I was born in Atlantic City, affectionately known as “AC” in Venice Park — a redlined, predominantly Black neighborhood. Within my city’s 48 blocks, you can see the casinos’ towering presence from any point in the city. While these casinos and outlet shops lie at its center, the heart of AC lies within its diverse Black and brown communities. Communities like Chelsea Heights — right by Tropicana. The Village — blocks away from The Walk. Or Venice Park — right by the Absecon Inlet.

I remember going to the Gardner’s Basin for various blues concerts that my Dad would drag me to growing up, or going to “Take Your Child to Work Day” with my mom at the Atlantic City Municipal Court right off of Atlantic and Iowa Avenue. I remember hearing of the glory days of my family’s church, formerly located on the corner of Vermont and Madison Avenue. This is the Atlantic City that I know — a city that I’ve come to love.

But I am too often reminded that not everyone sees the city I love.

One day my sister and I were driving through AC. We were roaming the city looking for a new restaurant to go to. Coming off of the White Horse Pike, a highway in New Jersey, we drove through AC and were greeted by cracked sidewalks, dilapidated buildings, the absence of traffic cameras, interwoven with brown-skinned faces walking to wherever — some with children in tow, others dressed in uniforms as if they were headed to work. After a couple of blocks, it was more of the same. No traffic cameras, uneven and crammed roads, boarded-up houses and broken street signs.

Then, as we crossed the border of Jackson Avenue into Ventnor City, I noticed a distinct change. I saw a Wawa. I couldn’t believe it. Right across the street, a movie theater. As we kept driving, the roads became more even and smooth and much of what we saw on those first couple of blocks continued to completely change. We saw plenty of restaurants with outside seating, white people walking their dogs — some jogging and others riding their bikes.

As we crossed into Margate City, the houses turned into mansions. I saw Teslas, Mercedes Benz’, BMWs lining the wide streets that were accented with manicured lawns and pretty fences with gates. Yet, of all these changes, the traffic cameras stood out the most. They awaited you at every stoplight accompanied by speed barometers, as if to tell those who were outsiders that you were being watched, monitored even. My sister and I were greeted with curious stares as we rode through — as if we were blemishes riding through these designated white streets.

These stark changes my sister and I witnessed seemed as if they were in place to signal that this community was worthy of being seen; that this community was worth being protected; that this community mattered. My sister and I ended up turning around to find somewhere else to eat because we felt uncomfortable. We felt seen, but not in a good way. As we made our way out of Margate, back into Ventnor, and crossing Jackson Avenue back into AC, the traffic cameras vanished. I felt some relief to be in a place where I felt I belonged, but at the same time, I realized that this diverse community I love so much was metaphorically invisible. It would not be validated. It would not be protected. It would not matter in the same capacity as these other cities whose “value” had been projected the moment you crossed city lines.

AC is no different than any other bustling city in America. My work as an intern for Stories of Atlantic City, an organization committed to restoring the narrative and image of AC through restorative narrative journalism, illuminated this to me. There’s culture, entertainment and, most of all, a rich, diverse community here — one that often goes unnoticed. What makes AC so different from Margate City and Ventnor City? White people. White people with money and resources. This should not validate their voices any more than the predominantly Black and brown voices that fill the communities in Atlantic City and account for most of New Jersey’s population growth.

People of color now make up almost 50% of the state’s population, yet white communities are overrepresented at the expense of minimizing the voices of people of color. Furthermore, this overrepresentation creates hurdles to putting people in positions of leadership that represent me and carry the interests of my community. It’s important to have people who look like the people within my community representing my community. If they don’t look like me, it is imperative that people who are representing me make it their central focus of taking these marginalized communities out of the margins and placing them within the view of recognition, validation and importance.

Thanks to the New Jersey State Conference Youth & College & Stockton NAACP, I was made aware that I could actually make my voice heard and testified before the New Jersey Apportionment Commission to implore them to make sure the Black and brown voices of the Atlantic City community are not diluted and lost when drawing new legislative maps.

On February 18, the Commission agreed on a bi-partisan map, a first for New Jersey. While this is a historical moment, it is worth noting that this process was designed to work that way. Our map-making process should always be bi-partisan and most importantly centered on fairly representing the communities that make up the districts. This recent redistricting process highlighted that there is still much work to do to ensure that racial equity is at the center of political processes that impact our state for years to come.

In these unprecedented times of change, those who were always counted last are now being counted first. It’s up to us to follow the upward curve of change. It is time for adequate representation that champions my community’s voices to be heard and fights for our communities to finally be seen.

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Malikah Stafford is a member of Stockton University’s chapter of the NAACP and is the Vice President of Stockton’s Unified Black Student Society. She is currently a graduating senior at Stockton University pursuing a B.A. in Communication Studies with a minor in Africana Studies. Malikah is also an artist that is dedicated to uplifting and centralizing Black voices in her work and aspires to write for television. She will be matriculating to NYU Tisch School of the Arts to pursue an MFA in Dramatic Writing. Her original sitcom pilot, ‘Mixed Up,’ is currently available on Amazon Prime.

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