How I fight the bigotry I feel for a minority (even if they drive up house prices)
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Version 0 of 1. Deep down, I’ve always been a bit of a bigot. That’s not an easy thing for a ranting lefty to admit, but I can only change what I accept exists so it’s time for my ego to face the music and do the dance of contrition. If we are being truly open minded, our beliefs evolve, nurtured by experiences – both ours and those of other people, throughout our lives. Over the years, I’ve faced down my sexism, become comfortable with diverse religious doctrines and got over my homophobia. There is a minority group, though, that I regularly let myself socially discriminate against, either with snide remarks on social media or just casual everyday bigotry. I’ve been pulled up for mocking the way they speak and dress. I’ve caught myself tutting loudly when stuck behind them at the local supermarket as they squeal with delight because it now stocks some exotic produce or other. I guess on some level I just doubted their intentions. They’re the children of wealthier families who can’t yet afford to set up home near their parents and so, after landing their first job in the big city, they look for areas where their buck has more bang. From my prejudiced perch I thought they came with little or no attempt to understand the culture of the place they had decided to call home. It seemed that they refused to integrate other than when they fancied a party or were trying to get high. I feared that my little neighbourhood was just a staging post on their journey up the housing ladder, and that once they had children they would move away from the crime that their young professional drug habits helped to nurture. As Jarvis Cocker said almost 20 years ago, “everybody hates a tourist”. But, like any other type of migrant, these people come bearing social gifts. My local amenities have improved. There are new schools and road crossings. The police will turn up if someone calls them. I could even get a job in one of the swanky new restaurants that serve pulled pork open sandwiches on oddly shaped bits of granite. I’ve lived a pretty sedentary life. I’ve been a resident of Wandsworth in south-west London since I was born, and the council flat I’ve lived in for 23 years is just a 15min walk from my mum’s home where she’s lived for 40. Community is about more than geography though, and I have no more claim than anyone else on the bits of concrete and tarmac that I happen to have grow up near. In most of my other social interactions, I point out that we’re all much more alike than we are different. We may have different contexts for our fears, and varying scales for our hopes, but we basically all want to be valued and in control of our lives. All vibrant areas change and grow, and hankering after some imagined past is folly. So how can we be more welcoming to our bearded new neighbours? Here are some strategies that I’ve seen work: • Put them at ease. Try to perfect a comforting smile and use it when you pass them on the streets so as not to alarm. Remember, they are more scared of you than you are of them. • Speak the only language they understand. Good topics to casually bring up in conversation: new bars and restaurants opening locally, house prices, exotic holidays, cooking, rugby, cricket, cycling routes. • Grow a thick skin. Bear in mind, when they talk about the shocking prevalence of crime in the area, they don’t really mean to insult the people you grew up with. • Keep it down. They are very sensitive to loud noises and so music from your car or flat or the sound of kids playing upsets them. They might send the cops round, but that’s just their way of reaching out. • Hate the game not the player. Just because they probably benefit from the same house price rises that mean most people you know can’t afford to live where they grew up, it’s not their fault. • Learn their ways. Above all, remember that culture is not a fixed menu, it’s an ever-changing, fluid mix of influences. The other day I even bought myself some red trousers. I’m putting my house in order, are you? |