Human Being the Minority

I learned two very important lessons over the weekend. The first is to listen to common sense. The second and most important was feeling the isolation of being a minority, a victim of discrimination albeit it very slight.

The time, 5:30am, at this stage it would take me half an hour to walk home, 2000 pesos to catch a cab, or 400 pesos to get the bus. I happen across the stop and recognise it as one I’ve used before. The clubs and bars have emptied and everyone seems to have the same idea as me. Home. Straight away, a young girl, no more than 15 asks me the time. The watch is scoped. Once I responded in English her interest increases. Someone that appears to be her younger brother starts commenting on my legs, poking at them. Pockets scoped.

The bus arrives and maybe 50-60 people start pushing for a spot. In the chaos I feel a hand in my pocket. I grab my possessions, which was a mobile phone and a wallet empty except for 2000 pesos, a bus card and a photocopy of my passport. I get through the crowd and onto the bus. I see the guy who tried to rob me standing outside. Meanwhile the girl and her ‘brothers’ have got on with me. The bus rolls on. She tells me that my stop is coming up. Further, further. Finally, what seemed longer than what I remembered she stops the bus and starts to get out beckoning me to follow. I notice a young guy to my left, signaling me on the sly. I lean closer and he tells me that Irrarazaval Avenue was at least 15minutes behind us. When the young kids noticed I wasn’t joining them, one lunges at my hoodie pocket where I have my wallet and phone secure in my hand. I grabbed his arm, pulled him off balance, and then shoved him out the open door of the bus. To my surprise (relief) they walked off as though nothing had happened. Not even pausing to look back. A bad day at the office. Next time use a knife. The evolution of crime. Like any business it evolves to increase productivity. But this morning I never felt physically threatened by them.

Bastion, the chico that warned me. Now becomes a hot topic of whispers on the bus. The people surrounding us, he later translates for me, were commenting on his actions. Condemning them. Helping the gringo. Suddenly I’m on a bus with nearly 60 young locals, a very small number of which wanted to see me robbed or worse. The hostility in the air from these few was incredible I can still feel it. Bastion walked with me to another stop from which another bus would take me home. I get off. Hood up, scarf over the face. Frilled Neck Lizard. Run home and lock the doors.

At the time the whole event was nothing more than another adventure traveling. Upon reflection I realized it was much more than that, and to write it off as such would not do it justice.

I come from a place where my skin colour, my upbringing and perceived privilege make me no less a target than anyone else. On that bus in Santiago, I felt what it was like to be a minority, to be discriminated physically and socially against. I didn’t speak their language; I didn’t look like them, or dress like them. I was physically different, and some of them hated me because of that. Why do they hate me? What did I do? They don’t even know me? Just some of the questions I started asking myself today, my confusion lead to my realisation. Racism has been something I’ve always tried to fight against. In the classrooms I build with the students and my life. But I never fully understood what is like to be discriminated against after all I have always been the majority. I’m not going to pretend I know now, but what I experienced that morning made me realise that what I imagined is not even close.

I have not taken any hostility or resentment towards Chileans away from this experience. Doing so would contradict my realisation. I don’t feel any sense of resentment or hatred towards the kids that tried to rob me, I don’t hold any grudge against the two or three on that bus that wanted to see me robbed and condemned Bastion. At the risk of painting all Chileans in a bad light, I must reiterate that only a few people on the bus were hostile after the attempt, that this was the first time I have (nearly) been a victim of crime in Chile and South America and the only time I haven’t felt welcome. The friends I have made here, and the good times I am having will attest to this. Sunday morning was only a crime of opportunity and my bad decisions only concreted the outcome. I’m a smarter traveler and resident because of it, hopefully a better person too. Bad things happen. Santiago is no different. I still love this town and her people.