I personally haven't been affected much by racism. It doesn't really frequent my cotton wool wrapped world much. But it became more obvious when a debate arose between my parents and myself over why my brother, a straight A student couldn't get an interview to get into medical college, whereas Caucasian people (being totally politically correct) with fewer qualifications and experience than him had been called. A report had been writen on how fewer Asian people were being interviewed for medical school because 'they' (whoever 'they' were) were trying to reduce the number of Asian doctors in the UK. Unless we all go around calling ourselves John or Jane Smith on our application forms there was no way we'd even get an interview. Of course, we would have the enjoyment of turning up at the grilling to say. "Oh, by the way, my name is Jayavinder Vijesekera." And that is pronounced....
It's strange, I never really considered myself to be brown, I guess it's being brought up surounded by 'white' people, and not being in an Asian community. I once had a dream about a little white mouse that was running across a field until it hit an electric fence where it quivered and shook violently until all it's white fur had come off and it could be seen that the mouse was actually brown. Which made me think about the fact that I am really brown skinned and nothing would ever stop that. But, I tried to defend the fact that there were plenty of people who didn't get into university and that it had nothing to do with colour. Trying to argue with my parents is pretty futile, and they did have the point that the Universities hadn't even seen my brother and that the only thing that differentiated him from the others was his name. Even public school education doesn't give you the ability to leap over these hurdles.
When I was told that I had never been affected by racism, so I wouldn't know, I realised it was true, but it suddenly brought back the memories I vaguely recollected of junior school. There had been this boy, who must have been three or four years older than me, who sat on the edge of the concrete playground with his sidekick every day in playtime. I don't know how he managed to get to say it to me, but I remember him calling me a Paki. At that age, I probably didn't even know what it meant, but it hurt, and I couldn't really explaine why. I didn't even have anything to come back at him with. I mean saying "Back off Pinky" doesn't really have the same effect does it? I was also chased by him around the playground until I fell over and had a nose bleed and grazed my knee. I was restricted to standing by the dinner lady for the rest of playtimes, and could no longer play lurgy tig.
As a teenager, in a pretty respectable part of town, I was upset to hear the same words "Paki" yelled out of a moving car. If he hadn't been in the car I would have given him a piece of my mind. Yeah right. Even when you're older there isn't much you can say to that. And why do I find it so offensive is the other thing that you have to start wondering. My only explaination is that it has become a racist term over time and every time I hear the word now it just sends shivers down my spine. I often wanted to go back in time with a well prepared shpeel about how these kids should learn their geography better so that they could see that Pakistan is only a very small part of Inda and the Asian world. How Sri Lanka was actually miles away from Pakistan and that by calling me a Paki had the same sort of effect as me calling them French or something.
The only other incident I remember is going for an evening of entertainment at our town hall. The first act was some terrible singer trying to reach the same notes that Whitney Houston had reached but not succeeding, and left me wondering if it was still possible to buy so much sequice for an outfit. The follow up act was a comedian (if you could call him that). Who decided to do his rounds picking on the audience. I knew he would say something about us. And of course he did. It was the cornershop jokes that everyone had heard before and the curry house cracks. Of course we owned a cornershop. Of course we just sat their in silence. I mean what can you say? I guess it's only funny if your not the person being picked on. I can't explain why we find it offensive. We just do. It's inherent. Maybe one day the comedian man will be in hospital and my dad would be putting him to sleep and suddenly say, "Oh nurse we forgot to deliver papers to Mr Jones and can you get this gentleman a quater of humbugs".
Cringing at awful jokes, taking racist comments from uneducated imbeciles. That we can cope with in the long run. But when if affects your future and your job prospects. The name and the skin don't count for anything. Underneath all the skin we're all the same. Peel a Caucasian man and stand him next to a skinned couloured person and who could tell the difference?
