I love talking to strangers. I derive unparalleled joy from meeting new people, listening to their stories, and learning about their lives. A few months ago, however, an interaction I had made me hesitant to approach other strangers in Detroit.

It was the last weekend of September, and we fellows were presenting our redesigned bus shelters (our warm-up challenge) to Detroiters at the Detroit Design Festival. While others may have felt uncomfortable engaging people off the street or bored from pitching the same spiel over and over, I felt in my element. For the most part, my enthusiasm and passion for the city was well received. But there was one black (I mention her race here because it is relevant and unfortunately I don’t believe we live in a post-racial America) woman in particular who did not appreciate me, and she made a point of letting me know.

Our conversation went something like this:
Her: “So what is this?”
Me: “Have you heard of Challenge Detroit?”
Her: “No. What’s that?”
Me: “So Challenge Detroit is a one-year fellowship program that brings together 35 of us from across the country to live, work, play, give and lead in Detroit”. (Rest assured, I have the Challenge Detroit tagline down pat)
Her: “What makes you think Detroit needs people from the outside telling us what to do? What makes you think our ideas aren’t good enough? I’m a native Detroiter and I’ve been working as a planner here for thirty years. Detroit doesn’t need people like you. I resent people like you.”

Despite being able to immediately see where this woman was coming from, her words still stung. As someone whose main goal in life is to make others happy, this piece of feedback left me feeling wounded. Here I was, having rearranged my entire life to be part of Challenge Detroit (this event happened only three days after I successfully obtained my U.S. work visa, a document I had waited on for four agonizing months) and incredibly excited to be there, and here was this stranger telling me she resented my very presence.

After she challenged me (rather aggressively, might I add) and asked if I would “tell that to your program leadership” (to which I meekly responded that I would), she proceeded to ask me to present my bus shelter design. I did. I almost couldn’t believe the situation, but I fought back the tears that had begun to form and put on my best presenter smile.

My interaction with this woman left me with a great deal to reflect on. The more I thought about it, the more I could empathize with her perspective. Too often in Detroit’s (re)development narrative, black people (representing 80% of Detroit’s population) are overlooked in favor of rich, educated white entrepreneurs who may or may not have recently moved (or moved back) to Detroit. And while my skin is not white, I cannot ignore my positionality as a relatively affluent educated individual who has the privilege of being able to choose where I want to live.

My interaction with this woman affirmed for me (somewhat sharply) something I already believed to be true: the importance of listening to and investing in native Detroiters. (I wonder – is that ironic for me to say? I mean it though…)

While I hope to never be a target of such resentment again, I recognize that this conversation may well play out on another day, with another stranger. Try as I might, I am and may always be an “outsider”. But that’s not to say Detroiters won’t appreciate my presence. Pretty much every other stranger I have met in Detroit thus far has welcomed me with open arms, and affirmed for me why I am here. More on that later.