“Oh wow, I couldn’t hear from your accent that you are from Turkey!”
Let me tell you about Rødovre. When I enter the word “Rødovre“ into Google Translate it says “Red over” in English. However, you try to pronounce it out loud - you are doing great. Trust me - Danish is a difficult language, and there is no logic between the letters and pronunciation. Even Danish kids are struggling with Danish spelling.
Now back to Rødovre. Rødovre is the name of a boring suburb of Copenhagen, the capital city of Denmark. Without looking up statistical data, I can tell you that the Rødovre’ian demography probably is predominantly White nuclear families that can’t afford a big house in Copenhagen. Rødovre is close enough to the happiest-hipster-city-in-the-world without too long a commute.
In a recent job interview, the White Manager, who happened to live in Rødovre with his nuclear family, exclaimed in surprise:
“Oh wow, I couldn’t hear from your accent that you are from Turkey!”
I am not from Türkiye. I was born in Denmark of Turkish extraction. I repeated this to him again in a calm voice.
I could have said something like:
"Oh, funny, I couldn't hear from YOUR accent that you live in Rødovre."
Imagining other things I could have said and done, the following scenarios come to my mind:
I shout "Dick!" and storm out of the interview room.
I ask him in a polite voice, what he means by “Oh wow, I couldn’t hear from your accent that you are from Turkey!” Keep asking Why and What until he desperately tries to take back control of the interview.
I flip the interview table and set it on fire.
I throw his laptop out the window.
I scream.
I cry.
I say "Oh, funny, I couldn't hear from YOUR accent that you live in Rødovre. Where are you REALLY from? Do you ever consider moving back to… (insert the name of a depopulated place in Denmark)?"
I say "We are done here." Get up and leave.
I just get up and leave. No explanation.
When I experience microaggressions like that, I am always taken aback. I wish I was more quick to give a bold response and equal the power balance in the situation.
Microaggressions feel like small, tiny, invisible arrows that hit my body.
It feels like a Dr Martens boot kick in my solar plexus.
Damp hands around my throat, and I feel my voice drowning.
An arrow that hits my chest and heart like on a dartboard. The hit rate of 100% accuracy on the Bulls Eye - every time.
With an iron grip on my shoulders, my body becomes immovable.
It feels like dying, but I don’t understand why I am still breathing.
It feels like an endless abusive relationship with nowhere to escape. Unless I opt out of society and live alone in a cave in the Himalayas.
Talking back to the Oppressor, to take my power back is not in me though. I was primed and conditioned from an early age, that if you ever mention the word "racism", White People get very, very upset.
Their feelings are hurt BIG TIME. How dare I “accuse” Nice Good People?
I am pointed out as the Villain for speaking the Truth. Something is wrong with me since I am making Nice Good People feel uncomfortable. I am disturbing their peace.
Like the African proverb says: Whoever tells the Truth is chased out of nine villages.
In other words - I am not allowed to tell people that they have spinach on their teeth. They would much rather swim in the Ocean of Spinach-Oblivion.
I have been swimming in the Ocean of Spinach-Oblivion for many years. Numbness is a way to survive Whiteness. Today I know that it is called Continuous and Ongoing PTSD.
In the past, I tried to speak and hold boundaries. Distance myself. Stay silent. Kept up a brave face when Trillions of arrows were shooting at me.
In this job interview, the power balance is already off. By throwing a racist exclamation like that, I felt a tiny part of myself retracting to an old previous Role that I used to morphe into, and that White People loved to interrogate.
It is That Role where I have to prove to White People that not all Turkish people are "like that" - whatever that is - and that we as people are more than capable of achieving advanced careers, and, and, and...
Here is another Truth. I am not bothered anymore. Opening my mouth to mirror the Truth to a White Manager would be like talking to The Great White Wall of Denmark. Danish people LOVE White Walls with their "Nordic Minimalism".
An exclamation like “Oh wow, I couldn’t hear from your accent that you are from Turkey!” is never innocent.
The White Manager has no awareness outside of his Office Job and nuclear family life in Rødovre. He is in fact living a segregated life in a White Nature Reserve, where everybody looks like him.
I felt a sigh of relief when I left the interview. Made a note to myself that I would probably have similar experiences in future job interviews.
Next time, I am ready to get up and leave. No feedback. No explanation. The world outside of Denmark - and Rødovre - is full of anti-racism education.
Love,
Nevin