Arushi Bhaik: The far right is making Aberdeen feel less like home for people like me |
Political polarisation and division have taken a damaging hold across Scotland.
The consequences are acutely felt by ethnic minority communities, where the corrosive atmosphere leads to the suppression of voices, particularly those of women of colour.
Currently, a number of loud, divisive voices claim to be “protecting women,” yet their actions often do the very opposite to foster an environment of exclusion and hostility that disproportionately silences minoritised women.
This hostile landscape reminds me of the poem In My Country by former Scots Makar Jackie Kay.
When asked the persistent question, “where do you come from,” the final couplet offers an unwavering claim to place and presence: “’Here,’ I said, ‘Here. These parts.’”
This defiant claim to belonging is what every person deserves, yet with the rise of far-right politics, the question of where we “really” come from is being asked more often and more aggressively.
When I am put on the spot with this question, my answer is always the same: “Right here, from Scotland.” I shouldn’t have to explain my identity, but for many of us, the constant questioning is a tiresome reality.
According to a survey by the University of Glasgow, around one-third (35%) of people in Scotland’s Black, Asian, and visible minority ethnic communities have faced discrimination within the past two years, and confidence in anti-discrimination efforts continues to decline.
‘Where are you really from?’
Given my own recent experiences, these findings do not surprise me.
On a recent evening out with a friend (both of us South Asian), two people walking past us in my home city loudly declared, “I hate these bloody Indians.”
I was taken aback and a little scared, but I loudly coughed to let them know their hateful comments were heard and unwelcome. They merely shrugged and walked on.
Events like this are unnerving, but they are also far too common, and the sheer regularity takes its toll.
I remember being with my mum at a hospital lift when a person next to us said, “Sorry to offend you but…you people are everywhere now. Before my time, there were fewer people.”
He then tried to cover up the aggression by adding, “You guys are doing better now, it’s commendable,” but the message was clear: one sentence said to remind us we don’t fully belong. That we are the “other people.”
At university, a peer asked, “How do you speak so well in English?”
That would be because English is my first language. While I was thrilled to begin my course and meet new friends from around the world, I still felt subtle exclusion based on something as meaningless as the colour of my skin.
Older generations have recounted the overt racism they faced: violence, graffiti on their shop walls, and threats that made them want to stay indoors to protect themselves.
The world has progressed, but not as far as we had hoped. It can often feel like we are rolling back, leaving me to worry: will my future generations also face the same imposter syndrome and the same questioning?
Whilst those reading this may shrug and think “it’s just some comments” or “it’s just a question,” if these comments and questions are a regular occurrence, if you are constantly made to feel like you are not part of a nation—it’s an exhausting and deeply undermining experience.
Subtle racism allows far-right rhetoric to flourish
This so-called subtle racism, when left unchecked through conversation and unconnected communities, enables far worse hate to flourish.
Most recently, we saw this on high streets, including here in the north-east in Aberdeen, with racist slogans and banners calling for people who are not “born in Scotland,” who are new to Scotland, and who look like me, to leave.
In Aberdeen, five men were charged over inciting racial hatred after protests in the city centre.
Shouting “send them home” achieves nothing except the spread of fear and hate. All of our communities, regardless of race or accent, are feeling increasing levels of poverty and inequality—we have much more in common than we think.
The political environment also exacerbates the challenges facing minoritised women who are active in civic and political life.
The Young Women’s Movement’s Young Women Lead programme, for example, which works to tackle the underrepresentation of young women in decision-making spaces across Scotland, often finds itself needing to actively build safe spaces for young women of colour to engage.
This need to create protected environments is a direct response to the hostility and polarisation that can be amplified online and in public, proving that the struggle for equality must be intersectional.
Back to the question I am asked too often: ‘Where do you come from?’
I will continue to have the same answer: “Right here.” And when someone replies to interrogate the extent of my belonging to Scotland, I will simply reply that this is my home, my only home, a home I wish to see progress and build positive futures for everyone in it.
There is enough for all of us, provided we stop pointing at those who are minoritised already, and start pointing at the systems and institutions that are creating the inequality.