As a white American, racism is not something that I am forced to consider on a daily basis. Honestly, unless I hear about a specific story or instance of racist behavior, this issue is one that does not cross my mind very frequently. Because of this, I believe I have never written on the subject in any sort of public forum. I simply do not have the experience or knowledge to consider myself worthy to address such an important and nuanced issue. So as you read this post, keep that in mind. This is not a story about racism or oppression. It is an instance when my experiences opened my eyes a little more to what others may feel when they experience racism.
The story starts in the bus station as our team prepares to leave for our recent trip to the mountains. Our friend Chad helps us buy tickets at the counter. We discover that, as foreigners, we are expected to pay a higher price for our tickets. It is only a small fee, and it does not bother us. We board the bus, excited to see new sights and visit new places. The guest house where we stay in the small mountain town is simple: comfortable enough but certainly not much beyond that. We get two rooms for the four of us, and there are two shared bathrooms for all the guests to use. At the end of our lovely stay in the mountains, we get the bill for our guest house stay and realize there is some mistake: it is more than double the price that we were expecting. We each look at the bill and agree to wait until Chad arrives before we pay it since there is obviously something about the bill that we misunderstand. Since Chad speaks the language, and also is the one who booked the rooms, he will know how to explain to the owner that there is a mistake on the bill.
There is no mistake on the bill. Since we are foreigners, the owner has decided to raise the price. Chad spends several minutes talking to her and arguing that it is not a fair price. But he can do nothing to change her mind. There are only two other guest houses in this town, and very few foreigners pass through. She can charge whatever she wants. So we pay our bill and decide to cancel our planned visit to another city since we suddenly have much less money than expected. We travel by van down the mountain and then prepare for the final bus ride home. Chad is able to book bus tickets over the phone for this last leg of the long journey. We unload our backpacks at the bus station around dinnertime, mentally prepping for the overnight bus ride. Chad goes up to the counter to pick up our reserved tickets for the bus. Once again, there appears to be a problem. We watch him earnestly conversing with the ticket agent. His friend comes over to join the conversation. Once again, our fare has been raised. Despite agreeing on a ticket price over the phone, the sight of foreigners has awakened a thirst for more money.
We have no options open to us. We need to take a bus back home, and this is the one that will take us there. We have already brought our belongings with us to the station and are set to reach home tomorrow. There is no one who can speak for us with authority over the dishonest ticket agent. Our friends try, but in the end they cannot change the situation. We pay the inflated ticket price, extra for our bags, and our seats are moved further back on the bus.
The big picture in this situation is that it does not matter. Every injustice only cost us money. While we do not have a lot of money to spare, we will not go hungry or lose our apartment or anything significant because of paying extra at each step of our trip. I am aware of this even as I stand in the darkening parking lot waiting to board the bus. We stand in the dusk knowing that there is no one to whom we can turn. The only ones who stand along side us end up paying more as well. I am frustrated by the injustice. I yearn to be treated fairly and am discouraged when lied to. But perhaps this is a good way to learn.
Reflecting on this time, I cannot help but think about those who are treated unfairly every day. Those who are discriminated against because of their race, and are handed injustices at every step in their lives. Maybe they feel like we did: that there was no one who would listen to their pleas for fairness. They may experience the bitterness of watching their friends argue for them to no avail, and then perhaps suffer alongside them for their troubles. Perhaps they become weary of pointing out the inconsistencies in laws or policies that take advantage of them, because no one appears to care or want to work for change. They raise their voices time and time again in helpless frustration. Because no one listens to their voice.
Will you?
Will you listen? And will you be their voice to the world?
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