Shirts and Prejudice
Sometimes, best intentions in clothing choices can go horribly awry, as I found out. I recently ordered a T-shirt off of the internet that features a giant swastika with one of those red circles with a line through it. I wore it once in Turkey, but realized it might be the kind of shirt that could possibly get me arrested. So, we were going to France, I thought it would be a perfect place to wear it! Well, in hindsight, maybe not. In fact, I think burning the shirt might be advantageous. You see, I thought that the logo was very clear, that the message was being conveyed. I felt it was a good way to show that I’m not a fan of racism, in particular. I liked what I was trying to say. I meant it to be a very positive symbol.
Boy, oh boy…
I don’t think I have had so many people look at me, get out of my way, avoid me, or question an article of clothing I have ever worn ‘til that point. At first, I thought people understood when they saw the symbol. Then, I started to realize that only about half the time were people seeing the big, red, slash through the middle! So, here I am, this 240lb, BLOND haired, BLUE eyed, short haired guy, walking around the streets of Lyon wearing a shirt with a giant swastika, with the anti part of it all being missed. Talk about awkward. It wasn’t until I started to get into areas with higher populations of immigrants that I truly realized that people weren’t getting the meaning. I rounded one corner to see a group of boys who were from somewhere, I don’t know where exactly, who saw my shirt and started to get a bit restless. Now, I don’t speak much French, but I did understand what they were trying to ask me. They seemed rather angry at first, but when I was able to get the idea through that it was an anti racist symbol, things turned friendlier. This scene repeated itself a few times before I began to realize that, no, some people were indeed missing the big, red, cross out. Who would have thought? I came to the conclusion that the swastika is such a powerful symbol that it usurps whatever else may accompany it. I suppose, as well, that wearing an article of clothing in FRANCE with a swastika is perhaps, indeed, not a good move. After all, there is a bit of history there. I felt bad because two little old ladies passed me at one point. After they went by, I heard the one lady saying to the other “anti, anti!” I was glad to hear that at least one of them got the message. I wouldn’t want to bring back memories of a nasty time period to an older lady unintentionally, which, I realized was exactly what I may be doing! The closer I got to my destination, the more self conscious I became. I think the final straw was when I ended up walking behind an African-Franco couple. I was walking about the same speed as them, on the same sidewalk, going the same way, and no matter if I turned or not, they were in front of me. I just kept thinking, “Please don’t turn around!!!” I noticed, as well, that the more immigrants that I passed, the more I made a conscious effort to smile BIG and warmly, hoping to deflect any negative message that might be picked up. Short of handing out candies and money and telling everyone that I loved them, I was going to go all out to make it well known that I, indeed, was not a nazi. Therefore, I believe I came across as a bit of headcase.
But, here is the interesting, and rather embarrassing part of this story. On our flight home, the leg between Lyon and Istanbul, there were two younger gentlemen. They were obviously more devout in their Islamic beliefs, wearing full beards and customary attire. They were acting weird. They were so defiant towards the stewardesses, they argued about where they wanted to sit, and insisted they must sit together, they weren’t willing to show their tickets to the attendants, etc, and they kept refusing to shut their cell phones off, with one of the guys even attempting to answer a call in mid flight. The one guy was fidgety. They moved to the very back of the plane, the seats right behind us. Mr. Fidget was opening and closing his tray table every few seconds. The first thing that popped into my mind was TERRORISTS! I didn’t want to think that, but…I did. I felt nervous. I felt somewhat uneasy and, even a bit scared. The very same prejudice and racism that the shirt I was wearing around Lyon was trying to say I didn’t have, I had! In the end, it turned out that they weren’t terrorists…just jerks. Jerkdom is hardly limited to race or gender or culture. Some people are just jerks and these guys were jerks. But, my FIRST impulse was to think TERRORIST! Why? I know it was wrong to think that. I probably wouldn’t have thought that if they were western white guys. I would have just thought they were jerks. But, because they were clearly muslim, had darker skin and big beards, I automatically thought “terrorist”. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, and I feel sad that I felt this way. I wasn’t being the person I thought I was, advertising I was, or wanted to be.
Boy, oh boy…
I don’t think I have had so many people look at me, get out of my way, avoid me, or question an article of clothing I have ever worn ‘til that point. At first, I thought people understood when they saw the symbol. Then, I started to realize that only about half the time were people seeing the big, red, slash through the middle! So, here I am, this 240lb, BLOND haired, BLUE eyed, short haired guy, walking around the streets of Lyon wearing a shirt with a giant swastika, with the anti part of it all being missed. Talk about awkward. It wasn’t until I started to get into areas with higher populations of immigrants that I truly realized that people weren’t getting the meaning. I rounded one corner to see a group of boys who were from somewhere, I don’t know where exactly, who saw my shirt and started to get a bit restless. Now, I don’t speak much French, but I did understand what they were trying to ask me. They seemed rather angry at first, but when I was able to get the idea through that it was an anti racist symbol, things turned friendlier. This scene repeated itself a few times before I began to realize that, no, some people were indeed missing the big, red, cross out. Who would have thought? I came to the conclusion that the swastika is such a powerful symbol that it usurps whatever else may accompany it. I suppose, as well, that wearing an article of clothing in FRANCE with a swastika is perhaps, indeed, not a good move. After all, there is a bit of history there. I felt bad because two little old ladies passed me at one point. After they went by, I heard the one lady saying to the other “anti, anti!” I was glad to hear that at least one of them got the message. I wouldn’t want to bring back memories of a nasty time period to an older lady unintentionally, which, I realized was exactly what I may be doing! The closer I got to my destination, the more self conscious I became. I think the final straw was when I ended up walking behind an African-Franco couple. I was walking about the same speed as them, on the same sidewalk, going the same way, and no matter if I turned or not, they were in front of me. I just kept thinking, “Please don’t turn around!!!” I noticed, as well, that the more immigrants that I passed, the more I made a conscious effort to smile BIG and warmly, hoping to deflect any negative message that might be picked up. Short of handing out candies and money and telling everyone that I loved them, I was going to go all out to make it well known that I, indeed, was not a nazi. Therefore, I believe I came across as a bit of headcase.
But, here is the interesting, and rather embarrassing part of this story. On our flight home, the leg between Lyon and Istanbul, there were two younger gentlemen. They were obviously more devout in their Islamic beliefs, wearing full beards and customary attire. They were acting weird. They were so defiant towards the stewardesses, they argued about where they wanted to sit, and insisted they must sit together, they weren’t willing to show their tickets to the attendants, etc, and they kept refusing to shut their cell phones off, with one of the guys even attempting to answer a call in mid flight. The one guy was fidgety. They moved to the very back of the plane, the seats right behind us. Mr. Fidget was opening and closing his tray table every few seconds. The first thing that popped into my mind was TERRORISTS! I didn’t want to think that, but…I did. I felt nervous. I felt somewhat uneasy and, even a bit scared. The very same prejudice and racism that the shirt I was wearing around Lyon was trying to say I didn’t have, I had! In the end, it turned out that they weren’t terrorists…just jerks. Jerkdom is hardly limited to race or gender or culture. Some people are just jerks and these guys were jerks. But, my FIRST impulse was to think TERRORIST! Why? I know it was wrong to think that. I probably wouldn’t have thought that if they were western white guys. I would have just thought they were jerks. But, because they were clearly muslim, had darker skin and big beards, I automatically thought “terrorist”. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, and I feel sad that I felt this way. I wasn’t being the person I thought I was, advertising I was, or wanted to be.