CONFLICT & RESOLUTION
Some queries aren’t quite what they seem. Some questions carry an implied sense of conflict which the recipient cannot easily resolve. Arjaan Miah (Year 9) shares his experience in responding to a particularly loaded question But where are you from ?
H ow often do you get asked where you are from? If you have a ‘normal’ name and chalky-white skin, I don’t suppose you get asked very often. With most people I meet, the topic comes up, without fail.
One of two responses ensues. Either something regarding my name, or simple denial that I could ever be Italian. Everyone seems to be a genealogical expert by this point. Either way, they’ll then repeat the question, with a different emphasis on the ‘from’. Some will make it short and curt, as though angry at me. They seem somewhat peeved that I don’t tell them what they want to hear. Others will elongate it, as though trying to lengthen the whole ordeal. Often, they add a tonality, with a descending, condescending tone to it. You might have guessed, I’m mixed race, or rather, I’m brown. For that reason, even in Italy, I can’t be Italian. At this point they might as well have a Dulux colour chart to hand. All they want to know is where my skin comes from. They don’t see me. They see my skin, and that represents me. In such discussions, little matters beyond a thin coating of chocolate. Even if I’ve never been to Bangladesh, spoken the language or made a curry, in this country, at least, it defines me.
‘Where are you from?’
It doesn’t seem that big a deal; all it takes is a simple ‘here’ and that’s the end of it, right? Wrong. ‘Here’ doesn’t suffice. I was born here, have a British passport and have never left these islands for more than three weeks at a time, but I don’t actually belong here. I never did, and never will. Emphasis can entirely change the nature of the enquiry. The question may be the same; my response isn’t. At this point I’ve discerned that they don’t want to know where I’m from, but rather what my ‘heritage’ is, as it is quaintly phrased, in an attempt to soften the blow. I do speak Italian, and have an Italian mother. I can make a mean pizza alla Diavola , and know most of my Italian family, from Sicily to Genoa. So, even though I don’t live in Italy (and never have), my response has to change: ‘I mean, where are you from?’
‘My father is Bangladeshi.’
‘Oh! You’re Bangladeshi.’
I am from London, my heritage is Italian, and my skin is Bangladeshi. But then again, I don’t belong in any of the above categories, do I?
‘I’m Italian.’
How about you? Where are you from?
14
Made with FlippingBook Annual report