By Guest Contributor Sonita Moss
I don’t feel safe in Seattle.
Specifically, I don’t feel safe in public.
I love this city. Its many neighborhoods, the “little” big city vibe with a more laid-back pace of life. The expansive mountain ranges and views of ocean waters. Housing so dense it is seemingly stacked on hill after hill of pavement and grass. The skyline at dusk and twilight, travelling both north and south on the I-5. It is unrushed and easy, yet there is some nameless vibrance to this place.
Of course, I’ve been here just shy of 8 weeks.
I’m still a rookie, but I am a maverick of emotion. I don’t feel safe here.
The dueling intersections of my social identities: race, class, gender & age have forged a path of extremely unpleasant, unwelcome events at a rate that I have never experienced in my entire life. Here are the facts, the need-to-know-to-get-it information:
I am black. I am a young woman in my early 20s, but I am frequently presumed to be younger. This is important. I am living below the poverty line.
That is a recipe for disaster.
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