She was a slender white female with blond hair, black and white dress and black pumps on her way to work. She really didn’t mean me any harm when she grabbed her bag. I was just a reminder to be safe. When a black man gets on the train headed to work like everyone else, somehow it reminds people to be safe. “So I pulled my bag closer,” she said. “I am a liberal person religiously and politically but there is something about my first glance at a black man that makes me nervous. I am sorry for that. I mean you no harm.” What am I to do with this reality in my life? I was kind in the conversation, but my heart sank with her words. I think she needed to get it out and I think I needed to let her confess.
So like a priest I sat and listened to her sincere and honest words, and nodded my head to let her know i was listening. She got off the train a few stops later and left me sitting there in disbelief. I could not believe she just went into all that and then hopped of the train – no name, no chance for follow up, just raw confession. I glanced around the train car and of the 100 people, there were two black men – myself and another brother at the far end in red t-shirt and shorts.
The conductor comes on and says we will be delayed. I think to myself, why were we not delayed before that woman got off this train? I could have given her a good lesson if I had time, but this time I could only listen.
I wonder if it helped that I was silent? I wonder if it helped for her to look a black man in the face who she offended and confess? Will her life be different from this moment? Will she share her story? Will I be a good story to her friends today? Will she share her convictions and others see their struggle and try to live differently? Will she become an advocate for black men? I am sitting on a train in Portland with all these white folks, on my way to the office, and all this is going through my head. Should I go talk to the one other black person on the train?
I glance out the window and take in the city, and I think I am glad she confessed. I am thankful that she recognized what she did, confessed, and apologized. Perhaps there was no follow up needed, just grace and hope. It’s my stop.