“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character” (Luther King, 1963).
Figure 1 193 Bus (2012)
I am British. I am Arab. I am a woman. I wear the hijab. I am Muslim. The combination of all of these subjects me every day to racial attacks from certain individuals in society. Generally I feel safe walking down the street but there was a time that changed that feeling altogether. I was coming home from college early one day on the bus, the 193. A journey I make almost every day. This journey however decided to be different. A couple of teenage boys got on a couple of stops into my journey, and sat at the back, where I happened to sit that day. Two sitting right beside me (on an almost empty bus) and the other two in seats in front. I had no reason to feel uneasy at them boarding the bus, but as soon as they approached to sit beside me I sensed trouble. I was a different person 4 years ago, a quiet hardworking shy girl, the hardworking girl is still me, but I’m more confident now. This quiet girl isn’t someone you would expect to attract trouble. They started off calling me names, and it escalated from there. “Have you got a bomb under there?” (Pointing at my scarf) “Is your dad from bomb-istan?” “How comes you’re killing our soldiers?” I sat there staring out the window, ignoring all their comments; I wasn’t much of a confrontation person. I’ve had people calling me terrorist before and other insults shouted from afar, but I had never been in a situation like this before. I was holding back tears, trying to act like it didn’t hurt, like I didn’t care. Truth was, it hurt me more knowing the other passengers on the bus were sitting there listening to these boys but chose to ignore it and offer me only looks of sympathy. Maybe they themselves were too scared to get involved? It was then I realised I was alone on this journey. My personal space was invaded as they got closer in proximity. One of them decided to pull my scarf and another started flicking me. I had a newspaper scrunched up and chucked in my face. When they finally reached their stop, I was spat at. Soon as they turned their backs that’s when I decided it was okay to cry. I received no help and no comfort from anyone else travelling on the 193. The driver stopped the bus after the boys got off and called the police. I thought I’d receive words of comfort at least from someone in his position but all I got was “why didn’t you come down and sit at the front?” How could I have moved if they were blocking me in?
I haven’t changed much since then, except days later I passed my driving test, passed college, got into uni and now I’m studying a degree I love. I haven’t seen those boys since. Sometimes the best thing in a situation like that is silence. I could have spoken words of insult back, but then how would I be any different to them? “Silence is the language of god, all else is poor translation.” Rumi. I don’t need to make an excuse or defend myself from the actions of few in society who ‘claim’ to be of this ethnicity and that religion. I am proud of who I am, and I won’t change regardless of what others ignorantly think.
No comments:
Post a Comment