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| How do I deal with my daughter, 7, being told she is the 'wrong colour'? | How do I deal with my daughter, 7, being told she is the 'wrong colour'? |
| (4 months later) | |
| My seven-year-old daughter was discriminated against last week in the school playground for having "the wrong skin colour". Admittedly, I was more upset about it than she was. Growing up in 1980s Bradford, I had a regular dose of racism directed at me in school. It might have been a generation ago, but the experience was deeply hurtful. So much so that it shaped my identity as well as my values as a parent. | My seven-year-old daughter was discriminated against last week in the school playground for having "the wrong skin colour". Admittedly, I was more upset about it than she was. Growing up in 1980s Bradford, I had a regular dose of racism directed at me in school. It might have been a generation ago, but the experience was deeply hurtful. So much so that it shaped my identity as well as my values as a parent. |
| I was the British-born daughter of migrant mill workers from Pakistan, living on the Canterbury estate in Bradford. School was difficult. I had little in common with my mostly white classmates. If they weren't calling me "garlic breath" in the school canteen, then they'd be sharing a particular joke with me in the playground. It was based on a TV ad for a popular mint with a hole in the centre: | I was the British-born daughter of migrant mill workers from Pakistan, living on the Canterbury estate in Bradford. School was difficult. I had little in common with my mostly white classmates. If they weren't calling me "garlic breath" in the school canteen, then they'd be sharing a particular joke with me in the playground. It was based on a TV ad for a popular mint with a hole in the centre: |
| "What's the difference between a Paki and a Polo?" my classmates would ask cruelly. "People like Polo!" went the punchline. | "What's the difference between a Paki and a Polo?" my classmates would ask cruelly. "People like Polo!" went the punchline. |
| I felt my Pakistani heritage and British upbringing couldn't co-exist. I had to choose which side I was on. So I daydreamed about being a proper English girl. I wanted to whitewash my brown complexion, dye my dark tresses blonde, have a stylish haircut and change my foreign name to something more straightforward. Surely, then I would be just like everyone else; I would look like everyone else, I would smell like everyone else, I would fit in, I would be accepted. | I felt my Pakistani heritage and British upbringing couldn't co-exist. I had to choose which side I was on. So I daydreamed about being a proper English girl. I wanted to whitewash my brown complexion, dye my dark tresses blonde, have a stylish haircut and change my foreign name to something more straightforward. Surely, then I would be just like everyone else; I would look like everyone else, I would smell like everyone else, I would fit in, I would be accepted. |
| Sensing my anxiety, my straight-talking older brother would remind me of the classic scene from our favourite English film, Some Like It Hot, in which Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon masquerade as women. My well-intentioned sibling would recount the amusing scene where Jack Lemmon tries to compose himself, after inadvertently finding himself in Marilyn Monroe's intimate company. "I'm a girl. I'm a girl. I'm a girl," he reiterates frantically. Detecting that I was losing sight of my roots, my brother would counsel me to stand in front of the mirror for a few minutes every morning and repeat to myself: "I'm a Paki. I'm a Paki. I'm a Paki". | Sensing my anxiety, my straight-talking older brother would remind me of the classic scene from our favourite English film, Some Like It Hot, in which Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon masquerade as women. My well-intentioned sibling would recount the amusing scene where Jack Lemmon tries to compose himself, after inadvertently finding himself in Marilyn Monroe's intimate company. "I'm a girl. I'm a girl. I'm a girl," he reiterates frantically. Detecting that I was losing sight of my roots, my brother would counsel me to stand in front of the mirror for a few minutes every morning and repeat to myself: "I'm a Paki. I'm a Paki. I'm a Paki". |
| Straddling two cultures felt like living in a halfway house. We didn't dare to make ourselves at home because we were holding on for something else. Consequently, I didn't realise until my thirties that this is where I belonged, that Britain was in fact home. Mum left it even longer, spending some 30 years working to earn a pension, so she could retire to Pakistan to be with her nearest and dearest. Poignantly, it was only after she got there that she realised that the people she yearned for had all passed away or moved on. So she returned to Bradford, finally finding peace on British soil in her mid-sixties. | Straddling two cultures felt like living in a halfway house. We didn't dare to make ourselves at home because we were holding on for something else. Consequently, I didn't realise until my thirties that this is where I belonged, that Britain was in fact home. Mum left it even longer, spending some 30 years working to earn a pension, so she could retire to Pakistan to be with her nearest and dearest. Poignantly, it was only after she got there that she realised that the people she yearned for had all passed away or moved on. So she returned to Bradford, finally finding peace on British soil in her mid-sixties. |
| I don't want that for my daughter. Although I hope to instil in her a strong sense of identity and self-esteem, I'd like her to feel at home in Britain, and not just exist on the peripheries like I sometimes felt I did. My daughter shouldn't have to choose between "us" and "them". Maybe that's why I didn't bother to teach her Urdu, my mother tongue, despite mum's protests that without it, my daughter would lose a part of her heritage. But I don't want to raise her with imagined ties to Pakistan, with illusory burdens about a possible return to a country, which means little more to her than the place where her grandparents were born. I'd like my daughter to be free to set down roots – emotional and physical – in Britain, in her place of birth. | I don't want that for my daughter. Although I hope to instil in her a strong sense of identity and self-esteem, I'd like her to feel at home in Britain, and not just exist on the peripheries like I sometimes felt I did. My daughter shouldn't have to choose between "us" and "them". Maybe that's why I didn't bother to teach her Urdu, my mother tongue, despite mum's protests that without it, my daughter would lose a part of her heritage. But I don't want to raise her with imagined ties to Pakistan, with illusory burdens about a possible return to a country, which means little more to her than the place where her grandparents were born. I'd like my daughter to be free to set down roots – emotional and physical – in Britain, in her place of birth. |
| This is also why I value my daughter's education at a Church of England school. I'm grateful that, unusually for some parts of Bradford, the school is more multi- than monocultural. It's important that my child appreciates other faiths, as I do. I also believe that exposure to the school's spiritual ethos and different religions will complement her Muslim heritage. So much so actually, that I let the school introduce her to Jesus before I got around to telling her about Mohammed. | This is also why I value my daughter's education at a Church of England school. I'm grateful that, unusually for some parts of Bradford, the school is more multi- than monocultural. It's important that my child appreciates other faiths, as I do. I also believe that exposure to the school's spiritual ethos and different religions will complement her Muslim heritage. So much so actually, that I let the school introduce her to Jesus before I got around to telling her about Mohammed. |
| It never even occurred to me to have the colour conversation. Besides, it sort of happened organically. I remember the precise moment my daughter realised she was a darker skin colour to most of her classmates. She was lining up in the playground waiting to be led into class. Her friend was holding up a poster of the main characters from High School Musical. The girls were choosing which one they wanted to be. | It never even occurred to me to have the colour conversation. Besides, it sort of happened organically. I remember the precise moment my daughter realised she was a darker skin colour to most of her classmates. She was lining up in the playground waiting to be led into class. Her friend was holding up a poster of the main characters from High School Musical. The girls were choosing which one they wanted to be. |
| "I'll be Sharpay" piped up my daughter enthusiastically. With a serious look, her classmate replied: "You have to be Gabriella because she's got the same skin colour as you." I watched as my daughter, then barely five-years-old, raised one hand in front of her face and examined it closely, as if for the very first time. | "I'll be Sharpay" piped up my daughter enthusiastically. With a serious look, her classmate replied: "You have to be Gabriella because she's got the same skin colour as you." I watched as my daughter, then barely five-years-old, raised one hand in front of her face and examined it closely, as if for the very first time. |
| Of course the girl had done nothing wrong. She'd merely made reference to my daughter's skin tone. But last Friday, a classmate told my daughter she wasn't invited to her birthday party because she was "the wrong skin colour". It's the first thing my daughter told me about on Friday afternoon, when I picked her up from school and rushed her to the pool for a swimming lesson. She'd told the teacher who had reiterated to my daughter that skin colour is irrelevant. This my daughter knows all too well; only last year, her class learned about Nelson Mandela and his fight against discrimination. | Of course the girl had done nothing wrong. She'd merely made reference to my daughter's skin tone. But last Friday, a classmate told my daughter she wasn't invited to her birthday party because she was "the wrong skin colour". It's the first thing my daughter told me about on Friday afternoon, when I picked her up from school and rushed her to the pool for a swimming lesson. She'd told the teacher who had reiterated to my daughter that skin colour is irrelevant. This my daughter knows all too well; only last year, her class learned about Nelson Mandela and his fight against discrimination. |
| Given the young age of the class, I'm really not sure if there's any more that a teacher can do. Should the matter be discussed with the offending party's parents? Is that for me to do or the teacher? To be honest, I'm really not sure if I'm making a mountain out of a molehill myself, although I'm also aware that this could be down to my own experiences of racism going completely unreported. It never occurred to me to tell my teachers or my mum. Perhaps that's why I haven't done anything about it yet. I might be a parent and one that's previously experienced racism, but it's shocked me to realise that I still feel ill-equipped to confront the issue. | Given the young age of the class, I'm really not sure if there's any more that a teacher can do. Should the matter be discussed with the offending party's parents? Is that for me to do or the teacher? To be honest, I'm really not sure if I'm making a mountain out of a molehill myself, although I'm also aware that this could be down to my own experiences of racism going completely unreported. It never occurred to me to tell my teachers or my mum. Perhaps that's why I haven't done anything about it yet. I might be a parent and one that's previously experienced racism, but it's shocked me to realise that I still feel ill-equipped to confront the issue. |
| And so I've dwelled on this latest episode and the unease just won't dissipate. Surely seven-year-olds aren't racist? Surely this was just an unfortunate episode of casual playground cruelty. Surely the classmate's remark could just as easily have been about the colour of my daughter's hair. But I feel troubled by the notion that my daughter's skin colour was somehow perceived to be "wrong". | And so I've dwelled on this latest episode and the unease just won't dissipate. Surely seven-year-olds aren't racist? Surely this was just an unfortunate episode of casual playground cruelty. Surely the classmate's remark could just as easily have been about the colour of my daughter's hair. But I feel troubled by the notion that my daughter's skin colour was somehow perceived to be "wrong". |
| I've also been wondering how other parents would react to something like this. Would they perceive it as something sinister and rush to report the incident, or is that being too heavy-handed? Prejudice isn't instinctive though; isn't this something we learn? Otherwise, how could a seven-year-old possibly articulate that some skin colours are "wrong" while others presumably are not? And if these attitudes are learned, then whose responsibility is it to teach young children about race? | I've also been wondering how other parents would react to something like this. Would they perceive it as something sinister and rush to report the incident, or is that being too heavy-handed? Prejudice isn't instinctive though; isn't this something we learn? Otherwise, how could a seven-year-old possibly articulate that some skin colours are "wrong" while others presumably are not? And if these attitudes are learned, then whose responsibility is it to teach young children about race? |
| Perhaps the school does have a role to play but surely this kind of education has to start at home. The onus is surely on all of us, particularly in a city like Bradford, to teach our children to value and celebrate diversity, so they grow up ready to embrace difference rather than being afraid or ignorant of it. This I am trying to teach my child, but how do I ensure that her classmates adopt the same values? | Perhaps the school does have a role to play but surely this kind of education has to start at home. The onus is surely on all of us, particularly in a city like Bradford, to teach our children to value and celebrate diversity, so they grow up ready to embrace difference rather than being afraid or ignorant of it. This I am trying to teach my child, but how do I ensure that her classmates adopt the same values? |
| Irna Qureshi is an anthropologist and writer on British Asian culture. She blogs about being British, Pakistani, Muslim and female in Bradford | Irna Qureshi is an anthropologist and writer on British Asian culture. She blogs about being British, Pakistani, Muslim and female in Bradford |
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