Growing up in Nashville, TN, you were either black or white. While there is diversity in the city, my family, schools, church, etc were pretty much one, the other and a little gray in the middle (at least not in the ’90s). The city’s changing but I no longer live there so I can only speak to my past. Although Nashville is a mid-size city and the capitol, there is still an underground Deep South mentality. In addition to hospitality, sweet tea, and greeting strangers, racism and prejudice run deep in the veins of our culture, on both sides. Black and white may be equal but they’re still not the same.
I don’t mean to make the South sound like the worst place for minorities to live, you just have to be aware of your surroundings. There are places I will never go by myself or pull over. It’s just that simple. I grew up in the New South, progressives slowly outgrowing grandpa’s law. While things are not comfortable, I can’t imagine living in any time period other than now. I am SO thankful not to have to deal with the things my grandmothers did. That type of fear and simple determination are humbling. But with my appropriate guards up, I felt comfortable in Nashville. I knew my boundaries and what it meant to be Black there. It just meant not being White. Slavery, hip-hop, jazz, civil rights, baggy clothes, turnip greens, sweet potatoes, cornrows, rims, weave, etc were just parts of it.
Attending Iowa State University in Ames, IA was a bit of a culture shock. All of the sudden, I was in a (nearly) all-white community of people who’d never grown up around “others.” While there are endless numbers of “others”, I feel African-Americans have to be the best understood minority group in the U.S. If not understood, at least exposed. Not everyone at Iowa State was naive or uncultured. There were endless numbers of people that I met that had either been exposed to or proactively sought out diversity and even more people who were at least open to learning. But some of the things I heard and saw from the people who hadn’t/weren’t just broke my heart. A seemingly intelligent 18-year-old boy telling me that he knew black people have an extra muscle in their legs. That’s why they always ran past him at state track meets. A 19-year-old girl who had no idea who Malcom X was. A 22-year-old woman who thought black people must not believe in personal hygiene because we don’t all have to wash our hair everyday. Rather than get worked-up, I realized I could take these opportunities to educate these people. I’d want to be corrected, educated, talked to, not yelled at. I could only imagine they hadn’t been exposed to the truth, or at least alternative truths. I could play “pissed off black woman” or “patient mother.” I chose the second. It seemed to work out. Ames, in many ways to me, was naive but innocent until I was attacked on campus. Well, attacked seems somewhat extreme. Let’s replace that with scared.
One night, I was walking across campus around 11 pm. Yes, I know walking just about anywhere by yourself late at night is not a good idea but I was getting off of work and needed to get home. What were my options? Anyway, about halfway there, I heard someone behind me. I turned around to see who or what it was. I saw an average looking white guy, medium build, blond hair, probably 6’1. He didn’t seem to appreciate me looking at him. “What are you looking at, black bitch?” From his slurred speech and not quite straight gate, I could tell he’d probably been drinking. Quick, what should I do? Keep walking normally, speed up, run, say something, stay quiet, try to find my cell phone in my backpack? Shit. So I just stayed quiet and sped up a little. He picked up on that and sped up behind me. By this point, I’m officially scared and pretty much going blank. He kept coming and trying to get a rise out of me, yelling obscenities. At one point, he grabbed my shoulder and tried to turn me around. Being November in Iowa, I had on a pretty thick coat. But he didn’t seem to be playing around. I could feel each finger through the leather and down of my coat. As soon as he touched me, it all became real. I was alone and he was bigger than me. We were in the middle of campus with absolutely no one around. He could beat me, rape me, just about anything and there was probably nothing I could do unless he was more drunk than I thought. But for whatever reason, after he’d grabbed me, turned me around, yelled some more ridiculousness about being a worthless black nigger bitch, and pushed me around a little, he lost interest and walked off, like a kid who’s thought of a better idea.
I was uncharacteristically speechless. All I wanted to do was get home and be around someone I trusted. I didn’t even want to talk to someone, just be around them. Vulnerability is not my strong suit. After the initial shock wore off, I went from vulnerable to disappointed…in myself. How could I let this happen to me? Why wasn’t my guard up? Why did I not see this coming? Why weren’t my keys with the pepper spray key-chain not in my pocket for easy access? Shit. I would have never let this happen so easily in Nashville. I would’ve never made myself that vulnerable. Black, white, whatever. How did I let this happen?
I saw him on campus a couple of times over the next two years. I’ll admit the first time I saw him I freaked. It didn’t matter that we were in central campus surrounded by 500 other students, my heart jumped into my throat. While I’ll probably never forget his face, he seemed to have no recollection of mine. I thought about trying to find out his name, telling some authority figure, something proactive but it all seemed lame. I just wanted to forget about it. He hadn’t really done more than what people do at the bars on a Saturday night. He was by himself and felt bigger, tougher, cooler, whatever. If he’d actually injured anything more than my pride and comfort zone, I would’ve done everything I could to press charges. But in this case, I just wanted to forget his idiocy but never forget it exists, even in Iowa.
Guards are important. We have them for reasons. Are most of our reactions due to stereotypes? Yes, and that’s sad. But there’s nothing wrong with being prepared. Awareness of your surroundings is always very important. Did that incident happen because I was black? No, probably not. That was just a factor that probably emboldened the drunk ass. But being alone, female and black are all things I would have kept in mind at home where racism can be blatant and therefore expected, somehow making me feel safer because I was always prepared. Go figure. Because of culturally recognized racism, my guard’s already up to other -isms.
Thankful for her Tennessee Titans letterman style jacket and sturdy legs,
Jo’van
The Truth: According to Jo'van 