In 2022, I thought a lot about

Sunday 15 May. It’s a surprisingly sunny afternoon. I open the window and a crisp breeze catches me off-guard. I’m driving the car home after lunch with my 5-year-old son and my wife. She’s convinced the sunshine means warmer days are upon us. I’m not so sure.

As our car approaches a set of traffic lights, I slow it down. The lights are green, but I anticipate them going red soon. There’s a man standing at the crossing. He’s leaning into the road and looking at our car as we approach and I slow it down further.

Suddenly, the man steps out in front of us.

I firmly press the brake and the car comes to a stop roughly 3 meters away from him. He doesn’t cross the road. He stands in front of our car and he laughs and says:

“Fuck off back to your own country.”

I wonder if I've heard him right. The man continues to laugh. He’s pleased with himself. I, on the other hand, feel cold.

My first thought is about my wife and son. Did they hear what I heard? My heart breaks at the thought that my son is growing up in this world. Is this what we’re leaving behind for future generations?

I drive around the man. We continue our journey home.

Racism. Islamophobia. I know what they are. I know how ignorant, cruel and stupid they are. I’ve experienced racism throughout my life. I’ve heard it. I’ve seen it. I still see it today. Most of the time, it isn’t visible to those around me but I know what it looks like in a person’s eyes. Eyes can tell you more than words. I see it in our society. Festering. Hidden hate under a veneer of calm lurking and ready to lash out, occasionally rising to the surface to drag people like me down. People like me who spend their lives trying to show everyone that they belong. I see it all.

But I don't want my family to see it. I don’t want them to hear it. I don’t want them to feel what I feel. I want to protect them from this. But situations like this one make me feel helpless.

Where do I belong?

I was 7 years old when I remember first experiencing racism. At school, I was a good student: top of the class and involved in several clubs. I had a good reputation with teachers. Then one day, a boy I didn’t even know told the teachers he saw me throw a baseball cap that belonged to another boy’s dad down the toilet and flush it. I spent weeks inside the main hall at lunchtime for my supposed insolence while teachers repeatedly told me how disappointed they were with me. It was confusing enough that another kid had said that about me but probably more confusing that an adult chose to believe it. It was a lot for a 7-year-old brain to unpick. I remember the look in the boys’ eyes as they accused me though. It was the same look the man at the crossing had. That was the first time I asked myself “Do I belong here?”