Being a white, blond haired, blue eyed female living in the United States, I've never felt as if I've truly been discriminated against due to my race or ethnicity. I've had a pretty privileged go of it, and short of the occasional sexist remarks I've received over the years, society has been pretty kind to me. I have been lucky to get accepted to a decent university, had no problems getting job offers upon graduation, and my local Starbucks on the corner of 15th and I (DC) always anticipated my order (or is that a pathetic frequency thing rather than white privilege?) I've gotten out of driving tickets 2/3 of the times I've been pulled over and know that I've received extra perks for being a 'cute girl' which depending on how you look at it, could be a bit demeaning. Still, the point is I go through the motions of the day to day without much push back or resistance from those around me, which makes it easy for me to forget the experiences others go through on the regular just for their background or color of their skin.
That being said, here in Spain, I don't feel as comfortable as I do in the US. It´s hard to explain the heightened level of vulnerability I often feel, and it´s incredible how much power one person can hold over me and how much they can make me anxious if they so choose. Most interactions are very pleasant, as Spanish people are known for their kindness and hospitality over all. However, there are a few specific occasions where I have felt specifically attacked, or criticized solely because I was an 'extranjero', or foreigner and judged because they thought they could take advantage of the assumed 'dumb blonde girl.'
To highlight this, let me give you a few examples:
The Shame of the Breakfast Casserole aka "Kill the Beast"
Two weeks ago I was walking home from school and decided I wanted to make a breakfast casserole, one of my favorite comfort foods. In order to make this, I knew I would need to stop by a Chino* in order to get a pan in which to bake it. I bought the pan and a loaf of bread for €2 Euros total. Yes, for those of you that understand Spanish, I bough pan and pan.... I´m such a literary delight.
Then, remembering I still had other grocery shopping to do, I decided to go right from there to the supermarket to grab some additional ingredients I needed like eggs, cheese, and the rest of my groceries. Before you knew it, I was checking out, purchasing about €26 worth of items. Let me highlight the fact that one of the items I purchased was about a €8 bottle of wine. Now, for those of you currently in the land of milk and honey, you will think: oh eight euros, that´s only about $10 or so, not bad. A normal or low-mid range bottle of wine. What you are forgetting is that in Spain, wine is basically cheaper than water. That €8 bottle of wine had a sensor on it, and was the equivalent of our top shelf wine. It was one of the pricier bottles they sold, and in these economic times, me purchasing this wine pretty much solidified my baller status. Please keep this fact in mind as I continue the rest of the story.
So there I was, checking out, and beginning to bag my own groceries, Aldi´s style. It was then thelady individual ringing up my items at the check out saw my bag from the Chino. For the sake of ease of your reading, I will now translate the dialogue exchanged to English.
Puta: ¨You can´t bring that bag in here. Show me what is in your bag.¨
Me: ¨Oh, I´m sorry, I didn't know.¨ Showed contents of bag, the baking pan being an item that couldn't even be bought at this grocery store.
Puta: ¨But you can´t bring that in here. Who saw you come in with it?¨
Me: ¨I´m sorry, I didn't know. I won´t do it again. He saw me.¨ Pointing to a guy lingering in the doorway.
Puta: ¨But he doesn't work here.¨
Generous other foreigner whom I pointed at: ¨Yes, ma'am but she doesn't speak Spanish well.¨
At this point, I´m was truly flustered. If she had a stake she would have surely hanged me for the town´s people to see as an example. Tar and feather me? As long as it didn't make a mess that she would have had to clean up.
A line of about eight people were watching this saga unfold. I was sweating, and my language skills were decreasing by the second, as my frustration caused tears to well within my eyes. Her voice was loud and pointed, and her body language was closed off and cold. If ever someone had a vendetta against another individual, it was she against me, and man, was she out for blood.
She flagged over another coworker to yell at me.
Me: ¨No I understand, and I won´t do it again. But it´s not my fault, no one told me I couldn't bring this bag in, so what do you want me to do about it now?!?¨
All I kept thinking was of my €8 bottle of wine and the rest of my €26 purchase. If I was going to steal something and put it in the bag from the Chino, wouldn't I have tried to steal something of higher value than a €1 loaf of bread?!
I almost start crying right there. The whole exchange was probably no more than three or four minutes, but it felt like twenty. The way she tried to shame and publicly humiliate me was unnecessary, as she could tell that I wasn't used to the customs that the locals shared. How was I instinctively supposed to know these cultural norms if I was never taught them?
¨She´s having a bad day¨ I said to the lady next to me checking out.
´Today? No, not today, always.¨ That made me feel slightly better, but I still felt like I was being rushed and kicked out of the grocery store that day for a wrong I didn't even know I had committed. That woman was trying to make me small and insignificant, and whether true or not, I believed it was because she viewed me as an ignorant foreigner and wanted me to feel unwelcome. My blue eyes, blonde hair, and broken language skills made me an easy target.
The next time I went to the store, my bag knocked over and broke a jar of mayonnaise while I was passing through the isles. I told someone about the shattered glass, but felt little remorse.
Epilogue: Sadly, me standing up for myself and fighting the good fight against thebig bad wolf grocery store clerk didn't reap the tasty benefits for which one would have hoped. Regretfully, after laboring over my savory dish during the day Friday, I found it a good idea to pop it in the oven around 6 am Saturday morning after a night of partying. I promptly forgot about it, and let the casserole bake for 5 hours straight. The final product was slightly more done than the photo pictured in the recipe. ("And she's a Michelin chef?!" you say?! I told you I'd get more charming/attractive as the entries went on...)
¨Kitchen's Closed¨
Two weekends ago, my friend Luisa had some of her friends from her town in Galicia visiting (the North West part of Spain.) We decided to get together mid day for some drinks and tapas and I tagged along, wanting to get to know her friends. It was a group of seven of us, three Spanish three pure American, and our common thread Luisa whom is Spanish and American. We were enjoying our drinks and ordered a spread of tapas to enjoy for lunch. Most of the food at Lamiak is great, and in the past, Megan, Laura, and Luisa had great experiences there. I was looking forward to trying some of the pintxos they raved about.
We all placed our order, and waited for our food to arrive. After a bit of time, the majority of food was presented and we were busy eating, laughing, and exchanging stories. There was only one server in the establishment that day, so when Luisa and I were each lacking something we ordered, we decided to be patient and give it a little more time.
Finally about a half hour into eating our food, Luisa summoned the waitress to let her know that we were still missing two items. The waitress was snippy and harsh, and replied that the kitchen was closed for the day and that we would not be getting those items. She hurriedly walked away. I was very confused, and rather annoyed. If in fact that even was true, at what point was she going to tell us that we weren't getting our food? Did it ever cross her mind to apologize for the shortcomings and offer us something else, on the house? Her callous attitude was something I despised, and coming from a sales and customer service background, was something I found abhorrent and quite frankly couldn't tolerate. I started getting angry and told Luisa this was unacceptable.
We summoned her over again about ten minutes later, and asked her what was going on. To be honest, because I was so annoyed I don´t remember much of the dialogue that she and Luisa exchanged, but somehow it culminated in her walking away without even acknowledging Luisa at all. During the entire exchange, Luisa was polite, collected, and respectful. The fact that the waitress did not do anything to correct the injustice disgusted me. Then, being factual or not, I took some of my observances into consideration. Luisa and I are both blonde, blue eyed, and look very American. Of all of us in the group, we stood out as maybe looking more foreign than the others. Whether true or not, it was easy to dismiss this as another example of foreigner discrimination. This didn´t happen to Luisa´s Spanish friends, after-all, but to the two American blondes.
I know, I know, the plight of a privileged, white American girl. I realize you barely have time to listen to my complaints, and quite frankly, I barely have time to listen to myself complain about these things. However, these situations stick out, because outside my element, it is possible for me as a blonde, white American girl to feel uncomfortable, or dare I say it, discriminated against based on what I look like or the ideals others believe I represent.
One of Luisa´s friends spoke up and said ¨oh that´s just how things are in Spain, that´s just our customer service.¨ I disagreed, as I don´t think that treating people in a rude manner or ignoring their requests is an inherent quality of a Spaniard vs. American, German, Brit, etc. I think treating people with a lack of respect is an inherent quality of an asshole, and nothing more. Using a cultural or ethnic group stereotype to hide behind a shortcoming is cowardly, and something that I think every culture should fight hard against to break. Every society, race, or ethnic group (black, white, American, Spanish, Asian etc.) has their lazy, rude, and racist, but we as mutual members should not rush to defend the bad qualities of isolated individuals and say that we condone them.
In light of these two presented scenarios, maybe you can understand that sometimes I have my guard up in public situations while abroad. One such event occurred when Diego and I were still hanging out. (For those of you not aware of who said Diego character is, take a reprieve and educate yourself here.) Diego and I were walking around near the center of the city one night, looking to sit out on a terrace and tomar algo like normal and chat it up for a few hours. As any native Spaniard or foreigner can tell you, it doesn't matter who you are: if you are living, breathing, and human, you will constantly be accosted by club promoters and waiters to patron their establishment if you are in the Sol/Gran Via area of the city. Therefore, on this specific occasion, at least four or so promoters had already approached us to see what we were up to and tells us of the deals they had going on that specific night. It was always funny to see who they would talk to. If they came up to me they would always speak in English, and if they looked at Diego first, the whole conversation would happen in Spanish. Nine times out of ten you say "no, gracias," and continue walking, but every now and then you might actually be interested in what one of them has to offer.
Ok, so here we were back to that particular night. One such waiter/promoter approached Diego, and started to engage in the litany of specials they had taking place at that venue. Diego pulled me back to stop me from brushing the guy off like we usually did, and grabbed my hand as if to say hold on, I'm listening to this guy. I stopped and re-directed, and started listening to the spiel. The waiter mentioned the shot prices, some of the food they had, and gestured to the terrace where we could sit. It's then where he dropped the bomb; "Hay guiris, aqui."
Hay guiris, aqui?!?! Who the HELL does that guy think he is?!
Let me take a second to explain the word guiri to those of you whom are unfamiliar. Guiri is a word that my friends and I here use regularly amongst ourselves. It means a foreigner within Spain, and usually applied to the white, clueless, and unaware. It's become a term of endearment amongst my group and we use it with love for each other. Guiri, it's Sunday, good luck finding an opened grocery store. Guiri, you just told her you were pregnant, not that you are embarrassed. Silly guiri! However, just like any slang used to describe a particular ethnic group, it can be used from people who don't belong to that group in a derogatory manner. In this particular situation, I was offended and outraged that the waiter would use the fact that other white Brits or Americans were patroning his establishment as if to say, Look here! She will feel comfortable, we let foreigners eat here, too-- just look at that other blonde girl over there!
I was angry and felt that this was out of line. Here I was clearly with a Spaniard, trying my best to assimilate, and this chump had the audacity to think that I needed to be in a guiri-friendly zone?!
I tugged on Diego´s sleeve aggressively. ¨Did he just say Hay guiris aqui?!?!¨
Diego laughed at me and patted my head quickly as if the say, shhhh silly little girl, you have no idea what is going on. Soon the waiter escorted us over to the terrace and sat us down. Still in a huff, I look at Diego another time and pointedly asked, ¨En serio, ha dicho hay guiris aqui?!¨ (¨Wait, really did he just say ´there are guiris here´?¨)
Diego chuckled again and grabbed the menu and pointed at the drinks. ¨No, guapa, hay DA-quiris aqui.¨
My anger and frustration quickly dissipated as my embarrassment level rose rapidly. I felt my cheeks grow flush. Here I was getting so defensive at this poor waiter thinking he was trying to single me out based on ethnicity, when really he was just trying to show me their drink specials and tell us they sold Sex on the Beach and Tequila Sunrise... WHAT a classic guiri mix-up. I was on the defense and assuming things, and we all know what happens when you assume...
As you can see, my slightly discomforting/angering experiences here in Spain have been nothing compared to the everyday experiences that people of color go through on a regular basis. While living as a white person in the same city and experiencing life with people of color that I am close with (friends, coworkers, ex-boyfriends, etc.) it´s easy not to see some of the injustices that they experience for just looking a certain way, even when I´m next to them while something happens. Now, I know you are smart readers, and I can see you already know where I´m taking this. But before you get mad thinking, so your food didn´t come at a restaurant, or you got yelled at in a grocery store--big deal. Even if that actually was because of your ethnicity, it in no way compares to getting called the N word or not being able to go to prom with the person I wanted to take because her dad didn´t approve (true story.) To these statements I would 100% agree. I´m sure the level of ´discrimination´ I have experienced as a foreigner in my three months in Spain is nothing next to the discrimination that you as a person of color in America have faced even in a normal day. That being said, let me tell you one important thing I have learned recently.
In college (2008-2011,) I was an active participant in Penn State´s Dance Marathon affectionately referred to as THON. This group is the biggest reason why I am proud to be a Penn Stater, as THON is the largest student run philanthropy in the world, helping to fight for a cure for pediatric cancer. During my years in THON, I heard many stories about the four-diamond families, and learned a lot about their struggles with cancer. I got to know some of the kids, and even had a few tours of the children´s hospital we supported and met some of the kids and families personally. Sharing with their experiences I felt as if I knew what they were going through and could relate. Maybe I didn´t have cancer, or wasn´t in a cancer family, but I understood their plight (or so I thought.)
Most of you are probably aware that my father was diagnosed with esophageal cancer at the end of March, 2012. His disease was aggressive and relentless, and he fought hard until the disease took him July 7, 2013. From a first hand account, I then could see the difference. How different it was to support and have empathy for cancer families, than to be one yourself. It was then that I realized I never truly understood when I really thought I had all along. Even to my fellow THON captain´s or friends that came to my aid-- if you have never had a sick father you will NEVER know. As much as you try to relate, you will never know what it feels like to watch your father transform from upbeat and energetic, to a sad, shell of a man. Watching someone whom had genius level intelligence go from philosophical to forgetting basic words like ´chair´ or ´table´ is not something you will understand. As much as you can try to help or sympathize, if your father hasn´t passed away, you won´t understand why I always walk away during the father/daughter dance at weddings because I experience intense pain and jealousy over an experience I will never have. As hard as you try to relate, you can´t because you haven´t experienced it first hand.
However, the most important thing to realize, is that it doesn´t stop at not knowing or being able to fully relate. Sometimes, while going through the grieving process or coping with the illness of my father, some friends would approach me and say something truly off-putting or offensive. They said these things not because they were trying to attack or hurt but because they were trying to show they cared and understood, and in their ignorance, came up short. The best example I have of this comes from the HBO series Girls.
Shoshanna is in a vulnerable state and admits to Marnie that she is still a virgin. Marnie completely can´t identify, so she tries to comfort Shoshanna with the most upsetting thing she can think of that happened to her: ¨I don´t know what to say. I hit a puppy once with my car.¨ Watch the clip here at 1:20. As ridiculous and funny as this clip is, it hit pretty close to home to me when I was experiencing my dad´s illness. That being said, the fact still remains, their comments or ignorant remarks came from love. Even when my friends ´messed up´ I appreciated their idiocy, because I knew they meant well, and were trying their best to relate. To me, it was enough.
I will never be a person of color. I know that one day, I won´t miraculously wake up with darker skin, or become a part of a different group. It´s true, my friends and people of color, that I won´t ever TRULY KNOW what you are going through. As much as I try to relate, I will certainly come up short. I will (and most likely have-- even in this article) say things to you that are meant to be in solidarity but are interpreted as offensive and ignorant. However, please know, that I am trying. It´s impossible for me to know, but please let my support and misplaced comments be enough.
*a corner store or grocery store-- I could talk all day about how racist that is, but the Spanish honest to God call them this.
That being said, here in Spain, I don't feel as comfortable as I do in the US. It´s hard to explain the heightened level of vulnerability I often feel, and it´s incredible how much power one person can hold over me and how much they can make me anxious if they so choose. Most interactions are very pleasant, as Spanish people are known for their kindness and hospitality over all. However, there are a few specific occasions where I have felt specifically attacked, or criticized solely because I was an 'extranjero', or foreigner and judged because they thought they could take advantage of the assumed 'dumb blonde girl.'
To highlight this, let me give you a few examples:
The Shame of the Breakfast Casserole aka "Kill the Beast"
Two weeks ago I was walking home from school and decided I wanted to make a breakfast casserole, one of my favorite comfort foods. In order to make this, I knew I would need to stop by a Chino* in order to get a pan in which to bake it. I bought the pan and a loaf of bread for €2 Euros total. Yes, for those of you that understand Spanish, I bough pan and pan.... I´m such a literary delight.
Then, remembering I still had other grocery shopping to do, I decided to go right from there to the supermarket to grab some additional ingredients I needed like eggs, cheese, and the rest of my groceries. Before you knew it, I was checking out, purchasing about €26 worth of items. Let me highlight the fact that one of the items I purchased was about a €8 bottle of wine. Now, for those of you currently in the land of milk and honey, you will think: oh eight euros, that´s only about $10 or so, not bad. A normal or low-mid range bottle of wine. What you are forgetting is that in Spain, wine is basically cheaper than water. That €8 bottle of wine had a sensor on it, and was the equivalent of our top shelf wine. It was one of the pricier bottles they sold, and in these economic times, me purchasing this wine pretty much solidified my baller status. Please keep this fact in mind as I continue the rest of the story.
So there I was, checking out, and beginning to bag my own groceries, Aldi´s style. It was then the
Puta: ¨You can´t bring that bag in here. Show me what is in your bag.¨
Me: ¨Oh, I´m sorry, I didn't know.¨ Showed contents of bag, the baking pan being an item that couldn't even be bought at this grocery store.
Puta: ¨But you can´t bring that in here. Who saw you come in with it?¨
Me: ¨I´m sorry, I didn't know. I won´t do it again. He saw me.¨ Pointing to a guy lingering in the doorway.
Puta: ¨But he doesn't work here.¨
Generous other foreigner whom I pointed at: ¨Yes, ma'am but she doesn't speak Spanish well.¨
At this point, I´m was truly flustered. If she had a stake she would have surely hanged me for the town´s people to see as an example. Tar and feather me? As long as it didn't make a mess that she would have had to clean up.
A line of about eight people were watching this saga unfold. I was sweating, and my language skills were decreasing by the second, as my frustration caused tears to well within my eyes. Her voice was loud and pointed, and her body language was closed off and cold. If ever someone had a vendetta against another individual, it was she against me, and man, was she out for blood.
She flagged over another coworker to yell at me.
Me: ¨No I understand, and I won´t do it again. But it´s not my fault, no one told me I couldn't bring this bag in, so what do you want me to do about it now?!?¨
All I kept thinking was of my €8 bottle of wine and the rest of my €26 purchase. If I was going to steal something and put it in the bag from the Chino, wouldn't I have tried to steal something of higher value than a €1 loaf of bread?!
I almost start crying right there. The whole exchange was probably no more than three or four minutes, but it felt like twenty. The way she tried to shame and publicly humiliate me was unnecessary, as she could tell that I wasn't used to the customs that the locals shared. How was I instinctively supposed to know these cultural norms if I was never taught them?
¨She´s having a bad day¨ I said to the lady next to me checking out.
´Today? No, not today, always.¨ That made me feel slightly better, but I still felt like I was being rushed and kicked out of the grocery store that day for a wrong I didn't even know I had committed. That woman was trying to make me small and insignificant, and whether true or not, I believed it was because she viewed me as an ignorant foreigner and wanted me to feel unwelcome. My blue eyes, blonde hair, and broken language skills made me an easy target.
The next time I went to the store, my bag knocked over and broke a jar of mayonnaise while I was passing through the isles. I told someone about the shattered glass, but felt little remorse.
Epilogue: Sadly, me standing up for myself and fighting the good fight against the
¨Kitchen's Closed¨
Two weekends ago, my friend Luisa had some of her friends from her town in Galicia visiting (the North West part of Spain.) We decided to get together mid day for some drinks and tapas and I tagged along, wanting to get to know her friends. It was a group of seven of us, three Spanish three pure American, and our common thread Luisa whom is Spanish and American. We were enjoying our drinks and ordered a spread of tapas to enjoy for lunch. Most of the food at Lamiak is great, and in the past, Megan, Laura, and Luisa had great experiences there. I was looking forward to trying some of the pintxos they raved about.
We all placed our order, and waited for our food to arrive. After a bit of time, the majority of food was presented and we were busy eating, laughing, and exchanging stories. There was only one server in the establishment that day, so when Luisa and I were each lacking something we ordered, we decided to be patient and give it a little more time.
Finally about a half hour into eating our food, Luisa summoned the waitress to let her know that we were still missing two items. The waitress was snippy and harsh, and replied that the kitchen was closed for the day and that we would not be getting those items. She hurriedly walked away. I was very confused, and rather annoyed. If in fact that even was true, at what point was she going to tell us that we weren't getting our food? Did it ever cross her mind to apologize for the shortcomings and offer us something else, on the house? Her callous attitude was something I despised, and coming from a sales and customer service background, was something I found abhorrent and quite frankly couldn't tolerate. I started getting angry and told Luisa this was unacceptable.
We summoned her over again about ten minutes later, and asked her what was going on. To be honest, because I was so annoyed I don´t remember much of the dialogue that she and Luisa exchanged, but somehow it culminated in her walking away without even acknowledging Luisa at all. During the entire exchange, Luisa was polite, collected, and respectful. The fact that the waitress did not do anything to correct the injustice disgusted me. Then, being factual or not, I took some of my observances into consideration. Luisa and I are both blonde, blue eyed, and look very American. Of all of us in the group, we stood out as maybe looking more foreign than the others. Whether true or not, it was easy to dismiss this as another example of foreigner discrimination. This didn´t happen to Luisa´s Spanish friends, after-all, but to the two American blondes.
I know, I know, the plight of a privileged, white American girl. I realize you barely have time to listen to my complaints, and quite frankly, I barely have time to listen to myself complain about these things. However, these situations stick out, because outside my element, it is possible for me as a blonde, white American girl to feel uncomfortable, or dare I say it, discriminated against based on what I look like or the ideals others believe I represent.
One of Luisa´s friends spoke up and said ¨oh that´s just how things are in Spain, that´s just our customer service.¨ I disagreed, as I don´t think that treating people in a rude manner or ignoring their requests is an inherent quality of a Spaniard vs. American, German, Brit, etc. I think treating people with a lack of respect is an inherent quality of an asshole, and nothing more. Using a cultural or ethnic group stereotype to hide behind a shortcoming is cowardly, and something that I think every culture should fight hard against to break. Every society, race, or ethnic group (black, white, American, Spanish, Asian etc.) has their lazy, rude, and racist, but we as mutual members should not rush to defend the bad qualities of isolated individuals and say that we condone them.
In light of these two presented scenarios, maybe you can understand that sometimes I have my guard up in public situations while abroad. One such event occurred when Diego and I were still hanging out. (For those of you not aware of who said Diego character is, take a reprieve and educate yourself here.) Diego and I were walking around near the center of the city one night, looking to sit out on a terrace and tomar algo like normal and chat it up for a few hours. As any native Spaniard or foreigner can tell you, it doesn't matter who you are: if you are living, breathing, and human, you will constantly be accosted by club promoters and waiters to patron their establishment if you are in the Sol/Gran Via area of the city. Therefore, on this specific occasion, at least four or so promoters had already approached us to see what we were up to and tells us of the deals they had going on that specific night. It was always funny to see who they would talk to. If they came up to me they would always speak in English, and if they looked at Diego first, the whole conversation would happen in Spanish. Nine times out of ten you say "no, gracias," and continue walking, but every now and then you might actually be interested in what one of them has to offer.
Ok, so here we were back to that particular night. One such waiter/promoter approached Diego, and started to engage in the litany of specials they had taking place at that venue. Diego pulled me back to stop me from brushing the guy off like we usually did, and grabbed my hand as if to say hold on, I'm listening to this guy. I stopped and re-directed, and started listening to the spiel. The waiter mentioned the shot prices, some of the food they had, and gestured to the terrace where we could sit. It's then where he dropped the bomb; "Hay guiris, aqui."
Hay guiris, aqui?!?! Who the HELL does that guy think he is?!
Let me take a second to explain the word guiri to those of you whom are unfamiliar. Guiri is a word that my friends and I here use regularly amongst ourselves. It means a foreigner within Spain, and usually applied to the white, clueless, and unaware. It's become a term of endearment amongst my group and we use it with love for each other. Guiri, it's Sunday, good luck finding an opened grocery store. Guiri, you just told her you were pregnant, not that you are embarrassed. Silly guiri! However, just like any slang used to describe a particular ethnic group, it can be used from people who don't belong to that group in a derogatory manner. In this particular situation, I was offended and outraged that the waiter would use the fact that other white Brits or Americans were patroning his establishment as if to say, Look here! She will feel comfortable, we let foreigners eat here, too-- just look at that other blonde girl over there!
I was angry and felt that this was out of line. Here I was clearly with a Spaniard, trying my best to assimilate, and this chump had the audacity to think that I needed to be in a guiri-friendly zone?!
I tugged on Diego´s sleeve aggressively. ¨Did he just say Hay guiris aqui?!?!¨
Diego laughed at me and patted my head quickly as if the say, shhhh silly little girl, you have no idea what is going on. Soon the waiter escorted us over to the terrace and sat us down. Still in a huff, I look at Diego another time and pointedly asked, ¨En serio, ha dicho hay guiris aqui?!¨ (¨Wait, really did he just say ´there are guiris here´?¨)
Diego chuckled again and grabbed the menu and pointed at the drinks. ¨No, guapa, hay DA-quiris aqui.¨
My anger and frustration quickly dissipated as my embarrassment level rose rapidly. I felt my cheeks grow flush. Here I was getting so defensive at this poor waiter thinking he was trying to single me out based on ethnicity, when really he was just trying to show me their drink specials and tell us they sold Sex on the Beach and Tequila Sunrise... WHAT a classic guiri mix-up. I was on the defense and assuming things, and we all know what happens when you assume...
As you can see, my slightly discomforting/angering experiences here in Spain have been nothing compared to the everyday experiences that people of color go through on a regular basis. While living as a white person in the same city and experiencing life with people of color that I am close with (friends, coworkers, ex-boyfriends, etc.) it´s easy not to see some of the injustices that they experience for just looking a certain way, even when I´m next to them while something happens. Now, I know you are smart readers, and I can see you already know where I´m taking this. But before you get mad thinking, so your food didn´t come at a restaurant, or you got yelled at in a grocery store--big deal. Even if that actually was because of your ethnicity, it in no way compares to getting called the N word or not being able to go to prom with the person I wanted to take because her dad didn´t approve (true story.) To these statements I would 100% agree. I´m sure the level of ´discrimination´ I have experienced as a foreigner in my three months in Spain is nothing next to the discrimination that you as a person of color in America have faced even in a normal day. That being said, let me tell you one important thing I have learned recently.
In college (2008-2011,) I was an active participant in Penn State´s Dance Marathon affectionately referred to as THON. This group is the biggest reason why I am proud to be a Penn Stater, as THON is the largest student run philanthropy in the world, helping to fight for a cure for pediatric cancer. During my years in THON, I heard many stories about the four-diamond families, and learned a lot about their struggles with cancer. I got to know some of the kids, and even had a few tours of the children´s hospital we supported and met some of the kids and families personally. Sharing with their experiences I felt as if I knew what they were going through and could relate. Maybe I didn´t have cancer, or wasn´t in a cancer family, but I understood their plight (or so I thought.)
Most of you are probably aware that my father was diagnosed with esophageal cancer at the end of March, 2012. His disease was aggressive and relentless, and he fought hard until the disease took him July 7, 2013. From a first hand account, I then could see the difference. How different it was to support and have empathy for cancer families, than to be one yourself. It was then that I realized I never truly understood when I really thought I had all along. Even to my fellow THON captain´s or friends that came to my aid-- if you have never had a sick father you will NEVER know. As much as you try to relate, you will never know what it feels like to watch your father transform from upbeat and energetic, to a sad, shell of a man. Watching someone whom had genius level intelligence go from philosophical to forgetting basic words like ´chair´ or ´table´ is not something you will understand. As much as you can try to help or sympathize, if your father hasn´t passed away, you won´t understand why I always walk away during the father/daughter dance at weddings because I experience intense pain and jealousy over an experience I will never have. As hard as you try to relate, you can´t because you haven´t experienced it first hand.
However, the most important thing to realize, is that it doesn´t stop at not knowing or being able to fully relate. Sometimes, while going through the grieving process or coping with the illness of my father, some friends would approach me and say something truly off-putting or offensive. They said these things not because they were trying to attack or hurt but because they were trying to show they cared and understood, and in their ignorance, came up short. The best example I have of this comes from the HBO series Girls.
Shoshanna is in a vulnerable state and admits to Marnie that she is still a virgin. Marnie completely can´t identify, so she tries to comfort Shoshanna with the most upsetting thing she can think of that happened to her: ¨I don´t know what to say. I hit a puppy once with my car.¨ Watch the clip here at 1:20. As ridiculous and funny as this clip is, it hit pretty close to home to me when I was experiencing my dad´s illness. That being said, the fact still remains, their comments or ignorant remarks came from love. Even when my friends ´messed up´ I appreciated their idiocy, because I knew they meant well, and were trying their best to relate. To me, it was enough.
I will never be a person of color. I know that one day, I won´t miraculously wake up with darker skin, or become a part of a different group. It´s true, my friends and people of color, that I won´t ever TRULY KNOW what you are going through. As much as I try to relate, I will certainly come up short. I will (and most likely have-- even in this article) say things to you that are meant to be in solidarity but are interpreted as offensive and ignorant. However, please know, that I am trying. It´s impossible for me to know, but please let my support and misplaced comments be enough.
*a corner store or grocery store-- I could talk all day about how racist that is, but the Spanish honest to God call them this.
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