounding success and within two months, my rent was up to date.

I had no idea then but my ability to translate research on race and technology into layman’s terms is not just my talent, it’s the basis of my life’s work to fight for Black people’s freedom from on and offline surveillance. Turns out, being a “regular degular” Black girl helped me connect people to ideas they never considered.

I would later secure fellowships at Harvard, Stanford and Notre Dame, start a non-profit, and become part of a team that won a New York Emmy for a news report on facial recognition and shareholder activism. I wish today I could go back and tell that Black girl in the newsroom this is in her future. We’ve been told we cannot be what we cannot see. But when Black femmes see ourselves, there are no limits on what we can be.

I want Black femmes and girls to know that our superpowers lie in being just who we are, always. It’s time we uplift and support each other because we are the future.

Today, I am a digital human rights expert. As I have learned, I am still “regular degular,” except I know that “regular, degular” is also incredible. Black femmes are underestimated, and that is a good thing because no one is paying enough attention to stop our stars from rising. But trust me, they will.

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Mutale Nkonde (she/hers) is a truth-teller in tech, recently named a Global Leader in Digital Human Rights and founding CEO of AI For the People (AFP) – an organization that works with journalists, policymakers, media and others to increase public understanding about how AI, web3 and quantum computing are changing and harming Black lives.