Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Demos held an event about immigration the other evening. The discussion was based around a book called Immigrants: Your country needs them. The author was there as well as 3 other panelists and an audience of relevant and interested people. The sentiment of the book was good, but I wasn't convinced by his argument to be honest (though I haven't actually read the book...). That aside though, the topic really did make me think.

It made me think about my own history a lot more. I am a child of two immigrants. People look at me and see that, even when I am not thinking about it at all, other people are. They look at me and see an Indian girl that has been brought up here. I look in the mirror and see me, I don't label myself like that.
I've never really gotten angry when people have asked me where I'm from. I've always replied Manchester, even when I know that isn't what they're asking, but somehow I always just saw it as part of life, as something that was important to other people, but that I didn't see worth getting annoyed about.

But I have grown up in a multicultural environment, and I know a lot of people that do get angry when asked 'where they are from' or similar remarks based on an assumption that you're clearly of non-English origin. I've always got angry about racist remarks, there is no excuse for that, but questions of origin, not really.

But, maybe I should get angry - I mean, why does it really matter? Why should I have to pander to their ideas? Am I a different person because my parents are from India? Maybe it tells someone a bit about the values I may hold (as it happens, I don't fit the stereotype so they're wrong...) but what does that matter to a shopkeeper? Almost every Asian shopkeeper I have come accross more than once, pretty much without excpetion, has asked me where I am from.

I can see why people get angry, but I guess I feel I have other things to get angry about - like racism. But maybe it is attitudes like that that contribute to racism? I dunno, I need to think about it more.

All I know is that when people have behaved towards me or my family in a racist manner, it is the only instant rage that I have ever felt in my entire life. When I left the office at 8.30pm (the event was after work), a tramp (i don't like the word, but I don't know of any other to describe him) looked up, made eye contact with me, then spat in my face.

I stopped in disgust, disbelief and anger. He carried on, mumbling something. I don't normally jump to conclusions, but some instict in me told me it was racist (possibly influenced by the event I'd just been to?). Had he not been old, a tramp and seemingly in posession of some mental problem, I would have had a go at him. But it seemed like it would have been fultile, so I swallowed my rage and left it.

I still don't know though. Am I missing something? Should people wanting to know my family origin make me more than just a bit fed up?

Who knows eh?