By Pranathi Yannamani
(Photo: Ariana Cubillos)
All my life I’ve stood out like a sore thumb. A brown thumb, if you like. In a sea of white ones. At school, I was the only brown girl in my entire year group, sometimes the entire school, and at university, though my course is wonderfully diverse, the societies and friendship groups I am in are largely white.
I have always told myself this doesn’t bother me. While scrolling through social media a few days ago, I noticed that a few people of colour (PoC), some of whom I know and some I don’t, had shared their experiences of racism growing up in the UK, much of which came in the form of microaggressions. This prompted me to draw parallels with those of other PoC and reflect on my own experiences with racism and microaggressions. Since then, I have not been able to stop thinking about these subtle comments, and every day a new memory of one resurfaces, reminding me of how people can make you feel inferior with a single throwaway comment.
Wikipedia defines microaggressions as brief and common daily verbal, behavioural, and environmental communications, whether intentional or unintentional, that transmit hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to a target person because they belong to a stigmatized group[1]. By this definition, anyone can fall prey to these, but my experience focuses primarily on microaggressions targeted towards people of colour.
In one of the posts a friend relays that she was always made to do the ‘ethnic’ dances in ballet class. This brought back a memory of year 4 when I was cast as the ‘slave girl’in the play that my teacher wrote himself. Nothing seemed off at the time, and only when I look back on it, does it reek of racism, as I was the only non-white person in the year group.
She shared that people also remarked that she ‘talked posh’, although she spoke like everyone else at her school. This reminded me of when people have thought I was mixed race because I “don’t sound Indian”.
Her friends said in the past that they hate getting tanned as they might turn black- this reflects when my friends have told me yes, they want to be tanned, but not as dark as me. Another friend once reassured me, “I’d rather have your skin tone than be really pale”, as though I needed consolation for the colour of my skin.
From when I first started school, I’ve been forced to constantly ask myself why I’m different as a consequence of questions like, “why is your skin brown?”, “why are your palms white?” and “I had to get you a special Christmas present because you’re different”. Not to mention the regular, “Where are you from? No, where are you really from?” and being asked if the only other Indian girl in school at the time was my sister.
In GCSE English, just two of the 15 poems we studied were by people of colour, both of which were dismissed by my teacher as their only purpose was to “tick boxes”. One of the poems was by Daljit Nagra, the other by John Agard, both highly critically acclaimed and award-winning poets, and arguably more poetically skilled than my GCSE English teacher.
In a GCSE geography class, I watched my teacher say nothing as the rest of the class complained about Indian call centre employees, despite making it clear I was uncomfortable.
In a religious studies class in primary school, my teacher taught us that, “Hindus know their Gods aren’t real” while she came to school every day donning a tote bag decorated with Lord Krishna’s face.
Most of this behaviour has come from white people. But the people of colour in my life have not always been entirely supportive.
When discussing a book series that was being adapted for TV with colour-blind casting, a friend of mine stated that she thought they were “taking it a bit too far with the whole diversity thing”.
When at school I tried to question why all the works we studied in A level English literature were by white people my friend explained to me that we had to be taught this way “to provide a holistic teaching of English literature” and my teachers just avoided the subject.
My own parents failed to recognise the miniature retelling of colonialism taking place in my primary school, with me forced to play the part we thought we’d shaken off- a harsh reminder of my true place in society.
I say this not from a place of blame, but in an attempt to illustrate the internalised racism people of colour have been forced to subsume as a result of our society.
These experiences seem to have stopped since I began university, right? Wrong.
A housemate said to me that South Asian men shouldn’t catcall girls as it makes their whole race “look bad”. Has this ever been said about white men? She also said that minorities “shouldn’t vote for Trump”, implying they are particularly responsible for his being in office.
One of my tutors this year described Indian people as “meek”. I am still unsure as to what he meant by this.
My white female friends try to bring up experiences with sexism every time I initiate a conversation about race as though it is the same thing, which not only serves as a denial of their racial bias, but also of my racial oppression.
In Freshers’ week I was asked if I was from Slough, because “there’s lots of Brown people in Slough”.
I was told in first year by one of my friends that I’m “not like the other brown people”. Suffice to say, we aren’t friends anymore.
People constantly tell me they “won’t remember” my name. I have never heard this said to a white person, regardless of how ‘easy’ or ‘difficult’ their name is.
A fellow university student refused to understand why the word p**i is unacceptable to use, despite multiple other student (PoC and white) trying to explain it to him.
While working at a hospital, a colleague I had never spoken to before, ask me if I was Japanese, and when I said I was Indian, he asked me what religion I was and if I practiced yoga. These are not things you commonly talk about with a stranger, and this interaction left me feeling like an animal in a zoo, and thoroughly creeped out.
The number of times I’ve been told by people, male and female, that they “don’t like Asian girls” or they “only like white girls”; it can make us in those ‘undesirable’ groups feel like we’re just another face in a homogenous crowd, and will never be seen as individuals.
Conversely, being called ‘exotic’ or treated as such is a recurring theme among BIPOC individuals, and I’ve often felt paranoid about whether I’m being fetishized.
‘These are just words’, you might say, trying to quell my voice; ‘just forget about them’.
I can try, but I cannot forget the systematic inequalities that exist in British society because the numbers do not lie.
As a doctor, I will be more likely to be complained about to the GMC than my white counterparts[2], and I will earn less, for being a woman and for my race[3]. If and when I, or any of my family members, are infected with COVID-19, we are more likely to die from it than white members of the population[4]. I am 2.5 times more likely to fail exams during my specialty training compared to my white colleagues- practical exams which are scored by examiners[5].
If my experiences were not sufficient, is that enough evidence to prove that racism is a blood stain on the fabric of our society?
I suppose part of the reason I have written this is for a catharsis, but also to ask you, what makes you different from any of the people who said these things? Because the likelihood is, you are one of these people. Or maybe you’re relieved because none of the above statements came from your mouth. Unfortunately, in preparation for this article, I made a word document filled with microaggressions (and outright racist) comments directed towards me over the years, so something you said might feature in there. And if not in mine, somebody else’s. Or maybe you’re one of the silent bystanders, a friend who’s an ally in private, but seems to have misplaced your values in the moment? Over the past 21 years of my life, people have been saying these things to me and all other PoC, and now, because it’s en vogue, you’ve all suddenly changed? Actions speak louder than words, so prove it. Prove you’re a true ally by confronting people who make statements like these and do not make them yourselves.
I have heard people say that the racism they have faced has been trivial and easily forgotten. Unfortunately, in my case, I carry the weight of people’s words far more than I would care to admit.
I understand my own privilege- economical, educational and my colour (among many other factors), but I felt strongly compelled to write this article, to help people understand my experience and that of people like me, but also to let my fellow BIPOC know that I am with you, and I want to do all I can to understand the experiences of others.
One of the ways in which the British maintained control over its colonies was through the ‘divide and rule’ strategy, by enforcing people’s differences to prevent them from coming together and overthrowing their oppressor. Although I dislike the term BAME to refer to all people of colour as our experiences are so different, I think we can and should unite over our shared experience of racism within the UK, to overturn it for good.
[1]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Microaggression#:~:text=Microaggressions%20have%20been%20defined%20as,belong%20to%20a%20stigmatized%20group.
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