A Pandemic Within the Pandemic
The recounting of this tale can be a many number of things. What it is not, however, is a means of naming and shaming or an attempt to indulge in braggadocio at the expense of another human being. What I hope to gain from sharing this is a reminder to myself that a lot of times, the power of words and the strength of conversation is unrivalled. I hope those reading this, who may have found themselves in a similar position, may get some reassurance that speaking out is one of the most empowering things you can do!
I was recently at an event, in a room full of peers. A run of the mill industry type event, a group of like-minded individuals, sharing a few drinks, some war stories and laughs alike. I was having quite a good night, my first night out incidentally, since my wife gave birth to our daughter 4 months prior. As the night went on, I was conversing with a couple of friends when we were asked to pose for a picture for the event’s social media page I imagine. Nothing out of the ordinary. So as the three of us stood there, ready to be photographed, I hear a comment from a gentleman behind the photographer, “that looks like a wanted poster”. Three men of colour, beards and all, hearing that, I’ll admit initially thought I misheard it or misunderstood it. The gentleman had a big grin on his face, and I thought surely, he didn’t just say that. So, I turned to my friend and asked if he heard what was said and checked if I had it wrong. Turns out he heard the same thing as I did, “that looks like a wanted poster”. In the minutes following this comment, I felt several things, I felt anger, hurt, shock and disappointment. I remember that sinking feeling and the voice in my head going “not again”. I carried on about the night like nothing happened, a familiar sense of shoving those feelings under the rug and putting on a façade of cheery, gregarious Shiv. I spoke nothing further of the event to my friends that night. I went home, and as always, debriefed my night with my wife whilst my kids slept around us. I remember saying to my wife, I felt some anger and shame towards myself, for not having the courage to approach this gentleman and calling out an offensive remark. I shared my disappointment that despite everything one does in their lives, it feels as if it still isn’t good enough. I spoke of a sense of exclusion I felt on hearing that remark, but I recall vividly that I did not at any point seem surprised at what had transpired. I was not and still am not surprised that I was just another person of colour, a minority or whatever one wishes to call it, subject to casual racism.
After a long and at time deeply introspective week, I decided that I had to raise this grievance as I did not feel it warranted just being ignored. My friends on the night advised me to just let it slide. Not because they intended to belittle or somehow take away from the egregious nature of such a remark, but because that was how we are conditioned. As immigrants, or products of immigrants, we are often taught not to rock the boat and just fly under the radar with such incidences. These teaching come from a place of fear and uncertainty. Fear that rocking the boat might end up with us being blacklisted despite being on the receiving end. Fear that any prospects of growth and success may be every hampered because we spoke up. This is the mindset of so many migrant families and their children that move here with a view to forge a better life. Mind you, this is on the lower end of the scale of what I and many like me have probably been subject to. The name calling, the stereotypes, the micro-aggressions, and the casually racist remarks in the name of humour and bonding. So, I tried to work through and find who this gentleman was, only to discover that he was a person of considerable stature within the association responsible for organising this event. To my disbelief, once I raised the grievance, and promised a response in a couple of days, I got radio silence. Again, no surprise, and that familiar feeling of hopelessness as I prepared for this to be shoved under the rug. It was almost two weeks before followed up and then set off a chain reaction of responses from a number of board members and before I knew it, I had a face to face meeting with the person who made the remark on the night.
That meeting, in a non-descript café, over a cup of coffee on a chilly winter morning, was everything and nothing like I expected. My experience of racism, much like many others I am sure, is that calling it out requires you to put up a more spirited defence as you are gaslighted into believing you are overreacting. You spend a good part of your energy and sanity trying to convince people your feelings are real. This pandemic has seen racism bubble to the surface, and how. We’ve seen a year of protests to fight for the value Black Lives, the increasing precedence of police brutality and the sheer disproportion of Black men and women being murdered by police. The retorts and gaslighting from the “All Lives Matter” contingent in the media and public alike. The US continues to see a horrifying increase in hate crimes and attacks against Asian Americans. Closer to home, we’ve seen agitation at the silence from authorities from the staggering number of deaths in custody of First Australian’s. We continue to see a government that peddles in systematic racism in their policy making. The sheer hypocrisy in their edicts in this pandemic as well as in their treatment of refugees and asylum seekers. We don’t need any further examples or “learning moments” to highlight the depth of systemic racism in so many world leading nations. So here we were, meeting face to face, with the hope that he would walk away with a deeper understanding of privilege, racism, and the real-life effects of such a remark on the psyche of so many like me.
I won’t get into the granular detail of that hour-long chat, but suffice to say, this gentleman sat there and listened and shared how he had never ever thought of this perspective but that it made perfect sense. I spoke at length of the difficulty of even raising this as a formal grievance and almost just letting it slide, because conditioning does that. I took the risk of letting down the walls, one that for so many people of colour and minorities poses a monumental risk. We’ve spent many months and years honing our ability to put a wall up, appear unscathed and undeterred by the casual racism, the overt racism, discrimination, and unconscious bias we face. I can’t speak for others, but often in moments where its just my thoughts and me in a room, felt a lot of anguish and hurt over these comments. I have shed tears, expressed anger, the whole box and dice. I’ve spent the last 24 hours reflecting on what changed, what led me to confront this situation head on where previously I may have stayed silent. Only one thing keeps popping up as an answer, my children. I’ve spent a lot of my 23 years in this country constantly shoving these issues and incidences under the rug, normalising them as “part and parcel of being an immigrant”. Yesterday, as I asked this person, I also questioned my motive of doing so, why should I let this become normalised? That’s not the father I want my children to have and that’s certainly not the country I want my children being raised in. This country is home, it is the only home they will ever have known, they’re first generation Australian, so why should their right to be Australian be diminished by words, unintended or otherwise. Why should they always be the ones that get used to it or accept it as the norm. That’s not the world I want my kids growing up in nor is the legacy I wish to leave behind.
To the credit of this person, they responded to what is an uncomfortable conversation, with a lot of grace and respect. They were apologetic for making the remark and for not considering the repercussions of it to begin with. The intent of the meeting was never to gain an apology, but it is always appreciated. My intent was to use the voice I have, the lived experience I have been blessed with and do my bit to change a part of my world. A part that has always caused hurt and disappointment. I am by no means the first or the last person to do this, I merely wanted to stand up for what I believe so deeply in. I wanted so badly just to prove to myself that words can be equally powerful in dispelling darkness and desolation as they are in spreading negativity. I would urge so many that experience this, not to shy away from speaking your truths and sharing your thoughts. Perhaps it leads to change or maybe it does not, either way, in speaking out, you take back the power to feel, the power to speak and the power to belong. You control it all, and you reinforce that whilst racism is a pandemic that society continues to suffer, the true victory lies in fighting it head on not hiding from it hoping it will go away. Maybe that’s going to far, but if we don’t dream big, strive to go too far, will we ever get far enough?
