If You Don’t Like’em, Spit on Them.

It happened so quickly, we never got a chance to process it until the man was gone. It was in the neighborhood I grew up in, on the rooftop of a garage that's been my safe space of stillness for years. It happened in my home.

When he first yelled in the direction of our car, neither of us expected him to take it so far. Just a grumpy pedestrian looking to take out his anger on random strangers. So, we continued on our way, up to the garage, towards our moment of peace.

Unwarranted, unprovoked, and unpunished.

This wasn't his first offense, and seeing how easily he got away with it, it obviously won't be his last.

I actually admire my assailant. He taught me a very important lesson about American ideals. One that life teaches me time and time again in the 24 years I've spent being born and raised on American soil, despite how hard I try to forget it.

Thankfully, my assailant corrected course. 

The Scene of the Crime

We were at Shirlington, "the heart and soul of arts and entertainment in Arlington". Also known as the place I've called home my entire life.

This small part of town, that spans about 3-4 blocks, holds the library where I discovered my love of reading from, the vet and dentist's office where I get my check-ups at, the live theater where I've taken numerous school trips to, the cafes and restaurants that I frequent often, and the garage that's become known as a common meet-up spot for South Arlington locals.

In the last five years, Shirlington has undergone major developments that's turned it into a thriving community of new and old residents alike. However, the work of shaping Shirlington into what it is today began all the way back in 1944, when it became the first large shopping center in the Washington, D.C. suburbs. I've had the privilege of watching the capital's first large neighboring shopping center transform into what it is today over the last 20 years.

I was there when the grocery store I now go to was built. I know which businesses have been there for decades and which have recently signed a lease to a cursed location with a history of failure. I remember the days when there wasn't an AMC theater so close or when we had to drive farther out to get food from my parents' favorite kabob place.

Seeing Shirlington, my home, become the lively center that it is today, was an experience that I once held with pride. As I grew, it's grown with me. Calling a place so deeply engrained in American history my home was a symbol of The American Dream.

You see, for a family like mine to be proud, long-standing members, of a community like Shirlington, the world had to move mountains. Being here symbolized the massive achievements my parents and this country had to make in order to get here.

So, to watch all of that pride be stripped away from me with one, small incident, made me realize that I had The American Dream all wrong. It wasn't about being the land of the free or the people of opportunity.

It's about taking advantage of your place of power to establish your dominance over those you see beneath you. Or at least, that's the case for those with skin lighter than mine.

Become a Victim

After the pedestrian on the sidewalk yelled at our car as we were turning into the eight-story garage, we made our way to the rooftop and got settled in. Sunroof open, music playing, and laptops in our laps (a great way to break the mundane routine of work from home life).

Almost half an hour had passed by. The incident with the pedestrian had long been stored in our subconscious as an unimportant memory. That is, until we saw the man and his dog walking up the car ramp towards us.

We were confused as to what he was doing there. Why he was using the ramp for cars instead of the stairs or escalator. And if his intention was to see us there. Our questions were answered when he motioned for us to roll down the window. Complying, my sister rolled the driver's seat window a quarter of the way down.

Almost immediately, the middle-aged, caucasian man started spewing obscenities at us about protecting the residents of the neighborhood and being a safer driver. He "educated" us on the Shirlington community while also demeaning us for choosing to spend our time on a rooftop garage. It was clear he hadn't been a resident here for long.

Before this moment, we had spent less than 3 seconds with this man, if that. He yelled in our direction to slow down as we turned onto a side street at 20 mph and 30 minutes later, he was yelling at us again for being a danger to the community.

He deemed us unsafe the second he saw us. Maybe it was the fact that we were in a luxury car. Maybe it was because we were two women. Or maybe those details combined with the color of our skin was too much for this man to handle. We were a sight that made him unsafe and so, he deemed us as a danger.

"Okay."

That's the only response he was given. We assumed this would be the end of it. We thought it would all be over in a second and we'd soon be rolling up our window, laughing at the obscenity of this man's behavior. But, it didn't end there.

He came to make a point - that this was his territory - and he wouldn't stop terrorizing us until he had gotten that across. Our response was unsatisfactory for his mission. So, he took it a step further.

He continued his rant, moving on from the safety of our community to downright verbal assault.

"Fat b**ch."

"Dark-a** c*nt."

"Get out of my neighborhood."

"Dirty, little wh*re."

That's all I could make out before it happened. The man stuck his head through the barely open window into our car and spit on us.

With one motion, he took our home away - turned our safe space into the scene of a hate crime against us.

Immediately, I got out the car. Yelling back, asking the man what could possibly compel him to act so barbaric. He laughed in my face at my anger.

"What are you gonna do about it?" was all he kept saying as he disappeared down the elevator, knowing full well that nothing could be done.

Looking for Justice

He was right. What could I really do about it other than write this article to tell the world something they already know; hate crimes are happening every day.

That's the response we got from the cops when we called them immediately after the incident.

"I know this is a difficult situation to be in, Sweetie, but, what can we do? We get calls like this everyday and 9 times out of 10, they get away with it."

I interpreted this as American law enforcement admitting that they have only a 10% success rate of bringing everyday hate crimes to justice.

We got the same response 20 minutes later when we called the police back to let them know we spotted our assailant and were still waiting for their arrival. They never came. Had they showed up like they promised, the chances of us actually pressing charges would've been much higher than 10%.

I ran into the man two days later, wearing the same exact outfit, with the same exact smug look. We were at the Shirlington Spring Fling event, where cops were posted at every corner. Again, they had a chance to show me that my safety mattered.

Yet, it seemed standing around looking pretty in their uniforms took priority over addressing a concerned citizen. When I explained what happened and looked for some sort of guidance, here's what I was told:

"If you saw him today, and he just walked by you, maybe he was just having an off day last time. Here's to hoping he never spits on you again."

Yeah. I'd hope that he doesn't walk every square foot of an EIGHT story garage to look for our car and spit on us ever again, too.

Although we were allowed to file a report, it was heavily discouraged. However, the general sentiment from the institution that's meant to "protect & serve" was that identifying a white man who terrorizes local residents was too big of a waste of police resources to do anything about it.

I find it funny that this is the same institution with the reputation of having enough resources to chase down innocent citizens and murder them for the crime of living while black.

And while you may think I'm unnecessarily bringing race into this, you should know that we were quite literally told that there were too many white guys that fit that description to ever be able to properly identify him. Yet, innocent black men are dying in this country everyday for "fitting a description".

Let's not forget the fact that this was my third time in 2 days going to the police about this man. Each interaction with the police marking a separate incident when the man was spotted. And each time, we were ready, willing, and able to properly identify him. The only thing missing were cops who were actually willing and able to protect the community by doing their jobs.

Needless to say, racists have the advantage of hiding in plain sight. Both within the system and within our streets. 

Searching Beyond the Law

We thought about other avenues that could help us keep this man from ever doing this to anyone again. If the cops won't help us, maybe we could help ourselves. That's the beauty of living in a free country, right?

We managed to get a video of the man's face in run-in number two. A run-in that happened outside of an apartment complex, which we could only assume to be his place of residence.

This gave us information. Our only advantage to getting justice.

As my sister finished up the report on the phone with the cops, I decided to step into the leasing office and see what management had to say about their residents terrorizing the neighborhood. All I wanted was for them to send a notice to their residents that an incident was reported and to be careful out there.

Instead, I was politically handled, inappropriately empathized with, and shown no real concern for the safety of the neighborhood or their other residents. It was clear that, just like the cops, the property manager didn't see how this could be his problem.

He was clearly more frustrated with me for being dramatic enough to take it "this far" instead of at my assailant for having the audacity to spit on us. An assailant that lived in the building that he manages and would continue to racially profile and terrorize other residents.

In the week that followed, my sister and I went through waves of wanting to do everything we could to speak up about this injustice and feeling like the only person who's time, energy, and reputation that will suffer from any of our efforts was our own.

Still, using a screenshot of the video we took, my sister decided to post the story of the incident on her personal page and every relevant Facebook community group she could find. But, she only did this after days of contemplating the risks of posting about this online.

It all just felt so bleak. Like a dark reality check of where we stand as a society - something you could only hide from for so long.

Until it spits you right in the face.

Learning What America Really Stands For

It's been about two weeks since then. I've channeled all of my anger into writing this article. Still, I wish I could've done something to make this man understand that no matter how bad of a day you're having, you can't just go around spitting on people.

Yet, he actually ended up teaching me the exact opposite lesson. He reminded me about the truth of American ideals.

You're having a bad day? You don't like the way someone looks? Is there someone different from you doing better for themselves? Go ahead, spit on them.

Just make sure you're white while you do it.

America will happily reward any bad behavior you commit when your skin is void of melanin.

And it's going to stay that way until we have people in positions of power that actually care enough about people who look like me to make a difference. 

Why I’ll Never Stop Caring

I've always been asked where my drive comes from. Well, here's your answer:

In the embarrassment I was made to feel, in the parts of me I was taught to hide, in the hateful conversations I was forced to be a part of, I've grown up in a nation that has always made me feel "less American" than my peers.

This is the country that I was born into. The one that I was educated by. The country that I've called home my entire life, much like a lot of you. Yet, it's a country that seems to reject me in new ways everyday.

You see, my drive isn't a choice. It's a necessity.

I may have started this life being seen as "less than", but that is not how I'm ending it. I will prove my worth and get a seat at the table. Then, I'll get up, flip the whole damn thing over, and do things differently with our generation. Because a seat will never be enough when the table is riddled with bias.

I will stop at nothing to give people like me a voice, no matter how many times I get spit on to get there. And you could mark my words with that one.