On being 17 and afraid of a (creepy-ass) stranger

Fresh-faced! (one of my favorites, despite its flaws.)

When I was in high school--17 years old--I had a stalker. He was old, scary, and he drove a beater that looked like he might live in it at least part of the time. He came into the convenience store where I worked pretty regularly, and sometimes he would sit in the parking lot and stare in the front windows at me for hours.

I didn't do anything to "encourage" his attention. To the contrary: it was obvious he was making me extremely uncomfortable. One night, as I left work, he followed me from the parking lot. I noticed him and his horrible, distinctive car, and I didn't drive straight home. I didn't want him to know where I lived.  After about 10 minutes, he figured out that I wasn't going to give him the information he wanted, and he drove off.  This was before cell phones that I could have used to call for help.

This place I worked offered free refills on soda and coffee to police officers to encourage their regular presence, as it discouraged would-be robbers, and my particular location was right next to the city police station. We had a lot of regular officers who came in and out of the store at all hours, and I told one of them who came in to work the next night. "Sarge" pulled him over and had a talk with my stalker (who had a lengthy DV record against his ex-wife, as well as other charges, Sarge told me later after running his tags). I'm unsure precisely what was said during that traffic stop, but I know it was one of those "unofficial" police interventions that had no legal teeth behind it whatsoever. I will always be grateful for it, since I only saw my stalker once after that, and he left when he saw me, no doubt worried he would get another visit from the police.

I had almost forgotten about all of this, until I started hearing from people that Trayvon Martin only had to "run home" and he would have been safe from the "creepy ass cracker" who was following him that night. In the dark, being followed by a stranger, sometimes the last thing you want to do is lead that trouble back to your home. Sometimes, at that time, it feels like the least safe thing you could do.

I was white, blonde, female, and conditioned to living in at least a small amount of fear from adult men who treated me as an object of attraction. Trayvon Martin's fear was different, to be sure, but I have to think that people who say he should have just gone home aren't really thinking about what would have gone through Martin's mind that night. For some, Zimmerman's mindset is more accessible. The mindset that blames the dead unarmed boy and not the grown man with the gun who was so afraid he had to get out of the car despite police advice.

I was lucky. My place in society afforded me protection from the police and other powers that be. I could approach a police officer with my problem without the fear that minority communities often feel when dealing with the authorities. My stalker knew exactly where the line was on his pursuit, and the attention of the police scared him off. That kind of luck is based on my position, my privilege as a cisgendered white woman, and by the amount of fear society feels it's acceptable for me to feel before there is a response from the powers-that-be.

Who do you identify with more in the death of Trayvon Martin? What do you think it says about the world that the jury felt Zimmerman's actions were reasonable under the circumstances?

Additional reading about fear and how it interacts with privilege at Shakesville.