Me, Myself and My Skin Colour (Part III)
The final part of my entry for International Blog Against Racism Week (with a big pinch of Better Late Than Never)! My apologies for the lateness, life happened. :)
And, if you missed them: Part 1 and Part 2.
-------
Indian men - and by 'Indian' I very often mean 'non-black dark-skinned' as I'm incapable of telling the difference between most ethnicities - are not the only people I cross the street to avoid. I also cross the street to avoid young people, drunk people, loud people, cool people, anyone I think may be capable of shouting abuse at strangers in a street or otherwise making me feel bad about myself. I avoid Indian men because I have had more than a few experiences in which they approach me on a more than platonic level based entirely on the colour of my skin, the worst of which involved me being followed around the town centre by a man pushing me for a date until I ducked into the library and told him to leave me alone once and for all, or I'd ask someone for help. Apparently the threat of a helpful librarian was enough to chase him away as he was gone by the time I went downstairs, but I've been on guard ever since, keeping away from shops run by Indian men, Indian restaurants, predominantly Indian areas and, as I said before, any Indian men I see on the street in a situation where I might actually catch their attention. Put simply, I am wary of any Indian man I do not meet in an appropriate context, such as a classroom, or through a mutual friend. For this reason, three years ago I cheerfully informed people that I was racist, in exactly those words. Only against Indian men though, and based on the fact that I'd had bad experiences, and seeing as I'm half-Indian that made it perfectly acceptable. I was a racist, and that was okay.
It took just one person - a male, Caucasian, mature student, which makes a lot of sense in retrospect - saying without hesitation, "Well, it's shitty if you are," to smack me into some sort of comprehension about what I was saying. I did a lot of soul-searching about that, and came to the conclusion that I'm not a racist and needed to stop feeling like it was okay to identify myself as such, let alone to do so under the delusion that my heritage made it okay to do so. Suddenly being Indian was important to me, just in time to let me off the hook? No. Frankly, I'm now stunned that more people didn't pull me up on that, but my friends and I were all fairly race-ignorant at the time, not to mention the fact that they probably didn't want to open this particular can of worms with possibly the only person they knew who was not Caucasian.
So, am I a racist or aren't I? I think not. I've moved very far away from the "I'm not racist! They're really like that!" view, particularly since living in a predominantly Asian part of Sheffield; I know the bad experiences don't refer to the whole, but, as with young people or drunk people, I would still rather not take the chance of being harassed. I feel that I avoid walking too closely to Indian men for the same reason that many women avoid walking too closely to builders: being spoken to by a stranger makes me feel insecure, more so when he is male and his reason for talking to me is looks alone. Would these woman shy away from a man at a party who introduced himself as a builder? Unlikely, and to my mind, a true racist would discriminate in this situation. It happens all the time when people find out their friends are gay, or religious, or Conservative. If you're biased, it makes a difference. If you're not, even though it may have made a difference if you encountered this person under different circumstances, it genuinely doesn't matter.
However, as much as I'd like to answer with a firm no, one thing IBARW has taught me is that this is a matter of interpretation. For example, in my particular case I personally consider a certain level of racial discrimination perfectly acceptable, as I do a certain level of discrimination based on age, gender or employment. It'd be nice if the world weren't that way and I'd never been made to feel uncomfortable by random teenagers, men, builders, or a number of male, dark-skinned strangers, but you can't un-make experiences or accompanying emotional responses. Acting based on them is, while I wouldn't go so far as to say uncontrollable instinct of self-preservation, I would say it's acceptable. Other people, I am certain, will not, and there will be those who now see me as racist. It was my biggest fear in writing this personal history, but ultimately a discussion of this nature can only progress with absolute honesty. I draw distinctions between racial discrimination, racism and being a racist that I'm not sure other people do, and I haven't thought it through enough to be able to rationalise whether it's pragmatic or just selfish, but as far as I'm concerned it's extremely hard not to discriminate based on past experience.
That said, as soon as the context changes, the experience is no longer the same, and the bias is no longer valid. If black teenagers mug a man in the street, he should no more discriminate against a new neighbour who is black than he should the teenaged children of a new neighbour who is white. As soon as the context changes, the discrimination no longer has any basis. I'm now comfortable with the fact that I avoid Indian men on the street but last year described an Indian friend as being a big brother-figure in my life and one of my greatest influences for quite some time. I take steps not to put myself into situations where people who have caused me concern in the past will be able to do so again, but I don't incorporate that into a bias that comes into play when I meet such people in other circumstances. That applies to more than just Indian men, and I consider it acceptable, especially since finding out that I'm not the only one in my family who has had experiences like this.
Another thing to be said about IBARW: internet aside, it's seen me speaking to my mother about race for pretty much the first time in my life. Last week, when I was first planning out this entry, she mentioned in passing that there was an Indian man at a cafe she regularly stops at who gives her free tea and a compliment every time she goes there. I said I would have stopped going there after the first time, and she replied, "Well, when you're older I think you'll be able to take compliments better." I shook my head. I explained that I found the gift inappropriate and would certainly feel too awkward to enjoy drinking it with him there. She nodded and sipped her drink. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean. I suppose the only reason I'm fine with it now is because of his age, and mine. I would have felt the same way at your age." For the first time it occurred to me to ask about her experience with Indian men, growing up as a culturally English Indian girl in London, in comparison to mine. Her response? "I've experienced some of the same things you have, and I've always thought Indian men to be pretty chauvinistic. My sister feels the same way; I suppose it's not surprising that we both married English men." Looking thoughtful, she added, "Although I'm not sure where we got that impression. I don't even know many Indian men."
And that's the thing, really. I've lived in a Caucasian area where I've had no reason to seek out culturally Indian people, so I've only experienced the minority of Indian men invading my personal space. Being in the much more multicultural sphere that is university has been superb for opening my eyes, and I am now used to interacting with a wider variety of people, including the lovely Indian guy who runs the international food shop across the road from my house. Two years ago I wouldn't even have walked in there. Also, I've been able to attend the university's international events this year for the first time, and that was another type of eye-opening altogether. One in particular I attended in order to perform a traditional Japanese dance with our Japan society, and was in the audience by the time the Indian society did their performance. As soon as the girls stepped on stage, I welled up. For the first time, I saw a hint of my features on someone else's face, on the faces of many. I don't even look much like the rest of my family; my face is rounder, my features larger. There are no words that can describe just how emotional such a basic experience was.
In short, all academics aside, university has been good for me. I'm more aware of my race and my nationality and the differences between them than I ever have been, not least because the demographic of my friendships has changed significantly as I've made an effort to get to know Japanese people. I now count two Japanese girls amongst my closest friends and, bringing a whole new aspect to my racial identity, I am in month eight of a relationship with a Japanese man. This September I join him in his home country for a year, a country known (erroneously, but only by a relatively small margin) as homogeneous. So hi. My name is Amelia, and I am a mixed race girl in an interracial relationship, soon to live in one of the least multicultural societies of the developed world. More complications? Oh, I think so, and that's something that, in part thanks to this discussion, I'm certain I'll be blogging about in September.
And, if you missed them: Part 1 and Part 2.
-------
Indian men - and by 'Indian' I very often mean 'non-black dark-skinned' as I'm incapable of telling the difference between most ethnicities - are not the only people I cross the street to avoid. I also cross the street to avoid young people, drunk people, loud people, cool people, anyone I think may be capable of shouting abuse at strangers in a street or otherwise making me feel bad about myself. I avoid Indian men because I have had more than a few experiences in which they approach me on a more than platonic level based entirely on the colour of my skin, the worst of which involved me being followed around the town centre by a man pushing me for a date until I ducked into the library and told him to leave me alone once and for all, or I'd ask someone for help. Apparently the threat of a helpful librarian was enough to chase him away as he was gone by the time I went downstairs, but I've been on guard ever since, keeping away from shops run by Indian men, Indian restaurants, predominantly Indian areas and, as I said before, any Indian men I see on the street in a situation where I might actually catch their attention. Put simply, I am wary of any Indian man I do not meet in an appropriate context, such as a classroom, or through a mutual friend. For this reason, three years ago I cheerfully informed people that I was racist, in exactly those words. Only against Indian men though, and based on the fact that I'd had bad experiences, and seeing as I'm half-Indian that made it perfectly acceptable. I was a racist, and that was okay.
It took just one person - a male, Caucasian, mature student, which makes a lot of sense in retrospect - saying without hesitation, "Well, it's shitty if you are," to smack me into some sort of comprehension about what I was saying. I did a lot of soul-searching about that, and came to the conclusion that I'm not a racist and needed to stop feeling like it was okay to identify myself as such, let alone to do so under the delusion that my heritage made it okay to do so. Suddenly being Indian was important to me, just in time to let me off the hook? No. Frankly, I'm now stunned that more people didn't pull me up on that, but my friends and I were all fairly race-ignorant at the time, not to mention the fact that they probably didn't want to open this particular can of worms with possibly the only person they knew who was not Caucasian.
So, am I a racist or aren't I? I think not. I've moved very far away from the "I'm not racist! They're really like that!" view, particularly since living in a predominantly Asian part of Sheffield; I know the bad experiences don't refer to the whole, but, as with young people or drunk people, I would still rather not take the chance of being harassed. I feel that I avoid walking too closely to Indian men for the same reason that many women avoid walking too closely to builders: being spoken to by a stranger makes me feel insecure, more so when he is male and his reason for talking to me is looks alone. Would these woman shy away from a man at a party who introduced himself as a builder? Unlikely, and to my mind, a true racist would discriminate in this situation. It happens all the time when people find out their friends are gay, or religious, or Conservative. If you're biased, it makes a difference. If you're not, even though it may have made a difference if you encountered this person under different circumstances, it genuinely doesn't matter.
However, as much as I'd like to answer with a firm no, one thing IBARW has taught me is that this is a matter of interpretation. For example, in my particular case I personally consider a certain level of racial discrimination perfectly acceptable, as I do a certain level of discrimination based on age, gender or employment. It'd be nice if the world weren't that way and I'd never been made to feel uncomfortable by random teenagers, men, builders, or a number of male, dark-skinned strangers, but you can't un-make experiences or accompanying emotional responses. Acting based on them is, while I wouldn't go so far as to say uncontrollable instinct of self-preservation, I would say it's acceptable. Other people, I am certain, will not, and there will be those who now see me as racist. It was my biggest fear in writing this personal history, but ultimately a discussion of this nature can only progress with absolute honesty. I draw distinctions between racial discrimination, racism and being a racist that I'm not sure other people do, and I haven't thought it through enough to be able to rationalise whether it's pragmatic or just selfish, but as far as I'm concerned it's extremely hard not to discriminate based on past experience.
That said, as soon as the context changes, the experience is no longer the same, and the bias is no longer valid. If black teenagers mug a man in the street, he should no more discriminate against a new neighbour who is black than he should the teenaged children of a new neighbour who is white. As soon as the context changes, the discrimination no longer has any basis. I'm now comfortable with the fact that I avoid Indian men on the street but last year described an Indian friend as being a big brother-figure in my life and one of my greatest influences for quite some time. I take steps not to put myself into situations where people who have caused me concern in the past will be able to do so again, but I don't incorporate that into a bias that comes into play when I meet such people in other circumstances. That applies to more than just Indian men, and I consider it acceptable, especially since finding out that I'm not the only one in my family who has had experiences like this.
Another thing to be said about IBARW: internet aside, it's seen me speaking to my mother about race for pretty much the first time in my life. Last week, when I was first planning out this entry, she mentioned in passing that there was an Indian man at a cafe she regularly stops at who gives her free tea and a compliment every time she goes there. I said I would have stopped going there after the first time, and she replied, "Well, when you're older I think you'll be able to take compliments better." I shook my head. I explained that I found the gift inappropriate and would certainly feel too awkward to enjoy drinking it with him there. She nodded and sipped her drink. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean. I suppose the only reason I'm fine with it now is because of his age, and mine. I would have felt the same way at your age." For the first time it occurred to me to ask about her experience with Indian men, growing up as a culturally English Indian girl in London, in comparison to mine. Her response? "I've experienced some of the same things you have, and I've always thought Indian men to be pretty chauvinistic. My sister feels the same way; I suppose it's not surprising that we both married English men." Looking thoughtful, she added, "Although I'm not sure where we got that impression. I don't even know many Indian men."
And that's the thing, really. I've lived in a Caucasian area where I've had no reason to seek out culturally Indian people, so I've only experienced the minority of Indian men invading my personal space. Being in the much more multicultural sphere that is university has been superb for opening my eyes, and I am now used to interacting with a wider variety of people, including the lovely Indian guy who runs the international food shop across the road from my house. Two years ago I wouldn't even have walked in there. Also, I've been able to attend the university's international events this year for the first time, and that was another type of eye-opening altogether. One in particular I attended in order to perform a traditional Japanese dance with our Japan society, and was in the audience by the time the Indian society did their performance. As soon as the girls stepped on stage, I welled up. For the first time, I saw a hint of my features on someone else's face, on the faces of many. I don't even look much like the rest of my family; my face is rounder, my features larger. There are no words that can describe just how emotional such a basic experience was.
In short, all academics aside, university has been good for me. I'm more aware of my race and my nationality and the differences between them than I ever have been, not least because the demographic of my friendships has changed significantly as I've made an effort to get to know Japanese people. I now count two Japanese girls amongst my closest friends and, bringing a whole new aspect to my racial identity, I am in month eight of a relationship with a Japanese man. This September I join him in his home country for a year, a country known (erroneously, but only by a relatively small margin) as homogeneous. So hi. My name is Amelia, and I am a mixed race girl in an interracial relationship, soon to live in one of the least multicultural societies of the developed world. More complications? Oh, I think so, and that's something that, in part thanks to this discussion, I'm certain I'll be blogging about in September.