Zoya Patel says she feels more comfortable in France than in some Australian settings. Photo: Supplied.
Travelling to the northern hemisphere as an Australian is an ordeal – but after 36 hours of planes and airports, being transported to a Parisian summer while my friends and family back home shiver their way through Canberra in July is gratifying.
Another unexpected source of gratification is remembering how much easier it is to walk through Paris (or indeed Edinburgh, London, New York etc) as an Indian woman than it is at times to live in Australia.
Here, my skin colour is entirely unremarkable. I don’t feel the flicker of a stranger’s eyes, or suffer the rudeness of a sudden racist comment, or just feel that uncomfortable feeling when I know that I am being judged or treated differently because of my race.
I feel all of those things in Australia on a semi-regular basis.
Being in France and feeling so at ease has surprised me, but apparently it shouldn’t.
During my first few days in Paris, a Scottish friend accompanied me. She was surprised at how clear it was that we were tourists (given we were loudly talking in English, I didn’t share her shock), but a French friend looked at both of us, and said: “Zoya fits right in. You don’t because you have blonde hair. French people are rarely blonde”.
I was charmed by this, given I’m the brown person. I wouldn’t have expected to be the person to fit in over my blonde, white friend in a European country. If we were walking around in Australia and no one heard her accent, undoubtedly people would be more likely to assume my friend is Australian than that I am.
Before you run for the comment section, let me elaborate. I’ve written before about living in Scotland, and how interesting it was to witness the difference in the way people reacted to my race there compared to Australia.
“Where are you from?” someone would ask, and I would reply “Australia” – because that is where I am from. I have never known another home and, while I have an Indian ethnic background, I am no more “from” India than Mongolia. I barely know the country.
In Australia, the question is loaded. The real thing being asked is “why is your skin brown?”. It is a question that nine times out of 10 is borne out of curiosity and no malicious intent. But every so often, it’s combined with a sneer and an aggressive tone. Or worse, instead of being asked where I am from, I am simply told to go back there.
In Scotland, and indeed in France and the US when I’ve visited, my response of “Australia” is met with delight, and no further interrogation. These countries have large South Asian populations, just as Australia does, and unlike other ethnic groups, they have transitioned from the racism faced by South Asians in these countries in the past to a broad acceptance of the generational transfer of cultural identity from race or birthplace to a person’s home.
Being South Asian and British, or French or American is unremarkable and unquestioned.
Being asked where I’m from is obviously not particularly traumatising, but it is frustrating when placed in the context of other regular experiences of racism or racist stereotyping.
Just recently back home I have been at events where I have been asked incredibly stereotypical questions based on my race, been mistaken for other brown women who look nothing like me, had strangers make racist comments in public, and heard tales of the same from my family and friends.
While I have been enjoying the lack of interest in my race over here, I am not so naive as to think France, Europe more generally, or the UK don’t have significant issues with racism.
My reprieve is largely because of the rebranding of South Asian migrants as the “model minority”, in opposition to other migrant groups that are the subject of racist vilification. I am very aware that this is simply the shifting of global attitudes that currently favour my traits, but could easily turn in the future.
Another French friend, who has an Arabic background, was vocal about his experiences of racism, and his frustration with his country’s treatment of his community.
And I have arrived in France after weeks of unrest and rioting over the police shooting of a young black man here in Paris.
Racism is a massive factor in the lives of many French people, and often in bigger more systemic ways than I experience as a brown person in Australia. But it is bizarre to reflect that I can feel more at ease here, in a country where I don’t even speak the language, than I sometimes do walking into a room full of white Australians at home.
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