humans are funny

Category: racism

  • Thanks, Racism.

    When I was a kid, I went to my friend’s house and heard her dad complaining about the ‘mulanyans.’ The “fucking mulanyans.” I had no idea what that meant, so I asked my friend while we were playing Barbies. She whispered as if it were a sin to say it: black people.

    The Urban Dictionary defines “mulanyan” as “a term used in place of the ‘N word’ by VERY racist Italians.”
    I guess my friend’s dad was a very racist Italian. Sadly, I think my town is full of them.
    In high school, my ‘Racism Sucks’ poster was ripped down at every single party I threw.  That old poster got more wrinkly by the party, but I insisted on putting it back up.

    Because Racism Sucks.
    But now I’m having second thoughts.
    Racism may not suck all the time.
    Racism can be funny. And helpful.

    I was sitting at a bar in my hometown of Addison, IL last week when a bunch of Italian gentlemen joined me. I’ve often compared my town to The Jersey Shore because of the large population of Italians, Affliction shirts, fake nails, and tans. We just don’t have a shore.

    “Are you Italian?” One mobster guy asked me.
    “Twenty-five percent,” I said. Ew. Why did I even answer this man?
    “What’s the other?”
    “Spanish and…”
    “I’m sorry,” he said before I could finish.

    He was sorry I’m not 100% Italian. To him, anybody who is not Italian should be sorry.

    And I was sorry. Sorry that anyone has ever let themselves get upset over comments like these. Because, come on. They’re so ignorant they’re just funny. So I laughed in this man’s face. And laughed some more. I don’t want to make fun of the overweight Italian man who later set off an M80 inside the bar and has the audacity to think that nobody is better than he. That would be stooping to his level. But if he’s anything like some of the kids I went to school with, he’s just as Italian as someone who has never been to Italy and only knows one Italian word: Mulanyan.

    I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit to using the ‘Are you Italian?’ or the ‘What are you?’ back when I was hitting on guys at the 18-and-over clubs. But, I was EIGHTEEN! I thought that’s how you hit on guys because that’s how I learned. Now I simply say, “Excuse me. Nice sweater. Are you still single or are you divorced yet?”

    I wouldn’t be all up in arms about my town’s racism (or is it ethnicism?) problem if it had just happened that night, but I met a similar mobster fella at a bar the following night too. (It’s really the only thing to do besides the movie theater or the Applebee’s.)

    “Are you Italian?” he asked me.
    “I’m American,” I answered. “What is with that question? Why do men here care so much about whether or not I’m Italian?”
    “Relax, Sweetie,” he said. “ I was just trying to give you a compliment.

    A compliment!
    Oh man. I couldn’t take it. Again, I laughed and laughed.

    I’m not mad at the prejudices here. I’m simply thankful that they’re helping me weed out potential dates so easily. From the very first line, I know that I’m not interested. Growing up here has unfortunately attracted me to short, dark, hairy men. But thanks to racism, I can kick the bad ones to the curb before they get up the driveway.

    “No, I’m not Italian. And, NO, I don’t want to date you.”

    Thanks, Racism. You don’t suck all the time.

  • Day 8: Boy scouts try to light my fire.

    Due to the pile of hate mail at my desk, I see that many of you are offended by my quoting of an Indian calling black people ‘blacks.’ Let me offer you solace by sharing that Indians are racist against everyone, including their own dark members. So stop sending letters (Just kidding. Nobody sends letters anymore, and I don’t have a desk.).

    Of course I would be racist by classifying an entire race as racist, so I shan’t do it. Even though I just did. I will just comment that it is much easier for parents to find a suitor for their fair-skinned daughters here in India. And as I write, I am also leafing through a magazine and finding ad after ad for Garnier Skin Lightener for men. One even comes with a skin spectrum that you hold against your face to chart the progress of your Michael Jackson-ifying. (Just kidding. How could I be leafing through a magazine and typing at the same time? But the skin spectrum chart and print ads do exist.)

    Despite the quest to be lighter, there is a lot of racism towards white people too, especially me, a woman traveling alone. Teenagers make jerking off motions when they pass me by. Men slow on their motorbikes to tell me about their balls. Kids have even thrown rocks at me. And hit me! Hard! It’s all because Western women are thought to be loose and devoid of morals (the same reason the Taliban wants us all to die.).

    My first overt experience occurred on Day 8:

    I meet some boy scout leaders. They take me to my first Hindu temple. They love singing and are super enthusiastic about showing me how they sing their favorite song. They offer me wonderful Indian hospitality and buy me an amazing lunch of samosas in sauce. Then, before we part, they buy me little gifts from the gift store. One is a Hindu swastika that wards off evils. Another is a keychain that says, “Love me less but love me long.” It puzzles me every time I think of it.

    I have a wonderful day, thrilled that I’ve eschewed my fear of talking to Indians. I am in India, and it is sort of necessary. Finally! The paranoia from Day 1 is forgotten like the art of chivalry. Just before we part ways, they giddily ask me one last question:
    “Before we go, Madame. Um… we were wondering if you could, um, give us sexual relations.”
    “Ummm…No. Not today.”
    “Well, isn’t sex free in your culture?”
    “Yes, but you still have to be attracted to the other person during sex.”
    “You don’t like us?”
    “What do you mean, us? You think I am just going to lay in a bed and have you come in one at a time? Are you serious?”
    “Ma’am, can you speak slower? My English is very bad.”
    “Forget it. NO SEXUAL RELATIONS!”

    I found it in my heart to still love those men. I mean, perhaps racism is just an innocent ignorance. They honestly think that Western women really have nothing to do in their countries but fuck all day long. Since they’ve only got porn to go by, I sort of see where they’re coming from. I let them off the hook and had sex with both of them. One at a time just like they suggested (Just kidding! Both at once.).

    Riiiiiiiight.

    How do you not love men who aren’t afraid to unbuckle their vocal chords?