[...] The fear did subside, but a year later and in a different house in a different part of the city, I still sometimes have to will myself to open the door to deliverymen. I put the chain on for white men, too, but only to make myself feel less guilty, I think. I may be wary of opening the door to any stranger, but I'm actually scared only if it's an unfamiliar black man's face I see through the peephole.
If my assailant had been white, would I now be afraid of all white men who come to the door? Would it be the same if he had been Chinese? Kind people of all colors have assured me that my fear is understandable and that I am wise to take precautions. My Cypriot grocer, Indian nurse, Scottish doctor, the West African mothers in my postnatal group: they all said London is a big city and has a crime problem to match. Of course race isn't the only factor. I never worry about any women who come to the door. Class comes into it, too: my new neighborhood is a quiet enclave of modest middle-income homes, and I don't feel remotely uneasy encountering besuited young black fathers leaving for work. (As bigotries go, isn't snobbery so much easier to admit to?) [...]
| Were you so inclined, there's the rest of Rachel Seiffert's New York Times Magazine essay "This Side of Fear"
posted in articles on October 31, 2004 8:21 PM | t (0)
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