Drawing conclusions

I was walking through East Harlem this morning with my computer bag over my shoulder, reading a sheet of interview tips the sainted Dr. Masullo handed out to us during our last class, when I passed by two middle-aged Black men leaning against a railing. We all smiled at each other and said "Good morning," and I continued walking. After I'd taken a few more steps, one of them called after me, "You doing the Census?" I told them that I was looking over some school notes, and they both smiled and nodded and told me to have a good day.

While I have almost never felt uncomfortable in Harlem, I'm always keenly aware that I stick out there like... well, like a blonde white girl in Harlem. Personally, I like it there; the kids hanging around on the stoops braiding each other's hair and riding scooters, the men playing dominoes on folding tables, and the general, laid-back sense of camaraderie (even though it is rarely extended to me) give it a friendlier feel than other parts of Manhattan. I've heard of graffiti that promotes "keeping Harlem Black" and "getting the whites out of Harlem," and once, while walking with a group of about 12 friends to a subway station in Harlem, we heard a 12-year-old Black kid whistle and comment, "Damn! That's a LOT of white people!" (Never mind that our party included three Asians and two Indian girls.)

I'm not sure that I would call it tension, even though I'm sure many Harlem residents assume that I'm on my way home when they see me in "their" streets and lament the gentrification that they're powerless to stop. Part of me agrees. Now that parts of Harlem are chic, high end apartments and townhouses are cropping up, as are grocery stores, restaurants, and boutiques that longtime residents can't afford to shop in. Many times they've bought out the family businesses that used to be there. On the other hand, I bristle when I think that anyone would want to keep any part of town Black (or white, or Jewish, or Chinese...), and I resent those who glower at me, make assumptions about my intentions in Harlem, and wish that I wasn't there because I don't look like they do.

It's interesting that the two men I spoke with this morning assumed that because I was walking along that street, the only logical reason must be that I'd been sent by the government.