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Being an Asian Kid in Austria : International Blog Against Racism Week.
I signed up to write for International Blog Against Racism Week, so this week, my flist is going to get a fair dose of my opinions and thoughts of racism.
First, a little disclaimer and history.
History: I am ethnically Sri Lankan with two Sri Lankan parents. I was born in LA, California. I grew up mostly in Austria, Europe. I attend university in America but before that, I went to a truly international school where most of the students had parents in the UN. My own parents work for the UN. I'm an intern for the UN in Austria at the moment.
There, that's the history over with. Painless, huh? Just bear in mind that I belong to one continent, grew up on a second and currently reside on a third.
Disclaimer-wise: I am not a good Sri Lankan girl. I have Asian pride, but there are many aspects in which I am not 'Sri Lankan enough'. I am not a good Austrian girl, and can in no way pass for one, and would never try it anyway. I doubt that I'm a good American girl, since the culture still makes me boggle and I find it hard to define myself as belonging to a country that I've spent barely three years in.
If I'm talking about racism, I'm talking about racism based on my appearance of being Sri Lankan or South Asian. If I say Asian without anything before it, I probably mean all of Asia. Otherwise, I have to differentiate between South Asian (India, Sri Lankan, Pakistan, Bangladesh), East Asian (Japanese, South Korean, North Korean, Chinese) and South East Asian (Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore) because otherwise, I suspect that saying 'Asian' will just make most people think 'Japanese' or thereabouts.
So, on with the post!
For today, I decided to talk about my very first encounter with racism -- or at least, the first one that I recognized as racism, or the first one that I am old enough to remember. There could have been others, earlier on, but this is the one that made the most impact on me.
I was seven. At that age, I was still too young to take the bus home on my own, so I used to have a Sri Lankan babysitter take me home on the bus. School let out at 3. By 3:15, I'd be on the bus and reading a book, happily oblivious to the world. When I got home, I'd continue reading. I'd even read while walking to the bus and from the bus to my house, because I was that much of a bookworm.
In some ways, I think that being a bookworm kept me naive. I read fantasy and sci-fi, not real world novels. So when a group of Austrian boys sat down near me, in the seats behind and directly in front of me, I didn't react. Why should I? I was seven, I was engrossed in my book, and I didn't think that it had anything to do with me. They were just boys. Why did it matter to me where they sat?
The boys couldn't have been that much older than me. I'm guessing that they were twelve, thirteen, or thereabouts. For a bit, they just talked over my head in German. I was already fluent in German by that point, having spent a year in a German kindergarten because the Vienna International School didn't have space to accept me when I arrived there from Australia, but I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. Again, why should I? I was reading a book. Their conversations had nothing to do with me.
After a bit, one of them hissed at me. It was something along the lines of "Hey, you. You!"
I was seven. I looked up. I wasn't sure what they wanted, but I thought that maybe they wanted to tell me that my backpack was open or ask me about what stop they should get off at to get to a certain place. I don't know how I looked. Curious, maybe. A little puzzled about why they were addressing me.
At any rate, their reaction was to laugh. Then one of them said something that I didn't understand. So I said, "Sorry?". In Austria, you don't say "Excuse me?" or "What?" if you didn't catch what someone's saying. You say, "Entschuldigen?"
More laughter. I was getting a little frustrated by now, and feeling kind of shy because I wasn't all that used to talking to strangers. I looked over at my babysitter, who looked as lost as I was. Even more so, because she didn't speak English or German. Only Sinhala.
I knew there wasn't any help coming from that corner, so I tried to go back to reading my book. I thought that maybe if I ignored them, they'd go away or at least stop laughing at me.
When you're having seven, having a group of older boys laughing at you for no reason you can understand is pretty crushing.
They didn't stop. Instead, they said "You! Hey, you!" again. And like a fool, I looked up. This time, what they said, I understood. Not completely, but I knew what a 'schlampe' was. And I knew what 'fick' meant. And I definitely, definitely knew what Asiatisch meant. And 'braun' was a color, of course I knew colors.
I didn't know some of the other things they said. I think they were trying to make me cry. Or maybe they didn't think that I'd understand them. I don't know.
I wanted to get off the bus, but I was scared that they'd follow the babysitter and me, and if I got off the bus near my home, what if they went and surrounded the house and threw rocks at it, or threw rocks at my parents when they came home? My father was old and my mother was ill. What if they got badly injured or had heart attacks?
This was before the age of cellphones. This was before I had any way to communicate with anyone to tell them that I was in trouble.
The bus driver knew what was happening. He could have stopped the bus and ordered those boys off.
He didn't.
There were other passengers on the bus. Plenty of them. They could have intervened and told the boys off.
They didn't.
The babysitter got up as our stop came nearby. I told her in Sinhala to sit down and wait. I knew the bus went in loops. I figured that sooner or later, if we just stayed on the bus, the boys would have to get bored and get off.
At least on the bus, there weren't any rocks for the boys to use as weapons.
Fortunately for me, the boys got off one stop after our usual one. So instead of staying on the bus for another hour or so, I asked the babysitter to get off at the next stop with me. We walked the two stops back, me trying to explain to her what had happened and hoping the boys would've moved on by the time we came to the previous stop.
They had. We made it home safely. My parents wanted to know why I came home late (a rule at our house was that I always had to call as soon as I arrived home from school) and when I told them, they were outraged.
That didn't change the fact that for the first time ever, I'd had it really driven home to me that people could hate you without even knowing you.
First, a little disclaimer and history.
History: I am ethnically Sri Lankan with two Sri Lankan parents. I was born in LA, California. I grew up mostly in Austria, Europe. I attend university in America but before that, I went to a truly international school where most of the students had parents in the UN. My own parents work for the UN. I'm an intern for the UN in Austria at the moment.
There, that's the history over with. Painless, huh? Just bear in mind that I belong to one continent, grew up on a second and currently reside on a third.
Disclaimer-wise: I am not a good Sri Lankan girl. I have Asian pride, but there are many aspects in which I am not 'Sri Lankan enough'. I am not a good Austrian girl, and can in no way pass for one, and would never try it anyway. I doubt that I'm a good American girl, since the culture still makes me boggle and I find it hard to define myself as belonging to a country that I've spent barely three years in.
If I'm talking about racism, I'm talking about racism based on my appearance of being Sri Lankan or South Asian. If I say Asian without anything before it, I probably mean all of Asia. Otherwise, I have to differentiate between South Asian (India, Sri Lankan, Pakistan, Bangladesh), East Asian (Japanese, South Korean, North Korean, Chinese) and South East Asian (Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore) because otherwise, I suspect that saying 'Asian' will just make most people think 'Japanese' or thereabouts.
So, on with the post!
For today, I decided to talk about my very first encounter with racism -- or at least, the first one that I recognized as racism, or the first one that I am old enough to remember. There could have been others, earlier on, but this is the one that made the most impact on me.
I was seven. At that age, I was still too young to take the bus home on my own, so I used to have a Sri Lankan babysitter take me home on the bus. School let out at 3. By 3:15, I'd be on the bus and reading a book, happily oblivious to the world. When I got home, I'd continue reading. I'd even read while walking to the bus and from the bus to my house, because I was that much of a bookworm.
In some ways, I think that being a bookworm kept me naive. I read fantasy and sci-fi, not real world novels. So when a group of Austrian boys sat down near me, in the seats behind and directly in front of me, I didn't react. Why should I? I was seven, I was engrossed in my book, and I didn't think that it had anything to do with me. They were just boys. Why did it matter to me where they sat?
The boys couldn't have been that much older than me. I'm guessing that they were twelve, thirteen, or thereabouts. For a bit, they just talked over my head in German. I was already fluent in German by that point, having spent a year in a German kindergarten because the Vienna International School didn't have space to accept me when I arrived there from Australia, but I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. Again, why should I? I was reading a book. Their conversations had nothing to do with me.
After a bit, one of them hissed at me. It was something along the lines of "Hey, you. You!"
I was seven. I looked up. I wasn't sure what they wanted, but I thought that maybe they wanted to tell me that my backpack was open or ask me about what stop they should get off at to get to a certain place. I don't know how I looked. Curious, maybe. A little puzzled about why they were addressing me.
At any rate, their reaction was to laugh. Then one of them said something that I didn't understand. So I said, "Sorry?". In Austria, you don't say "Excuse me?" or "What?" if you didn't catch what someone's saying. You say, "Entschuldigen?"
More laughter. I was getting a little frustrated by now, and feeling kind of shy because I wasn't all that used to talking to strangers. I looked over at my babysitter, who looked as lost as I was. Even more so, because she didn't speak English or German. Only Sinhala.
I knew there wasn't any help coming from that corner, so I tried to go back to reading my book. I thought that maybe if I ignored them, they'd go away or at least stop laughing at me.
When you're having seven, having a group of older boys laughing at you for no reason you can understand is pretty crushing.
They didn't stop. Instead, they said "You! Hey, you!" again. And like a fool, I looked up. This time, what they said, I understood. Not completely, but I knew what a 'schlampe' was. And I knew what 'fick' meant. And I definitely, definitely knew what Asiatisch meant. And 'braun' was a color, of course I knew colors.
I didn't know some of the other things they said. I think they were trying to make me cry. Or maybe they didn't think that I'd understand them. I don't know.
I wanted to get off the bus, but I was scared that they'd follow the babysitter and me, and if I got off the bus near my home, what if they went and surrounded the house and threw rocks at it, or threw rocks at my parents when they came home? My father was old and my mother was ill. What if they got badly injured or had heart attacks?
This was before the age of cellphones. This was before I had any way to communicate with anyone to tell them that I was in trouble.
The bus driver knew what was happening. He could have stopped the bus and ordered those boys off.
He didn't.
There were other passengers on the bus. Plenty of them. They could have intervened and told the boys off.
They didn't.
The babysitter got up as our stop came nearby. I told her in Sinhala to sit down and wait. I knew the bus went in loops. I figured that sooner or later, if we just stayed on the bus, the boys would have to get bored and get off.
At least on the bus, there weren't any rocks for the boys to use as weapons.
Fortunately for me, the boys got off one stop after our usual one. So instead of staying on the bus for another hour or so, I asked the babysitter to get off at the next stop with me. We walked the two stops back, me trying to explain to her what had happened and hoping the boys would've moved on by the time we came to the previous stop.
They had. We made it home safely. My parents wanted to know why I came home late (a rule at our house was that I always had to call as soon as I arrived home from school) and when I told them, they were outraged.
That didn't change the fact that for the first time ever, I'd had it really driven home to me that people could hate you without even knowing you.
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There are lots of arseholes, I wish I knew you sooner. Those things have made you strong though. I'd gladly join the "intl. blog against racism week" if I wasn't booked to the hilt; actually I'd do it if I were more prepared to share my own stories.
I admire your bravery. Go you! <3
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It's okay. You know I can take care of myself, but I wish I'd known you sooner for many reasons, most of which have nothing to do with needing to be taken care of. And you would have so much to talk about, I bet, but no worries! Keep up with your stuff, doll.
*takes a bow* Thanks. I love you.
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I've been wondering though, the icon you're using; did you draw that?
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Sure I would, but it wouldn't highlight the racist problem enough. I'm not one to turn the other cheek, I tend to bite back with harsh words. Am keeping up with everything. So far, so good.
Love you too! *throws flowers onto the stage*
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And nope, Numa did! Pretty, right?
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There was a lot of owe and I feel horrible for you. :(
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Pretty indeed. I'd add to that, but I think it's summed in the word. Is that Crayon?
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And yeah "that people could hate you without even knowing you"
TERRIBLE. ._.
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I'm reading this because of going through the ibarw bookmarks.
I'm really sorry you went through this at 7. I'm glad you and your babysitter survived it.
I integrated a preschool and that broke my heart.
I'm glad you survived.
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I figure it's actually a lot less severe than some of the stuff that happened when I was older, both to my immediate family and to my friends. But yeah, it wasn't a pleasant way to be introduced to the fact that there are crazy people out there who see me as a target because of something that is glaring obvious -- my dark skin.
Integrating a preschool must've been killer. I have a lot of respect for you for having managed it; thank you. Both for doing that, and for leaving a comment.