Reality Check: You are alone - pt 1

The first time I almost felt at home in a city was when I lived in Oxford for thirteen months during my industrial placement. Even with the glaring lack of diversity and the great divide, my heart felt somewhat at peace. Oxford is split into two halves—residences of upper- and middle-class vs working-class, separated by the city centre. To a stranger in the city, and residents who never venture beyond the Magdalen Bridge (or Cowley road, if I’m pushing it), this Divide does not exist. Fortunately, my workplace was situated in the deep end of the working-class half. The best thing about being on this end was Cowley Road. Cowley Road featured several Halal restaurants and my favourite café, Rick’s Diner. 

Cowley Road never lacked in diversity, but I couldn’t say the same about my department at work. My team consisted of thirteen people and of my twelve colleagues, there were ten white men, one Pakistani man and one white female. I was the only black Muslim female and the youngest on the team. We shared an office with another team that consisted of nine white men and one Indian man. Although I stuck out like a sore thumb, I usually didn’t feel out of place.  

Over the next couple of months, I found myself engaging in deep conversations and debates with my teammates about almost anything. We shared stories about family and our life experiences. Some of my team members and I went on coffee breaks together, and though the coffee and tea options on the vending machine all tasted the same—like cardboard, I didn’t mind making the trip. We had regular Thursday lunches and Friday breakfasts together. 

The comfort that emanated from working with these people who were so different from me did not prepare me for the conversation I had with a colleague. Although Sam had values I disagreed with, we got along okay. 

“I can speak for black males if I want because I watched a BBC documentary on them the other day,” he said, one sunny April afternoon. It was one of those not so busy days at work. We’d been discussing brutality against black men and lack of diversity in workplaces. He quoted some questionable statistics which I challenged him on, hence his comment. 

I struggled to wrap my head around his words. Heads turned in our direction, and the easier way out would have been to leave the conversation as it was and not stir up discomfort. But I knew there would be no benefit from that, and this exchange would come back to bite me if I didn’t say something. 

“You can speak for black males simply because you’ve watched a documentary on them? Firstly, one documentary is not a depiction of the life of every black man. You haven’t lived through their experiences, so you can’t speak for them. I have watched several documentaries about white men that do not put them in a good light, yet you don’t see me saying every white man is that way.” I took a deep breath.

He paused with his head titled slightly to the side, like he was in deep thought. I thought he was considering my statement, until he said, “Well, I don’t see colour. All I care about is being human and I am so disappointed in you for making this about race.” 

There are not many statements I despise as much as that of not seeing colour, and the conversation grew slightly heated with Sam emphasising on reasons why it made sense for him to speak for black men and why his opinions were valid. I grew irritated and anxious. I looked around the office hoping the people around us would butt in and try to make Sam see how borderline racist a lot of this comments were, but they’d turned their back to me. These were the same grown men who would argue about football, at the top of their voice, as if their lives depended on it, yet, here we were… 

I stepped out of the room for some fresh air because I could no longer handle it, and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “you are alone in this.”