I don’t drink coffee, but in Spain, when someone invites you para tomar un café it’s common courtesy to accept, as coffee chats are an expression of social kindness. About a month into my job, I was at a café with a group of teachers who work at a different school near my own. As I sipped my tea, I noticed one of the women across the table staring intently in my direction.
My eyes caught her gaze as she began to speak. She must have been about 45 years old—a white Spaniard. In a jovial tone, she said:
“You know, I can’t stop looking at your face, because it makes me feel like I’m in an anthropology class.” She paused. “You really look like a pure Indian!”
In a state of shock, I asked if she could repeat herself, unsure if I had misheard her Spanish. There was no mistaking it this time, as the words clase de antropología leapt off of her tongue with precision.
I then did what many POC do in the face of “compliments” such as this one: I took a deep breath, replied with a feeble gracias, and rejoined the larger conversation. For the rest of the day and the subsequent weeks, I ruminated on the intent and effect of her words.
What did this woman seek to accomplish by speaking to me as if I were a figurine in a natural history museum? Furthermore, what did she mean by pure Indian, and what grants her the right to even suggest that such a distinction exists? In this one comment, there is so much to unravel, but for now, I will focus on what it helps me understand about this particular brand of coffee chat racism.
In white-dominated societies, overt fear and hatred of POC is often accompanied by a similarly dangerous and condescending fascination that can manifest itself in casual, amicable settings.
My brown body is perceived at once as a threat, as well as a source of curiosity and awe to those around me. What’s important to note is that both are methods of dehumanization employed in a culture of racism.
I believe this duality is inextricably linked with the legacy of imperialism, which is why it feels more pronounced to me here in Spain, a country that prides itself on colonial history. The process of colonial dehumanization took place explicitly in the massacre of indigenous communities, but also through the subtler phenomena of exoticization and Orientalism. Additionally, anthropology as it was once practiced (and perhaps still is) functioned as a tool of colonial power by providing the fodder for such fetishization of foreign bodies.
Recently, I attended an Indigenous Film Festival taking place in none other than the Museo Nacional de Antropología here in Madrid. The event was co-sponsored by the Coordinadora Latinoamericana de Cine y Comunicación de los Pueblos Indígenas (CLACPI) and aimed at empowering indigenous content creators.
There was something eerie and paradoxical about the notion of indigenous empowerment situated in an anthropological museum of what was once the capital of the Spanish empire. Looking around the crowd of entranced white audience members during the screenings, I couldn’t help but imagine what sort of thoughts might be churning through their minds.
While I couldn’t control their thoughts, nor was it my responsibility to do so, as a POC I can practice self-care by reminding myself constantly of my own humanity. POC are more than plastic models in exhibitions or images in National Geographic; we are human beings with purpose and potential. No passing comment will ever modify that truth.
On my third day in Madrid, I decided to take a walk to Parque de El Retiro in order to take a break from the relentless process of apartment-hunting. I was on my own with my headphones in, and took a shortcut through a central division in the road.
I had noticed a group of three armed police officers standing in this division, one of whom carried an automatic machine gun. They were looking in my direction, so I decided to keep my distance, and walked quickly away from them. One of the officers ran over to me and asked that I step aside and speak with them.
I calmly responded as they asked for my passport, and explained to them that I was here to teach English on a program of the US State Department. I had been advised not to carry my passport in order to avoid theft. I showed them my State ID instead, at which point their blank expressions morphed into frowns.
I can’t tell you how much time passed, but maybe around 3-5 minutes in which I pleaded with them to believe that I was in Spain legally and apologized repeatedly for my apparent mistake. The officers would frequently consult with me and then among themselves, switching in and out of Spanish and English. Their frustration with my inability to procure a passport escalated, and at one point an officer pulled me aside and told me how stupid it was of me to not carry my passport given “the current situation.” I can only assume he meant that as a brown person—perhaps more specifically as a South Asian, bearded man—living in Spain after the terrorist attacks in Barcelona this summer, I should have been more aware that my mere existence in public spaces would immediately be perceived as threatening and foreign.
What finally convinced them to let me go was their understanding that my name is a Christian name and that my family is Catholic. Because their actions were driven primarily by Islamophobia, this fact was enough to justify my right to be in Spain (this calls into mind my peculiar situation as a POC of identifiably Christian heritage, which I will discuss in another post).
I left the encounter physically shaking. I ran back to the AirBnb in which I was staying alone, in a foreign country in which I had just arrived.
To all reading this, please understand that the institution of policing as it operates in ALL countries in the world, is inherently racialized. In the following days, during orientation and in conversations with my program cohort members, I repeatedly heard mostly white people, but also white-passing POC, remark that the Spanish police are fantastic, friendly, and that we should never hesitate to approach them. To those people, please reconsider your words or risk endangering the lives and wellbeing of POC who live in or visit Spain.
In reflecting on this incident a month later, I also think back to the comfort my mother provided as I Facetimed her, shaken and distraught directly afterward. She assured me that I shouldn’t allow the actions of the officers affect my sense of self-worth or right to mobility. She also reminded me of my privileges in the situation, such as documentation, and that whatever fear I felt in those moments should be held in comparison with and contrast to the epidemic of anti-blackness in the police force of the United States.
Fear was my initial response, and though that fear has stayed with me, I choose to take from this experience a deeper resolve to carve a space for myself in this country. I deserve to exist here. My presence is inherently subversive and difficult, but it will also be productive and beautiful in ways I have yet to explore.
The thoughts I will share in this blog, all of which in some way touch upon the experience of people of color (POC) in Spain and Europe as a whole, were initially meant as private catharsis. It was only recently that I decided to share this writing, with the intention of perhaps curbing some of the frustration and helplessness I have felt upon arriving in Madrid in September to begin nine months as an English Teaching Assistant.
I am honored and grateful to have the chance to live in Spain this year, and recognize how fortunate I am to be here. At the same time, there are insidious and overt ways in which racism permeates the fabric of Spanish/European culture that have fogged the rose-colored glasses through which I previously viewed this nine month journey.
I’m going to post here short anecdotes and reflections on anything relevant to my own experiences and those of POC more generally, bearing in mind that the prejudice I personally grapple with is often only a fraction of what other immigrants here deal with on a daily basis. In each post, I will try to include relevant links that explore further the topics I’ve sought to discuss, and welcome any feedback and criticism. The aim of this blog is as follows:
for POC: In this blog, I hope you find comfort and a sense of shared frustration & anger. I hope that reading through my own and others’ experiences alleviates some of the isolation you might feel.
for White People*: I hope you read this blog to gain a better understanding of the privileges you possess as you exist in the world. Remember that your romanticization of time spent abroad erases the reality that such nostalgia and wanderlust are not afforded to others in the same ways.
*That being said, this blog deals with more than just race, and such will also identify the intersectional privileges experienced in relation to gender, religion, sexual orientation, etc. For example, as a cisgender male, I experience many privileges that cisgender female and transgender individuals do not—there are multiple forms of oppression that we all move in and out of.
A note on the blog name: moreno is a term of “endearment” used here in Spain to refer to those of darker complexion. Much of the inspiration for my blog name comes from Las Morenas de España, a fantastic website exploring the experiences of women of color here in Spain.
Tris - Junkie XL / Undiscovered Colors - The Flashbulb / Aurora Borealis -Steven Price / Don’t you Worry Love - Warmer / Loss of a twin - Brian Tyler / Faction Before Blood - Junkie XL / Tate & Violet - There so much pain / Loneliness - Arcade Fire / Particles of the Universe Elysian Fields - Behn Zeitlin / And the world was gone - Snow Ghosts / Contacting Raven - John Ottman / Death Bed - Behn Zeitlin / Invisible - Dandelion Hands ./ Emptiness - Izler / He losts everything - John Ottman / Particles of the Universe Heart Beats - Behn Zeitlin / On the nature of daylight - Max Richter / My body is a cage - Peter Gabriel / The mercy of the living - Bear Mc Creary / By this river - Brian Eno / The end of the World - Clinton Shorter / Kyss Mig Theme - Marc Collin / La nuit des fées - Indochine / Ghost of a future Lost - Clint Mansell.
