Is there a racist bit in you?
How can somebody with the whitest white of the upbringings become color-blind?
The first time I mingled with somebody racially distinct to the other 100% of my friends, relatives, neighbors and fellow citizens was when I met a friend of a friend who had himself a gypsy friend: Pepe. Pepe was not even in my highschool but we went to the local disco a couple of times and I always enjoyed imagining he belong to a different and relatively unknown culture, his roots were exotic to me, and his skin was beautifully tanned.
Then, somehow young for the average Spaniard of my generation but terribly late compared to my same demographic cohort Europe-wise, I convinced my parents I would learn English in a summer and I flew to the UK for my first ever job. The job deserves a blog by itself (I worked in a turkey slaughterhouse in outer Norwich) but my key color blinding British moment was quite a thing too...just after landing, when I saw an airport packed with exotic Desis, women wearing colorful saris, some men with a huge turban and even few wearing long overalls. For a second I thought I had landed somewhere else.
I had lived in a little white microcosm and only through some traveling, short summer loves and lots of curiosity I started meeting and befriending people from other races: I went from completely color-ignorant to color-blind.
So, today, when I felt that in a city as diverse as Paris some are playing with colors wrongly I get opinionated. Two moments.
Moment one- Trying to stop a cab in the street my friend said: "oh, no, black girl won't work, you try to stop it". At first I did not really understand why and then I looked at her and yes indeed she is black and yes indeed that might reduce our probabilities of getting a cab. Maybe yes, but maybe not.
Moment two- Sitting in the metro looking at the guy in front of me solving equations in his workbook. Looking at his NYC cap, his cool electric blue hoodie and enormous golden Adidas caressing my little flats. Same moment, same place, mature blond lady shooting an equation-work-approving smile. I was about leaving my mind follow what I read in the lady's thought. However, I stopped the thinking box and disapproved the lady's look with a face that said "would you give me the same look if a white guy would do his equations?". Maybe yes, but maybe not. If looks could talk, my look had quite a conversation with the blond.
Assumptions can poison our minds. Maybe I am assuming too much. Or maybe I am just learning to bury my homogeneous colorless past.
The first time I mingled with somebody racially distinct to the other 100% of my friends, relatives, neighbors and fellow citizens was when I met a friend of a friend who had himself a gypsy friend: Pepe. Pepe was not even in my highschool but we went to the local disco a couple of times and I always enjoyed imagining he belong to a different and relatively unknown culture, his roots were exotic to me, and his skin was beautifully tanned.
Then, somehow young for the average Spaniard of my generation but terribly late compared to my same demographic cohort Europe-wise, I convinced my parents I would learn English in a summer and I flew to the UK for my first ever job. The job deserves a blog by itself (I worked in a turkey slaughterhouse in outer Norwich) but my key color blinding British moment was quite a thing too...just after landing, when I saw an airport packed with exotic Desis, women wearing colorful saris, some men with a huge turban and even few wearing long overalls. For a second I thought I had landed somewhere else.
I had lived in a little white microcosm and only through some traveling, short summer loves and lots of curiosity I started meeting and befriending people from other races: I went from completely color-ignorant to color-blind.
So, today, when I felt that in a city as diverse as Paris some are playing with colors wrongly I get opinionated. Two moments.
Moment one- Trying to stop a cab in the street my friend said: "oh, no, black girl won't work, you try to stop it". At first I did not really understand why and then I looked at her and yes indeed she is black and yes indeed that might reduce our probabilities of getting a cab. Maybe yes, but maybe not.
Moment two- Sitting in the metro looking at the guy in front of me solving equations in his workbook. Looking at his NYC cap, his cool electric blue hoodie and enormous golden Adidas caressing my little flats. Same moment, same place, mature blond lady shooting an equation-work-approving smile. I was about leaving my mind follow what I read in the lady's thought. However, I stopped the thinking box and disapproved the lady's look with a face that said "would you give me the same look if a white guy would do his equations?". Maybe yes, but maybe not. If looks could talk, my look had quite a conversation with the blond.
Assumptions can poison our minds. Maybe I am assuming too much. Or maybe I am just learning to bury my homogeneous colorless past.
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