Story Time: Cab Relations

The lights whizzed by as they were consumed by the darkness around them. I was unable to make out the street signs, even from my window seat. Nate sat next to me, and Kip was next to him staring out his window. Their roommate, the birthday boy, was in the front with the cabbie. For a kid celebrating his 20^th birthday, you’d think Titus would be a little drunker on our way out, but he chatted the cabbie up like he was on his way to the office. The driver was Indian, if I remember my accents right. He seemed like a decent, honest man. I wondered how often the man drove his cab this late, gathering bizarre stories. His tall beige turban intrigued me as well.

On our way towards the bar, we almost hit a couple walking across the intersection. As he left the scene of the incident the driver said, “I hate black people. They always walk in front of my cab when I have a green light, they can’t drive, and when they’re in my cab, they’re loud and don’t tip! Not to mention, they are lazy.” He seemed to quiet down but then added, “And they always stare at my turban. Do I stare at them in their dingy doo-rags? No. I don’t. Black people infuriate me.”

            Titus looked back towards me and laughed. Obviously the cabbie didn’t see the black kid get in last and sit right behind him. “Yeah, don’t you agree, Greg?” Titus asked me. Of course what the man said could be said for some of the black people in DC, but they were still stereotypes. I didn’t fit any of those stereotypes other than the fact that I don’t tip. Reserving funds was a must.

            I passionately wished to respond and challenge the small minded immigrant, but the night was young and getting kicked out of a cab was not on my list of fun activities. So I played along and said, “Yeah, I hate those damn niggers. They’re no good.” I always joke about my race, but if any of my black friends heard me say that, they’d probably excommunicate me. Not because I agreed with the racist cab driver; because I said nigger around white folk. But for me, comedy always came before political activism. Mom never did think I had my priorities straight.

            My companions laughed for a bit, soon falling silent. I continued to stare at the man’s turban through the greasy plexiglass, wondering what might be under it. It was as big a mystery as what his wife looked like under her burqa – maybe bruises and scars he gave her. Why did he smell so strongly like curry when it was well after dinner time? How did he end up driving a taxi for a living? How did he end up in this country for that matter? He couldn’t have been a first-born American; he didn’t sound it.  Within seconds my forehead succumbed to a burning sensation.

            “Greg, you alright?” Nate asked. “You’re scowling.” I raised my cold hand to my face, attempting to distribute some of the heat. I didn’t talk for fear of my own unpopular remarks slipping out; instead I flashed my friend a reassuring “everything’s gravy” smile. Returning my gaze to the window, I saw our destination to the left. Good. I needed to drown my frustrations.

Discovering Race: Middle Easterners

The premise of this series to convey how I learned about different ethnicities,
how I initially responded to them, and how I act towards them now.
With that said, I've decided to work my way backwards - for the most part.

The time I remember hearing anything significant about Middle Easterners was during the 9/11 attack.
This may be the most common exposure of their kind for my generation but it was by far the worst way for us to learn about them.
I was in seventh grade at the time.
At the time I was a very compassionate kid.
[Not that I'm not compassionate now,
but my view of the world has been tainted by age.]
So instead of feeling anger towards them,
fear overcame my judgment.
There had been Middle Easterners all around without me realizing.
Store owners, McDonald's employees, bus riders.
I remember hearing about the senseless attacks
on Muslim-Americans and thinking it was ridiculous,
but my fear still kept me suspicious,
wondering if somehow they deserved it.

I feel at this time I should mention I was just beginning to learn about Muslims.
Obviously all Middle Easterners aren't Muslims, though I didn't know then.
I did know, however, that all Muslims weren't Middle Eastern.
Black Muslims are common in Newark, no matter what level their devotion.

It wasn't until I got to high school that I saw my first practicing Muslim.
He wasn't black; my earlier years judged him as white,
though in reality he may have been Palestinian or something.
I just thought all Middle Easterners were brown.
This kid's name was Pablo and he brought his prayer rug to school,
prayed five times a day, participated in Ramadan, the whole nine.
There were several black Muslims at my school that struggled to get through lunch without sneaking something to nibble on.
Not Pablo. He just sat at the table cracking jokes.

Sri Lankans, Indians, and probably a third nationality
were all present during my four years at St. Benedict's Prep.
As far as I knew they didn't take any heat.
Benedict's had its incidences of student on student discrimination,
but there were so few Middle Eastern students
that as a race they flew under the radar.

I was surprised to find that some were darker than me.
They had a very pronounced mahogany quality to their skin.
Occasionally they did smell like curry,
but I assumed it was because they had it the night before.
As I spent a bit more time around them,
the less my inner 7th grader was afraid of them.

My senior year of high school,
I had the privilege of reading the Kite Runner.
It is still in my top 10 books
because it presented me a whole new aspect
to Afghani culture that I wouldn't have visualized otherwise.

If having Middle Eastern classmates wasn't enough, I got an Indian as my direct roommate freshman year of college.
Anand was the best welcome to college I could have gotten.
He was humorous guy who introduced me to partying and new music, mainly Jack Johnson & John Mayer which I still fall asleep to.
As far as keeping up with Indian roots, he didn't worry much about it.
It seemed like he knew who he was
and he didn't feel the need to convey that to anyone else.
Probably the biggest plus to having him as a roommate
was his complete acceptance of my sexuality.
It didn't seem to phase him.
I think in the back of my head
I figured all Middle Easterners homophoic.
Certainly some are,
but no greater a percentage than in the black community;
that percentage is up there.

At college
I also had the opportunity to interact with Muslim women.
Going to an all boys preparatory robbed me of that.
Managing to not stare at their headdresses proved difficult at first
but I learned to respect their practices just like any other decent human being.

Speaking of respect,
Middle Easterners are probably the only group of people
you'll never hear me joke about.
This is mostly because of 9/11.
I don't know how anyone will react to such a joke.
Granted I've heard a few, but you really have to gauge your audience beforehand.
The fact that I don't make fun of them bothers me, actually.
I'm not treating them as equals by my standards.
The day I use sand-nigga/er as freely as nigga/er
is the day American can truly stand as one.

In all honesty,
Middle Easterners are still the ethnicity I know the least about.
That's probably the real reason I don't joke about them.
I know nothing of which countries are in control of the oil,
which countries despise each other,
what cultural traits are specific to a region, etc
primarily because I don't watch/read the news often enough.
I'm sure as I grow into a more mature human being, that'll change though.
Because learning about one another is the true path to peace.
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