Them and us

Reporter: "Excuse me, may I interview you?"

Man: "Yes!"

Reporter: "Name?"

Man: "Abdul Al-Rhazim."

Reporter: "Sex?"

Man: "Three to five times a week."

Reporter: "No no! I mean male or female?"

Man: "Yes, male, female... sometimes camel."

Reporter: "Holy cow!"

Man: "Yes, cow, sheep... animals in general."

Reporter: "But isn't that hostile?"

Man: "Yes, horse style, dog style, any style."

Reporter: "Oh dear!"

Man: "No, no deer. Deer run too fast. Hard to catch."

Them and us. Abdul Al-Rhazim thinks he fits in when he just doesn't. He is not “us” he is “them”. And it hurts.

When I was living in San Pedro in Murcia, Spain, I flattered myself on loving the Spanish, speaking their language and being a Spaniard. When I went into the local store that sold everything, I asked the lady for something or other. I then apologised for her not understanding my Spanish. “Soy Ingles.”

Her contemptuous reply I have never forgotten, “Como se parece.” (That's obvious!)

I know a family who live in a Muslim country. The woman opposite is a very bitter second wife. Her husband, a devout man, visits here regularly in accordance with Sharia. She has a lot of children who play in the street and kick their ball against my friend's family car. She has rigged up several cameras outside her house to spy on my friends who live just opposite her. She deliberately blocks the road with her own car and treats her servants – two wretched Filipinas – abominably.

Eventually my friends fixed up their own small camera to record the children's antics. By that time, they were alone in the street – everyone else had been driven out. The next day, the Police came round with the Manager of the Estate to tell them to remove the camera! It was a case of “Yessir!” - or immediate deportation.

Now they live in a different part of town, as far away from her as possible.

The lady of the house – the woman opposite - was a Muslim citizen of the country and my friends were expats. And they were not even Muslim! They were, in other words “them”, and treated as such. So they got hurt.

How would you like to live as a devout Muslim in Britain today? I can tell you, being a “foreigner” in your own country hurts. It really does.

Them and us.

We are nice. We are clean living. We work for our families. Yes, we can be a bit smelly sometimes, but – hey – who cares!

They are foreign. They have dirty habits. They are here for the welfare state. They stink! Yuck!

Let us examine some of “them”.

Skin colour. Easy to pretend that, like Mr Corbyn's carefully planned front bench, like the “diverse” BBC, skin colour does not matter. Until you are black skinned or brown skinned. Fair's fair! Then, for far too many of our fellow citizens, it really does matter.

But it also works the other way round.

I notice, for instance that the ANC was once a mixed rainbow nation anti-apartheid movement in South Africa. Many white Liberals were seen joining in the demonstrations. Now? Nakedly black only.

I have a friend who, applied for Sierra Leonian citizenship. He is white skinned. He was refused – on racial grounds.

Our Catholic Church is colour blind – it really is. Black skins, brown skins, white skins all mingle and mix together – inside the church building. We are all, after all, Catholics together. After the service, however, the Indians join their own group outside. When our priest had a brown skin (he was a Sikh convert from East Africa), Indians of all sorts flocked to church.When a very nice Indian heritage girl appeared in my East European English lesson, I could feel the room freeze. Eastern Europeans are not used to Africans or Indians – they are “not us” - they are czarny - black.

We assume, too often, that everyone in the world wants to be “us”.

Once, in an African University in Ghana, I was privileged to be invited to a garden party run by a well meaning lady. She provided a table with a white table cloth, a tea pot and a milk jug and some cups and saucers, all in impeccable order.

With pride, she revealed the cucumber sandwiches which she had made and she had even cut the crusts off the bread.She was quite determined that the Ghanayan guests from all walks of life should be “us” and sit down to a nice friendly tea time.And they did too. They didn't much care for the tea made in the British way, so very politely they left it.Then, very carefully, they peeled their sandwich open and looked inside. What was this strange thing all green and tasting of nothing?

They picked it out and threw it on the ground.Then they examined the remains of the carefully prepared sandwich and politely left it on the plate. It didn't work. “They” wanted to be “them”, not “us”.

Race is so easy for bigots. Actually it is complicated. It needs more looking into.

865 words.