- Mar 11, 2015
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And here it is...
'People Assume I'm White. This is The Racism I See'
Nikki Barthelmess
Generally, when people say or do racist things in front of me, they think it's okay. When it is racism from white people, I suspect it is because, in a way, I look like them, so they think I am one of them. But I'm not.
When people joke about or make fun of an immigrant's thick accent in front of me, I think of the way it's difficult for people to understand my grandma. Never mind that the people who are mocking a Spanish speaker tend to only speak one language. Meanwhile, my grandma is fluent in Spanish and English, and even used to be a French translator as well.
When I hear others make judgments about the laziness of immigrants or act as though people who come to this country don't deserve to be here, I recall my grandfather telling me about how he worked tirelessly as an engineer to earn respect and professional opportunities in the United States. A former employer paid him less than what his skills were worth, but my grandpa didn't get angry. He told me he was grateful that the man took advantage of him because without that happening my grandpa wouldn't have had the chance to work and access other opportunities.
Even my siblings, who were born to the same mother and father, have been treated differently than I have. My younger brother was once pulled over by the police because he was driving a car similar to one that was supposedly stolen by a Mexican man. My brother laughed the incident off when he told me about it, but to me it wasn't funny. Maybe sometimes laughing is a way of coping, as is being grateful to be taken advantage of, or brushing off comments as even I have.
Because I, too, smile and turn the other cheek when confronted with this kind of treatment. Once, directly after I told someone that my mother was a first generation American and my grandparents are Mexican, they asked if I was the first person in my family to go to college. I felt angry and embarrassed. But I didn't snap at this woman and tell her she was being racist. I merely let her know that I, in fact, am not the first person on my Mexican side of the family to graduate from college, and then I excused myself from the conversation as fast as I could. I was angry that this woman had the audacity to make such ignorant and offensive comments, but I was also angry at myself.
Racism is not something new to me. I have grappled with my own privilege and my responsibility to correct people for ignorant thinking. It has certainly informed my work as a writer.
'People Assume I'm White. This is The Racism I See'
Nikki Barthelmess
Generally, when people say or do racist things in front of me, they think it's okay. When it is racism from white people, I suspect it is because, in a way, I look like them, so they think I am one of them. But I'm not.
When people joke about or make fun of an immigrant's thick accent in front of me, I think of the way it's difficult for people to understand my grandma. Never mind that the people who are mocking a Spanish speaker tend to only speak one language. Meanwhile, my grandma is fluent in Spanish and English, and even used to be a French translator as well.
When I hear others make judgments about the laziness of immigrants or act as though people who come to this country don't deserve to be here, I recall my grandfather telling me about how he worked tirelessly as an engineer to earn respect and professional opportunities in the United States. A former employer paid him less than what his skills were worth, but my grandpa didn't get angry. He told me he was grateful that the man took advantage of him because without that happening my grandpa wouldn't have had the chance to work and access other opportunities.
Even my siblings, who were born to the same mother and father, have been treated differently than I have. My younger brother was once pulled over by the police because he was driving a car similar to one that was supposedly stolen by a Mexican man. My brother laughed the incident off when he told me about it, but to me it wasn't funny. Maybe sometimes laughing is a way of coping, as is being grateful to be taken advantage of, or brushing off comments as even I have.
Because I, too, smile and turn the other cheek when confronted with this kind of treatment. Once, directly after I told someone that my mother was a first generation American and my grandparents are Mexican, they asked if I was the first person in my family to go to college. I felt angry and embarrassed. But I didn't snap at this woman and tell her she was being racist. I merely let her know that I, in fact, am not the first person on my Mexican side of the family to graduate from college, and then I excused myself from the conversation as fast as I could. I was angry that this woman had the audacity to make such ignorant and offensive comments, but I was also angry at myself.
Racism is not something new to me. I have grappled with my own privilege and my responsibility to correct people for ignorant thinking. It has certainly informed my work as a writer.
