A few days ago, Toya and I headed down to our local Rita's (delicious Italian-style water ice for anyone unfamiliar with the tradition) for a summertime treat. This particular Rita's is located on the edge of Fell's Point, near Patterson Park, and the waterfront neighborhood of Canton. These are neighborhoods where significant gentrification and new construction has occurred over the past decade or more, and is still occurring. In these neighborhoods one finds a convergence of two major groups, newcomers (affluent, young-urban-professionals, recent immigrants, and students {the Johns Hopkins medical campus is a few blocks to the north}), and longtime residents (predominately working class individuals and families).
I've barely started into my water ice when I overheard four people (two white men in scrubs and two young white woman in workout apparel) in conversation. The tone was friendly, if not mildly flirtatious.
I' m ready to stop eavesdropping until I hear this:
Man #1: Where are you from again?
Woman #1: Cherry Hill
Man #1: Oh, outside of Philly?
Woman #1: Yeah, Philly is NOT my favorite city.
Man #2: Oh, like the Cherry Hill Mall in Jersey?
Woman #1: Yeah, the mall.
Man #1: Have you ever been to Cherry Hill in Baltimore? It's a lot like Camden.
Woman #1: Oh. Camden is a very unsavory place.
Man #2: Yeah, so is Cherry Hill.
I had, at this point, lost all interest in my water ice and was ready to throw it into the faces of the four engaged in conversation. Rage, an emotion that I seldom channel unless directed towards Fox News commentators, quickly boiled to the surface. Rage, because I know Cherry Hill in Baltimore, and I know Camden. These are two places that have the markers of poverty all over them: boarded up housing, a police presence, lack of access to quality food, healthcare, and education, high rates of crime, and a palpable absence of whiteness. The word 'unsavory' in particular hit a raw nerve. Something 'unsavory' is 'distasteful,' 'morally offensive,' 'revolting,' and 'sickening.' The subtle undertone of erotic flirtation over a shared disgust of these places and their symbolic value made me nauseous and embarrassed, but this was a conversation I'd heard many times before.
In this vast urban landscape, there is always a place for fear. There seems to be no shortage of the message that white women should be afraid, shouldn't walk in certain places, at certain times of the day, and wearing certain clothes. It's as if each city is a living map, and places become crossed out as 'no travel' zones depending on who you are. In a quick second, one person drew a line from a neighborhood in Baltimore to Camden, New Jersey, traveling a hundred miles, to cross it out and silence the conversation. This is the language of institutionalized racism and classism at its finest, subtle and sexualized.
Toya and I turned and stared at them. I mocked their them, their insipid voices, and they coincidentally ended their conversation. I watched the women get into a convertible with the top down, at this point was I openly cussing them out. They were oblivious. I wasn't loud enough, nor talking to them directly. Why was I so upset and yet frozen in action? Was I overreacting?
A variety of factors have combined in my history to encourage me to resolve conflict and disagreements peacefully. This often comes off as weakness to others. I knew in that moment I didn't have anything peaceful to say to them. Perhaps the most tragic reflection of the whole experience was that I couldn't grasp any models of how to proceed. White people eavesdropping on conversations and then challenging other white people on their institutionalized racist and classist language? “Too radical?”
Changing the mindsets of white people will take more than peaceful dialogue, or a blog post, for that matter. Our language however, determines our actions. Maybe if we change our language, we can change our communities for the better.
No comments:
Post a Comment