A Race We Can All Win- Part 2 of 5

 My days at the Grammar school were generally bleak and uninspiring, though there were some silver linings that made them more bearable. It was a private all-boys school except for the Sixth Form, and was affiliated to the Armed Forces known as the Combined Cadet Force, or CCF. I was in the Royal Air Force section at the school and found some succour amongst my fellow RAF cadets, who were more intellectual and less physically inclined, and thus were more likely to be the recipients of name-calling and bullying rather than the perpetrators. Most of the pupils I had received racist insults from had joined the Army section, so I had some respite from them. I must admit that though I am now more of a pacifist, as I believe most conflict can be avoided, my time as an RAF cadet forms some of the best memories of my school days. I made some genuine friends, and got to fly in ‘Chipmunk’ trainer aircraft, once even enjoying aerobatics with an Air Commodore who had fought in the Battle of Britain. Coincidentally, my great uncle, Sabir Ali, was a Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Indian Air Force, an auxiliary of the RAF. He was court-martialled for striking a British Officer who had insulted him. He was later vindicated but was unfortunately killed in action during the Second World War.

So many servicemen and women who fought for Britain were conscripted from the Colonies. Over 600,000 African and over 2,500,000 Indian soldiers fought under British command against the Axis powers. This is barely mentioned during commemorations of remembrance and seldom heard about in popular culture or seen in any films about the last world war.

                                Flight Lieutenant Sabir Ali of the Royal Indian Air Force

I remember being told off one day by an older gentleman at our local sports club for being too loud, when another South-Asian friend and I had just left the squash court and were talking as we walked across the cricket ground on the way to the exit. There was no-one else there to disturb, but he found it necessary to tell us that he had fought in the war for “our sort”. Whenever I hear about how many allied servicemen died in the war, and how their sacrifice should never be forgotten, I always think of my great uncle Sabir!

We had our sports at a field called Hartswood, which was a couple of miles from the school itself, so we needed transportation from there to get back home. I remember waiting in line for the bus and being told by another pupil not to wait too close to a boy called Lendon, because his mother didn’t like ‘Pakis’. It should come as no surprise that I ended up resenting that school and rightly or wrongly conflated racism with Conservative politics, which was part of the family background of the vast majority of the private grammar school’s pupils.

Even though Britain had initially needed immigration to aid its post-war reconstruction, there was a growing sense of fear and hatred particularly in the already socio-economically deprived areas where immigrants had been housed. It was no accident and actually enshrined in policy, that immigrants would end up living in some of these areas. Many had no choice, as they could not get a house elsewhere. This is the relatively unknown history of the rise of Asian ghettos. Mahesh Upadhyaya, an Aden-born engineer, was the first person to challenge discrimination under the racial equality act of 1968, against a builder refusing to sell him a house in an area where Asian's did not live, but the case was dismissed on a technicality.

First Case under Race Equality Act. Credit: Eachother.org.uk

There was a wave of attacks known as ‘Paki-bashing’, which targeted and assaulted Pakistanis and other South Asians, that lasted from the late 1960s till the 1980s. The national and local media fanned the flames of anti-immigrant rhetoric, and there were systemic failures by the police and the courts that indulged far-right fascist, racist movements such as the National Front, White Power Skinheads and the British National Party. This was a very difficult time for race relations and many people I knew had the mental and physical scars that reflected this. A friend I met in college told me how he used to play the keyboard in a band, until his fingers were broken by skinheads waiting for him outside a gig, leaving him with permanently disfigured fingers and an irrational distrust of anyone white. I remember introducing him to some white friends of mine, and his first reaction was very negative. He was very hostile to them as his past trauma prevented him from seeing them as anything other than potentially racist skinheads with longer hair. However, he warmed up after getting to know them and saw that not all white people were racist. He even ended up sharing a house with one of them. Many British-born friends from South-Asian backgrounds who lived in inner-city areas told stories of violence meted out to them and their families, including hateful graffiti and vandalism of their property, broken windows, and shit pushed through their letterbox. Their reaction in some cases was to generalize that British culture was racist, and thus they avoided contact with white people as much as they could. They would have business dealings with them, but no social interaction outside of work. In many of the big cities of the UK it is entirely possible to live this way, and many areas remain culturally divided to this day.

Paki-Bashing headline.  Credit: Crombie Media 

To grow up in 1980s Britain under Thatcher’s government was to experience a time of great social turmoil. Not only was it difficult for people of colour to get housing or even employment, but now they were also being harassed by the police.

Employment Discrimination Credit: Eachother.org.uk

The Conservative Party had instituted new police powers under the Vagrancy Act of 1824. It meant that people could be stopped and searched based only on “reasonable suspicion” that they had committed an offence - the so-called ‘sus law’ (suspected person). These were of course applied disproportionately to Black and Asian communities, but particularly in Black areas, which exacerbated racial tension as young black men were highly likely to be targeted. After they were arrested, many suffered violent beatings and even death under ‘mysterious circumstances’ while in police custody. Race riots were common in many of the major cities as a result.

Brixton Riots 1981. Credit: Thisdaythen.blogspot.com

 

Bradford Riot 2001. Credit: Yorkshirepost.com

Of course, there are also plenty of other examples of South Asians who did not suffer the same extremes of violence. I had many friends who had a completely different experience. They often grew up in middle-class or affluent areas where there were fewer ethnic minorities; hence they were perceived as less of a threat, and were welcomed into those communities. Some have no idea of the scale of this problem, as they were never exposed to it, in the same way a white person would not necessarily understand the issue without experiencing it themselves. The situation was and still is very complex. There is also an element of internalized racism, whereby the ethnic minorities themselves absorbed the racist messages and tropes they were bombarded with and adopted a mindset of self-hatred, or hatred of their own racial groups. Some would not have either the opportunity or inclination to associate with other minorities who were on a different socioeconomic level than themselves and thus there remains a divide in the understanding of these issues.

Internalized racism can be insidious, as you do not have a sense of your own implicit bias. Unconscious processes can chart a course without you even feeling you made specific decisions about yourself or towards others. We are all subject to a degree of internalized racism, which also produces a corresponding sense of entitlement when you believe you are superior to others. I acknowledge that I was also influenced by this, and remember avoiding people because they were considered ‘FOBs’ (fresh-off-the-boat) or stereotypes of the culture they came from. There was a time when I identified more with my white British friends, because it was easier to fit in this way. This gradually changed through my college years, as I was exposed to more people from diverse backgrounds and became much more aware of my own biases. I made a concerted effort to ‘unlearn’ my own programming, aiming to have a much more inclusive and balanced view of race and ethnicity.

I once had an Atari ST computer, and would swap games with friends, making disk copies of classics like Dungeon Master and Xenon. One computer game released in the late 1980s was a hacked version of another game called Sidewinder. A friend gave me a copy, thinking it was hilarious, since he did not think of himself as racist. I didn’t play it.

                                                         Pakibash by Klu Klux Software

My experience at University was much improved, compared to my school days, and I started to take heart in the idea that progress, though slow, was on the way. In London, with its cosmopolitan population and constant state of flux, there were always pockets of narrow-mindedness and racism, but generally, it seemed to be changing for the better. People boycotted and protested against South African apartheid. Eddy Grant released ‘Gimme Hope Jo Anna’, and the injustice of a system built on ‘apartness’ became the catalyst for international solidarity. Even Spitting Image highlighted the injustice of South Africa’s apartheid system with its own comedy song, ‘I’ve Never Met a Nice South African’, shaming it for its racism. Only a few countries supported the apartheid regime, and by 1994 apartheid had ended and Nelson Mandela was president. It only took another 14 years before he was taken off Ronald Reagan’s terror list. People seemed to be more aware of other cultures; there was an international and multicultural flavour to London and I enjoyed connecting with people from all over the world. I would often attend Speakers Corner in Hyde Park, frequent cultural events, comedy clubs, art galleries, museums and theatres. I was involved in starting the first multicultural society at our university, and my view of the world grew exponentially as a result.

Eventually I moved up to Liverpool to study, and while living there, I started hitchhiking (the subject of another blog - A Hitch in the Plan). I could not afford to travel regularly down to London, so this became my new mode of transport as a student. I would often ask the people who stopped to give me a lift what had motivated them to do so. On more than one occasion I was told that my ethnicity was the reason, as they had not seen someone of South Asian background hitchhiking before! I took this very positively, particularly since I never waited long for a ride. I realized that there were many kind people around: people without prejudice, prepared to take the risk of having a stranger in their car and assisting them.

The only time I felt any discrimination in Merseyside was from the police. I had made friends with a group of dental students who lived in a big house a mile or so down the road from my own. They were five Sikh guys and one white English guy, living together. I had never seen that before, as I was so used to being the only visibly different guy in the group, and here the situation was reversed. It was refreshing to see.  Matt, from Wakefield, was very much into Indian culture, particularly the food and music. One night, I picked them up to go to an Indian cultural event near Manchester. As I was driving, Matt, who was sitting in the back of the car, kept looking out the window, and noticed that we had been followed by a police car for a few miles. I asked him not to look at them, as they might find some reason to stop me. He couldn’t help himself and looked around anyway, and the next thing you know there were flashing blue lights and a siren. I pulled over. What unfolded next was the most bizarre interaction I have ever had with police.

They asked me to step out of the vehicle and questioned me about where I was going. I told them about the event, and they wrote some notes. They asked Matt to step out of the car, and questioned him separately about where he was going. I could hear them from where I stood and thought this was very weird. They asked him if he was sure that he was not being coerced, and he replied he was sure, with a big smile on his face. They let us go. Matt then told us the police thought we might have kidnapped him!

My whole experience of living in Liverpool was generally very good. Despite the race riots of the 1980s, things had calmed down. It made sense to me that a port city with the oldest black British and Asian communities in the country would be at the leading edge of social change that undoubtedly contributed to it becoming a European Capital of Culture in 2008.

Liverpool - Capital of Culture. 2008 Credit: Moomusician-Shutterstock

I moved back to London in the mid-nineties, and started looking for work while continuing my education. This was when I realized that the rose-tinted glasses I’d been wearing were slowly being bent out of shape. On the surface, it seemed that society had embraced the idea of many cultures living together, and I believed most people treated each other with respect. However, the problem was that there had not been a deeper systemic change, and so the fundamental  issues that made a difference to people’s lives, like jobs and housing, were still creating divisions of race and class. I was about to experience these divisions first hand.

I managed to get a job in an estate agents business to pay my way through college. Part of my job was to contact landlords who wanted to rent out and sell their properties, get all the relevant  information, and then arrange viewings for tenants. The estate agency was in North London, not far from where I lived. At first, I really enjoyed working there, until my eyes were opened to the racial discrimination that made it so difficult for non-white (and particularly black) people to find a place to live. I was shocked the first time I experienced this, as I had sincerely believed that things were a lot better than they were back in the 80s, when I was at school.

I had just closed the deal with a landlord on the telephone, and was arranging a viewing for tenants, when he said to me, “By the way, I don’t want any Pakis or Indians living in my house.” I retorted that he was talking to one. He immediately hung up. Because of my ‘Queen’s English’ accent, he must have assumed I was white. I talked to Jacob, who owned the business. He told me this was not uncommon. He agreed that it was not fair or ethical, but said that this is how the world was, and we had to deal with landlords like that. One day, when I was going through the old files of properties, I found more than ten of these ‘special requests’ by landlords. I talked to a colleague about reporting this to the authorities - surely this was illegal? She told me that the business was not responsible and that although it was bad, we just had to ignore it.

That night I was mulling over making copies of the files, as I felt it unconscionable not to do something about it. I even called the Commission for Racial Equality (disbanded in 2007). They agreed it was a big problem, but as it was hidden and covert, and involved private individuals, it would be complicated to tackle. But they would try. The next day, I went to make copies of the files. They were gone.

The last straw for me was when I had arranged viewings for a Zambian doctor, and we went to see the place I had rung only ten minutes earlier. When we arrived, the curtains twitched, but no-one answered the door. We rang the bell a number of times, and waited for about five minutes, before going back to the car. As we got to the car we saw a white couple ring the bell. The door opened straight away. We went back and rang the bell again. Finally the owner answered the door, asking, “Who are you two characters?” I told him that I had only just spoken to him on the phone and had arranged to be there. Again, my ‘white’ voice had confused him. “Oh, I thought you were somebody else,” he said.  But he had never met me! He asked us to wait, since he was showing the other couple the house now. After a while they left, and he let us in, but he grilled the doctor for almost half an hour before letting him see the house, informing us that the previous couple were going to take it anyway. I was very angry. I turned to the doctor and told him I was really sorry that he had to be subjected to all this. He smiled and told me not to worry about it; he said he was used to this treatment. I resigned the next day.

A couple of years later, I was working as a medical representative in London. We were having a team meeting in a conference room in a manor house in Surrey; a senior manager was discussing various strategies on how to approach medical personnel to influence them. Since a large proportion of doctors in London where of South Asian origin, he directed his strategy on how to talk to them, and made a number of racist remarks about the Indian and Pakistani doctors we worked with. I was the only Asian on our team. I was trying to build a career, and wanted to stay under the radar, so I held my tongue, even though I really wanted to tell him that what he was saying was offensive. I was very proud of the moment that my friend and colleague Zelko saw me shifting uncomfortably in my chair: he stood, and bravely called out the manager for the blatant stereotyping and racism. Other colleagues of mine also clapped to show support for what Zelko was saying. The manager was shamed by him and a few other colleagues that day. I really felt supported by my team, secure in the knowledge that they were many good people out there, many dear friends of mine included, who stood up for their principles and the rights of others.

I observed that inclusion and exclusion within groups of friends and colleagues was complex, and linked to the interplay of identities of race, religion, socio-economic class, and of course personal qualities. I was fortunate to have some friends who regarded themselves as working class, and in many ways I felt that they were just as disadvantaged and marginalized as those who had to deal with racial discrimination. Sometimes these groups would be working together, as I saw while at college, or working against each other, as I witnessed on visits to some areas of England, including London, Luton, Birmingham and Bradford. I remember being shown around by an Asian friend, Aneel, who lived in Luton, who explained to me that the town was divided, and that “white people just don’t come here generally”. He told me there were corresponding areas in the same town where you wouldn’t see any minorities. After Asians had been subjected to violence from white racist gangs in the 70s, he explained, they had formed their own gangs, initially to protect their communities, as they could not rely on the police to do so. By the 1980s, some of them had turned from protectors of their neighbourhood to drug dealers and criminals, as a result of the time they spent in prison for their violence.

I was deeply affected by these experiences, and the stories of others who had suffered much more than I had. I found myself vacillating between challenging these things and wanting to avoid all this nonsense; to emigrate somewhere my ethnicity would be less of an issue, not just for me but also for my family.  I had previously felt I could accomplish anything I wanted in the UK, as long as I turned a blind eye to prejudice and racism and adopted a more ‘English’ rather than Indian persona. But once you have seen it, it cannot be unseen!

I generally identify as British-Indian. I remember discussing this with a friend one day, who said, “Well you were born here, so you must be British.” I told him it wasn’t that simple. Culturally I identified with India; I had spent years there as a child and ate mostly Indian food, and even spoke the language - albeit like a second-rate Bollywood villain! Of course, I also acknowledged my British birth and cultural influences, and the fact I had spent the majority of my life in the UK. I told him that not everyone would see me as English either.

I have been labelled so many different things – ‘Paki’, British, ‘Coconut’ (brown on the outside, white on the inside), South-Asian, Indian, Indo-American, East-Indian (in Canada) - that I have become desensitized to the whole identity nomenclature. Hence I revert to the simple ‘British-Indian’, as it makes the most sense in a world where being human just isn’t enough.

I felt my white British friends had a greater chance of speaking out against these kinds of injustices, and being the instruments of change, than I did. If they spoke up, they would not be judged for having a chip on their shoulder or ‘playing the race card’ (a popular way to silence dissenters), and in this way, they could affect change.

Ironically, the origins of the ‘race card’ can be traced back to 19^th century right-wing politicians propagating fears about black people to influence the electorate and gain votes. The idea was illustrated in the London-based Punch magazine, whose editors did not support Lincoln’s 1863 Emancipation Proclamation and published the cartoon ‘Abe Lincoln’s Last Card’. Even though Lincoln was lauded for ending slavery, he still considered blacks to be inferior to whites.

‘Abe Lincoln’s Last Card’ in Punch, 1861, by John Tenniel, illustrator of Alice in Wonderland