Uneducated. Ghetto. Unreliable. Fat. Thuggish. Hoodrat.

These were words used—by blacks and non-blacks alike—to describe Rachel Jeantel on Twitter and in the media after her testimony during the controversial George Zimmerman trial.

Witness number eight, Rachel Jeantel, was Trayvon Martin’s close friend, and the last person to speak with him before his death—the prosecution’s key witness. During the trial, she took the stand and did what every witness is told to do: She told her version of the truth, and she did so in the way that felt most natural to her.

However, as Jeantel gave her testimony, she was treated unlike other witnesses who gave their testimony during the course of the trial. Instead of focusing on what Jeantel said and the ways in which her version of events may have shed light on Zimmerman’s guilt or innocence, many people could not see past the way she looked or spoke.

Minutes into her testimony, many Twitter users, among other social media users, had already deemed her uneducated and unreliable. As CNN contributor and political scientist Jason Johnson put it, “The swiftness with which she was viewed as a good or bad witness by some had more to do with how she looked [and spoke] than what she actually said.” Because Jeantel did not speak the “proper” English of white, middle class America, she was immediately characterized as “unsophisticated” and therefore not worthy of being heard or treated as a credible witness.

Now, we must ask ourselves: What determines credibility? Is appearance and speech sufficient enough to make that determination? Why is speaking ebonics, or the decision not to code-switch, immediately a symbol of a lack of education? Who created these standards?

In the state’s closing statement, prosecutor Bernie de la Rionda included the following on Jeantel: “Now, this young lady—and I will submit to you is not a very sophisticated person, she’s not the most educated, but she’s a human being and she spoke the best she could.” When her own representative deemed her unintelligent, and effectively stated that she was simple-minded, it is not surprising that Juror B37 likewise expressed that Rachel "felt inadequate toward everyone because of her education and her communication skills.”

Jeantel’s experience not only reveals the negative stereotypes associated with being a heavy-set, dark skinned, black woman in America, but also unveils the use of stereotypes as a mechanism of isolation. During and after her testimony, Jeantel has been made to feel like the “other” by blacks and non-blacks alike. Many non-blacks regard her as difficult to understand, an unintelligent, angry witness just trying to “do the best she could,” and thus a character to be pitied.  What’s more, within the black community, many view her as embarrassing “for the race.” Many would have preferred to be represented “well” by an articulate black woman who meets white America’s standards, a defense mechanism likely stemming from the too-familiar pop culture characterizations of black people as uneducated and inferior.

Why was Jeantel categorized as the “ghetto black female” who should not be listened to or who deserved everyone’s pity? Because she rolled her eyes when Don West demeaned her? Or because her enunciation wasn’t up to par?

Apparently, Rachel Jeantel wasn’t the right type of American. This was not only because she did not speak “proper English” but also because she did so as a black woman. When people hear Miley Cyrus’ southern twang, they don’t assume that she is unintelligent simply because of her vernacular. She isn’t shunned from society because she says “y’all.” What made Rachel different was that America chose not to understand her. Instead, many used her dialect to define her, a dialect that most Americans are taught to associate with inferiority, only because it is most prevalent in poor, black, and urban neighborhoods.

The response to Rachel was unsettling not only because it was offensive, but also because it reinforces prejudiced beliefs of what type of person deserves respect in this country.

As we approach the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington and Martin Luther King’s momentous “I Have a Dream” speech, we continue to strive to be judged not by the color of our skin, but by the content of our character. But when black women are denied that right when they don’t speak “the right way,” are not the right size, or do not meet the preconceived standards of mainstream America, we all fail that dream.

So as we hear President Obama say that Trayvon Martin could have been him 30 years ago, we know that there are also many Rachels in the world who don’t yet have a powerful voice speaking for—or identifying with—them. In these cases, we must remember the words of writer and civil right’s activist Audre Lorde: “I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.”

Amanda D. Bradley ‘15 is a government concentrator in Dunster House. She is the president of the Association of Black Harvard Women. Jasmine S. Burnett ‘16 is a government concentrator in Lowell House. She is the ABHW Action Committee Chair.