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Recently, I returned home shaken after dropping my kids off for a playdate. I had just parked my minivan outside my friend’s house and was heading to the door with my little ones behind me when a dark gray SUV pulled up. A white man, with his windows down, called out, “Excuse me. You should know that a lot of kids play around here, and my wife saw you driving 50 mph on this street. She watches our grandchildren. That’s not safe, and you need to be more careful.”
I was taken aback and utterly confused. What was happening, and why was he addressing me? I turned away and muttered, “Whatever.”
My kids rushed to me, asking if I had actually been driving that fast. For a moment, I doubted myself, but I quickly answered, “No. I was not.”
First of all, there’s a stop sign every 300 feet in our neighborhood, many of which are on inclines. My friend’s house is just two doors down from a stop sign on a street that I had to turn left onto from a complete stop. There’s no way I could have accelerated to 50 mph, screeched to a halt without leaving skid marks, and parked parallel to the curb in under 100 feet in my 12-year-old minivan. If I could pull off such a stunt, I should be in a Fast and Furious movie.
Secondly, from wherever he and his wife lived, it was impossible for them to have seen me go that fast—because I wasn’t. Did his wife have some kind of superhuman vision or a radar gun? Did she see through tinted windows to confirm I was behind the wheel? Did she even have my license plate noted down?
The entire ten-minute drive home was filled with my frustration, replaying those moments over and over in my mind. When I got home and shared the incident with my husband, all I received was a distracted, “Okay…?” (I might have perceived it as condescending, but I recognize he’s not a bad guy.) I stared at him, confused as to why he didn’t grasp my anger. I, too, struggled to articulate the depth of my frustration.
I stormed off, waving my arms and snapped, “Oh, great! Here goes my wife again, always upset about some white person!” I retreated to my room and slammed the door, feeling unsatisfied.
Being a Person of Color Means Constantly Evaluating Suspicious Interactions
Here’s the reality: I do tend to react strongly. I have a short temper but also get distracted easily. Once I vent, I usually move on—unless something riles me so much that I feel compelled to write lengthy posts about it online.
After about an hour, I finally figured out what truly bothered me. Why do white individuals feel the need to monitor people of color, especially when we’re just trying to go about our daily lives, like dropping our kids off at a friend’s house for a few hours?
It’s infuriating and can even be life-threatening.
In light of the current anti-Asian sentiment and the fact that most hate crimes against Asians in the U.S. are committed by white men, I didn’t feel safe. A study analyzing data from 1992 to 2014 showed that 75% of assailants in anti-Asian hate crimes were white. With a reported 164% increase in these crimes over the past year, it’s reasonable to conclude that the percentage of white male attackers has risen as well.
As an Asian American woman on foot with four Asian American children, being confronted by a white man felt extremely threatening. He had the physical power to run us over. And before you brush off my fears, understand that just a year or two ago, a white man in a pickup truck accelerated toward me as I had the right of way in a crosswalk.
So no, my fear isn’t unfounded.
It doesn’t matter if he seemed calm and self-righteous; I know a shift can occur in an instant. In my experience, white individuals—especially men—can quickly become aggressive when they feel their authority is questioned.
He could have exited his vehicle and physically attacked me. He could have done many things I wouldn’t have been able to defend against. He looked fit enough, and “fit” isn’t one of the adjectives I’d use to describe myself.
Let’s Call It What It Is: White Privilege
The fact that we were in a wealthy neighborhood filled with million-dollar homes didn’t matter. I’m constantly reminded that I’m an outsider, despite paying taxes and growing up in this area.
For some reason, white people often believe they’re the only ones who belong in certain spaces. If a person of color is in that space, they’d better justify their presence. We are often restricted and regulated—some more than others—by guidelines that are often rooted in racism.
For years, my mother faced hate mail in her gated community, predominantly white, and was consistently reported to the HOA for minor infractions by a particularly nasty old white woman.
This entitlement—expecting people of color to heed their words simply because they are white—is deeply ingrained in a system of law and order that is, you guessed it, rooted in racism.
I find myself wishing a lifetime of discomfort upon every meddlesome white person who calls the cops on people of color or posts on Next Door, masquerading as concerned citizens while being blatantly racist. I don’t want to wish harm, but I have no problem envisioning them suffering from non-fatal ailments for the rest of their lives.
If you’re interested in more on this topic, check out this other blog post for further insights.
Summary
The author recounts a distressing incident where she was confronted by a white man while dropping her kids off at a friend’s house. She reflects on the ongoing issue of white individuals feeling entitled to police the actions of people of color, emphasizing the fear and frustration this causes. This confrontation is viewed in the larger context of anti-Asian sentiment, highlighting the safety concerns faced by POC in everyday situations.
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