rodney

I came across the remnants of the Ida B. Wells homes today. Abandoned, slated for demolition or rehabilitation, yet left completely open. So I wandered in. As I walked back and forth between buildings several police cars rolled by, and I wondered if they would stop and say something. I pay little mind to 'no trespassing sings' when armed with a camera. Pedestrians cut through the corridors paid no attention to me. A couple parked and started walking around with their child as the woman took a few snap shots herself. I was there for about half an hour before a man approached me. 'Hey!" I heard. “Hey, what are you taking picture of?” He exclaimed. "What are you doing?'" he yelled as he approached me. Startled, I yelled back "I’m just taking a picture!" "Of what?" He yelled back. "Don't give me that, tell me why!'" Normally, being the non-confrontation personal that I am, I walk away when told not to photograph in a public space. But for some reason, I didn’t. I stood my ground.

"Why are you photographing these? These are the worst of the worst? And all you are doing is showing the world the worst of this. The worst of our world."

"These don’t say anything about who lived here, and the community that was here!"

"The conditions of this place are not the fault of the people who lived here. I grew up here, this was my home, this place was once beautiful, this is not our fault! It’s systemic!"

He stared me in the face as his words hit me deeper and deeper, and all I could do was hope that my trembling wasn't obvious. He wasn't drunk...or high...he was far too coherent and articulate to be anything but sober. No. He was just angry. Standing in a courtyard surrounded by the physical and tactile evidence of systemic racial injustice, justifiably so. And all I could do was listen. Listen and search for composure or a coherent response. For all I was saying in response during his tirade was 'I know...I know;’ hoping he could see my empathy, hoping that he could see that I’m not just another white man who came to his neighborhood simply to take. "I’m trying to tell a story,” I said hoping to disarm him. "I don't work for a newspaper or a magazine. I’m independent. I want to point the finger at the systems that allow this to happen, because this just isn't right!" whether it was what I said or how I said it, his entire demeanor towards me seemed to change after that.

We continued talking, and after he told me several times that he meant me no harm but he just had to come over and give me a piece of his mind, I extended my hand and asked him his name. "Rodney" he said. "Rodney, I’m Ryan,” I said as I clenched his hand and looked deep into his dark eyes. We kept talking for another twenty minutes in the courtyard between two dilapidated buildings. I could have kept talking to him and listening to his stories for even longer, but he had to be going. "Peace be with you brother,” he said as he shook my hand again. "Peace be with you!"

"Holy shit!" I said to myself as I walked away. My head was spinning. I was in shock at what just happened. I think I’m still processing it. I’m always concerned with being harassed when I go to neighborhoods where I could be unwelcome. I’ve had dirty looks and angry voices thrown my way before. Never before have I been confronted as I was today...and never would I have expected the outcome.

wow
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I met a man named Rodney today. A man I won't soon forget.