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Blogging against and about racism
Friday, July 31st, 2009 11:37 amThis is International Blogging Against Racism week: and this is me, posting about my racism.
Three stories about race.
1. The first time I interacted with a person who wasn't white was at primary school. This was the early 1970s and I was six or seven years old. A's family had recently moved to the village: as far as I can remember they were the first non-white residents. I believed A had been brought directly from the jungle to the village -- like Tarzan or Mowgli -- and was forever pestering him to teach me about tracking animals and general woodscraft.
2. Several years after my mother died, my maternal aunt M came to visit me, and recounted some family history of which I hadn't been aware. I knew something of my father's family history -- my paternal aunts were keen genealogists -- but nothing of my mother's. Auntie M told me that her mother (my grandmother) was born in South Africa to missionaries, the husband English and the wife Japanese.
3. I was working in the City, and a colleague from a former job came for interview. A, the boss's American PA, asked me about his family history: "he's clearly mixed-race," she said, "but he's got that thick Northern accent! Aren't you curious about his background? "No," I said. "Why should I be? He's British."
Two comments on ancestry
When I mention my Japanese ancestry to friends, the response is often along the lines of "Oh yes, it's obvious from your face." But nobody had remarked on it before. (I have been taken for Turkish, Greek, Spanish: there is some history to support the latter.)
Discovering my Japanese roots made me keener than ever to have one of those genetic analyses that tells you where your ancestors came from. This isn't because I want to claim kinship anywhere: quite the opposite, the more mongrel the better.
What it comes down to
I welcome comment and criticism, but I don't welcome attacks or accusations.
Three stories about race.
1. The first time I interacted with a person who wasn't white was at primary school. This was the early 1970s and I was six or seven years old. A's family had recently moved to the village: as far as I can remember they were the first non-white residents. I believed A had been brought directly from the jungle to the village -- like Tarzan or Mowgli -- and was forever pestering him to teach me about tracking animals and general woodscraft.
2. Several years after my mother died, my maternal aunt M came to visit me, and recounted some family history of which I hadn't been aware. I knew something of my father's family history -- my paternal aunts were keen genealogists -- but nothing of my mother's. Auntie M told me that her mother (my grandmother) was born in South Africa to missionaries, the husband English and the wife Japanese.
3. I was working in the City, and a colleague from a former job came for interview. A, the boss's American PA, asked me about his family history: "he's clearly mixed-race," she said, "but he's got that thick Northern accent! Aren't you curious about his background? "No," I said. "Why should I be? He's British."
Two comments on ancestry
When I mention my Japanese ancestry to friends, the response is often along the lines of "Oh yes, it's obvious from your face." But nobody had remarked on it before. (I have been taken for Turkish, Greek, Spanish: there is some history to support the latter.)
Discovering my Japanese roots made me keener than ever to have one of those genetic analyses that tells you where your ancestors came from. This isn't because I want to claim kinship anywhere: quite the opposite, the more mongrel the better.
What it comes down to
- I am racist (and sexist, and elitist, and classist, and misanthropic, and biased in ways I can't find words for).
- I try not to be.
I welcome comment and criticism, but I don't welcome attacks or accusations.
