You Don't Belong Here

Growing up, I always did well in school.

Thanks to the constant threat of beatings from my father, and my own fairly decent intelligence, I've typically excelled in the classroom. However, my journey wasn't pothole free. My toughest challenges in an academic setting came in middle school and in grad school. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, those were the two times I went to "diverse" schools.

By diverse, I mean schools with white folks.

In middle school, I had one of my first experiences with being an "only." There were certain classes where I was the only black person present. I would sit on one side of the room, the white kids would sit on the other. At the time, I didn't really think about it racially, I was more worried about working out my algebraic equations. But, looking back, it was weird.

In fact, that experience, along with several others at that middle school, actually dictated where I would go to high school. In my city, there aren't many good schools, and at the time, all of the decent ones required you take tests to get admitted. All of the white kids were trying to get admitted to this one particular high school, let's call it The Bastion, which is one of the top ten schools in the nation. I also took the test for the school because my parents thought it would be good for me to attend.

I passed both the academic skills test and the IQ test, and got admitted right away. Several of my white classmates did not. I remember sitting with them in algebra class, and they were discussing what they were going to do, and how they might need to challenge their scores or something. Somehow, I volunteered the information that I had gotten admitted to The Bastion. Then I dropped my bombshell.

"Yeah, I got in, but I ain't going."

"Wait, you're not going?"

"Nah, I'm not going over there. I'm going to School X, that's a better spot for me."

School X was an all-black, magnet high school with a stellar reputation in the black community, and decent reputation among white folks. When I say "decent" I mean that white folks knew that kids got a good education there, but they still weren't going to send their children.

None of my classmates could comprehend my decision. This was The Bastion, if I went there I was guaranteed a top notch education. These white kids were killing themselves to get admitted, and I was turning down my spot?

Was I crazy?

Nah, I wasn't crazy, I had figured something out. I want y'all to read this story and this one and then I'll tell you what I had determined.

See, as those stories note, there are clear lines in much of the world. When you attempt to cross those lines, or boundaries, you have to deal with a lot of extra hassle. In one of the videos about the kids vandalizing cars, you hear a lady say that the black kids shouldn't have been in "our backyard." In the video about the police in the Midwest, you see city officials accused of telling the police to make black people realize they weren't welcome.

I knew The Bastion was a wonderful school, but I also knew that in a city that was 65 percent black, The Bastion's black population was only 12 percent. And very few of those black kids were boys.

It may sound cowardly given the heroic sacrifices of my black ancestors, but even as a child I understood that sometimes it's smarter to take the path of least resistance when it comes to race. Sure, The Bastion would have offered wonderful academic programs, but at what cost to my future happiness and well-being. What kind of emotional and social sacrifices would I have had to make? What kind of relationship would I have had with my teachers?

At School X, I was a black kid surrounded by black kids. Some of them were striving, others were chilling, but there was still a certain comfort level. Plus, as an academic standout, I was protected by teachers and administrators. Actions that might have gotten me into dire straits at The Bastion were treated differently at School X. Yes, I was still punished, but there was never the undertone that I was irredeemable, or dangerous. There was always the sense that these people believed in my potential and were deeply disappointed if I failed to live up to that potential.

That's something black folks typically sacrifice when they move in white spaces. That sense of support and nurturing often disappears with the melanin in the faces around us. Sometimes black folks can find staunch supporters and mentors in largely white groups, but it's not the norm. From what I've seen, the norm is a prevalent feeling that you just don't belong, and that you're infringing on someone else's territory.

It makes sense for people to protect their turf. But, it's almost inevitable that black folks will cross into white folks' turf frequently since the areas clearly delineated as "ours" often have inferior opportunities and services. When white people then use law enforcement officials and other officials groups to protect their boundaries, it can cause problems.

Is there a solution? Can we learn to co-exist? I hate the term "tolerance" but is that the most we can hope for since truly becoming "comfortable" is a pipe dream? How can we learn to drop the arbitrary boundaries we've created? Are the only choices for black folks assimilation or isolation?

I honestly don't know.

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