You Aren’t Racist

• Vincent Luu, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2019

You were born in this country, so therefore it is your country. You speak this language, so therefore you are smarter than everyone else. You lust after women from other continents, so therefore you aren’t racist. How can you be? You eat their food, watch their porn. You tolerate their smells on the train and you pity them for not being able to speak English properly. You feel sorry for them. So, how could anyone call you racist?
You take the train to your 9 to 5 office job in the city. It is a long train ride and you would like to sit. But so, would everyone else. You give your seat up for an elderly man. He is white. You stand there applauding yourself; you are a good man. You find another seat. Later you give your seat up for a young woman. She is Asian. You linger a while, but she doesn’t say anything more than thank you, she doesn’t even smile for you. Ungrateful chink. Oops. You aren’t racist. You just gave up your seat for an Asian woman. You aren’t racist. You walk to the next carriage and find a seat. You would rather sit next to the big, fat white man who takes up a bit more than one seat, then sit across from an Indian woman (or some other Indian-like ethnicity). It’s not because she’s Indian, you reassure yourself, it’s because she’s a woman and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. You aren’t racist, after all.
A few stations before the one you get off at, the train really fills up. White, black, yellow, brown. It feels as if every race on earth has crammed itself into one carriage. You are sandwiched between an Asian man in the isle and the white man in the seat next to you. You see an old white woman in the isle a few paces away. “Excuse me,” you say loudly, to get her attention, “Would you like my seat?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She sits, grateful. The train is packed, after all, and she is old.
“You racist,” You spin around quickly to face your accuser. You aren’t racist, how could anyone call you racist? It is the Asian man standing in the isle. He is standing next to an even older woman, ancient, almost. She is Asian.
“Why did you not offer your seat to my mother?”
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t see her.”
“Racist,” the Asian man shakes his head and turns away.
“I’m not racist,” you mutter to his back. “I’m not racist,” you say a bit louder, to everyone on the train. They turn away as much as they can on a crowded train and avoid eye contact. I’m not racist, you say to yourself.