Climbing up the steps from the Balboa Park station on an unusually warm July night, my girlfriend and I carry little in tow – I have a shoulder bag with a few books and leftover pizza, and she has a small handmade purse draped over her shoulder. I quickly calculate: a bus ride up the hill to my house would be $1.50 each, a taxi, less than five dollars. As broke college students, these are both decidedly unfeasible, and we figure a short walk will do nothing but improve what had already been a relaxing day — my 22nd birthday.

Halfway up the hill, in the periphery of our heavy breaths and laughter, I hear footsteps approaching. I turn my head to see three men — all wearing black hoodies, all African-American — and they immediately bolt towards us, chasing us into the street. We yell towards oncoming headlights, hoping to at least snare a witness to the impending crime. Some slow down, but no one stops. And I don’t blame them. They can probably see that one of the men is holding a gun, something that I don't realize until it’s pointed at my chest moments later.

Ten weeks have passed since the event, and I am still wary of the same type of people who robbed us: men of any race or age who dress in gratuitously baggy jeans and sweatshirts. I know most people who fit that description aren’t going to hold me up at gunpoint, but I can’t help but be cautious. I know I am not a racist, but this event has pushed me closer in that direction than I ever could have imagined.

Frank Rizzo, former mayor of Philadelphia, once quipped that “liberals are conservatives who haven’t been mugged,” and although I am not about to start listening to Limbaugh, this entire experience has humbled my perspective. I have found some pity for racists who have determined their beliefs through experiences similar to mine — situations where, in the aftermath, bias becomes a safety blanket. My stereotype is only against people who dress a certain way, but that is frighteningly close to building a prejudice against people with a certain skin tone.

I grew up in Carmel-by-the-Sea, a town so wealthy, white and pretentious that the name itself proclaims proximity to an ocean. As a kid, school seemed more like a country club, where I was the least-white member, with a small fraction of Sri Lankan descent. But still, living in a predominantly white town, my cultural identity was obvious. Many people, including myself, might wish they didn’t have (or favor) a specific in-group — a psychological term for a tribe or clan — but almost everyone does. An out-group will always be less familiar. This creates an open opportunity for stereotypes to form based on personal experience or media influence, says Dr. James Newman, a social psychology professor at SF State. Unintentionally, my in-group has rarely included non-whites, which unfortunately makes them all out-groups.

I had to fly to Los Angeles only a few weeks after the robbery – my sister had a baby, and I hoped a visit would lift my spirits. Testament to my lingering fear, I decided to take my car to the Oakland airport, ignoring that BART would have been cheaper and more convenient. Once inside, while waiting in line at the security gate, I thought of the few times that I have been searched by airport security in the past.

Since September 11th, “random” security checks have often landed on men with darker skin, beards and a copy of the Koran in their carry-on. With a full beard, I fit two out of three, which seems to mean I am searched about two-thirds of the time. This has always disgusted me. A recent Gallup poll shows that over half the country still thinks racial profiling is an appropriate security measure. For many people, the civil rights of others have become only an afterthought to their own (illusions of) safety. Of course, I do not approve of racial profiling as a governmental policy—but I do see why people would, especially those directly affected by the attacks.

Sean Donnelly, 25, woke up to the explosion of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center. For more than a month he couldn’t return to his NYU dorm five blocks from ground zero, because the air was not safe to breathe. Although Donnelly does not support racial profiling — he said he might if there was evidence showing that it works — he admits to stereotyping some Middle Eastern men he sees in airports. “I might start wondering if there was a guy off by himself,” Donnelly says, “but if it was a guy with family, I wouldn’t think anything of it.” Now that he mentions it, I probably wouldn’t think much of three gangster-looking men walking down the street with their grandma.

Not everyone affected by September 11th formed an immediate stereotype. For instance, those who were already familiar with Middle Eastern cultures often had their own positive experiences to counter the prevailing bias. Elissa Buchanan, 37, had just moved to New York from San Francisco in August of 2001 to find work in film production, and by September she had yet to find a job in the industry. When the towers fell, the city’s economy did as well. Buchanan never found a job—instead, she moved back to San Francisco, defeated and depressed. “If it weren’t for September 11th, I’d probably still be in New York,” she says.

Unlike more than half of Americans, most of whom were less affected by the attacks than she was, she says she carries no prejudice against people from the Middle East. More than anything, she empathizes with them for the awful stereotype they have received. The day after September 11th, she saw firefighters harassing a Pakistani newspaper salesman. They were accusing him of being a terrorist among a barrage of racial slurs.

“I’ve dated Middle Eastern men, too,” Buchanan says. “That might have something to do with it.” According to many psychologists, that has everything to do with it.

Buchanan perhaps evaded adopting the prevalent stereotype because her in-group already included Middle Eastern men. For others with less inclusive in-groups, a bias can still slowly fade with enough positive interaction with the stereotyped out-group. Psychologists have been working to expedite the fading process for decades. Most famously, Dr. Elliot Aronson of UC Santa Cruz created “The Jigsaw Technique”—a method typically applied to classrooms of younger students experiencing racial divisions. A small group is given a puzzle to complete, but the task is rigged so each student must contribute one part in order to find the solution. Although this approach is normally used for children, the basic concepts of cooperation and positive experiences remain beneficial for anybody.

Before any such reformation, I have a barrier to break: I am convinced my neighborhood is not safe. A month ago, SF State senior Daniel Schirra, 22, was found stabbed to death on the exact same block where I was robbed. Just as Richard Reid exacerbated Americans’ fear of flying when he tried to blow up a plane with his shoe in late 2001, so my fears were similarly renewed with Schirra’s murder. Despite my apartment’s convenient location near school, I seem to be spending more time at my girlfriend’s place in the Haight, where a higher homeless and tourist concentration seems to mean fewer people wearing baggy black hoodies. I know I am only avoiding the problem, and my bias is still brewing; I will work to soften it when I can, but that’s not my priority—my safety is. Call it white flight, call it cowardly, but, for now, I feel safer hiding in the Haight.