Oh boy, casual racism. Sigh.

Today, I'm going to tell you a secret about me! I know, it's so exciting! The secret is: I look like I'm 40 years old. FORTY.




Yes, it came as a surprise to me, too.

On Wednesday I have three hours of spare time between two classes, so we usually hang out at a café and talk about profound things like serial killers, dudes who go to prostitutes, the entertainment value of forensic medicine and other fun topics you just happen to talk about when you need to kill time. And then this happened: this guy looks at me and explains to me that he couldn't possibly say if I was twenty or forty years old because of my Asian background.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Because ...

a) I don't look like I'm forty years old (and you just made me twice my age),

b) I hadn't said a word about any Asian background,

c) seriously, I don't look like I'm forty years old. Also, that comment was fucking racist and it pisses me off.

See, I'm not easy to piss off. Actually it's really hard to piss me off; I'm kind of the queen of Conflict-Avoidistan, and people including me are always very surprised when some moron manages to infuriate me to the point where I openly show my anger. Swantje, for instance, is still completely amazed and thrilled by the day where I verbally hung, drew and quartered the other intern for suggesting that, and I quote, "the slitty-eyes all look alike". And boy, did I ever hang, draw and quarter that unfortunate girl.

I also made her an Idiot Diagram:

Obviously, all people in Europe are perfectly distinguishable, while Asians look like twins. All four billions of them!

Now that we've settled that - what really amazes me about these incidents is that the moment you point out to people that what they've just said was maybe a bit stupid and also racist, they get all defensive. No way they're racist! It was just a joke! (Intern Girl) I completely misunderstood! And did I really take that amiss? (Apparently Blind Guy) (Answer: YES I DID DOUCHEBAG AND ALSO I DO NOT LOOK LIKE FORTY YEARS.) How could I! I am being oversensitive, really! If they say they're not racist, they are not racist, even though what they say is, actually, racist! I mean, clearly. Let's face the sad truth: they're just deeply and tragically misunderstood souls. Let us take a minute and shed a tear!

Okay, I'm equally distressed by their fate, you guys, but let's be serious for a while. This kind of behaviour is casual racism - you don't necessarily mean to be racist, but since you come from a place of privilege (in this case, the same skin colour as the majority of people around you), you don't notice when you are. It simply doesn't occur to you! Nobody has ever spoken really, reeeeally slow to you (because you couldn't possibly understand them otherwise) or laughed at the form of your eyes or, you know, reduced you to a mass of people who didn't have the decency to make themselves distinguishable faces like WE have!

There's another reason why comments like that make me furious: they give me a brand. The Asian. The girl with the dark skin. The foreigner. The girl who will never be one of US. But you know what? I was born here. I've lived here my entire life. German is my native tongue, I wasn't taught another one. I am, by birth, a German citizen (§4 I StAG). And still conversations like the following one happen to me:

GIRL: So where are you from?

KONSTANZE: I'm from Neu-Ulm.

GIRL: But ... you're not from here, are you?

KONSTANZE: I am. I was born here.

GIRL: But you're not from here!

KONSTANZE: I'm a German citizen. I've never had any other citizenship.

GIRL: Okay. So where are you from, really?

See? I'm a German citizen, but Not Actually German. I can wear a dirndl and start yodelling and I'm still not going to be German. Because obviously, for being German I have to look German. And you know what that does? It takes away part of my identity. Because I don't have any other. The Philippines are breathtakingly beautiful, but they're not the country I grew up in: There, I'm looked at in the streets because of my light skin, my tongue can't really wrap itself around all the vowels Tagalog uses and the climate kills me. I'm not German enough for the Germans, I'm not Filipina enough for the Filipinos. I'm apparently neither, not really at least, firmly placed between two chairs. But you know what? This, here, is my home. This is my language. So, seriously, if you doubt that, I'm going to tell you to fuck off. Repeatedly, and rightfully so.

Also, in case I haven't mentioned it enough, I don't look like I'm forty years old.

Men Who Explain Things

So I did this internship. It was awesome in a "OMG OMG I touched a Barbarossa diploma now I can die happily!" way. (They also had Rommel's death mask, but I didn't want to touch it as much. Ew.) My sqealing over long dead emperors aside, one day the director had lunch with a couple of employees and I tagged along. At some point during the conversation I asked a question. It was a simple question. A question that could have been answered in one sentence! Instead I got a 45 minute speech about the efficiency of the 18th century Prussian army, which was certainly very educational, but, as you might have guessed, only vaguely related to my initial question.

This happens to me a lot! I'd always thought I just had a really good listening face, but during my recent dive into the feminist blogosphere I discovered there's actually a term for this: mansplaining. Mind you, I don't want to cast the shadow of a doubt on the director's qualification to explain the Prussian army; it's that he thought I needed this lengthy and uncalled-for explanation and the way he explained things ("... and in 1870/1871 was the Franco-Prussian War. It was the war between France and the German armies." "Yes, I know." "It was the last Unification War. There were three of them." "Yes, I know?" "Germany won." "I know?" "Now let me explain this to you ...") that makes this a prime example of mansplaining.

Yes: You're an alpha male twenty years into your working life and I don't even have a degree. You probably know a lot of things I don't and that's really good, because I can learn something from you. I like learning new things! That's why I'm here! So that's what I do: I smile and nod, I laugh at your jokes, I am generally thrilled by the prospect of all the knowledge you present to me, and I try really hard not to roll my eyes. Looking on the bright side, I've learned a lot about the Prussian army. Doesn't make any of this less condescending. Sadly, mansplaining isn't always annoying and educational; sometimes it's just annoying.

Same internship, other guy (I told you this happens a lot to me), a history student of the kind so brim-full with knowledge they couldn't fit in any social competence. I had been silently amused by his futile attempts to awe my boss by dumping as much historical information on her, the PhD historian with archival training, as he could without taking a breath. Then he walked me home one evening and he just kept explaining things - because, obviously, I needed explanations! Just because I repeatedly stated that I've actually read the Song of the Nibelungs doesn't mean I don't need to be explained the plot! Duh. --- DUDE. I know you want to impress me! Now how about impressing me by not treating me like a stupid person? We could have an actual conversation! You know, like: I say something, you respond to that, then I respond to your response and so on. It'd be almost like you respected me as an equal human being!

My point is: I don't get it. Or rather, I get it. It's an aggressive form of self-promotion, it's yelling "Here I am, notice me, I'm that awesome!" really, really loud. I don't mind getting things explained. Like I said, I like learning things and that's why I spend internships asking questions rather than basking in my own glory. But I think there's a fundamental difference between sharing knowledge and dumping information. The former is just fine; the latter shows that you take me as seriously as a conversational partner as you'd, say, take a chest of drawers. It's like if we were talking to each other and then you'd pause and say "Wait! I have the distinct feeling I should demonstrate my own awesomeness! Let me go on about a topic that has nothing to do with our conversation. You might already know about it or alternatively really don't give a damn at the moment (or both), but you haven't heard me talking about it yet! So let me elaborate while ignoring the fact that there are, usually, two partners to a conversation as well as your not-so-subtle hints of disinterest! Because I am talking now! This is about me and only me so just shut up and listen!".

Conversation: you're doing it wrong. By reducing your conversational partner to a mere witness of your own grandiosity you're displaying an equally grandiose lack of respect for them at the same time. You don't care what they say - you simply use their audience to exhibit your grotesquely inflated ego. That's just rude and ruthless. But you know what? Congratulations! You're going to get far in life. The Me And Just Me Show you put on is going to make your career. I don't really like talking to you, though. I sort of prefer talking to people who treat me as a person. I guess you'll get over it soon.

First Post, Wooo!

So, um, hi! I go under the name of Konstanze. My primary blog can be found over here. But, in light of all the awesome blogs I've discovered here, I want to stop lurking and take up commenting and posting at this place as well. So ... there you go. I suck at these first time postings. Just wanted to say hello and here I am. :)