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‘Afraid is no good’
Library Woman
Dear Reader,
I’m writing this letter to you to let you know how it is when you leave your comfort zone and you suddenly find yourself in the shoes of ‘ The Other’.
Who is this Other, you may ask.
Well, when you live in a small Italian town, the Other is, for instance, a person coming from another Country.
Yes, dear reader, things work more or less like this: when you are in your Country, the foreigners are perceived as something totally separated from you, something you should be afraid of.
Something, I write, because this process is someway dehumanizing.
Is the human nature, that makes us afraid of the unknown.
Is the ancestral fear of the dark, a darkness that that is embodied in the person of the foreigner.
In its continuous process of simplification of the reality we perceive, our brain uses stereotypes to quickly classify people and react accordingly.
Then, we can overcome those stereotypes, or continue on this path.
Prejudices takes the place of stereotypes, and we start judging people just according to them, we are like blindfolded people who are not able to see the truth anymore.
In our blindness, we try to avoid or fight against the other, in a desperate attempt to defend ourselves from this imaginary danger: discrimination takes place.
You’re thinking through stereotypes when you think to Italy as the land of pizza, cappuccino and pizza Margherita.
You’re relying on prejudice when you give for certain the fact that your Spanish friend will be late.
You’re discriminating when you frantically check your wallet if a gipsy person comes close to you.
Now, I won’t bother you with considerations about how much politicians use this fear to manipulate you (a thing you should be aware of, tough).
I just want to have a little chat with you, like old friends meeting in a bar.
Take your fresh beer or your warm cup of tea in your hands, sit down next to me and listen to my story.
I grew up in a small town near Rome, called Segni, during the last years of the Millennium.
While attending primary school, there were almost no children coming from different countries, and those who were, were generally adopted.
I met the first foreigners during middle school.
In the same period, a lot of people from the eastern parts of Europe started to come in Italy, searching for a better future.
Adults started to look at them with suspicious eyes, then with fear or anger even, but at that time it was still not so evident.
It was like a drop of black ink spreading slowly in a glass of water, silently but unstoppable.
While hatred grew and grew in the elder part of the population, as more and more people started to come, on the other hand something else started growing in the youngsters.
In facts, we used to look at the newcomers with different eyes.
We were curious, but opened, thanks also to the work of teachers who, in schools, worked to promote integration.
I used to hang out with a group composed not only by Italians, but also by people coming from Bulgaria and Albania.
It was something new for us, since when you live in a small town you tend to see as a novelty even people coming just from the Capital.
I don’t know if we can call it integration.
What is certain is that, notwithstanding our differences, we simply enjoyed each other’s company.
For us they were not immigrants, they were just our friends, with whom we shared laughs and sadness, rainy days watching movies and summer evenings wandering in the streets.
So, for me it was totally normal when I started a relationship with an Albanian boy.
For my parents was not so.
They insisted that I had to break with him, because of our supposed cultural differences, for the fact that, being a foreigner, they didn’t have the chance to know his family, and they started with a list of prejudices.
We are together for seven years now.
They change their minds towards him, and were able to overcome their prejudices to come to acceptance and respect (though they still think that Italian cuisine is the best and will still refuse to taste the Albanian dishes he brings to me), but it wasn’t easy, and it took time.
In the years we spent together, I knew what discrimination was from outside, looking at his experiences, a child that stares to a gold fish in a bowl, watching just the surface, without a clear understanding.
I didn’t understand completely his discomfort or his lack of confidence when it came to interpersonal interactions, or his general lack of trust in the others.
Now I do.
Living in a new Country, without knowing the language or the habits of its people, is like living in a bubble: I was, now, inside the fishbowl, instead of outside.
For the first time the diffidence in the eyes of my boyfriend made a sense, because it was the same I could see in the eyes of the people around me, and was reflected in mines, as well.
The frustration of not being able to communicate with others, made me realize that it was not just a question of attitude if he avoided the company of Italian peers.
And, in the end, I understood even the hatred he kept in his soul.
That hatred was the direct result of the discrimination he felt in his soul.
It grew more and more at every insistent stare he received when speaking in his own language in public, for every time he was rejected in a job interview, for every ‘no’ he received, just because he was born in another corner of the world.
I feel the same when I’m walking on the streets of Craiova, talking in Italian at my phone, and people look at me with an expression that seems to say ‘she doesn’t belong here’.
And I also experienced how it is, when people utter you ‘Come back to your Country’.
It happened while we were taking part in one event, giving flyers to raise awareness toward the situation of immigrants.
One woman suddenly stopped in front of one of our colleague, one of the most helpful and kind people I’ve ever known, and started abruptly to ask her what was she doing in Romania, why we were here and so on. Notwithstanding the fact that she tried to explain her in a polite way how things stood, the woman, who was even a teacher, kept saying that there were enough volunteers in Romania, and that we had to come back to our Countries.
It was an experience that was really negative, for all of us.
It’s something that can really makes you want to come back home, a place where you don’t have to experience this kind of discriminations.
Our coordinator, who protected us, immediately after the event apologized in the name of all the Romanian people.
And, in facts, when something like this happens, it’s easy that the discriminated people start to feel hated, and to hate back.
But there was no need to apologize, at least for me.
Because I already knew that for one person who was racist and discriminated us, I already met at least five people who helped me, were nice to me and gave me tips about the Country.
The women who helped me on the bus, who even paid for my lunch when I had no lei, being just arrived in Romania, the one who shared the taxi with me when I was coming back from Italy, the ones from the gym, the girl that I stopped in Tg Jiu to ask for information, and who brought me directly to the station, instead.
All those memories are stuck in my mind, and every time I have bad experiences, I remember that kind gestures and say to myself that Romanian people are not racist, as Italian are not racist.
There are people who are racist, is true, and we must understand why this happens.
I noticed that, in my Country, the greatest part of racist people are also the ones that are more ignorant, and are more easily to be manipulated.
Often, are people who are angry and frustrated by the difficulties of life, who didn’t had the chance to travel and discover more about the world.
To fight against racism, we have to let our heart and mind open, and, more important of everything, we don’t have to give importance to the xenophobic words of racist people.
We have to keep inside us a sparkle of optimism and trust in the others, and, like for a candle, we have to protect this flame from the blowing wind.
We don’t have to give them the power of hurting us.
Let’s travel, let’s discover new culture and new places, let’s bring with us love and acceptance.
Without fear.
Always.
Our homeland has no border,
no Customs to be paid,
no thresholds to be crossed.
We live in every leaf,
In every waving tree,
In every golden birch
We sing our symphony.
Our homeland has no locks,
no Powers on our heads,
no Laws to bring us down.
We breath in every fall,
In every step we take,
In every honey bee
It rings our melody.
Our homeland has no land,
no Other to be feared,
no walls between us all.
We love in every way,
In every heart we meet
We whisper, like a pray,
Our never-ending song.