‘Go back to where you’ve come from gollywog’. Mom said that they used gollywog a lot in the 1970’s. If I was called a wog today I would probably respond with a fit of laughs, it’s just not controversial enough.
The last time I was called a paki I was probably about 14 years old. The local bully who happened to be a girl (yes a girl) was feared within my community. She had a history of violence and was the vulgar, ugly and most disillusioned person I had ever seen.
‘Next time you say something to Darren I'll rip your pom pom off’, she shouted with her halitosis and decaying teeth flashing themselves at me. ‘Paki’.
Now when you think about it, the term ‘paki’ is only offensive because of the emotion attached to it. It actually only refers to a person from Pakistan – a foreigner on British shores. But in the eyes of prejudice it becomes a malicious insult, filled with rage, a fear of the unknown and xenophobia at its core. My use of this word for the title of my blog merely reflects my acceptance of this word. In fact I haven’t heard it said for a long time and for me its not a racial term anymore. Not in the way it used to be anyway.
Those that use the word ‘paki’ are to me miscreants, ignorants who think that colour means more than the content of character as Martin Luther King so eloquently put it.
‘Go back to where you come from, you come here and take our jobs!!’.
‘I just want a bag of chips’ I exclaim peering over the steel counter staring at the vinegar.
‘They all come here in droves, this ay your country. You should all go back to where you come from. Bloody pakis’. The old lady sporting a tea cosy on her bob nods in agreement. The factory worker with his scruffy blue overalls compressing his gut looks on catatonically…
‘The jobs we do require some skill, skill that you could easily acquire with some effort and education. The taxes we pay allow you to receive your medication and treatment free of charge. The doctor that treats you was educated in India and travelled to the UK because of the demand for doctors. The shop that you buy your milk and bread from was set up by a minimum wage earning migrant who was destined to spend his life in a foreign land, working for foreign people, with no knowledge of the language of the land, no idea about western customs and values and with 3 mouths to feed. With some insight and hard work, he was able to do something better and provide groceries for his community and still you mock him, vandalise his property and call him a paki. Why don’t you accept those around you and see the good in a new diverse, multi-cultural, cosmopolitan Britain’. That is what I should have said….
The last time I was called a paki I was probably about 14 years old. The local bully who happened to be a girl (yes a girl) was feared within my community. She had a history of violence and was the vulgar, ugly and most disillusioned person I had ever seen.
‘Next time you say something to Darren I'll rip your pom pom off’, she shouted with her halitosis and decaying teeth flashing themselves at me. ‘Paki’.
Now when you think about it, the term ‘paki’ is only offensive because of the emotion attached to it. It actually only refers to a person from Pakistan – a foreigner on British shores. But in the eyes of prejudice it becomes a malicious insult, filled with rage, a fear of the unknown and xenophobia at its core. My use of this word for the title of my blog merely reflects my acceptance of this word. In fact I haven’t heard it said for a long time and for me its not a racial term anymore. Not in the way it used to be anyway.
Those that use the word ‘paki’ are to me miscreants, ignorants who think that colour means more than the content of character as Martin Luther King so eloquently put it.
‘Go back to where you come from, you come here and take our jobs!!’.
‘I just want a bag of chips’ I exclaim peering over the steel counter staring at the vinegar.
‘They all come here in droves, this ay your country. You should all go back to where you come from. Bloody pakis’. The old lady sporting a tea cosy on her bob nods in agreement. The factory worker with his scruffy blue overalls compressing his gut looks on catatonically…
‘The jobs we do require some skill, skill that you could easily acquire with some effort and education. The taxes we pay allow you to receive your medication and treatment free of charge. The doctor that treats you was educated in India and travelled to the UK because of the demand for doctors. The shop that you buy your milk and bread from was set up by a minimum wage earning migrant who was destined to spend his life in a foreign land, working for foreign people, with no knowledge of the language of the land, no idea about western customs and values and with 3 mouths to feed. With some insight and hard work, he was able to do something better and provide groceries for his community and still you mock him, vandalise his property and call him a paki. Why don’t you accept those around you and see the good in a new diverse, multi-cultural, cosmopolitan Britain’. That is what I should have said….
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