April 14, 2005: I walked into the McKinley Building Room 207 at around 6:45 p.m., looking for a quiet area to peacefully finalize my presentation on Angola due about a week later.
I placed a chair close to the door so that, should I fall asleep, no one would enter the room without making enough noise to wake me up.
A good while later (around 8 p.m.), the door flung open and an old man (aged somewhere between 66 and 77) came in.
"You need to get out," he said, "We have a class here."
"Oh sorry," I responded. I stood up and proceeded to put my shoes back on.
"I said get out!" the old man went on. "You need to get out now."
"Aye, I heard you. Just give me the time to unplug my computer and pack up."
"What are you doing in my class, anyway?"
"Well, how would I know you're having a class here?"
"If you looked at the schedule you'd know I'm having a class here."
Somewhat puzzled, I wondered what schedule he was talking about. But I didn't want a useless confrontation. So I went on grabbing my books.
"Give me your name," he said.
I looked up. "What do you need my name for?"
"I said give me your name," he insisted.
"I won't give you my name," I replied.
"So you won't give me your name?" the old man said. "I'll call the police."
I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to him. "You can use my phone."
"I don't need it," the old man said. "I have one."
By that time all, of his students were standing around. Some wondered what was going on, while others tried to help their professor. One girl told him the extension of campus police; a guy gave the professor his cell phone so he could place the call.
"Hello? I have someone in my class who has no business here, and he refuses to leave..."
I had completed my pack-up, but then it occurred to me that leaving that room before the police showed up would basically mean I had done something wrong and had sought to escape. So I took a seat on the side and waited.
"That's a lie, sir," I said.
"He's a black male ... he speaks with an accent ... he has a blue shirt and blue jeans ... and he's wearing a hat..."
In general, the sight of police uniforms makes me nervous, but when AU Public Safety officers showed up at the door, I felt so relieved and went out to meet them. I sat down outside the room and waited for questions to pour in.
"Are you a student here?"
"Yes."
"Are you in the class?"
"This class? No."
"What were you doing there?"
"Well I wasn't aware there was going to be a class here"
"But even if a class isn't going on," the officer said, "what were you doing in here?"
That one question sounded particularly weird to me.
"I wasn't aware that I needed permission to enter an empty classroom on campus," I risked. "Are you sure that's what the [AU Student] Handbook says?"
"Yes."
Then another officer (there were four) came and asked me why I was in that professor's classroom.
I told him I had entered the room about an hour before they showed up, and there's no way I could have known in advance that a class was to be held there.
"Well, that's not what he told me," the officer said, referring to the professor.
I showed my ID, they took my name and phone number, but I declined to give them my address because I didn't see why I should.
The officers told me they would file a report, and the matter would be handed over to the Office of Judicial Affairs.
Feel free to take what you want out of this, but I need to tell you that this is not the first time such an incident has happened to me. In fact, it is not even the second.
Last fall I boarded the shuttle at Tenleytown one evening. The bus driver (a chubby, bearded middle-aged man) asked me to show my ID. I wondered out loud how come he didn't ask to see the IDs of any of the dozen or so students who had gotten on the bus before me. He replied he was just doing his job.
I told him I understood that this was University policy with regard to shuttle boarding, but University regulations applied across the board to the entire community, and he couldn't just single out individuals. Then I told him I wouldn't show my ID unless he asked everybody else to comply.
Reluctantly, he said, "Listen, everybody, someone out here wants to prevent me from doing my job. Can I see your IDs?"
IDs popped up and he didn't even pay attention, but I had gotten his point.
The third incident occurred the same semester still in the McKinley Building, this time in the lounge at the basement.
I had been writing my paper all night and then fell asleep around four in the morning. When I woke up there was a man standing in the room, asking me what I was doing there.
I told him I had fallen asleep while working and that I was ready to leave. He told me that I couldn't sleep there, especially since there is a copier in the room. (The copier can only be operated by some pre-registered IDs, so the charge implied here wasn't about free-riding on photocopies, but rather that I would just steal the machine.)
I told him that to the best of my knowledge there was no sign on the door or anywhere else that seemed to indicate that this was a restricted area.
He asked me if I was a student there and who my adviser was. I told him that yes, I've been a student here for three years and that my advisor's name is Shawn Hillman. He still wasn't satisfied and kept asking me questions.
I understand that bigotry is a natural phenomenon, and also that decisions on interpersonal likes and dislikes sometimes depend on parameters way beyond our conscious control, but it remains nonetheless morally wrong and professionally improper for anyone to use their position of privilege to inflict undue burden on others, just because their phenotypic features appear unpleasant to them.
Francois Gouahinga is a junior in the School of International Service.
