Being a black male and maneuvering through white spaces can be tricky. The constant worry or pressure of coming off as too rough or scary is stressful and exhausting.
Imagine feeling a certain way on the inside, but being perceived as dangerous or untrustworthy by others who don’t know or understand you.
Growing up in a predominantly black neighborhood in the upper east side of New York created a type of security because everybody looked like me or was some sort of minority. When I would go to the bodega, the cashier was usually black, Hispanic, or Middle Eastern.
My classes were filled with kids who shared similar experiences with me. It was comforting to be in my own bubble of people who have the same skin as me because I felt valued and equal within my community, no matter the social class others were growing up in.
Transitioning to being the only black person in most situations, and having to deal with cultural differences, was an extreme culture shock.
There were little things I began to notice that I didn’t have to deal with at home. My peers would question why I talk a certain way or dress a certain way. I never had the duty of having to explain myself to others before.
When I walk into an upscale store, I usually get followed because the clerks assume I am going to steal. When I go out to restaurants with other black people, our service is not always as attentive as it is for the white people around us.
This summer I wanted to know if a necklace and ring I was gifted by a stranger I had helped out was real gold or not. I asked some of my more affluent friends if they knew anyone who could identify whether the necklace was real or. I sent a picture of the necklace in my hand to my friends and one of their friends replied “No because the hand is black.”
When I went to the jeweler, the jeweler would barely look at my acquired jewelry because he claimed he had seen it before. The necklace was just brought to the United States from Abu Dhabi by the stranger, so there was no way he could have seen it before.
Even walking down the street I notice people crossing to the other side of the sidewalk or constantly checking over their shoulders to see what I’m doing. When I sit on a crowded subway, people would rather get up and leave their seats to stand on the opposite side of the train instead of just sitting where they were in proximity to me.
It happens here on our campus too. If I don’t have my bookbag with me, other students will assume, because I am black, I do not go here.
Recently, as I was coming home from class one day, a white female student had her bag on the sidewalk and noticed me about to walk by.
As I got closer to her, she quickly grabbed her bag and clung it as tightly as she could. When I finally passed her, she placed her bag back in the same spot.
I then noticed another student, a white male, about to pass the same female. Out of curiosity I watched to see what she was going to do. Her bag remained on the ground as the white male student passed.
As tiny of an issue this might be, this is just one of the many microaggressions that creates the question “Why me?”
These stereotypes that have been built up against black men are long lasting effects from slavery and Jim Crow. The media also portrays black men as the “boogie man.” For example, the term ‘wilding’ was coined by Donald Trump in an ad he put out in the New York newspapers in regards to the Exonerated Five. This created even higher levels of racial profiling for young black males.
Being thrown into white spaces comes with its challenges. I don’t think white people understand how much this world is tailored to their liking. The stereotype that black men are ready to harm and defile the good white people of America is outright racist, tired and needs to be laid to rest.
