I had a bizarre exchange today that, in more normal and simpler times, I would’ve ranked a nothing-burger—a weird white guy being weird. However, we are living in the era of frozen water agents in our communities across the country and in Maine, they are still here daily, terrorizing and kidnapping people.
But let me back up a bit, first, before getting to the weird guy who maybe was something more than just odd. Just a few days ago, after speaking at the local No Kings Rally in Portland, Maine, along with Senate candidate Troy Jackson, gubernatorial candidate Hannah Pingree, and Sen. Elizabeth Warren, a local organizer for the event told the crowd that while we were at the rally, ICE had picked up someone a few blocks away from us.
Local news has moved on but the stories continue in activist networks, which is why I decided maybe I should share today’s encounter that I had on my way home. If for no other reason than so that local Black and Brown folks can be on alert, since I am still not sure if the man I encountered was an agent or just a white man taking advantage of our current societal situation to instill fear.
Most regular readers and certainly many in Maine know that I live on a literal island, just a few miles off the coast of Portland in Casco Bay. That means that to get home or to leave the island, I have to take a ferry or, as islanders call it: The Boat. So, after an errand on the mainland, I was waiting for the boat to come in and since I had time to kill, I had grabbed a cup of coffee and was killing time with a smoke in a quiet corner (yeah, I know, bad habit; I am a stereotypical ole-skool writer, I do like my coffee and a smoke). As is my habit when killing time for the boat, if I am engaging in my vices, I stand over by the parking garage that’s attached to the terminal building where the ashtray is. It’s away from people and I have been doing it for years so that I have relative privacy and don’t bother anyone else.
I was in my zone minding my business when a gray pickup truck pulls up and double-parks near the curb closest to me (where a glass truck was already parked) and a tall thin white man in a baseball cap jumps out. He looks around the truck before starting to stare at me. He then starts walking toward me and asks (well, yells actually), “What do you do?”
I didn’t say anything at first, and at this point I started to realize the guy might be a problem. I immediately I looked back over at his truck and realized that it wasn’t a Maine license plate; it was definitely out of state and I believe it was an Iowa plate. He repeats himself—as if he thinks I am slow—at which point, using my whitest voice, I loudly say, “Pardon?”
He stares at me. We lock eyes since, at this point, I am in full-alert mode that this man might be an ICE agent checking to see if I am an immigrant and possibly looking to screw with me. Because the thing is, when I stare fully at him, I see he is wearing a T-shirt, a baseball cap with an American flag, and jeans—definitely the kind of outfit an ICE agent might wear to “fit in” and “look civilian” based on what I have seenand heard in the media. After a few seconds of our eyes locking, he says, “I guess you are okay.”
To which I respond, “I have no idea what you are talking about,” and he counters: “Yeah, you do, but the person I am picking up won’t be okay.”
At this point, I start walking toward the boarding area where the actual terminal is since I realize if he is about to try and grab me, I want to be closer to people and where someone, hopefully a fellow islander, can see me. He slowly gets back in his truck and pulls up to the front of the terminal where I am headed and where passengers are starting to disembark from the boat that I am waiting to get on.
That’s when I realize a number of Jamaican immigrants who work on the island (on work visas, mind you) are also getting off the boat. At this point, I am in the boarding area and talking to some island buddies about the situation when an island friend, a white woman, says she noticed the man as well since he had been yelling at someone as she was walking to the boarding area. I watch the man in his truck and at one point he seems to be typing on a tablet. I am also watching the Jamaicans who are off the boat and ramp and getting on their scooters. The man in the truck leaves a few seconds later.
As I texted my ex-husband, maybe this was an ICE agent scouting out things or maybe it was just an unhinged and weird white man. Without seeing anything that absolutely identified him as an agent, there was no way of knowing. However, a white man in a pickup truck with out-of-state plates scouting out Black people off-season at the ferry terminal is suspicious. Suspicious enough that I would tell my local peeps, especially those of us who are not white, to stay on alert and mind your surroundings.
“Best” case scenario this is a white dude who just wants to play at being intimidating in a time of immigrants being terrorized openly and with full regime approval. But that’s not all that much better than a white guy looking to harm someone or worse yet an ICE agent on the prowl for new victims. But this is the world we live in right now.
Anyhoo, as for me, I am okay. It was an unsettling few minutes, but I do carry my passport card now in my wallet, in case I am ever forced to prove my citizenship, since while silence is bliss and legal, I am not interested in any unexpected detours to a processing facility in my day because the goon squad is trying to make its quota.
Stay safe and keep an eye out for fellow community members. In the end, we save us and keep us safe.
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Image by Uday Mittal, obtained via Unsplash
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