Jim Crow in Chinatown
Rik and I are in Chinatown, walking away from our favorite little Vietnamese hole-in-the-wall called Nha Trang Centre. (I strongly recommend the fried calamari, flash-fried flower-shaped squid, and the barbecue beef, btw.)
We're walking down the street, and we pass an old-school style Asian-run barber shop. There's this little Asian boy, about 5 or 6 years old, cute as a button, hanging out in front. Screaming. At the top of his lungs.
"BROWN PEOPLE ON THAT SIDE OF THE STREET! WHITE PEOPLE ON THIS SIDE OF THE STREET!"
Over and over again.
"BROWN PEOPLE ON THAT SIDE OF THE STREET! WHITE PEOPLE ON THIS SIDE OF THE STREET!"
Which was hysterically funny in that way that's totally not funny at all, and is only funny because it's coming out of the mouth of this way-too-young-to-say-this boy. Who is neither brown nor white, technically.
So I ask, "Oh! Which side should WE be on?"
To which he replies "THIS SIDE OF THE STREET!"
It was nice of him to keep us together, considering I'm pretty white and Rik is a delicious shade of light brown.
Unsheathed Racism on the Subway
I say goodnight to Rik, and get on the subway. It's me and 3 others when I get on- an Asian man to my left and a Latino couple in front of me.
A Black homeless man gets on, and walks up to me first, proclaiming his homeless status, begging for money. Instead of ignoring him completely, I look up from my magazine to acknowledge him at least, and I realize that he is shabbily dressed, and his penis is sticking out of his shorts.
Great.
That'll teach me to look up.
Then he walks to the Asian man, and begs for money in that really offensive way people do when they're making fun of Asian people.
"Ching Chong Ching! Oh,... I need money! Ho-less! Ho-less!"
I think to myself, I would love to say something, but this man is homeless and dirty, and his penis is sticking out. I'd like to not die tonight.
I just became one of THOSE New Yorkers.
The Time Out New York magazine I'm reading features this railroad station that was the location of a brutal murder in the 60's, one where evidently there were a number of witnesses and people did nothing.
I'm really into my magazine at this point, ignoring the world after penis-man left. At this point there are a number of people on my train car. Maybe 25 or so.
Out of the corner of my eye, in front of me, are two Black teenaged boys. Out of the other corner of my eye, in the seats on my far left, are another two Black teenaged boys. I think nothing of it.
There is loud laughing. I still think nothing of it.
Next thing I know, the two boys on my left are on top of ONE of the two boys in front of me, who is now in fetal position. They are pounding on his head and shoulders with their fists and elbows. They are laughing. The boy next to the boy getting beat does not have a look of fear or upset on his face.
The two boys walk away, laughing. The boy who got hit now lifts his head, looking a bit swollen and very pissed off. The boy's friend is saying "ain't nobody on this train gonna help you! They take your stuff, man? They take your stuff?"
I now realize, as does the rest of the train, that this was not a joke. These were not a group of friends. A kid just got jumped RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, and I did nothing.
I'm a high school teacher, and EVERY DAY I walk past kids hitting each other, wrestling each other, and whether I know the kids or not, I say something. EVERY TIME, the kids tell me that they're friends, they're just playing. I stop them anyway.
And this one time, when it actually mattered, I said nothing. I swear, I had no idea they didn't know each other. I had no idea that they weren't just playing around.
So I get off the train (it was my stop anyway) and I tell the employee in the booth that a kid was just jumped and robbed in the train. I wanted to tell her more, but she said "OK, thanks..." and waved me off.
Only in New York.
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