Two years ago I sat, stunned, in the audience of a student government meeting, adrenaline pumping through my body as I listened to a current senator read an eleven-point list about me. The theatre was packed with people, eyes darting between the senator and me as they meticulously detailed how I was a “terrible selection for president” and a “bad person”.
Each point on the list landed like a physical blow: Abrasive. Bossy. Arrogant. Patronizing. The senator declared that I had “no respect for the rules and traditions of the student government,” a pointed reference to the long-standing tradition that the president be a senior who had served as a senator since their freshman year. The senator spoke with such certainty, as if reading the definition next to my name in a dictionary rather than a description based on limited interaction. As the list continued, I was shaken by a harrowing realization about perception.
It was apparent that even people who barely know you possess the ability to create seemingly credible descriptions of who you are. They can stand before a group, present a description as an absolute truth, and influence others to believe them simply because it was delivered with confidence. The senator spoke about me to the crowd as if they had access to a set of fundamental truths about my character; as if the essence of everything I was could be distilled down to these harsh, hurtful adjectives.
In that moment, I understood that descriptions of who we are depend entirely on the eyes through which we are viewed. I was not shaken by the innate wrongness of their words, but rather that their words could be accurate depending on the perspective from which they were shared. To this senator, who did not know my intentions and saw me only as an outsider thinking I could run an organization I had never been a part of, this description made perfect sense. Through their eyes, my candidacy was presumptuous, my confidence read as arrogance, and my directness was abrasive.
Someone who does not really know you can only see fragments of who you are. The senator’s description was not fabricated from nothing; it came from what they observed in specific instances, but lacked the full picture of who I am. But what if we reframed these very same qualities? What if we viewed them through a different lens? To be abrasive is to be forthright and direct, unwilling to sugarcoat truth for sake of comfort. To be arrogant is to have ambitions and drive for change, deeply believing in the possibility for improvement. To be bossy is to be confident and unwavering in the pursuit of a dream. To be patronizing is to have a desire to support and uplift everyone, not for personal gain but for the greater good of the student body. These are the same traits presented by the senator, but entirely different interpretations. The same person, the same actions—but described so differently.
In certain ways, I think the senator’s description of me was accurate. Their description held pieces of the truth because I am direct, confident, ambitious, and I do take charge in situations that require leadership. These traits exist within me, and the senator correctly identified them, but without an understanding of their purpose, their intent and their impact. What the senator did not see was the empathy behind my directness, the careful consideration beneath my confidence, the collective good driving my ambition, and the collaborative spirit guiding my leadership. Without witnessing me across different settings and relationships, their description could only ever capture a silhouette of who I am, not the full scope of my character.
A year later, at the final student government meeting of my first term as president, the senator who once belittled me in front of this same crowd thanked me for my dedication to making student government a better place for all students. The abrasiveness and arrogance that at first felt threatening turned into refreshing honesty and inspiration to drive the student government to be better. A place that is transparent, ambitious, and has a dream to keep doing more for students.
The identities people assign to us, accurate or ill-perceived, complete or fragmented, favorable or critical, all depend on the eyes through which they are seen. I have been hurt by those who know of me without knowing me, challenged to show them the context of my motivations, the depth of my empathy, and my well-intended drive for positive change. In the end, I am grateful to have learned that not one single perspective defines me, but rather all of them do.
As the SRSGA elections draw closer, I share this story to offer another perspective. Candidates are always more than they appear, and we should be careful about how quickly we judge those brave enough to stand before the student body asking for their trust and votes. Through my journey, I’ve learned that our perceptions of others are often incomplete—fragments viewed through a limited lens. In my two years as president, I’ve witnessed how hasty judgments based solely on perception can overshadow the actual changes accomplished for the student body. Each candidate stepping forward now has their own motivations, strengths, and vision. They deserve to be evaluated not on first impressions or whispered reputations, but on their ideas, their commitment, and their potential impact. Voting is open April 7-9. While these candidates have shown up to represent you, it’s time for the student body to show up for them. Your vote determines the future of SRSGA and, by extension, your experience at this institution. Look beyond the surface, seek to understand their complete character, and vote for the future you want to see. After all, leadership isn’t about fitting into predetermined boxes or following established patterns—it’s about bringing your authentic self to create meaningful change. The candidates have done their part by stepping forward; now it’s your turn to engage thoughtfully with their visions and cast your vote accordingly.
