I've lived in heavily majority-white neighborhoods in the South for probably 80-95% of my adult life, and as such have some experience on both sides of the "neighborhood" coin. Well, and I'm also sharing because there's a reasonably amusing story involved, too.
In 1994, I lived in a neighborhood in Mableton, GA for 4-5 months. I'm pretty sure it was heavily majority white. I say "pretty sure" because my 2 roommates were white, our landlord (who lived in the same neighborhood) was white, and the dude who called the cops on me for trying to climb in the window of my own house was also white.
But that said, I have to say in fairness that in the time I lived there, the 10ish minutes I spent trying to get in the house that afternoon when I was locked out was probably the longest consecutive stretch of time I spent outside in the neighborhood the entire time I lived there--which is why I say "pretty sure," since I never took the time to meet/get to know any of the neighbors. In fairness to me, it was the last few months of my 3-year training assignment on YL Staff, my previous housing situation had ended, and I just needed somewhere to crash where I could pay month-to-month for the last few months before moving to DeKalb County. Mableton was significantly off of my beaten path for work and my life in general, so basically I only went to that house to sleep.
The "call the cops" incident there happened on Memorial Day Weekend. The guy who was taking my place at work was also moving in to the house in Mableton. He didn't have a key yet, and both my roommate and I were going to be out of town for the long weekend, so I gave my house key to Joel (the new guy) so he could move in while we were gone. I get back from the beach late afternoon/early evening on Memorial Day, and in the last few miles realized that I very badly had to take a dump, but didn't remember that I did not have my house key. I pull up to the house and Bryan (other roomie) and Joel are both gone, so I have no way to get in, and Joel's dog is barking up a storm in the back yard. (At the time I'd never met Joel's dog, but since neither Bryan nor I had one, I assumed Joel as the owner was a safe bet.) The neighborhood is nowhere near any retail or fast food type places where I can get to quickly and take care of business, so I decide to check all the windows on the front of the house to see if any are unlocked (nope). I jump in the car and drive to the nearest pay phone (hello, 1994!) to try to call the person I know who lives the closest. ("Hey, um, can I come to your house and drop off a load k thx?") Nope, not home! So I decide to go in the back yard and deal with Joel's barking dog, because I know that a window back there isn't locked, and the dog looks like a lab so I figure he's not going to attack (correct answer). I grabbed a broom handle from the carport just in case, open the gate, and the dog keeps barking but backs away. I open the window, climb in, and head straight for the toilet.
While I'm sitting there, I hear three consecutive sets of three taps on the *back* door, the area with the dog. For maybe 10-15 seconds, I'm sitting there thinking "WTF??? JOEL HAS TRAINED HIS DOG TO KNOCK ON THE DOOR WHEN HE WANTS TO COME IN??????"
Then I hear "police!" That caused me to jump up off the toilet and head for the back door, pants still around my ankles because I hadn't wiped yet.
I open it and there are two smiling cops, one with gun drawn but not pointed. (The smiles were creepy. No idea what that was all about.) Turns out a neighbor had called the cops. He said he didn't recognize me or my car (same fairly new Ford Tempo mentioned a few posts back in the thread). That he *specifically* mentioned that car to the police was a little weird for 3 reasons, and may well speak of subtle "better-make-sure-the-cops-come-out-here-and-nail-this-black-guy" thinking (or at the very least heavily implying something that clearly wasn't true--that he would have been familiar with the car if I'd actually lived there):
1. I'd lived there for 4ish months and I didn't have to be to the office until 10am, so the car was pretty much always there in the mornings and most of the time on weekends.
2. Our house was the second house in the neighborhood from the only way out to a major road (Hwy 278). You had to pass that house to get anywhere, and quite often cars were backed up past our house waiting to make the turn.
3. It turned out that he lived across the street and just one house further into the neighborhood.
The cops were reasonably professional, but annoying, given that I was tired after a long weekend, standing there with a dirty anus, and all I wanted to do was wipe my butt and take a nap. I showed them my license with the address of the house on it, told them why I needed to get in quickly, pointed out my pants at my feet, my bags still in the car, and the big nasty pile still in the toilet as evidence that my story was the truth, and all I got was "well, we've had some people who have moved out of places and come back and stolen stuff." Eventually, I got irritated and said "look, I'm tired after a long weekend at the beach and haven't even wiped my behind yet. Apparently there's nothing I can do to prove to you that I live here, and I have no idea where my roommates are to vouch for me. I'm going to go back to the bathroom, finish doing my business, then go lie down in my bed, in my room, and take a nap. You can feel free to guard me and wait here for Bryan or Joel to get home and identify me." I was saying it to make a point, not thinking of it as an actual solution, but to my surprise, they said "ok," and sat down in the den while I went back in and finished up on the toilet. *shurg*
Bryan drove up before I could get out of the bathroom and all was well. I can't fault the guy one iota for not recognizing *me*, but yeah, that he emphasized that he didn't recognize the car sounded like he was really piling on.
On the flip side, though, everywhere else I've lived as an adult, I've acted like a decent neighbor and gotten to know the people around me, which is probably a big part of why I haven't had a single similar incident in the 22 years since then, and have never felt uncomfortable/unwelcome in any of my neighborhoods. There are racial issues that are truly unjust that need to be addressed, brought up, and eradicated, and there are racial issues that are simply minor inconveniences that should be easily written off as "just part of life," by anyone with more maturity than a 20-year-old overly-idealistic doofus. If I'm out running on a cold day and know I'm going to be in areas where I'm a less familiar site, I wear a skull cap and not a hoodie, because that's probably a safer choice for a black man out here where I live. Big freakin' deal. I've got more important things in life to worry about than whining over what constitutes a wise wardrobe choice for a black man in a white neighborhood.
And seriously, Pokemon Go???? That's just...stoopid. I live in, I think, an all-white neighborhood except for me, my two biracial kids, one adopted black girl the next street over, and the Mexican family that lives two doors down. (If there are any others, they never show up to neighborhood events, the pool, and are rarely/never outside.) But to be clear, if I saw a white person, black person, brown person, or purple person who I didn't recognize wandering around like that near my house, I'd be calling the cops. Every day, and twice on Sundays. And even if I saw my next-door neighbor--a guy I've gotten to be friends with over the last year and a half to the point where in a couple of months or so we're going to take our families and rent a house together at the beach and do a long weekend vacation together--wandering around like that, I wouldn't approach him myself. I'd be calling his wife to make sure he hadn't had a mental break or something first, before I went outside and asked "uh, what in the bloody blue hell are you DOING, dude???" But then again, I'm reasonably certain that he has the good sense not to do something that bizarre and suspicious-looking in the first place.
I guess it goes back to the "strategic" comment that I made earlier about MLK vs. BLM. Pick. Your. Battles. There are real battles that still need to be fought. Whining about hoodies and Pokemon makes you sound like the boy who cried wolf when actual real (though sometimes subtle) racism needs to be addressed.