Intolerance

Once, in my early twenties, I sat in the old Simpson's cafeteria to have coffee. I shared a table with an old woman. She smiled politely. I returned a polite smile. Then she launched into polite conversation with me. I don't remember the gist of the conversation but it was one of those I would rather not have had. The most memorable question she posed was, "And how do you like living in our country?"

In my younger days, I had little tolerance for ignorance and even less tact for dealing with it. Ill-versed in the Chinese culture, I had never thought of myself as anything but Canadian. I had little memory of living anywhere but in Toronto.

Her question offended me. I saw it as an attempt to distance me, a non-white, from Canada. Our country? She meant this was her country, not mine; I was the trespasser, the transient visiting her country and will be gone soon. So how do I like it while I am here? How grateful am I that Canada extended hospitality to me? Never mind that I vote, pay tax, abide by the laws, and contribute to the economy, just like a regular citizen.

I answered, "I like it fine. How do you like living in our country?"

She was offended. She mumbled a few things then we stopped talking. Which suited me fine.

It's only in retrospect that I realize how rude I had been, how intolerant. I hadn't been gracious and generous; I hadn't made it easy for her to learn about a visible minority. I felt it wasn't my responsibility to teach her anything.

After all these years, I don't know if I've devised any better strategy for dealing with people who draw my attention to our racial differences. I've learned more about what it means being Chinese. Or more precisely, what it means being Chinese in a large Canadian city. I take it for granted we all look different and carry our own unique cultural, social or familial heritage. I also think surely, in the 21st Century in Canada, identification by race alone is a thing of the past.

So I was quite surprised recently to meet someone who shortly upon being introduced, told me she once saw a Chinese mother and her young daughter at a cultural event. The mother was pointing things out to her daughter. Oh, that mother was doing a good thing exposing her daughter to new things. Imagine how much the daughter will learn, said my new acquaintance.

I didn't say anything in response to that. I've learned to hold my tongue. But I couldn't help thinking, What in fuck is this condescension about? Would you have told me about a white woman taking her daughter on an outing and how much that daughter would learn?

Yet, a part of me knows this new acquaintance was just trying to connect with me and therefore latched onto something she thought I might appreciate.

I don't know why I carry the believe that in social situations, racial and cultural lines are no longer prominent in the 21st Century. It's not like there is peace in the Middle East or Africa. If anything, racial, cultural, religious and economic differences are the causes of conflict and strife more than ever.

Maybe it's wishful thinking. I wish that we had evolved to a point where we accept differences as the norm, like accepting that the only constant is change.

Race-based comments don't come up in conversation with my friends. If anything, we simply partake in each other's cultural festivities because we are there. And maybe that's why my friends are my friends. But with people I don't know, people who don't live with the racial, cultural, social and economic diversity of downtown Toronto, maybe I just have to be more gracious and tolerant.