The Fear I Felt (Part 2)
By: Rabi Michael-Crushshon
Tags: George Floyd, Raceinamerica, Race Relations, Trumpism

Being afraid; the feeling of fear or anxiety. The scariest thing about fear is that it is everywhere. It is better known for its symptoms, most commonly: sweating, shaking, upset stomach and nausea, uneven voice, crying, discomfort, irrational actions, laughter and overthinking. You can never know what it looks like because of its many faces and disguises. Even when fear has infiltrated a person they may not even know that it has. In the most severe cases, symptoms include fainting, death or the harm of others.

In a bubble time still moves but separately from the outside. I sit on a bus seat cramped and tired after an eight hour ride. My stomach tosses and my head pounds with nerves and excitement. I am on the way to my first major camping and rafting experience. In this bubble of semester school I am invincible, the thin walls that separate us from everyone else are made of bulletproof glass and strong metal. Protecting us from the monsters outside its walls. I look out the window and watch as the outside world moves by. I start to daydream of what my next two weeks have to hold; however, I am abruptly brought back to reality as we pass a flag arguing that I, a black woman, should not receive the same basic rights as any white man or woman. A flag shouting that I am less than human, that because of the pigmentation in my skin I do not deserve equal rights as my white classmates. A hanging Trump 2020 banner. While this banner itself is not completely unexpected, in the duration of my semester it has become a normal discomfort, I am extremely aware of the community we are entering. In front of me I watch as my peers point it out and two of them high-five. A high five, such a simple gesture, an expression of shared joy or accomplishment. At this moment, a simple high five is extremely impactful. They are celebrating the suffering and pain of my people. While my skin crawls and I test how low I can slouch in my seat, my classmates burst out in laughter. How did I think I could leave my skin, leave the pain and burden for even a second. Simply my appearance itself pops every bubble I walk into. Though I thought I was peacefully floating, it was all just a hopeful illusion. I am in fact falling. Cold, tight and heavy metal is wrapped around my ankles. Chains. They yank my body down an endless dark hole. The chains of my skin and of my history. Chains I can never escape no matter how hard I shake and pull, no matter how far I try to run. I glance around at the laughing faces, mocking me because I thought I could escape. I thought I had finally broken free of these painfully constricting chains.

Barely a block away from this banner my breath catches as we pull into the campsite. When communities wave flags such as the Trump banner it shouts to me loud and clear, I am not welcome. I am on high alert and quickly notice I am the only person of color here. My survival instincts kick in. Despite my body telling me to fight, freeze, or flee, I can’t. There is no one to fight, no one has done anything. I am completely and utterly afraid of something that could happen. Something that is more likely to happen in this environment but hasn’t yet. I can’t leave or run away. I am in the middle of nowhere by the Salmon river, camping with 14 other students and 4 instructors. How do I explain that I am terrified to go to sleep, to let my guard down for even a second. I can’t freeze. I must act normal. As we unload the rafts and prepare them for the next day, I am terrified. I try not to make eye contact with the many white men on the loading ramp. I awkwardly stand with other students so I am always in a group. I try, despite my hair and skin, despite my fear and the overwhelming amount of emotions I am feeling, to desperately fit in. My peers don’t notice. They don’t see me scanning my surroundings or hear the pain in my laugh. They think I am smiling because I am excited and happy. They think I am taking photos with them because I want to remember this moment forever. The truth is I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t, if I step away or stop laughing for just a second. I can’t look alone and weak. I can not show that this place, this community has an affect on me. I suffer by myself, running the worst case scenarios through my head.

We grab our remaining equipment and walk over to the area we are camping tonight. I look around observing how busy the campsite is. I check cars and trucks seeing if there are stickers that portray their hatred and fear of me. I don’t want attention so I take quick glances, never long enough to worry the owners. As darkness begins to hide the campsite, new heart racing fears become a reality. I am scared to go to the bathroom alone. Would my group hear my screams? Would my classmates even notice I was missing? I quickly run to catch up with my peers as they walk to get water or use the restroom. Never to be caught alone. Never to be seen as weak. Darkness engulfed us, hiding us in her belly. Disguising all the monsters in her masks of blackness.

When we are young our greatest fears are of the dark, and the monsters under our beds. As we grow those monsters become real and embodied in larger ideas such as death, loneliness, and government. Being black in a nation where my human rights are debated, I live in constant fear. Fear of death. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of loneliness.