Personal Experiences of Racism?

In My Humble Opinion
21

A couple of instances come to mind involving my wife who is Hispanic.

We weren’t married at the time, we’d been going out for about two years when Mrs. Lorenzo decided to move out of her cousin’s cousin’s cousin’s cousin’s apartment (13-15 adults in a two bedroom one bath apartment, each paying $250/month for room and board. What a scam that was)

Anywho, I was checking out the other complexes in the surrounding area and found one that seemed afforadable for Mrs. Lorenzo, her sister and two cousins: a two bedroom two bath unit in a huge complex, more than 1,000 units and much better maintained than anything else in the area. Everything was cool at the rental office until Mrs. Lorenzo showed up. Suddenly the apartment was no longer available. In fact, there was not a single vacancy available in the entire complex in the coming six months. Of course, it was quite a bit more slick and subtle than that and I still kick myself whenever I think of it for why I didn’t stand up for her and find a way to make it happen. As it turns out, the rental office agent recommended the very complex my wife was trying to leave.

Incident 2: about a year ago my wife called me on her cell phone from her car. She had been pulled over by a police officer for “Driving While Mexican,” a pretty serious offense around here. Let’s just say that my wife drives a brand new, top of the line car with all the options including vanity plate, the whole nine yards and she keeps it in showroom condition. I guess the cop felt the face didn’t match the car, so he ran her plate as he was following her, ostensibly waiting for her to make a mistake. My wife has had an americanised first name since she was born and when combined with my anglo last name on the registration, the cop must have figured he had something. He pulls her over and asks to see the registration, which feeds his suspicion. He then asks for her drivers license which matches the registration. At this point, my wife says no one knows what to do. He can’t exactly ticket her or arrest her but he doesn’t want to let her go either. This drags on for “a long time” when my wife suggests that she would like for the officer “to speak to my husband.” My wife calls me, describes the situation in Spanish and hands the phone to the officer when I greet him in my best native speaker of midwest English voice. The officer about soiled his pants. He immediately became extremely apologetic and just wanted to get the hell off the phone. I tried to grill him on why he stopped my wife and such and he made up some BS answer about who he randomly runs the license plates on law abiding cititzens (Illegal?) and my wife’s plate was invalid according to his computer. Really? No kidding? I didn’t keep him much longer and that was it.

The other memorable one was a few years ago when Mrs. Lorenzo and I travelled to Madison, IN, a smallish town of largeish state and local historical significance on the banks of the Ohio River near the southeast corner of the state. We were there to visit my grandmother, who was dying. Mrs. Lorenzo and I stopped at my grandmother’s favorite restaurant on the edge of town on our way to the nursing home. We approached the hostess station and it seemed like a hush fell over the place but I knew it must have been my imagination. A few people dropped their forks and such but I thought it was no big deal. Then Mrs. Lorenzo whispered to me in Spanish, “Honey, everyone here is staring at me.” Not looking up while trying to get the hostess’ attention, I joked that it was nothing to worry about, just that no one there had ever seen a live Mexican before. The quiet persisted and I looked up to notice that, indeed, everyone in the joint had stopped eating lunch and everyone was, indeed, staring at my wife. Allrightythen! In my stubborn and perhaps foolhardy way I persisted until I got the hostess’ attention. We were seated and eventually served, although the waitress for our area refused to take our order, “going on break” in the middle of her shift. Luckily the food wasn’t poisoned or at least not poisoned enough to kill us.

22

As an Indian (brown skin an’ all that) who lived in Germany (admitedly the western part of) for over a year, I am happy to say that I did not once experience racism in any form. In fact, sometimes it seemed to me that people were going out of their way to make me feel better/more comfortable/etc.

This is a far cry from what I had heard (and was told by well-wishing friends and family) about what to expect when I when I went there. Even today, a year after my return, I am asked about it, and I still cannot but rave about my german experience!

I know what it feels like though. A turkish friend would continuously get the racist treatment during his stay in Germany (as a student). I think the Germans have something special in for turks. I got the gist of it, but never understood it. I guess the same goes for racism everywhere.

23

Yes, German’s have a special thing against the Turks. I don’t know why, but they seem to figure into a lot of derogatory phrases used by Germans. Why specifically Turks, I don’t know. I asked and was told something about guestworkers and sending money back home to support children. Why this would not cause resentment equally to all guest workers, I don’t know. It sounded more like an excuse than a real reason, but then that is what racism is usually built on–excuses to behave horribly towards some easily identified group.

24

Maybe it’s lingering bitterness over how the Turks played them in WW I.

25

No. In many Western European countries, Turkish guest labourers settled down with their families during the 60’s and early 70’s. The economy was booming, and many governments (including the German and the Dutch) brought men over from Turkey (and Morrocco, for example) to do the “dirty work” that no German or Dutchman would do: streetsweeping, garbage man, et cetera.

Within a few years, these guys brought their families over. Reunification of a family is a basic human right, after all. When the economy went sour in the 70’s, the Turks were the first ones laid off. Having little other skills and almost no knowledge of the local culture and language (integration programs didn’t exist back then, we just neede garbage men), a lot of them were unemployed for a long time, and some still are. Of course, they would receive unemployment - something they worked for for years, of course. But in the eye of the average shortsighted Dutchman/German/etc., the Turks (Morrocans, etc.) were the ones who “first stole our jobs” and were “now living off our tax money”.

A bit of that attitude still remains even today. Not something to be proud of, but there you go.

26

Yep, white american checking in. When I lived in Japan, got my first 6 figure job (which wasn’t that much in the bubble days) with a high profile company, spoke basic Japanese, had a guarantor, and then couldn’t rent an apartment. Had property agents just refuse to deal with me, which didn’t waste my time unlike the agents that welcomed me in and then after viewing an apartment and wanting to rent, was turned down for being a gaijin.

I went through a bad few weeks when I wanted to just take out my anger and frustration on any one that looked at me “funny.” Get bumped at the subway station and ready to swing, then the poor guy or woman would say “gomen” and suddenly change from being an evil oppressor that wouldn’t rent to a foreigner to just another commuter who was human. It really opened my eyes to racism.

i never previously understood before how someone would want to kick my ass for the “crime” of being white. Now I can emphasize a little bit.

Oh ya, my wife is Chinese from China, my daughter is AmerAsian. I encounter racism associated with that in both the US and China. In the US it is a lot uglier and deliberately malicious, in China it is much more unthinking.

27

Re the OP, I’m a white 30 y/o male in the UK and have never knowingly been a victim of racism. Occasionally a comment thrown in anger by the temporarily aggrieved has a racial element, but I’m guessing it doesn’t count if it doesn’t bother me.

However I see any amount of subtle anti-white racism, more specifically anti-white English behaviour, socially and in the mass media every week. But it’s never specifically directed at me.
Small hijack:

So if I move somewhere nice, pass all the immigration control tests etc, it’s actually my basic human right to move my entire family lock stock over to join me permanently? I would have thought human rights were about things like freedom of speech and freedom from torture, political oppression, democratic representation, etc.

You know, when I first joined the workforce I flipped burgers, stacked supermarket shelves, filed documents, cleaned toilets, etc for a couple of years - full time - for precious little money. So did just about every other teenager that needed money. This cliche about “dirty work” that no-one but immigrants wants to do is just so much rubbish. It begs the question - who cleans the toilets and sweeps the streets in places that are largely immigrant free?

28

Reuben, read. I was speaking of the Netherlands in the 1960’s where, yes, no local could be found to pick up the trash. I realise this is no longer the case, but there you go - it was back then. If it makes you feel any better, I worked in cheap restaurants too as a student.

And yes, if you pass all immigration laws, you are entitled to family reunification as per the Geneva Convention. There are a few prerequisites, but that’s pretty much the gist of it.

The trick is passing the immigration laws. These days, you can only enter the EU permanently if you have a work permit set up with an employer willing to hire you permanently, OR if you are in danger of your life in the country you fled from. So in your case: you’re free to roam the EU, but don’t expect political asylum in the US. In the case of economic immigrants: most of them are stopped at the border, and returned to their countries of origin.

As for countries that are largely immigrant free: those are typically poor countries to begin with. Plenty of people to scrub the toilets.

29

I have two examples of racism or at least racist-type things.

The first example was last year during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Some friends and I were watching one of the parades, and a black guy with a Pizza Hut cart comes trundling up and selling pizza. So I collect money from my friends and go stand in line. When I got to the front of the line, the black pizza guy proceeds to sell pizza to every black person who came up, in or out of line, and ignored my protests until he ran out, at which time he said “Oh, sorry. I’m out. You’ll just have to wait.”.

The second one wasn’t really any racist action on anyone’s part, but rather shocking racist thoughts that cropped up in my own head. Three years ago, I was on vacation in Scotland, and had come into my hotel room to find the cleaning lady on hands and knees cleaning the bathroom. I’m from Texas, and around here, the hotel cleaning ladies seem to be almost universally of Mexican descent. So to my chagrin, my first thought on seeing a white, blonde haired woman cleaning my hotel bathroom was to stop her because she shouldn’t be doing that. Stopped me in my tracks. A few days later the same kind of thought popped into my head when I saw a bunch of white Scots doing manual construction labor.

This really shocked me because I just casually expected Mexicans to be doing that kind of work, and had a sort of gut reaction to white people doing it, even though I know intellectually that in Scotland, Scots do most all the work.

30

I am half German and half Metis.
According to everyone I meet, I’m just German.
I make a point to hide the fact I;m Metis as long as I can.
I don’t look native at all, which is a plus. I look like “white-trash”
I choose not to tell people I’m metis because of the prejudgment comments I would get.
My best friend was talking to her boyfriend the other day and said how I can get this Metis status thing for university which will cut down my cost and her boyfriend was like “SHES METIS!!?!!?”
Then she explained it to him and he asked what would I do if he called me a “sqaw”.
I told her I would take my “German-girl-butchyness and my Native surviving skills and kick the living shit out of him.”

Being part native, and having no one know it, I’m stuck listening to people’s endless jokes, tauntings, insults, etc. I know it’s a choice of my own to not say anything, most of the time I do. It amazes me how carefree people are about saying things that like.
When I’m hearing a joke, all I can think of is my mom and how hurt she would be knowing I’m not saying anything or defending my own being. Lately I’m changing though. I’m growing up more and my views are changing. I’m at the point where I could give a rat’s ass about what people think of me if I am native or not.
And if your with me while someone’s saying some dumbass joke about natives, watch out.

Everyone here thinks if your native in anyway your automatically on welfare, your parents are alcoholics, you sniff glue, your a horrible student, someone in your family is a hooker, your dirty,your a slut, etc etc.
And it makes me sick. And the sad thing is, here in Winnipeg, MB. it’s proven true too often.
My mom is someone I’m proud of because she is everything opposite to that. She’s proven herself to society’s standards.
She has a very well paying job, 2 beautiful children (if I do say so myself :P), husband, beautiful home, etc.
Everyone else in her family, minus 2 siblings out of 7, are everything people associated with native people as mentioned before.

I remember my mom was telling me a story of how she was treated in school back in Ontario.
My mom’s skin is dark. If you were to really sit and stare for a good hour, you’d be able to see the native in her.
So her hands are darker then the “norm”.
Anyways, when they were playing outside at school, you would have to go wash your hands outside at the water pump before you could come inside.
So everyone would line up and the teacher would check everyone’s hands.
Everyone’s pale “white” hands.
And the teacher would come up to my mom and say “YOUR HANDS ARE STILL DIRTY SHEILA, GO CLEAN THEM AGAIN!”
And everyday this would continue. And my mom would listen and go wash them again…then again…then again…until her hands were raw and bleeding from being washed so much.
And in the winter time she would stick her hands in the snow until they were white and blue and looked “clean”.

31

I grew up in one of the whitest areas of Toronto- the Beaches. Very WASP. My Dad’s nisei, second generation Japanese Canadian, and Mom’s English/Irish/Scottish. I got taunted a lot as a kid. Now the area’s a lot more multicultural, and I also look much less distinctly Asian than I did as a child. I still feel uncomfortable outside of the big cities- too obviously not white, and mixed race.

When we went on family vacations, some people would assume Dad couldn’t speak English.

32

My SIL and her husband were in England for a year while he studied on a scholarship.

She said there were several times the clerks refused to wait on her because she had an American accent.

I don’t consider that racist so much as bigoted.

It was in the smaller English towns…in London she had no problems.

33

typical exchange in my daily life:

“where are you from?”
“belfast”
“no, where are you REALLY from?”

i’m a little mixed bag of everything, dad is typical NI prod, mum is white Zimbabwean of portuguese, german, jewish (sephardi and ashkenazi), irish and (possibly) other extraction.

my mother doesn’t look white. she doesn’t look specifiaclly anything else, but she definitely doesn’t look white.
she’s very dark, and has very “asian eyes”, kinky hair and a non-european nose.

i got the colouring, and the nose, one of my sisters got the eyes, and my baby sister got her hair.

sister number 2 was known “affectionately” as gook throughout primary school. kids are so nice.

i’ve had shop assistants speak to me, on the assumption that mum doesn’t speak english.

and i’ve had the usual group of guys doing the
“you’re so exotic, i love asian/latino/indian/native american girls, can i buy you a drink?”

so, nothing horrendous, but nothing that makes me love humanity more.

34

Some teenagers yelled at me once for walking on a “black persons’ path” – in the neighborhood where I was born, of all places. (Sorry, kids, I think I’ve been walking here a bit longer than you have.)

35

My husband is black, mexican, and Piute. He looks it too. He’s got black, curly hair, dark skin, high cheekbones…seriously, people ask me all the time what he is, because they just can’t figure it out.
When he first met my family, he was like, the only dark skinned person in that part of Utah. Plus, he’s 6’5, so he really stands out in a crowd.
Anywho, my maternal Grandmother was talking him and said “So, how do you pronounce your name?”
“You can call me Jim.”
“What’s your real name? Haley doesnt call you Jim?”
“Jaime.”
“Jamie?”
“No, Jaime.”
“Hay-me.”
“Jaime.”
“Hi-maaeeee”
“No, no, Hi-may.”
“Oh, that’s a nice name, did your father name you after his people?”
The whole exchange mortified me, but the last part was just terrible. It doesn’t look bad on paper, but the way she said it, coupled with the general vibes we were getting all night…
Then my mom told me that grandma said to her in private, “You better be careful of this Hay-me (:rolleyes: ) because he’s probably just dating Haley to get his green card.”
sigh
He’s a 3rd generation American.

My uncle said to my mom, “Yeah, Jim’s not bad for a nigger.”
sigh

My other grandfather said that he had a cup of nickles for when he goes to Mammoth and finished his explanation with “Damned theivin’ Indians.”
That’s where Jaime’s family is from. Helaughed it off though. He laughed it all off. He htought it was funny. These are just the tree examples that came to mind, but I was pretty much mortified every single time they interacted with him for like, the first year.

I don’t talk to my family that much anymore, though

36

ivylass: In the UK clerks often treat all of the customers that way, regardless of accent or skin colour.

An important thing to remember if visiting Britain is that good service is a honour bestowed upon a select few, not a right.

37

I was 8 and going to third grade at an elementary school in urban Milwaukee. My neighborhood and the public school were ethnically diverse and everything was grand until a black boy developed a crush on me (light-skinned Hispanic). He brought some costume play jewelry from home and gave it to me in front of our friends. Immediately after that the black girls I played with the day before started to follow me around, threatening to beat me up. In the mornings on the way to school even their mothers would join. Eventually I told my mom what was going on and she walked me to school and chewed out the mothers and the harassment stopped, but I didn’t play with those girls again.

38

I had a sort of amusing incident in a store a few months ago.

I was checking out and the high school student (black) who was waiting on me had the most intriguing voice. He had the slightest bit of an accent, but it was faint. I asked where he was from. He smiled and said he’d lived here a long time, but he was originally from another country, and asked me to guess. I tried Jamaica. I tried West Africa. And the woman behind me, also black, got in on it. She was throwing out every sort of place you’d expect a dark-skinned person to be from. After a dozen “NOPES!” he laughed and said “France!” and pointed at the black woman and said (not unkindly) “You’re in trouble.” And laughed again. I am sure what he meant was it was okay (or expected) for me, the white person, to think he could only be from predominantly black countries, but she shouldn’t have done the same.

39

“France…we’re from France!”- Beldar