A Violation of Security and Self-Possession

Today started off as one of those happy-go-lucky, two-ponytail kind of days.  Woke up early, got some work done and headed to the grocery store to pick up nacho fixins for the Bears playoff game.  But within a matter of seconds, that glow disappeared.

As I headed up Berwyn past Kenmore, a short, teenaged skinhead staggered just ahead of me along the curb.  Black fatigues, black boots laced over his pants, shaved head with a scraggly dirty blonde tail.  Normally not cause for a second glance, until you got to the raised battering stick he held in his right hand, and the taser peeking out of his back pocket.  The hair on the nape of my neck stood up and everything in my body went on full alert.  I mentally cursed myself for not bringing my phone with me.  He had to have been high on something.  The way he walked, it was clear he was disoriented.  Perhaps he wielded the battering stick as a form of self-defense, but regardless of intent, the appearance was aggressive.  I felt ashamed as I scurried around some construction and scooted quickly ahead of him toward the populated el station.  I didn’t have the guts to look back and to see his face.  Part of me thought, I’m better than he is.  I’m educated.  Self-supporting.  Charitable.  So what gives him the power to make me feel afraid?  Additionally, what do Caucasians feel when they encounter a skinhead wielding a battering ram?  There are many things we take for granted.

I had a similar experience when living in Prague.  A gang of about 10 supremacists descended into the subway stop where I waited for my train.  Seeing that I watched them apprehensively, the stranger next to me said, in halted English, “Don’t worry.  You’re Chinese.  They think you must know kung fu from all the movies.  Hiyah!”  I smiled, and he moved to protectively stand a bit closer to me.  All of a sudden, they spotted a gypsy and a group  of them took off in hot pursuit.  This was the first time I’d ever witnessed clear racism first hand, and it was horrifying.  Part of me wanted to do something about it, but the bigger part of me wanted to hide.   The result was shameful non-involvement.  Not that I was entirely excluded.  When my train arrived, three of the skinheads got on the same train car I did, and took their seats an arm’s reach away from me.  I stared at my hands the whole way.  When my stop hit, I waited until the doors started to close before I lept up and off the train.  I ran the rest of the way to my apartment.

To this day, I still don’t understand why skin color inspires hatred.  I hear people pass judgement based on their own personal experiences, but to the extent that such beliefs spur derogatory action…that’s when all the goodness and wisdom associated with freedom of speech and belief is violated.