WALK ON BY
Whether I’m correct or not, I’ve always defined caste as including the notion of color> It’s included in one of the word’s definitions. Many southern New Orleans folks were said to belong to a certain caste that was largely, though not exclusively. However, lighter was always better.
As far as interacting with blacks in public. I, too, am from NYC and have been publicly “mistreated” on its street since I was about 8 when a white girl my age got mad at me and called me a dirty Jew. I got the idea and was mad back at her. I also know that any group of people, male or female, can pose a threat for a female alone. Now, if that thought of mine makes someone angry at me without any additional information, they just don’t really want to have a relationship with someone who looks like me. That’s okay. What could I possibly want from them?
I have come upon a group of teen black girls many times. Usually in malls and amusement parks and concert playgrounds. I’ll talk to them based on how ‘I’ feel. I might say something like, “Hey ladies, how you doin’?” Or, “You ladies having fun?” Then, maybe I’ll wave and just keep on walking.
A white man walked up on me once. I was in Times Square having gotten out of the wrong subway exit for the Broadway theater district. I was running late…didn’t want to keep my mom waiting. At some point I realized that the middle-aged white man walking behind me was talking to me. I was 17 then, I think.
So I knew this wasn’t a good man. I pretended I didn’t hear him, but I did. As we got near a next corner, he would instruct me to “turn right,” and “cross here.” My problem was I was having to go in the directions he was giving me the exact directions my mom had given me. I’d found that I could get around Manhattan and other parts of the city very well if I followed correct directions to the letter.
That means I wasn’t going to budget from the route I’d been given. My fear heightened as he walked closer and closer in back of me to my left side. I didn’t want him to keep following me, but it seemed as if it would be easy for him to follow me based on the directions I had. The last thing I heard him say was, “Now turn right, right here. And that was the self-same direction I need to go in.
I turned around and screamed to the top of my voice, “LEAVE ME ALONE! STOP FOLLOWING ME!” Nothing original, but I got his attention and looked around to insure I had other pedestrians’ attention, too. I don’t know if they would have rescued me if I needed it, but they would certainly see if the guy tried to spirit me away.
To this day I speak up if I feel a man is walking too close to me in the street for any length of time. Any man of any color. When I was in Rome and Barcelona some years ago, I’d read about how some of those men could be. And I knew that even kids would rob you in the street. I was always hyper alert and spoke only to the African street vendor, while continuing to surveille my terrain. My point is the pedestrians weren’t the center of my thinking in the context of how they would feel about me. I don’t know why they’d care.
I will say this: I do pay careful attention to how close a black man walks to me. Most blacks that I know are aware that as a people we have a fairly wide personal space. The next time you’re out and about look around you. Blacks don’t stand up close to one another face-to-face. Not unless their kissin’ all over one another.
When they walk too close it’ll get my attention. I’ll turn around and give him the look. A black woman’s look that no one would confuse with a smile. Nor is it an angry face. Occasionally, the man will say, “Oh I’m sorry.” Or cross the street. It never crossed my mind what any of those men might have thought about me. Why would I have cared?
What I’m thinking is that the thoughts that were going through your mind would have pulled your face into a grimace, I imagine. That’s a heavy weight to carry on your heart. Walk on by, girl. Walk on by.
