“Where are you Really From?” Is Curiosity about Ethnicity Racism?

It’s natural to take an interest in our fellow human beings. It’s natural to notice the differences between us in appearance, skin colour, facial features or accent. The local custom there of talking to strangers and being curious about them, and their ethnicity, is something I actually really appreciate about living there. Well, most of the time. Occasionally, I do respond rather grumpily, but if I do it’s because I’m feeling anti-social, not because I think they are bigots. Also, when I ask people in return, “how about you? Are your family originally from Buenos Aires?” I sometimes get really interesting and unexpected answers.

“It’s natural to take an interest in our fellow human beings”

It’s natural for people to express curiosity. It’s natural to want to make connections with our fellow human beings. Please don’t stifle this urge. We need to connect with each other more, not less, especially when we live in a multicultural, multi-ethnic society.

Many of these questions regarding ethnicity and background are simply an innocent way of making small talk and beginning a conversation. If I answer with “Scottish” then, naturally, everyone mentions kilts and the film Braveheart — which may not be original, but it’s clearly a way of saying “Hey, I find something about your culture fun or amusing” and is pretty analogous to remarking “I like your sweater.” When I add in the Pakistani part, I have more interesting conversations, but never, so far, hostile ones.

Of course, it’s everyone’s perfect right to refuse to talk to or engage with strangers. But I think talking to each more can enrich our society. Asking questions, trying to find out more about ethnicity is the opposition of racism. Racism is a knee-jerk response; racists already think they have all the answers they need. And taking an interest in your specific history as an individual is the opposite of bigotry – bigotry is about generalising, stereotyping, grouping people together.

“…bigotry is about generalising, stereotyping, grouping people together.”

If your story is complicated, that makes it all the more interesting. For those who seem really engaged, I sometimes indulge in the longer version of my answer, which begins something like this:

All life is a happy accident, the result of a million fortunate coincidences, but mine especially. My mother was a year younger than I am now, towards the end of her reproductive life. Looking chubby, but not pregnant, she flew halfway across the globe & I was born in an industrial Scottish town, making me British, as well as Pakistani, ungrateful little shrimp me, refusing to turn in the comfort of the womb, torturing her surely as I was tugged feet first into the world, umbilical cord a hangman’s noose, but loosely slung. A healthy wailing baby. What were the odds that an ageing Parsi bachelor would meet a Scottish divorcee at a Wagner concert in Amsterdam and together, behind the lowered blinds of a Karachi bedroom, a determined little tadpole would gently pierce the lovely moon of her ovum. And that meant I would be here, amid the faded grandeur of a South American city, in the desirable suburban real estate of the Milky Way.