Is it safe to travel in African-American Neighborhoods?

The Imus in the morning show kicked Don Imus from the airwaves. And somewhere, a national dialogue about race is being booted around in cyerspace. Former President William Clinton had started such an initiative under his watch. So here we are again. We have these groups in our town called study circles-diversity. Tolerance.

Dialogue? About Race? Okay, if this dialogue is about name calling and that the use of inappropriate language in the workplace will cost you your job. Fine. Bring in African-American expertise to teach sensitivity classes with pay to raced whites who think African-Americans are their early morning joke.

But, here's my conversation for you Brothas and Sistas? Is it safe? Is it safe for me to move to your city's African-American neighborhood? Are there some things I should know before, I walk up to a person and say hello? Should I be scared?

For those neighborhoods that are not safe, how come? Would I be safer as an African-American female than an African-American male? What should my concerns be in your neighborhood?

Yesterday, I decided to walk to the neighborhood drug store. Heck, I did not get a good half block. Before, I noticed two young males, African-Americans for sure. One on bicycle one on foot, my instinct went on instant alert. Is one the lookout is my house safe? Should I backtrack to protect my possessions?

I slow my pace down as I look over my shoulder, and sigh in relief knowing that they had passed my house. But would they turn back, as I look backed, again and again. I had to make sure. It's not that I'm paranoid, it's fear. It comes from one young man, I surprised coming through one of my window, another who surprised before he reached the top of my stairs. Besides, moving from the neighborhood, how do I stop the next thug from coming through my door?

It's fear. I now see them a distance behind, coming in my direction. Hmmm, where are the safe pockets of escape, I think. Who will help me,if I need help? As the two young men turn towards the park. I feel they have given me space.distance.

I entered the drugstore, feeling secure. But shortly, I see them, the two young teenagers. Polite, quiet, friends for sure. They search for stuff they will share. Quiet, polite, handsome young boys. I am close enough to see the fuzz on the lip of the one I suspected as the look out.

I can't take my eye off of him, reminds me of my grandson, when he was that age. The young man,pulls at his pants. As he checks on his friend or brother. I am close enough to see the holes in probably his favorite jacket that he wears with pride. I am ashamed.

I have no sons. But what pain it must be to be an African-American male. We never make eye contact. Not wanting my pity. Perhaps, he had noticed each time I looked back over my shoulders. I had condemned them, me a strong sista. It was I who lacked confidence in his future. I looked back as I left the store. I would not see them, as they choose another route, safer from my watchful eye, probably.

I can't blame Jesse Jackson for this. This is my neighborhood. What happened that made me feel so unsafe among my own young kin? What must I do? Forget all the rest, but what must I do to restore my confidence and overcome the fear of youmg African-American brothas.













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