White in a sea of whiteness

I’ve never been in a developing country full of white people before.

This may seem like something that should have no relevance, but in a way, it does. Not because it makes the people on the street here any different than the people I saw on the street while living in Guatemala, for instance, or in China, but because it makes me different standing next to them. I don’t automatically stand out as being unusual. Sure, when it comes down to it, I’m sure I still stand out in a crowd as a foreigner to some degree – I probably dress a little funny and I certainly don’t speak like a local – but I’m not walking around with a scarlet F blazing from my forehead. My skin’s not a sign of wealth or privilege, because the poor and the underprivileged have the same skin I do.

It’s funny how this creates a new sort of equal footing. Now I’m not trying to imply that I’ve been on some other level than the people of other ethnic backgrounds I’ve met or worked with other places – that’s not it. It’s just that race isn’t really salient here – I’m not automatically the white girl, the gringa, the farang, etc. I’m just another person.

Even in the US, I’ve found that when I volunteer, I’m often serving people of color, a fact which has a certain weight to it. Not that there aren’t poor white people in the US – there certainly are – but I usually volunteer in urban settings, where the faces around me are generally non-white. And I sometimes fear that this can give a touch of an awkwardly patronizing quality to my efforts, especially when combined with a difference in socioeconomic status. Like when Melanie and I lead our class in the East Palo Alto Boys & Girls Club. We’re white and from a nice suburb. Our girls aren’t. Because of this, I sometimes fear our classes smack a bit of “oh, here come the rich white girls who know it all” – there’s no denying the class would be a different experience for the girls if Melanie and I were black, for instance. But we’re not, which brings differences, both bad and good. I definitely think it makes some of the girls feel like they can relate to us less. But it also brings a certain extra diversity to the class, which can be great – one of our girls literally wrote “white people are nicer than I thought” in her journal at the end of class one day. (Ah, I love kids.) :)

So anyway, I guess what I’m saying is race is always there, whether you think of it as important or not. And here everyone is white. Because of that, I don’t really blame people here for not knowing how to deal with race – I have to admit that when I saw an Asian girl in a restaurant the other day, my own first thought was “hmm, what’s her story?” – but I do try to educate people as much as I can. Not that I’m some great speaker of truth, but you gotta tell the world what you believe, right?

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Moldovan, during a lull in the conversation: So what about those black people?

Carolyn: What about them?

Moldovan: (Considers for a moment) Well, they’re lazy

Carolyn: Yeah, about as lazy as white people

Moldovan: That guy I told you about who always came to work late when I was in Chicago, he was black

Carolyn: Hmmm. Well, I know plenty of black people who aren’t lazy

Moldovan: Yeah, I guess. Once we were on this bus in Chicago and a black man asked us where we were from and we said “Russia” and he told us all this Russian history and we had no idea what he was talking about because even we don’t know that stuff. He was a professor. Maybe he wasn’t so lazy….

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I’m sure I make off-base generalizations about topics I don’t have much personal experience with, too, which is why I feel a sort of responsibility to try to educate others in the way I hope others will educate me.

So to sum things up: being the “same” as everyone here, at least on this one dimension, is pretty interesting. It definitely makes me get stared at (and hit on) less on the streets. :)