Tag Archives: Racists

The Casual Racist

Know a Casual Racist?

You know who and what I’m talking about.

I think we’ve all probably had the misfortune of coming across one or two (if you’re lucky).
That person who isn’t racist but thinks that adding a smile at the end of a thinly veiled racially motivated comment makes it alright to just chuck one at you anyway.

I have spent the past five weeks traveling across India through Shimla, Delhi and Mumbai, completing my superb trip at Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia. In one word – amazing (sing that while you read it for added emphasis).

I must admit to spending some of my time dispelling stereotypes about the land down-under vehemently because you know, ignorance is never an excuse for sweeping generalisations that can come across as rude because they are, people, they are. Simple as that. No, no matter what ever angle or perspective you look at it.

What I didn’t expect was Pauline Hanson’s vigorously and scarily increasing popularity. As a side bar, what exactly is happening to the world and it’s dangerously increasing xenophobia? It takes two to tango in life for everything and the Trumps, Hanson’s and every other right wing party leader in Europe is where they are because of all of us (those of us who vote for them and those of us who can’t be bothered getting off our arses to put a stop to potential future genocide for the gazillion-th time).

I also managed to meet every racist Aussie I strongly believe exists in my vicinity in the week I got back. I know this is highly unlikely but like everything negative, the numbers seem to exponentially build inconceivably, like something out of a J.K. Rowling novel.
Comments like, “ugh Dehli, way too many people in your country” (adding a smile at the end of that sentence still pisses me off by the way), “must have been sweaty and hot in your country” (that’s rich coming from someone who is currently battling 42 degree Celsius weather), “did you take any photos of elephants and tigers while you were there?” (the next time you take a photo of a kangaroo jumping over the Harbour Bridge in Sydney city, please-let-me-know).

I could go on but why?

Why should I waste my time trying to educate casual racists on not so common etiquette and courtesy? If they haven’t learnt yet, they never will.

Just note please …

Sticking a flag in countries that were never yours and never will be was never and will never be right.

Full stop.

Just like adding a smile to the end of a sentence you may think is manipulatively cloaked but glaringly obvious to the people you have been attempting to “civilise” for centuries is not and will never be acceptable.

This may be offensive to some and I get it.

Because this entire piece has been written with a clear and complete absence of a smile.

For the rest of you who have managed to find this writing somewhat palatable, I’ll be posting pics of my amazing journey soon hopefully. I trust your open-mindedness will allow you to see through the stereotypes and generalisations towards the glorious similarities we all share against the backdrop of exciting cultural nuances.

See you soon xoxo

Dear Racist … I Love You, Man

Nope, you read the title right. I love racists.

Now, before you start slamming tomatoes at your computer screen, just hear me out. I really do love racists, they’ve played a massive part in my life and I’ve learnt a lot from the bigoted comments sometimes casually, sometimes not so carelessly, thrown my way.

I owe many life lessons to the racist encounters I’ve lived through, and no doubt will after this post is posted. I was a late bloomer when it comes to experiencing racism, I was eight years old (at least I wasn’t in the double digits, because that would have just been embarrassing!) and I could hardly blame the twelve year old bully who let her tirade loose on me.

I mean I was obviously unaware back in the day that school benches were reserved as “White Only” at lunch time and my massive confusion only seemed to incense her more. To top it all, my British accent (gained as a result of being schooled at the British Continental School in Jeddah), my Middle Eastern upbringing till that time, my Indian heritage, and my new found status as a fresh Australian citizen would have served to do anyone’s head in, least of all a prepubescent blonde, blue eyed poster child Aussie schoolgirl.

I went home, told my mum about my unusual encounter enthused with wondrous enthusiasm at only just realising skin colour differed, and oh my gosh, actually mattered on the planet, who promptly reprimanded me for relenting and told me if I did it again, I wouldn’t be let in the front door, or the side one for that matter.

Now this set me straight because clearly no racist bashing (emotionally or physically), could ever compare to an Indian mother’s scolding which unfairly always boils down to a hunger strike and if any of you have been reading up about me, you know that there could be no possible worst punishment than starvation for my poor undernourished body (I wish!)

So lo and behold, lunch time came around again the next day and as humans are such boring creatures of habit, my new found bane of my existence told me to vacate the seat (which was another bench by the way, as I had attempted for the past week to find one that suited my skin tone). I told her “No”, she said “What?”, so I repeated again, only slower, making a mental check to clarify that the national language of Australia was in fact English.

Turns out it was, because she simply shrugged her shoulders and never bothered me again.
I burrowed my brows in uncertainty thinking if all life’s battles were that easy, I was going to be cruising my roller coaster ride, and then proceeded to devour my half-finished sandwich.

Racism can also be very funny, like the time a Southern Italian yelled at me to go back to where I came from. In Australia? I asked him to repeat his sentence because I was absolutely certain I had heard him wrong which only frustrated him more to yell it out.

I was happy because I’d saved on my healthcare to go check my hearing and left him quietly at his disposal. Not because I was afraid or had nothing to say, because as I am sure you all know by now, I definitely have a motor mouth, but because I thought it was cruel to harm anyone with such a humungous case of an Identity crisis.

This finally brings me to why I love racists as much as I do – because I owe a part of my appreciation and love for everything that makes me to them. People often naively believe that racism will push the victim into being ashamed of their heritage, but often (not always unfortunately) the exact opposite happens!

Racist encounters make me feel more proud of who I am and just more pitiful about the close-mindedness of those who inflict hateful comments and activities on people who are happy, that’s right – happy and content in their lives.

No matter how much I exercise my cranium, I sincerely believe that anyone who has the time and energy to hate can’t possibly be happy, because they’re expending so much wasted effort on just that, hate.

So, to all the Racists out there, I’d like to give you some happiness and thank you from the bottom of my heart for making me stronger, happier, healthier and proud. I love you, man 🙂