“Fucking Asian!”
The words, filled with disgust, spat from his mouth as he walked past. Who? Me? I looked around to see who the poor sod that was the victim of verbal abuse. The only soul in sight was a single sprightly old lady, hobbling along, carrying a bag of groceries. Alas, she was not Asian.
Yes, me.
It was a rapid chemical reaction. Bewilderment turned into shock, then fear, then anger. Why I was so angry I couldn’t grasp. I was warned about this. My friends that had been here for a while had already told me, “Hey man, when you start to go further from the city, theangmohs (Caucasians) might start getting a little racist.”
A million thoughts ran through my mind. Should I defend my ethnicity? And if yes, how?
Physical confrontation was out of the question – I was one of those rare Chinese kids that did not know kungfu. What about saying something smart in response? Yeah, I could do that. I hesitated, knowing that I only I had to make it count. I raised my fist, flipped out the longest of my digits… and then I stopped.
The situation was saturated in irony. Back in Singapore, where my kind thronged the streets and ruled the malls with our sheer numbers, this would never happen. Not to me. Never. It was a different story for our dark-skinned countrymen, though. The Indians. And the Bangladeshi construction workers that came over to make a living.
Despite their significant cultural differences, many Singaporeans often chose to ignore them, lumping both into a category labelled “Ah-pu-neh-neh.” The term has no inherent meaning – maybe it is meant to be a twisted parody of their spoken language.
Perhaps it was their dark skin that stood out too much, or their distinct accent. Maybe it was the fact that their spicy diets cultivated a distinct odour that many were uncomfortable with.
Whatever it was, they paid a price for their differences.
On public transport, I witnessed people use the international hand gestures for olfactory discomfort (wrist waving, in front of your nose) to signal their arrival. We avoided sitting next to them in buses and trains. There was also a plethora of jokes in circulation; mostly about how their dark brown skin was close to the shade of faeces.
One of them goes like this: What do you call an ah-pu-neh-neh in church? Answer: Holy shit.
Perhaps it was drilled into us since young. There was no bogey-man in Singapore, only scheming ah-pu-neh-neh, relentless in their pursuit to capture, disembowel and cook lost children for dinner with – you guessed it – curry.
Sure, it wasn’t outward aggression (like what I was faced with). Nobody screamed, “go back home!” or “fucking ah-pu-neh-neh!” One could dismiss them as harmless jokes, and resort to the usual defence: “I’m not racist. Some of my very good friends are Indians.”
Yet, distilled to its most empirical form, it was still racism, the same animal, just a different subspecies.
I know this not because I am a keen observer of social behaviour, or an exceptional telepath. I know this because I am guilty of such prejudice on occasion, more times than I am proud of.
But now, I was the minority. After years of remaining dormant, karma had struck. Now I knew what it felt like to be the proverbial sore thumb. In this land, 3,764 miles away from my own, I was the ah-pu-neh-neh.
The important question was: did I deserve the right of defending myself after all the times I laughed at racist jokes? Should one accept racism as a fact of life; an inevitable fate that befalls all minorities? After all, the ah-pu-neh-nehs never told us off for our gross breaches of conduct.
Which is why we never stopped it.
Sure, our government nags about the importance about race sensitivities. There is minority representation on television dramas and a channel for each ethnic group. Textbooks and public broadcast messages feature members of major ethnic groups living together in perfect harmony; their children playing together, holding hands, falling in love.
All these efforts just to ensure that one group of people doesn’t marginalise another. There is, however, nothing like having someone personally tell you how disgruntled they feel, in your face. If every Indian chided me for every time I made an offensive joke, instead of laughing along with me, I might have stopped thinking they were funny. If every Bangladeshi worker spat in our faces every time the international gesture of olfactory discomfort was made, it would most likely be obsolete.
Time to take a stand. For myself. (And the ah-pu-neh-nehs, in some ironic sort of way.)
“Go to hell, bogan*!”
The words spilled out of my mouth before I realised it.
Oops.
*Australian equivalent of white trash
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The author is a freelance writer currently studying at the University of Melbourne.
The author is a freelance writer currently studying at the University of Melbourne.
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If you like this article, please consider a small donation to help theonlinecitizen.com stay alive. Please note that we can only accept donations from Singaporeans. Thank you for your assistance.81 Responses to “The irony of racism”
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Racism exists in the world, discrimination exists in the world but freedom of speaking your mind and supports from the like minded people do exist in many part of the world. When you don’t have the basic everything is cluttered like what the writer wants to ‘Ah nehs to tell..hey this isn’t funny’.
In a free world where racism and discrimination exists minorities have various avenues to reach out to fellow minorities as well as the majorities. In a do no evil, see no evil world even if one ‘Ah neh’ tells you I’m offended hardly that changes things isn’t it? Think about it.
Not sure what self determination or the size of my home has to do with this discussion but may be in your own twisted world you see that.
Sg cannot compare
john soh who posted his comment just after yours gave examples which i agree with: job wanted ads only want mandarin speakers, SAP schools etc.
…………………….
So if you are an employer who needs to recruit mandarin speaking staff to service the mandarin speaking sector,do you place an ad without telling the applicants on this requirement?
Is this fair for the applicants to travel all the way,spent their time and bus fare and found themselves rejected without knowing the reason?
Ad does not mention they require certain race,but the ability to speak certain languages.You can be of another race but the requirement is that you need know how to communicate with client in their languages.
This is another eg of one being sensitive.
And dun be sensitive if one’s daughter marrying someone of another race.Not everyone can have such opportunity and one should not be jealous on that.
Love is colour blind.Nothing wrong with that.I haven’t got angmo name but I oso want marry angmo.
His company is full of foreigners of his type. One day, his company had no choice but to hire at least 1 citizen. So he hired me.
2. Mr Kia Su
3. Kia Si , Kia Sai , Kia C H (see, i so scared, I dare not type it out)
I have lived in London, Dubai and now Scotland. You’ll find that the Indians and Chinese and even the Pinoys in all those countries will discriminate even if you are of the same decent as them but not from their country.
Are they integrating to sg culture?
Not surprising becos its singapore.
“GO HOME”
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A Malay help the malay, the indian help the indian, the chinese sabotage among themselves…damed ambitious.
Let me share with a good article.