Vox Populi:

I have moved three times in the past 13 months. My academic career-climbing has propelled me across the country from my longtime residence near Washington, D.C., to the Dallas–Fort Worth metro area, followed by a brief return to living New York City–adjacent. Now that I’ve finally secured a coveted tenure-track job, I have landed in upstate New York—Syracuse, to be precise. With each new move, I think about my safety as a young Black woman living on her own. The first rule is to never look too out of place; my vigilance is heightened in areas where I know I look like I don’t belong. “Belonging” is a complex concept, but I try to stay in areas that have rich diversity, from race and ethnicity to age, dress, and gender identity.

When I first began looking for an apartment in my new city, an older, white woman realtor was recommended to me. With her best intentions, she shuttled me and my mother around Syracuse’s white suburbs–ignoring my demands to see whatever apartments the downtown area might offer. Syracuse, like many cities across the United States, is in the midst of a gentrification process. For older, white Americans who left the “inner city” decades ago, downtown still connotes the remnants of that history and populace—a dangerous milieu of working poor and unhoused individuals. And housing insecurity does plague my new city; I am struck by the number of people I see wandering the streets in this snowy, frigid climate. While I’ve lived in large cities with sizable homeless populations before, this moment feels different. As a Black woman college professor, who has opted to live in overpriced apartments just a block or two from the rescue mission—I have to think about my own complex and intersectional identity. As I adapt to this new space, I ask myself: What does allyship look like while protecting my own safety?

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