Gentle Reader, this is an anecdotal account about race in my city of Vancouver. This is a completely unscientific model I am employing but still worth a read, I would say, even if I might be happening to write it.
I was finishing up work in East Vancouver, seeing that my client would experience a smooth and fairly enjoyable transition between me and the colleague who will be substituting for me while I am away for the next couple of months. Then I decided to take a slightly different route getting home, thinking of walking an extra ten minutes or so to catch the rapid bus. Well, it turned out that traffic was closed because of a protest and I would have to devise a different bus route. The resulting traffic jam made it necessary that I get off the bus and walk. So, I had to change my route again. I passed part of the protest, which was for the homeless people camping out in Oppenheimer Park. (I have mixed feelings about protests that disrupt other people's lives, no matter how passionately I support the cause.)
This took me into Chinatown, giving me one last opportunity to enjoy a couple of botsi, the Chinese dim sum treat that is also called sesame balls, or tennis ball size deep fried dumplings made of glutinous rice flour and filled with sweet bean paste and coated in toasted sesame seeds. Yes, they sound decidedly weird but they are exquisite! I got on a different bus, since the usual routes were totally disrupted and delayed and eventually I found my way home.
Now, it was my random interactions with strangers on this reroute home that to me made all the difference. On the first bus, there was a mature Filipino gentleman near my age seated next to me, and he seemed a bit confused about how to get to where he was going, so, I checked in with him about how he was doing. We had a short but pleasant and friendly conversation. Later at the Chinese bakery where I bought the botsi, I was served by two warm and friendly Chinese ladies. When I got on the next bus, I found myself seated next to a friendly and warm aboriginal man , perhaps a bit older than me, poor, and he was telling me about some of his experiences as a fisherman.
On the last bus, I ran into potential trouble just as I was about to get off. It was crowded and there was a white,man, well dressed, perhaps about thirty-five, caucasian, blond, and quite big. I asked him politely if I could get past him. He said, in a minute. Then I asked if he was also getting off, and this I asked so I would be assured that I could just walk behind him. Then he said in a rude and sharp tone that there wasn't enough room for him to let me go past him. There was, actually, but I could tell he was an arrogant and entitled white guy not used to the humiliation of public transit. I replied, "Please do not take that kind of tone with me. We are all in the same boat, on the same bus." He shrank into his large body, rather like a tortoise under siege, as I squeezed past him and got off the bus.
Privilege really blinds those who are privileged. They don't even know they are privileged, especially straight white men. They are not all like that, thank heavens, but too many are, and we have a lot of work to do if we want to get past that, rather like getting past that entitled little Lord Fauntleroy on the bus yesterday.
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