It was my first time in Venice. The Glassmaker had charmed me into wanting to see the island of Murano and so, here we were, for three days in, apparently the city of romance and fun (more adequately called these days the city of crowds, the bezoswedding and one hundred ways to sell the same kitsch). We sat down at a small terrace and ordered lasagna, expecting this Italian chef, in a tall white hat and strong accent to bring it. When a short dark skinned, middle eastern gentleman came through the kitchen door and in a strong Asian accent invited us to our lasagnas, I forgot to check my racism at the door. It ran havoc in me. Just like in my early days I observed his dark skin which in my youth and in my country spells “dirty” / “thief”, “tigan”. I looked at his hair, full of some sort of pomade and his unshaven beard (no different than all those white hunks in all adds that apparently are called lumbersexuals these days – eyerollingemoji here) and thought “not washed” and “I cannot eat what he served.” This relapse of pure racism even came out of me with words through which I heard myself expressing my wonder about whether “any of these Italian restaurants even have any Italians working in them anymore.” I did not recognize myself. Or maybe I did. But that was a myself I truly did not care to see anymore. Not since I decided to be an antiracist anyway … . It truly rains on my mojo.
Days later I found myself raising an eyebrow at Trump, making his racist remakes at the president of Liberia. There was almost a dark fascination I felt to observe his absolutely pure racism coming out on his face. He seemed to genuninely think he was complimenting his counterpart. I am absolutely sure he does not understand to this day why he is being criticized for that. He was trying to be nice! He was trying so say something nice! Come on, people!
Back in the days of my Danish adventure, I remember getting into a heated conversation with some former colleagues about this idea that we are all racist. I did not manage to explain myself and my certainty in this regard well. I wish I could have simply said: imagine you were a fish who was born in salt water. Is there any chance that the fish does not have any salt water in his body? Absolutely none!
My journey through antiracism started a long time ago but what I forgot or lost in the process was that racism is like any addiction: once an addict, always an addict. Once a racist, always a racist. If you are on the recovering path, great! But just never check your awareness at the door. Sometimes I feel the quiet activism of self awareness and of checking your words and thoughts and actions through the antiracist filter is so much more important and so much harder than demonstrating on the lawn of the White House these days.
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