I intended to begin this work with an examination of Pasadena, the location of my residence and thus, the location of my work. I wanted to include lists of facts about poverty, education, and demographic statistics. While I still plan on including these facts, however a more pressing experience has taken place, one which I feel compelled to flesh out in detail.
This morning as I walk with quick steps—I am late to work, I’ve left my house several minutes late and so I must make up the time with my pace. As I pass an apartment on Garfield Ave, an African American woman and boy walk out of the courtyard, strolling in front of me. The boy looks to be about ten or so. I hear them talking about catching the bus to school and laughing together about the chilly weather. Since they are walking slowly, I approach them rapidly and slow to match their pace. I am shy of saying “excuse me” or sheepishly explaining my break neck pace mumbling “I’m late to work” so I trail behind them, biding my time, crossing my fingers for the time when they leave the narrow sidewalk. I step on a leaf, giving a loud crunch as evidence to my presence. The woman turns around abruptly. I smile a “hi.” The woman holds the boy’s hand and pulls him to herself. I hear her say something about letting me pass. “Thank you” I say as I speed around them. I continue my pace and hear the boy say “Why’s she walking so fast?” I wanted to turn around and shout to them, “I’m late to work!” I wanted to explain why I felt uncomfortable walking behind them at a slow pace. I wanted to justify my speed.
Moreover, I wanted to justify myself as a white woman, and why I was walking faster than the black family on their way to school. I wanted to enforce that I wasn’t racist. I was just late to work. Yet, I am aware of the weight of the boy’s question, “Why’s she walking so fast?” He is not only asking about the pace of my march, but also about my pace in relation to himself and his mom. I passed them, without much conversation, intent on my task (getting to work). He must have wondered, “Why didn’t that white girl talk to us?” He must have been aware of the tension as my blue eyes smiled into his mother’s brown eyes. He must have been aware of the historical significance of a white girl passing the black family.
To get to work; to earn some money; to pass the black family—these are all historically laden tasks. Everything that we do carries the burden of history. I am not intentionally racist; I am paralyzed by history. Would I have done the same thing to a white family? Probably, but I didn’t. Passing by a white family would not hold the same categorical importance. It would not have carried the weight of history and prejudice. I walked passively by a black family, passively acquiescing to the unspoken segregation of time and space and Pasadena and I passively gave my acceptance of the history that allows me, twenty-two year old, well intentioned white girl to pass a ten-year old black boy and his mother. I passively gave my approval for a history where white always passes black, a history where white seems productive, where white seems dodgy and fearful.
Yet, at the same time, I am a victim of the same history. I feel fearful and dodgy. I feel guilty. I am at the mercy of my own prejudice and my own fear. I am a victim of history because I feel out of place in my own neighborhood because of the color of my skin. I am a victim of history as I walk past, missing the hope of a connected and reconciled humanity.
To fight such a history takes tremendous effort. It takes forethought and knowledge. To properly fight an enemy, you must know it. We must know our enemy is history: a history that has divided humanity; a history that has worked to separate peoples from dignity and peace; a history that has allowed racism and sexism and classism to flourish. We fight against this history by moving into “those neighborhoods,” by consciously and intentionally saying good morning as we walk past a family. We fight against history by fighting against our own fear, by fighting to keep our dreams and hopes alive. We fight against history as we actively pursue justice and peace and reconciliation.
