Ashland, Oregon
On this warm, windy Spring day I wondered a mile or so from the downtown section of Ashland, Oregon and found myself on the campus of Southern Oregon University.
Finding the Student Union was simple and here I sit with a fresh cup of coffee in a space where I am easily, save one, the oldest person. I found a bathroom, a bookstore, and an internet connection with little or no effort as well.
I feel safe in this space even though I'm just passing through. College campuses seem particularly interested in the concept of safe spaces these days and in the wake of a recent incident at Starbucks in Philadelphia some folks are unabashedly conscious of how they are being perceived by others and worry about whether to buy something or if it's even OK to wait for someone you are meeting if you don't seem busy and like you belong.
Do we want a culture of coffee shops where it's acceptable to spend a few hours taking your time? I think so. People work from these spaces; they spend money and extend their effort in the company of like-minded folks.
Of all the comments and consequences of two black men being arrested in a Starbucks for waiting, the most compelling commentary I've read concerns black people in white spaces. While this is nothing new for black folks, it's alien to many white people, who assume they are safe by default. And what exactly do we mean by safe?
So while Starbucks forgoes profit for a day and tries to make its workforce more racially sensitive, perhaps what might be more productive is to give its white employees a sense of being white in a black space. Rather than work on a forced sense of understanding, get at the emotions behind feeling like "the other."
My experience is a bit atypical in that department because I once taught an ethnic studies program to high school students who were predominately black or in a few cases all black. That's rare, and rightfully questioned, but it yielded an unforgettable experience. Let me add that I was the most qualified person at the time. But going further I did have a few other experiences where I was definitely a white person in a black space.
The first time I recall came in a small neighborhood bar in New Orleans. While a VISTA Volunteer in 1969, some of my fellow VISTA colleagues and I traveled from Houston, Texas to New Orleans to visit some Louisiana colleagues in a section called Gert Town. This was one of those little poverty pockets tucked inside the inner city. At one point we entered a small tavern in this all-black neighborhood and sat at a table near the jukebox. One of the local VISTAS knew a few folks there and within minutes two things happened. One was a gentleman bought a pint of something (it was dark in there) and brought it to our table. In these small bars, it was not uncommon for patrons to purchase liquor at the counter and bring it to a table. It was less expensive that way. We chatted with our new friend and welcomed his gesture of hospitality. He left our table shortly afterward and that's when the second thing happened. The place got back to normal. People danced, they drank, and they laughed and talked. We were an anomaly, to be sure, but the page quickly turned. We left the bar and went back to the place across the street where we were staying. That was about 1:00. By 2:30, the place emptied rapidly as a jealous woman attempted to "cut" her rival before leaving herself. Within an hour all was quiet on the homefront and another Saturday night in Gert Town was in the books.
The other experience for me came when I attended a party in Oakland about 10 years later. My department hired a young African-American teacher and she invited everyone to a party at her home. There were about 50 people jammed into that small two bedroom apartment, but the vibe was wonderful. The late 70s offered great dance music and these folks were intent on dancing the night away. By midnight I realized that other department members had left and I was the only white person there. That realization brought a surprising array of emotions with it. Most notably, it was something I'd never experienced. Did I belong? Was I vulnerable? Did my presence make anyone uncomfortable? I remember standing around after that and watching people dance. I must have been moving to the music in some way because a woman came up to me and said," I know you want to get out there, so c'mon." We danced a few dances and then she went into another room. Shortly thereafter I had an interesting conversation with a man who was a detective, and then I left. Did I belong? Probably. Was it a safe space for me? Definitely, my dance partner saw to that.
The takeaway for me was that I had experienced something new, a little unsettling, and most rewarding. Most important of all, this was not an everyday experience. I had the luxury of going years instead of hours where those emotions might resurface. My experiences are unique to the time and place. What I do know for sure is that we remember and reflect on our experiences through our emotions much better than through contrived experiences. Also, we are still working on the notion of "our spaces."
No comments:
Post a Comment