Walking while Black

Will it ever be safe to exist while Black?

My college friend was back on campus yesterday for a track team reunion. He was walking around the college (like a Harry Potter house) where we had lived – he was my next-door neighbor one year – and videoing his journey so he could send it to me and another friend.

A young White woman stopped him and asked, “Excuse me sir, do you go to Rice?”

The first thing you need to know is that there are no fences around the Rice campus.

There are no gates.

It’s across the street from the Texas Medical Center.

It’s in a neighborhood.

People – the public – anyone – is allowed to be on campus in the open spaces.

Anyone.

The second thing you need to know is that my friend – let’s call him Sergio, which is not his name but is one of my favorite names – is a grown man. And he happens to be Black.

Although he has aged very well, there is no way to look at him and think he might be an 18-year-old undergrad.

The third thing you need to know is that – wait. There is no third thing.

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A young White woman thought it was perfectly acceptable to challenge a stranger about his presence in a quasi-public space.

And she kept challenging him, even after she got an answer that should have been more than acceptable.

When he told her that he was an alumnus, she asked what he was doing there.

Because alumni aren’t allowed to walk around campus?

He very patiently (Texas is a concealed carry state, so he was exercising great restraint) explained that he was in town for a reunion of his track team.

“Well the track is over that way!” she told him.

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Was she scared?

Of my sweet, gentle friend? The one who used to sit on the sofa on the porch outside of his room while he did his physics homework? The one who posts photos of himself smiling in delight as he sits in the cockpit of an airplane he helped design? The one who shares videos of himself playing piano with his band?

If she was scared outdoors at 3 p.m. on a Saturday of a man she didn’t know, she could have gone into her room and locked the door.

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My next door by four neighbor, George, is Black. He and his wife, who is White, have lived in their house for 15 years. They and their two gorgeous children are warm and kind.

George has lived here for 15 years. Fifteen.

And yet passers-by have stopped to ask George – when he’s in his own yard of his own house – if he needs directions.

“I’m in my own front yard,” George tells me. “And people driving by stop to ask if I need directions somewhere.”

You don’t belong here

Who decides who belongs where?

Who gets to challenge whom?

What is the reasonable thing to do if you feel threatened?

Although why a Black man working in his own yard would be threatening to anyone is something I don’t know.

Although why a Black man strolling casually on a college campus in the middle of a sunny day would be threatening to anyone is something I don’t know.

Although why a Black man minding his own business would be threatening to anyone is something I don’t know.

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I have held out so much hope for this younger generation. I have hoped that they would not repeat the mistakes of the past or at least not repeat all of them.

But now I am not so sure.

Now I am am not so optimistic.

Sergio said, “Ya never quite get used to it, but this one was a surprise. I was looking forward to having a nice peaceful walk around campus – it was a really nice day out. Gotta admit, the whole thing kinda ruined the rest of my walk. But…what can you do, right?”

All he wanted was to take a walk and take some videos and photos to share with people he’s been friends with for 40 years.

All he wanted to do was something that any white man or any white woman – like the one who challenged him – would be able to do with impunity.

All he wanted to do was exist.

And she decided she couldn’t let that happen.