The story of how one Wisconsin family redefines the state’s identity

The opportunity of a lifetime was within his grasp, but he still wondered if he was good enough to hold on.

Taking chances

Ridwan Sakidja, a university student from Manado, Indonesia, debated whether or not to pick up his results. He had recently taken a nationwide exam, and the top performers would be rewarded with a scholarship to a prestigious university in the United States. His lingering thoughts of self-doubt were interrupted by the arrival of a letter from his mother.

The letter expressed how much pride she had for him.

No matter the outcome, she wrote, she was so happy he took this chance and gave it his all. The kind words gave him the confidence he needed to set out into the rainy night. He took the next possible bus. It didn’t matter that he would travel for hours in darkness — he had to see his score.

Lo and behold, he received one of the highest marks. With this exam score, he was on his way to Madison to get an undergraduate degree in materials science and engineering and to completely change the fate of his family.

The first Wisconsinite

After Sakidja and his wife, Upik Yunengsih, moved to Wisconsin, they had a baby. Anisa Yudawanti was born in Madison’s Meriter Hospital on Park Street. She is the first member of her family to be born in the U.S.

Anisa, now 20 years old, is a UW–Madison student who grew up in a Muslim family and identifies as a person of color.

Though she is a Wisconsinite by definition, Anisa struggles to relate to the state whose identity is so often connected with its love of football, cows and cheese.

While many think of Wisconsin identity as something concrete, to embrace all of its residents’ experiences — especially those outside of the state’s white Christian demographic — it must be in constant flux.  Anisa expresses her definition of Wisconsin identity by reflecting on her and her family’s experiences living in the state.

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

Like many immigrant families, Anisa’s parents made the difficult choice to leave their families behind in exchange for a better education.

They moved into Eagle Heights, a residential community for international students who come with their families to study at the university. Eventually Anisa was joined by her little brother, and their family grew up as her father continued to complete not only his undergraduate studies, but also his master’s and doctoral degrees.

Anisa went to elementary school in Shorewood Hills, a Madison village on Lake Mendota that’s known for its wealthy residents and country club. Its small number of non-white students mostly came from Eagle Heights. Anisa was surrounded by rich, white and Christian peers — the complete opposite of her.

“I remember that I would try to fit this mold of this white Shorewood girl,” says Anisa.

Young Anisa tried to disassociate from what made her different. After some kids made remarks about the strong smell of the Indonesian food her mother had made for her, Anisa would ashamedly sneak over to the trash can to throw it away. She wished she could have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch instead. She reflects on how her want to fit in led her to not recognize how ungrateful she was being toward her mother, who lovingly cooked her meals, and how intensely she was hiding her culture.

By the time Anisa was in second grade, she understood Muslims were often stereotyped, portrayed negatively, or omitted in the media and in school. Her elementary school teacher did not know Eid — one of the holiest Muslim holidays, celebrated at the end of fasting during the month of Ramadan — was a word. To gain acceptance, she also began shying away from telling others she was Muslim.

Seeing above the cloud

Growing up, Anisa believed Madison was a progressive place, but in high school she started noticing the way many of her white peers reacted to issues of race said otherwise.

In 2015, when Tony Robinson was shot by a police officer in Madison, many white students would calmly say to wait for more details or mention he was on drugs in an accusatory tone.

Anisa wondered if Robinson, a young black teenager, might have been treated differently because of his race, and she felt hurt and enraged that not many of her classmates were actively expressing their disgust and anger. All of the sudden, the people she thought were on the same page weren’t.

Anisa applied to a scholarship program in eighth grade that has made it possible for her to attend UW–Madison. Her experience at UW-Madison has been a formative one — with both positive and negative moments. She began to see how often acts of subtle discrimination occur in Madison. She also started learning the language and theory behind social justice, and she began understanding her identity by learning the term “person of color.”

Anisa discusses how many UW–Madison students assume the campus is a safe space for everyone. “There’s just this very strong cloud of complacency in this place, and a lot of ignorance. And a lot of that stems from the fact that a lot of people think it’s safe here. […]But you know so many people on this campus don’t feel that this is where they belong,” Anisa says.

Anisa actively seeks out places on campus where she feels comfortable and avoids those that could be potentially offensive, hateful or dangerous. Even outside of the campus, passersby will often ask, “Where are you from?” Though she is — and feels — American, most refuse to accept that answer. Some even take it a step further by saying she looks so exotic. “Yeah, like what am I? A bird?” Anisa asks.

Even through the struggle, Anisa is grateful to be able to go to school at UW–Madison.

It allows her to be close to her tight-knit family, which has put so much on the line for the sake of their family’s education.

The Wisconsin hustle

When her family first came to Wisconsin, her parents did not have visas to work, so they did whatever was necessary to make ends meet. Anisa’s mom catered and baby-sat. Her father would wake up every day at 3 a.m. to deliver newspapers before driving Anisa to school and then going to his graduate school classes.

It is clear that for Anisa’s family, the Wisconsin identity is defined by opportunity and education, along with struggles along the way.

When her father received the opportunity to get an education in Madison, he might not have been fully ready for all of what was to come. But Anisa’s parents were determined to give their children the best lives they could give them.

“They hustled so much just to keep the family afloat,” Anisa says. “For a lot of it, I didn’t even notice. They didn’t want their kids to know that so much hustling was going on.”

Carol(ina) Silva is a super senior studying journalism with a focus in strategic communication, international studies and graphic design. As a self-identifying third culture kid, not even Carol is fully sure of where she is from. But this Brazilian-American’s love for Chicago is so deep that it will always be home.

When not designing for Curb, she can be found at the Morgridge Center for Public Service amping students up about the joys of volunteering, being nerdy about modern art or smiling lovingly at dogs on the street. Some of her biggest accomplishments include being able to quote parts of “The Princess Diaries,” almost shaking Obama’s hand and leading All-Campus Day of Service to teach students about participating in meaningful public service.