| site | in | out |
| (view all) | ||
Everyday millions of people suffer as the result of prejudice, be it at work or on the street. Discrimination is a serious issue. Yesterday, I went undercover to show the full extent of this awful problem.
Suspecting that it might not be in my best interests to start my trail of discovery in the hallowed and rigid halls of a university, I instead opted for my neighbours. This also made more geographic sense, as it is over a mile closer to where I painted myself. Being adorned in glorious technicolour had the downside of preventing me from drinking, so I went to ask for a straw.
I moved in less than three weeks ago. This was only the second time that I have spoken to them. Although their response was definitely puzzled, I had experienced no hatred or animosity. I got my straw.
Having tested the water, it was time to go shopping. En route, I began to get more of the reaction I was expecting. Several cars kerb-crawled for a better look, an old woman crossed the street to avoid me with as much haste as her zimmer would permit, and a group of Indians made extensive comment in their native tongue. Fortunately for my research, their gesticulations bridged the culture gap. None of these people were willing to be immortalised in this article.
It was here, in the confines of the narrow isles, that I experienced the problem in close quarters. The woman by the bread was less than impressed, but declined to offer comment. I stood by the magazines perusing 'Period living & traditional homes'. I specifically chose this publication to reflect that, could they see past the fact that I was green of skin, I am a charming and refined individual. I remained ostracized, people walking three times the necessary distance rather than ask to pass me.
"Please go to someone else's till," requested the girl behind the counter. It was not said in the abrupt tone in which they are presumably trained, but a plea. I was suprised: surely someone of the retail sector should understand being treated as a lesser individual!
The Christian bookshop is one of several godly establishments in the vicinity. I would like to take the opportunity to say that far from offering sanctuary and the way of light and redemption, I was shunned. They were truly not their brothers' keeper. Maybe I should have tried the Baptists.
This is the final test: a nightclub. The first picture is slightly misleading because it is someone I know, but it is a valid reaction nevertheless. Reactions varied from this to the puzzlement and fear with which I started. Initially, there was reticence amongst the onlookers, becoming more openly inquisitive as the alcohol took its effect.
By midnight, the situation has stagnated. Some have turned into pumpkins and already gone home unenlightened. Others remain puzzled yet still silent, though I would have thought that few things afforded a wider array of ice-breakers than the person to whom you intend to speak being green. Discounting the professionally morose (for the modern goth may not apparently have fun) most are happy and inclusive. My job here is done.
This last photo was taken on my way home. The venue is to close in thirty minutes, and I am standing fifteen minutes walk away. Guy and Rhys are on their way there, as door fee has now stopped being taken. They have sucessfully daunted someone who has spent half a day painted as a grinning turtle.
It is entirely possible that the reaction I encountered is localised to the unhealthily insulated area from which I write this, but it is ghettoisation whether this is the case or not. I was only welcome in certain areas of the town and amongst certain demographics. All that is left for me now to do is ride at the back of the bus. Coming soon: my day with 'The Black & White Minstrals'.
