Racism on the Oriental Express

 

 

 

 

“I don’t mean to be racist, but you just can’t trust the Chinese. Especially the ones in America.”

I had taken my head phones off during my train ride into New York City in order to put on my bow tie just in time to hear these words from the gentleman in front of me.  Pretty shocked, I glanced across the aisle at the Chinese American man who was sitting there.  His head was stuck to the window in what looked like a pretty uncomfortable sleep.

Who says stuff like that in public?  This guy, apparently, on the way into New York City, home of over 680,000 Chinese people.

As I adjusted my collar, I chuckled to myself, and glanced towards this guy’s traveling companion, whom I assume was his spouse.  She was facing him (and me), and there was obvious discomfort on her face as we made eye contact.  I raised an eyebrow and gave her a half smile, and she glanced away.  And said nothing, letting this guy continue on his explanation of why Chinese people could not be trusted in America.

This is ridiculous, I thought to myself.  We are not in the south anymore.  This kind of stuff shouldn’t happen.

But it does.  And I can’t explain why.  I can throw around theories of “perpetual foreigner,” or “model minority,” or articles about how racial insensitivity infiltrating American culture and even the church.  But that doesn’t solve any of the problems or answer any of my very present questions about racial insensitivity or stereotyping.

I tried to tell myself, Don’t worry, it’s not personal.  But it is.  Because I am a person.  Who heard you say that my entire race cannot be trusted.  And I, personally, am especially untrustworthy because of my hyphenated identity of Chinese-American.

And it’s not just personal.  It’s familial.  “Dude, you just insulted my entire family,” is something I didn’t say.  My grandfather is one of the most dependable people.  My dad is my rock, and his word is gold.

One of the surest signifiers of a racist comment is the preface, “I don’t mean to be racist…” I wanted to tell myself, “Oh, it’s just racial insensitivity bred of ignorance.”  But it’s not insensitivity.  It’s racism.

Our train slowed to a stop at Newark Penn Station.  And my racist traveling companion wondered to his wife, “Do you think we have to transfer? Or will this train take us into the city?”

“This train will take you into New York Penn Station,” I heard myself say, “Is that where you guys are ending up?”

“Yes,” the gentleman in front of me turned around and answered. “So we don’t need to transfer trains or anything?”

“Nope.  This line terminates at New York Penn Station, the terminal.”  I responded, noting too late my redundancy.  Maybe he thinks I’m uneducated as well as untrustworthy.  I wanted to add, “But you don’t have to trust me…you can ask a white person if it would make you feel better.”  But I didn’t.

I probably could have taken that moment as a teaching moment to share my offense at his racist comment.  I probably could have taken that moment to break the silence on this issue, perpetuated by his wife.  I probably could have done a lot of things.

But to be honest, I didn’t trust myself.  My instinct was to lash out with a smart-mouthed comment, a cutting quip, or some other biting line.  But I didn’t. I didn’t think that would be very loving.

So I decided I’d blog about it later.

And here we are.

I don’t mean to be that guy writing about racism in post civil rights era America, but you just can’t trust anyone these days. Especially the ones in America.