Briskly walking down Georgia Avenue in the cold, dark and desolate night, I had my mind set on my final destination: home. As I reached the halfway point, I heard a masculine voice behind me: "Hey, baby. Come over here," Not surprised, I continued walking, gradually picking up my pace. The quiet winds were suddenly disturbed by the sound of the heavy feet of a large black man behind me. I quickly glanced back and noticed that the distance between us was less then I desired. Without hesitation, I transformed my brisk walk into a jog.

There was that moment, however, when I thought that perhaps I was being paranoid. Then the relevant statistics ran through my mind. How many other women had assumed that the black "weirdo" on the corner would mind his own business and never made it home? How many times did young college students ignore the dangers of their environment to accomplish the task at hand and never finish, at the harmful hands of a black man? It was at this point that I decided I did not want to become another statistic.

The question then remaining was the intent of the black man walking behind me. Maybe he found me attractive and just wanted the chance to talk. Maybe he was just repeating the rhetoric black men often use at the sight of a female and forgot about it. The problem was that I could not forget about it. I had the responsibility to protect myself from the mugging, rape, or another sort of harm I had heard about.

I continued my jog down the street, holding onto my backpack like the last breath of air. I am not sure what happened to the man walking behind me. When I safely reached the comfort of my dorm room, I was so glad that I had not become another victim. Looking back, I must ask myself the ultimate question: Was I the victim, or was he? 
 

"Words To The Young: Naomi Porterfield Exposes poignant instances of internalized prejudice.