No, I don’t want to be one of the “good foreigners”.
Originally posted to my LinkedIn on March 1st, 2022, in German.
Something I rarely ever do is share personal stuff on LinkedIn. I’m a lazy LinkedIn user anyway, and I’m becoming less and less active on social media in general as the years go by, at least on my personal profiles. But given the occasion, I feel like I have to share my thoughts here.
I’m a sensitive person in many aspects, and I feel so worn out by the state of the world that I can’t help but constantly think about our current state of affairs. I feel like I can’t do much more other than encourage others to donate, and to sign myself up at different organizations here in Vienna, in case they need a driver in the evening, or maybe even someone who can translate from English to German (or vice-versa).
I’m also having flashbacks to 2015, when, almost seven years ago, a friend and I spent an afternoon rummaging through different stores where we bought thick socks, toothbrushes, tampons, pads, band-aids, diapers, but also candy, lollipops, coloring pencils, small stuffed animals. Then headed on home to sort out clothes, bedding and towels. Then put everything into those blue IKEA bags that everyone has at least two of at home (’cause let’s face it, we all always forget to take them back with us the next time we go shopping at IKEA). And then, I had other people I knew bring me more packed things for donation. The next morning, my husband and I took everything by bus to my then-office, where a group of volunteers collected everything and took it to the right people and places for donation. My mom filled up her basement with donated items collected around her town, which she and my sister then took to refugee camps in two cars together with a local NGO. And everyone cried when we saw the videos of refugees being welcomed with clapping, hugs and open arms in Vienna. And now the situation feels the same…. but different.
“You’re one of the good ones.”
I once discussed this with a friend from college who is half-Hungarian, half-Romanian. We’re both white, both grew up here, both speak fluent German, and both now have Austrian passports. And both can’t hear that goddamn phrase anymore. Because even now, after 20 years in Austria, I’m still taken aback that there are people born here who think that telling me that I’m “one of the good foreigners” is some sort of compliment. As if that excuses any kind of xenophobia. The ridiculousness behind this comment is either deliberately ignored, or they just avoid thinking about it too much — after all, they’re not racists! — and then they hit you in the face with that comment at the end of some weird xenophobic or racist rant, like some sort of half-hearted form of appreciation for you being “enough like them” for your foreignness to somehow not matter.
I guess that I missed the part during my naturalization (when I got my Austrian passport) where they tell you what criteria to use to tell if other foreigners are “good ones”. But apparently my family did something right when we immigrated to Austria in 2002, even without knowing it, cause hey, we’re “good ones”! Of course, we are white, and we aren’t “conspicuously un-Catholic”… we are first-generation immigrants, but somehow behave just right enough that we don’t stand out too much.
(Just adding here that I am in no way saying that this is an exclusively Austrian phenomenon or that it applies to all Austrians. Systemic racism, xenophobia, xenophobia, sexism… these are still part of everyday life for many people around the world. But you should write about what you know, they say — and this IS reality here).
The thing about being different
If you ignore all the nasty comments that you sometimes have to put up with and the (often not even subtle) bullying that you as a foreigner are somehow supposed to get used to, my family is exactly privileged enough not to be read as foreigners (as long as we don’t open our mouths). Meaning: exactly privileged enough not to destroy the copy-paste-image of the perfect neighborhood created by the calcified old bag from the next hick town over, or to offend his sensitivities with our “otherness”. As long as we are not too loud, or too colorful, or too angry with the injustice of the world — then we are “adapted”. Then we are part of the “good ones”.
I think it’s clear to everyone who knows me that I don’t play by those rules anymore. I am loud, I am colorful, I take up space — and not only physically, as a plus-size woman! — and I’m not afraid to stand out and make my voice heard. I can afford it, too — I have that privilege. I’m blended in just the right way so that people still second-guess me when they find out I’m half-US-American, half-Brazilian, and that others who have known me for a long time sometimes even forget that I’m not Austrian. Yes, I am privileged. And nothing brings me more pleasure than on the one hand, standing up for those who are not, and on the other, making life as uncomfortable as possible for those who have a problem with “otherness” or being different.
Other friends and loved ones of mine who are immigrants as well do not have this privilege. Even second-generation immigrants (meaning, people born here to immigrant parents) that I know have to face unpleasant situations. A dear friend of mine who is a doctor in Graz, Styria, is of Egyptian descent and a Muslim, and when he had to give a witness statement to the police, he was asked in all seriousness by a policeman whether there was “a bomb in his backpack”. And that’s just the tip of the fucking iceberg, if we’re honest — I’ve heard much worse stories from friends. (Imagine what they keep to themselves!).
Fatphobia, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, Islamophobia, homophobia…. they all stem from this fear of otherness. As soon as someone is too different, or stands out too much, that person can become intimidating to others. Because if there are too many people who are too different from what is comfortable and familiar and pleasant for me, then everything I know might change. Do I have to change and become different, too? Will I lose something that’s important to me by doing so? Will my kids and grandkids have a harder time in their lives if they are like me, growing up in such a different world? Accepting difference, accepting otherness is frightening because it means that something is becoming or must become different. And most people don’t like change.
So, now what?
Well, peeps. What now? I have now already seen videos of refugees from Ukraine being thrown out of trains because they have darker skin tones. My heart hurts I remember the many people who drowned in the Mediterranean and never managed to find a safe haven, or who were turned away because they were too different, too foreign. Of course it’s heartwarming that the refugees are now being helped with so much heart, motivation and energy, but I would still like to raise the question: where do people draw the lines between the “good foreigner, who is to be respected and helped” and “bad foreigner, who is to be feared and rejected”? And I would like to ask that you not only ask yourself this question, but also ask it of those around you the next time they make a “not meant to be racist, but…” comment.
In the end, the only thing that remains for me is the hope that the refugees who are now coming to us from this terrible situation will not have to go through the same thing as the refugees before them — namely, being welcomed with open arms now, only to be turned on in a few months, when they’re suddenly seen for anything less than “the perfect foreigner” and therefore no longer treated as “good ones”. I can only hope that these same arms that are open now won’t somehow will not eventually cross themselves or push them away. And, of course, we can all only hope and pray that all this horror will soon come to an end. The world doesn’t need any more wars.
Donate here to people affected by war:
