Why do people of color always have to go the extra mile to prove their humanity?
In 2018, D’Arreion Toles, a Black man living in a luxury apartment in downtown Missouri, was blocked from entering his own building by a white woman who worked there. She questioned him, harassed him, and refused to let him pass. Toles recorded the encounter and posted it online. The video went viral, the woman was fired, and it served as yet another reminder that racism is alive and well.
That same year, in Dallas, white police officer Amber Guyger entered the wrong apartment and fatally shot Botham Jean, a Black man, in his own home. Dallas Police Chief Renee Hall, a Black woman, initially refused to fire Guyger, claiming it would compromise the investigation. Only after intense public pressure was Guyger terminated and eventually put on trial, was found guilty,and went to prison.
These incidents had different outcomes but sprang from the same poisonous mindset: white privilege granting the power to challenge or even take the life of a Black person in their own space. Both men were forced—implicitly or explicitly—to “prove” that they belonged.
No matter how wealthy, educated, or accomplished, Black people are often still viewed as outsiders in predominantly white spaces—unless they are world-famous figures like Barack Obama, Ben Carson, or Jay-Z. Toles’ experience showed that money and status alone don’t erase suspicion.
I know this firsthand. A few years ago, I was falsely accused of robbing a Black woman while walking to the store for juice. Within minutes, I was surrounded by police officers with guns drawn. My neighbors watched as I was handcuffed, fearing I might be killed. I survived because I knew how to comply to avoid escalating the situation. The woman eventually admitted she had misidentified me, and I was released. But the damage was done.
Since then, a friend of mine who is a police officer gives me a PBA card every year—a token of safety that I keep alongside my Columbia University ID and driver’s license. I’ve also adopted a “politics of respectability” wardrobe: Brooks Brothers suits, J. Press blazers, penny loafers, oxford shirts, repp ties. Dressing in the style of the socially elite is a shield—not against bullets, but against suspicion.
It’s a sad reality: using class markers to fight racism. It doesn’t end prejudice, but it can sometimes deflect it. This mindset is tied to the American Dream, the idea that hard work and “looking the part” will earn you acceptance. But why should people of color have to perform wealth or status to be treated with basic dignity?
Every day, I leave my home with my PBA card, my Columbia ID, and my driver’s license—three “tokens of humanity.” But I keep asking myself: What more must I carry to prove my humanity in this world?