Bus conversations: "Where are you from?"
Nov. 7th, 2011 11:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elionwyr(After a good deal of thought, I'm blogging the following true story. Non-friend comments are screened, as is my LJ default. And I find it really frustrating that the ONLY thing I'm actually afraid of posting about in my LJ is race. Thank you, racefail.)
~~~
Huddled under an umbrella, I was shivering and waiting for a bus last week. I vaguely acknowledged the older lady who sat down next to me - we who take public transit on a regular basis know that talking with strangers is Simply Not Done.
But she hadn't gotten that memo.
"I love your jacket! Do you wear that for religious reasons?"
(This may be the best question I've ever been asked about my pirate jacket.) "No. A friend made it for me."
"It's not religious?"
"Nope! But it's warm."
"I want to steal it from you! It's lovely."
"Yes, she's very talented." I smile and return my attention to my book.
After a long pause, she starts to speak again. "There is SO MUCH to see downtown! Don't you think it's amazing? How much it's changed?"
"I suppose."
"I just had no idea. 30 years ago, Pittsburgh didn't look like that! There's so much CULTURE and so many PLACES to go!"
"I just moved here a few years ago."
"Oh! Where are you from?"
"I was in Philadelphia."
"But where are you FROM?" She gestures. "Where do your people come from?"
I confess, my brain instantly went to, 'ZOMG RACEFAIL!' She was asking questions born of genuine curiosity, and all I could think of was, frankly, the still-maddening-to-me discussion I tried to have on Karynthia's LJ, when I asked questions about WisCon only to be attacked by her friends and then by her. I'm the wrong colour to ask questions, apparently, and I have largely removed myself from any such discussions as a result. And it still pisses me off.
But here's this older dark-skinned lady looking at me curiously through an October drizzle, hoping I'll answer her question.
I give her the simplest answer. "Russia and France."
"Oh! And see, to me, you look JUST like that girl over there! Hey! Miss? Where are you from?"
The young lady in question turns around. "Excuse me?"
"Where are your ancestors from?"
"Germany and Ireland."
"And see? I think the two of you look the same! And you're not!"
(I want to say, "Well, I'm German and Irish and Native American as well as a bunch of other things," but I don't really have the opportunity.)
"And that lady there is Indian, right? Hey! Miss! Miss?"
A third passenger-to-be turns around. "Yes?"
"Are you from India?"
"No, I'm Pakistani."
"So..Egyptian?"
"No. Pakistan. I can tell the difference. You probably can't."
(Inside, I am both cringing and fascinated.)
"And you're all from India, right?"
"No no. We're different."
"Really? But - " A celphone rings.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I will answer your questions, but I need to take this call." The student turns away, and my seat mate continues to talk about how fascinating it is that we are all so different. And as my bus pulled up and I said goodbye to Lydia, it was not without a bit of sadness/fascination/reflection.
I've had such a variety of experiences on public transit..I've been on buses with people yelling, literally yelling about the white devil as I wonder if I should get off at the next stop or just hope that I'm mostly invisible. I've watched women approach kids to ask about their braids, or their crimped and coloured hair styles. I've had those questions asked of me - "Hey, why did you take your hair out of that braid you had it in yesterday?" "White hair. It's not going to hold a French braid." "Oh." - I've seen some of the most open and honest discussions about racial differences happen on buses, and I've witnessed some incredibly awkward horrible moments that could make one believe we'll never get past our differences.
But mostly, I see evidence that we can.
And I'm glad Lydia dragged me out of my book to show me that there's life beyond racefail.
~~~
Huddled under an umbrella, I was shivering and waiting for a bus last week. I vaguely acknowledged the older lady who sat down next to me - we who take public transit on a regular basis know that talking with strangers is Simply Not Done.
But she hadn't gotten that memo.
"I love your jacket! Do you wear that for religious reasons?"
(This may be the best question I've ever been asked about my pirate jacket.) "No. A friend made it for me."
"It's not religious?"
"Nope! But it's warm."
"I want to steal it from you! It's lovely."
"Yes, she's very talented." I smile and return my attention to my book.
After a long pause, she starts to speak again. "There is SO MUCH to see downtown! Don't you think it's amazing? How much it's changed?"
"I suppose."
"I just had no idea. 30 years ago, Pittsburgh didn't look like that! There's so much CULTURE and so many PLACES to go!"
"I just moved here a few years ago."
"Oh! Where are you from?"
"I was in Philadelphia."
"But where are you FROM?" She gestures. "Where do your people come from?"
I confess, my brain instantly went to, 'ZOMG RACEFAIL!' She was asking questions born of genuine curiosity, and all I could think of was, frankly, the still-maddening-to-me discussion I tried to have on Karynthia's LJ, when I asked questions about WisCon only to be attacked by her friends and then by her. I'm the wrong colour to ask questions, apparently, and I have largely removed myself from any such discussions as a result. And it still pisses me off.
But here's this older dark-skinned lady looking at me curiously through an October drizzle, hoping I'll answer her question.
I give her the simplest answer. "Russia and France."
"Oh! And see, to me, you look JUST like that girl over there! Hey! Miss? Where are you from?"
The young lady in question turns around. "Excuse me?"
"Where are your ancestors from?"
"Germany and Ireland."
"And see? I think the two of you look the same! And you're not!"
(I want to say, "Well, I'm German and Irish and Native American as well as a bunch of other things," but I don't really have the opportunity.)
"And that lady there is Indian, right? Hey! Miss! Miss?"
A third passenger-to-be turns around. "Yes?"
"Are you from India?"
"No, I'm Pakistani."
"So..Egyptian?"
"No. Pakistan. I can tell the difference. You probably can't."
(Inside, I am both cringing and fascinated.)
"And you're all from India, right?"
"No no. We're different."
"Really? But - " A celphone rings.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I will answer your questions, but I need to take this call." The student turns away, and my seat mate continues to talk about how fascinating it is that we are all so different. And as my bus pulled up and I said goodbye to Lydia, it was not without a bit of sadness/fascination/reflection.
I've had such a variety of experiences on public transit..I've been on buses with people yelling, literally yelling about the white devil as I wonder if I should get off at the next stop or just hope that I'm mostly invisible. I've watched women approach kids to ask about their braids, or their crimped and coloured hair styles. I've had those questions asked of me - "Hey, why did you take your hair out of that braid you had it in yesterday?" "White hair. It's not going to hold a French braid." "Oh." - I've seen some of the most open and honest discussions about racial differences happen on buses, and I've witnessed some incredibly awkward horrible moments that could make one believe we'll never get past our differences.
But mostly, I see evidence that we can.
And I'm glad Lydia dragged me out of my book to show me that there's life beyond racefail.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 12:13 pm (UTC)I'm sorry for you and the other passengers who had to put up with that nonsense.
Really? I mean...REALLY?
What is it about public transportation that makes people say the strangest and/or most awful things to one another? I haven't seen racism, thankfully, but sexual harassment and intimidation? Got it covered.
(Trigger warning for intimidating behavior and sexual harassment) As a college student, I made the mistake of being female and publicly reading a book about a woman's experiences stripping across the US; I was waiting for the bus in my hometown at the time. A random guy struck up a conversation with me. At first, it was just about his own experiences at school, but he seemed off, so I avoided getting too personal. Then he proudly told me how he had been out all night "showboating." When he saw what I was reading, he announced I didn't have the body to be a stripper. Ya know, obviously I was reading the book for tips or something, and I needed some random dude's advice for the low down.
I then noticed that he had a strategically placed hole in his pants. No, I didn't get a full view, but I did see his Don Johnson clad in stained long johns. The bus *finally* arrived, and I prayed that would be the end of it. Nope. He sat right next to me and began to get threatening. He wanted my name, my address, my parents' names, etc. And if I lied, he would know. He didn't say how he would know or what would happen, but I still fibbed my skirt off. When I finally got off the bus (He made me shake his hand first), I threw the gloves in a field. Temperatures were below zero.
I hope all this harassment was worth it.
/sigh