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Friday, 10 July 2009

Tuesday, 07 July 2009

  • My first experience with indirect racism

    Growing up in a small town and being part of an ethnic majority by default is a strange thing.  If, once you realize that the world isn't all made up of white folks, as was the case in my hometown, you're able to escape with even the inkling of an open mind, it's a good thing.  If you're able to get beyond the occasionally rampant ignorance that's nevertheless construed as fact, and get out of your childhood with the expectation of tolerance, it's a good thing. All those things accomplished, while you're definitely not a racist, something else happens. If you're like me, you become a little naive about such concepts as racism and you might start thinking that everyone is as open-minded as you and your family and friends.

    I'm not sure why, but probably due to my not being exposed to much of it myself, and never truly perpetuating any beyond not knowing any better as a kid, and then learning better... I always thought that racism was this overblown idea. That people exaggerated its presence and effect in this day and age, and my goodness me, how advanced and progressive we all are, as a species, and heck, GROUP HUG!!

    Yes, yes, I know.  Stupid. 

    Some have even told me that that's a typically "white" mentality. You know, "deluded" into this whole Disney kind of thinking, where the world is a wonderful, magical, tolerant place. I'm not saying I wasn't aware racism existed... but never having been targeted because of my skin color (language is a whole other issue, mind you) isn't something I'm experienced with, nor has it ever been an issue with my friends, who are of all different creeds.

    It just never came up basically, pertaining to me, until this morning.

    I was on the bus to work (wishing it was a bus to man-servant paradise island, but I digress, cuz this is SERIOUS business) and I boldly headed to the back of the bus where all the highschool kids, pissy and disgruntled due to end-of-year exams, were sitting.  A girl glared at me I casually insisted that my ass was more deserving of a seat than her schoolbag was, and my magical journey began.

    Of course, the magical journey, like every morning, consisted of my head tilting back and ricocheting off the magical window over and over again, like a kid ontop of a magical washing machine, as I tried to knock myself unconscious with sheer enthusiasm for my job.  Anyway, my neighbor was part of a small group of friends, and they were no older than 15 or 16.  And any comment I may make as to their attitude has nothing to do with their race, rest assured... but merely the fact that they were admittedly obnoxious teenagers, which didn't help the situation.  (Hey, I'm not a racist.  But ageist?  HELL YES. (ok, no.) Either way, I deduced by later parts of their conversation that they were of Caribbean descent, as they spoke of the various Caribbean festivals they were participating in, in Montreal and Toronto. It doesn't matter really, but as a naive layman in speaking of these matters, I'm not sure how to put it other than, hey guys! they were black, I was (and still currently am, to my knowledge) white, if we're going to be straight about this.

    My brain was on auto-pilot-zombie mode, so that's mostly all that registered anyway, from the last visual sweep I made, before the impending system shut down.  If you'd like to know how important that detail was to me, let me put it this way: I also happened to notice that hey, that kid looks asian. and SHIT, those are some nice shoes, hey, there's water droplets of rain on my boobs, how classy, and holy crap, we're already almost there, goddamnit. 

    However, one girl didn't approve of my apparent lack of attention it seemed, as the vibrations of her voice probably could have hit a 5,6 Richter, and so I was forcefully aware of what she was saying as my eyes twitched open in protest.

    "My mom keeps asking me 'WHY YOU GOTTA LOOK SO GHETTO ALL THE TIME, WITH YOUR NOSE RING AND YOUR BANGLES'" she said, making her voice impossibly more earth-shattering in honor of her mother's tone.  I actually thought it was kind of funny, because her look suited her... and it reminded me of how my own mother had reacted to my lip piercing, back in the day.  (Of course, it was to the tune of a hysterical "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL FAAAAAAAAAAAAACEEEE", a la Lord of the Rings, with the fire of Mordor erupting in the background.  Yeah. )

    Her friend echoed my sentiment and snickered... but then my internal laughter was cut short at her next comment.

    "Well what?  She want me to look like a fucking little white girl??  I mean, it's bad enough I got their hair!!"

    Her friend (my neighbor) went rigid for a moment, and, thinking I was still magical-journeying-to-dreamland, actually nodded in my direction with an unmistakeably sheepish expression.

    Like: OH MY GOD, BFF, YOU'D BETTER BE CAREFUL OR THIS WHITEGIRL HERE MIGHT HAVE HEARD YOU, BUT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE, YOUR VOICE IS AS DELICATE AS THE MORNING DEW. 

    I was shocked, I have to admit.  My jolly little world of camaraderie and equality shattered, and I immediately became a bitter, hateful old spinster, and joined the KKK as quickly as my alabaster Irish feet could run to the Linen Chest and purchase the white sheets.

    .....Ok, NO.

    I did, however, make it a point to tilt my head in her direction and give her hair a long, probing stare, and suppressed with all my might the desire to say "hell, I don't even have our hair, how do you think I feel?"

    Her friend just tried to change the subject, and said: "No, your hair is really nice, what are you talking about?

    -WHAT DO YOU MEAN? MY HAIR IS SUPER SOFT AND NOT CURLY."

    Yes folks, THOSE are the terrible defining factors of whiteness, I learned. So if you have shiny, soft hair, you have been imbued with the essence of pasty, blinding whiteness and must be purged of your uncoolness.  GET YE TO A CURLING IRON, STAT!

    I also learned something else on that magical journey, as she then went on to make her best Chinese imitation, while the asian kid rolled his eyes beside her.

    Clearly she wasn't a racist, per se.

    No, this girl, as I could tell from her friend's humiliated shrinking into the seat with heated embarrassment, was just a bleeding moron.

    Lesson learned: Stupid is Universal.

     

Monday, 06 July 2009

  • Monday is in top shape... and other stuff

    1) While my mood has recovered and I'm generally trying to be positive right now, my morning started off crappier than 3 toddlers with raging gastroenteritis.  My parents had been nice enough to lend me the car for a few days, since I had some home deco-related shopping to do yesterday.  I found the old beast where I'd left it, which is good... but as though that tank of a Grandam hasn't seen enough misery in its day, it was missing its left mirror.  Oh, the mirror's plastic frame was still there mind you, torn off and hanging by a wire, but the mirror? M.I.A. entirely.  The perp was apparently in dire need of a reflective surface to snort the cocaine off of, but hey, was considerate enough to pile the little pieces of plastic debris which I imagine had fallen to the ground, onto the hood of the car in a neat little stack.  Gosh, thanks.  It's kind of like how orcas spare the last of the seals they've hunted in a session, after having played a horribly, horribly skewed, be-fanged, 2-tonne-body-slamming, tail-smashing, spine-crunching version of beach volleyball with their still-live corpses all day. (true story.) 

    Thanks, that makes it all better.

    Ok, so I wasn't exactly Shamu food, but needless to say I was late for work, and that I of course had to discover that my travel mug was leaking all over my dress and keyboard, since Murphy's law dictates that bad things happen in threes.

    BUT I'M GOOD.  I SWEAR. *twitch*

    MUST RESIST... URGE... TO BITCH.... GGHHH....

    2) Yesterday was pretty good though.  Aside from getting some artwork done, making some improvements on the apartment and actually getting nice little jog in (which is saying something, since I was previously unaware that the terms "nice" and "jog" could really co-exist in a sentence)... I went to get me some bubble tea in chinatown.  While I was reluctant to visit the only establishment open at that hour on a Sunday, (L2, to Montrealers) because its reputation has sunken to somewhere between Chiggertastic and Gaijingirlwannabe-friendly, the desire for bubble tea is not one to be taken lightly.  And the moment I walked in, my suspicions were proven right.  Wannathugs and Poserganstahs as far as they eye could SEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHMYYYYGOOODDDDD THERE'S A TABLE-FULL OF WHITE GIRLS IN KIMONOS AND FACEPAINT, HOLY SHIT.

    Yamanaka_Ino_Cosplay_by_13_Zer0 "Lets-u go out-o fo bubburu tea, desu ne!?  And while we are at it, ruin the reputation of all white girls who might be into Japanese culture but who aren't eye-rapingly obsessed and forever doom anime-fans the world over, as if they're not screwed enough to begin with-u! KAWAII SUGOI, DESHOU??!!!"

    I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  After the jaw had been re-set, I opted for the former... and by Gum, I knew they couldn't hear me, but they must have felt my aura of indignation boring into their silky, paunched asses, because the moment I got my tea (and hence was free to move away from the counter to shove a conveniently sharply bevel-ended straw up their---..) they left faster than you could say sayonara, suckers.  

    Oh man.

    Just... horrible.  And since I'm talking about this, let me get one thing straight, about cosplayers.  I cosplay. Yes. I admit it.  I also enjoy Japanese culture, and Asian cultures in general. (It's the food, man...)  But as for cosplaying, I do it during conventions, when it is acceptable to do so, and I do it for fun.  Even though I'm perfectly able to formulate sentences, I don't squeal in Japanese in costume, nor do I pretend to be the character, further than posing on photos. Again: AT THE APPROPRIATE TME AND PLACE, WHERE NO ONE IS LIABLE TO JUDGE MY INFINITE DORKINESS, DUE TO THEIR OWN EXTREME DORKINESS OF BEING AT AN ANIME CONVENTION.

    Point is, not all cosplayers/anime fans/culture enthusiasts go out and pretend to be Japanese for entire evenings, in public.  It might not appear to be so, but I'm telling you: SOME OF US HAVE SHAME.  It's a dying concept among these groups I'll admit, but shame, and self-awareness still do exist.  They're still out there... battered and disrespected like the last seal of the day... but they're out there, fighting their way back to Decency.

    That's all I'm saying.

    Anyhow.  That's about it for now.

    I'll spare you the usual "I wish I wasn't here and I should be doing art right now" spiel.  ^_^

     

Thursday, 02 July 2009

  • Boss-scapades

    This little episode happened after my boss exploded into my office, while talking on his cell, demanding if he'd gotten any calls this morning (as though I wouldn't relay the message, like always) and then calling me in a panic 10 minutes later to ask if I'd checked the fax this morning, (as though I wouldn't check the fax like I do every morning) because apparently, some important report was coming in.  I caught him in the hallway a few minutes later, after confirming that YES, I'd done my job, and asked him point blank, what his problem was. 

    Boss: Liz, come see me in my office, please. 

    Me: Alright. 

    ******************hoppity hop, like a good little office whore*******************************

    Boss: Shut the door please, Liz.

    Me: ..... *click*

    Boss: First of all, calm down.

    Me: ........*teeth grit* I'm fine.

    *awkward pause*

    Boss: You know, Liz... when I ask you these things, it's not because I'm attacking you, you know.  It's because people have been bullshitting me this morning, and I needed to check the facts.

    Me: I understand that, but when you hurricane into my office like a bat out of hell first thing in the morning, it's hard for me to tell sometimes, is all I'm saying.

    Boss: I see. In some situations, I can't always think of approach.  But I'm not attacking you.  I'm just checking facts, because these people are trying to bullshit us, Liz.  Saying they called, when you didn't get a call, saying they emailed when I didn't get an email.

    Me: Bastards, stressing us out.

    Boss: Yeah.

    Me: Yeah.  I'm a little tizzied too, because my laptop died, and now this random situation.  So I guess I'm a little stressed.

    Boss: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  So I'm getting all your shit that I don't deserve, am I?

    Me: Oh, no.  You definitely deserve some shit.  Not all, but some.

    Boss: So much bullshit.

    Me: Stressing us out. 

    Boss: Yeah.

    Me: .... Sometimes, I don't know what we're talking about anymore.

    Boss: Alright.

    Me: Alright."


    Well, that was productive. 

     

  • Short political rant, if I may...

    "Vous êtes vraiment une gang de cons.  J'me suis pas forcé d'aller ruiner la St Jean, moi, mais bon, comme à chaque année, y'a toujours votre belle petite démo durant la fête du CANADA. PARCE QUE OUI, NOUS SOMMES AU CANADA.

    C'est vraiment désolant de vous voir, pathétique, même.  La préservation culturelle c'est une chose, mais l'oppression des autres cultures et diversités que nous sommes choyés d'avoir ici au Québec, pour y arriver... ce n'est pas correct.  Vivre et laisser vivre, bon sang!

    Merde, vous me faites vraiment chier.  L'année prochaine c'est des tartes qui vous revolerons en pleine face, maudits ignorants. "

    Translation:

    "You're really a bunch of morons.  I didn't go to huge lengths just to ruin St Jean Baptiste, but despite that, like every year, there's always your lovely little demonstration during Canada Day.  BECAUSE YES, WE ARE IN CANADA.

    It's really saddening to see you people.  Pathetic, even. Cultural preservation is one thing, but the oppression of other cultures and the diversity we're so lucky to have here in Quebec in order to acheive that goal... that's not right.  Live and let live, damnit!

    Shit, you guys really piss me off.  Next year, it's going to be pie that lands in your face, you damned ignorant idiots."

     

    This is a short letter I wrote to The "Jeunes Patriotes" (young patriots) movement.   They're an extremist sovereign militant group in Quebec who take pleasure in ruining all cultural events having to do with Canada, or English, by standing around in Neo-Nazi uniforms, banging drums and being obnoxious, in the name of "cultural preservation" of French, or something.   (Quebec is the only predominantly French province in Canada, for you outsiders... and we've long had linguistic confrontations, historically.  Still, the province is officially French, and culturally-rich.)  

    While I could not attend Canada Day Festivities this year, I heard on the radio that these whackos were still around, yet again.  I probably did the wrong thing by telling them how much they bother me and it will probably encourage them further, but I couldn't stand it anymore.  I've been standing idly by for 3 years, seeing them crap all over what's supposed to be a celebration of national pride, sure, but also of cultural diversity, of which French is of COURSE a part by the way, and of the wonderful melting pot that Canada is.  And yet year after year, they stand there in their little group, rewording the national anthem, desecrating Canadian symbols, and generally just trying their damndest to be the biggest assholes ever, during the ONE day of the year most humble and reserved Canucks allow themselves to express their national pride.  If it were just about them ruffling feathers a bit, or in reality, making people laugh at the futility of their actions, then I wouldn't care.  But the added dimension I discovered via a radio interview this morning, and what really gets me, is how they offend the veterans who fought long and hard for their obnoxious asses to even be standing there.  Because don't be mistaken; these Jeunes Patriotes haven't fought for anything but their own supposed rights, which have not been tread on in any way.  The very fact that they can afford to stand there, ranting like the ungrateful troglodytes they are, is because of the soldiers (from all provinces, by the way) who fought for the rights and freedoms of everyone in Canada, English, French or otherwise.  They didn't pause, mid-battle, and ponder if that bomb-shrapnel they were dodging was worth the French Canadians they were protecting.  

    I heard a woman on the radio, who was a nurse during the second world war, and she was in tears just talking about how hurt she was upon realizing what the Jeunes Patriotes were doing, just in the name of lauding their so-called cause.  It really angered me, because while I respect their right to peacefully demonstrate, I'm absolutely certain that they have NO concept of how shiny that silver platter is that their freedom is resting on, nor of how much they are taking for granted this right they have to speak out against a country which has historically done nothing but allow them to do what they want.  Because that's the Canadian way. 

    And you know what?  It's not even about us v.s. them, anyway. 

    I'm not on the "opposing team" here, in their dated, dichotomized view of what Quebec is all about, just because I speak more English.   That's not the point, not anymore.  Quebec is not just about English versus French nowadays, as most sentient people will understand.  Quebec is much more than two cultures bitch-slapping each other back and forth. 

    It's become a place enriched by our French heritage AND livened by the wonderful collage of cultures we have.  Most of us are trying to leave the past in the past and make conciliations.  Most of us are trying to move forward, together. We have so many opportunities to experience people and the world in our city, here... And yet, this group clings to the completely obsolete notion that in order to prosper, one language and culture should dominate another, thinking that this will promote national unity.  That sort of thinking is positively prehistoric.  They should probably just whack people on the heads with clubs who wear their hair differently, and it would make more sense. 

    Because hey, let's be honest here:  their exclusive mentality would have all immigrants expelled, all other languages but French banned, and all other cultural expressions exponged.  They are no better than the nazis, in my opinion, and I am certainly not the only person who has made this connection. Cultural whitewashing?  Helloooooo Gestapo. And you know what the worst part is?  It's all based on fear, and a lack of understanding.  They fear the masses who don't always speak French.  They fear that "cultural identity" is getting harder and harder to define, because they are convinced that culture should be a one-faceted stone, and increasingly, it isn't.  People mix. People mingle, and they grow.  These people fear that their cultural heritage will be lost.  And hey, that's a legitimate fear.  I'm not saying it isn't... but culture changes.  People change.  Things morph, and the story continues, richer than it was before, if you do it right. Most people understand and embrace that.

    No English person, or otherwise, is out to destroy French or any other culture, here. We are a diverse city and nation.  For example, my co-worker, who is from Cameroun in Africa, told me that he doesn't understand this everlasting battle here.  In his country, there are no less than 172 different languages in most cities, and that they STILL make it work with French, English and German being used to bridge the gaps.  He thinks that the whole notion that these Two Great Solitudes, (as this "battle" was once referred to) is still being perpetuated in this day and age, is absolutely ridiculous.

    I can't help but agree.

    And hell, I'm not just saying all this as an "English person", if we're to play the game their way.  I'm not just the big, bad, Anglo out to get them.  I love French culture.  The people, the history, the food, the celebrations.  Hell, I love St-Jean, which is Quebec's "national" holiday, too.  I wouldn't consider myself complete without my French side, which I have spent decades in school perfecting, in a French environment I might add.  If "being a Quebecer" as an identity is solely about language, then I am arguably more French than 50% of the French-speaking population out there, who can't spell nor conjugate correctly in their own language, even on billboards which rape my retinas on a daily basis with their terrible syntax and spelling.  With that logic, I'm preserving their language even better than most of "them" do, but hey, I speak English so what do I know, right?  

    That said, I feel a particular sense of pride knowing that I can speak and write in two languages which are both brimming with history and a uniquely Canadian angle.  Because our French and our English are not European, or American, or anything else... both of these elements are uniquely Canadian.  But like the languages, I am not just one thing or another.  I am an amalgam of my personal experience, history and memes. I am many.  I am English, I am French, I am a Quebecer, I am Canadian, I've been to Japan, I like Chinese food, European desserts, English countrysides, African art.  I am all kinds of things... and no one part, big or small, is complete without the other.

    And that's what should be celebrated on Canada Day.

    The sum of all our parts, English, French, Spanish, Asian, whatever.... is what makes a Canadian, and I daresay, human, nowadays.   We get together, and damnit, we get along, for at least one day of the year if not most of the rest.

    It's about diversity.  Not exclusivity.

    In fact, I think that's what I'm going to do next year.  Get a bunch of people to wear t-shirts that say that, and we'll encircle the Jeune Patriotes with our message, and block them from the view of people who understand that culture isn't about shutting everyone else out, but about sharing with others what your own journeys have been, and to contribute those stories to the pot, as it were.

    We'll see how they feel about being shut out from others, based on something as uncontrollable as their cultural background.

     

nimbusthedragon

  • Visit nimbusthedragon's Xanga Site
    • Name: Liz
    • Country: Canada
    • Metro: Montreal
    • Birthday: 11/29/1983
    • Gender: Female
    • Member Since: 9/10/2005
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  • "He who laughs last, thinks slowest."

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