Everywhere I go in my city I see people. Everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds of people. All of them unknown to me. I travel on overcrowded buses and trains. I shop in busy supermarkets. I go to cafes, to bars, to offices. Everywhere I go I see more people. Most of my life outside my house is spent mingling with strangers. I see multitudes of faces. Young and old and the in-betweens. I see expressions of sadness and worry and bitterness etched on some; Joy and laughter written on others. I hear hundreds of voices meeting and mixing in foreign languages and native tongues. I see colours of skin that challenge any simple categories of black and white and yellow. I see clothes that reflect multitudes of personalities, religious beliefs and musical tastes. I smell food being prepared with herbs and spices that make my mouth water. Coriander, oregano, frying onions and garlic mixed with the scent of jasmine that grows everywhere.

What I don't see is invading hordes of mud people, savages and rats. I do not see villains and murderers and terrorists on every street corner. I do not feel sick when I smell curry or wonton soup. I do not see chinks and pakis and niggers and fags and greedy jews. I do not see uppity women and lesbos out to get me. I do not see marauding arabs and dirty muslims. I do not see spics and gypos and darkies and abos and half castes. I do not see threats and violations in the eyes of every stranger.

My world is vastly different to many. I live in a world where my heritage and upbringing has given me an insight into difference. I can look into someone else's eyes and see myself because I know who I am. I am free to make friendships with people different to me because I trust that people have good intentions. I am able to speak about my own experiences without insulting entire races/religions because I see people and not categories. I am able to live in a way most people would want to because I do not judge on the basis of arbitrary details like height or weight or colour.

I can try and walk a mile in someone else's shoes because I feel safe in my own.

I wrote this for Blog against Racism Day (December 1st) and to counter some of the hateful words that have been written about me and others who don't happen to fit into the white male mould. We "others" cannot stop racism alone. We can shout about it, scream about it, fight it, kick it, ignore it or lie down and let it run us down. Stamping out racism is going to take a commitment from each and everyone of us, and that means everyone; especially those who DON"T have to think about it everyday.

December 1st. Today is the day. I hope you will all take part. Post your words, poetry, quotes or thoughts for Blog against Racism Day over at my other blog

I just want to cry my eyes out, and then stand on a tall building and scream
"THIS IS WHAT THEY WANTED"

I am reading blog after blog, post after post of
" told you so" ,
"the muslim uprising",
"the third intifada",
"stop immigration now",
"let them burn",
"you see what happens when the mud people get together"

(these are all actual quotes)

For more than a week now we have been watching the Paris suburbs burn. Two black boys are dead. But the loudest sound I hear is the right-wing and the extremists rubbing their hands together with glee. They no longer have to argue against immigration. Their answer has been handed to them on a plate. Their point has been made. Don't try and point out any shortcomings of government or society. To them, the evidence is plain to see. Immigration (especially Muslim immigration) equals problems. And the left wing does nothing, as usual.

So how do I respond?

I understand WHY this is happening. But no-one is listening. It wouldn't make any difference if they were. I want to beg the people of those neighborhoods to stop. They are committing suicide. They are destroying every effort we are all making to improve our society by playing into the hands of those who would destroy us. No-one wants a bleeding heart liberal and no-one wants an angry black kid.

So how do I respond?

I was much closer to the Brixton riots or Broadwater Farm in England. They were closer. They were in my city. What I saw there, I see now. Fear and hatred. Anger and frustration. The response was the same. Fear and hatred. Anger and frustration.

So how do I respond?

I cannot pretend to know anything of what it is like to grow up the way these kids do. Although I am black, my upbringing was so far from what they experience as to be laughable. I did not grow up in a poor, black, immigrant housing project. Any understanding from me comes from intellectualising their experience. Being outside their experience. I cannot explain why these kids are burning cars and schools except from an outsider point of view. I have felt only a fraction of their rage. And still, I am angry with them. Angry that they are playing into the wrong hands. I do not want to hug them and give them hope. I want them to stop and see the foolishness of what they doing. The colour of my skin means that I must try, at least, to understand, and I do try. But it is really hard when I am arguing for immigrant/refugee/minority rights in the face of this shit. I will never be able to explain WHY this is happening to your average right winger, let alone the extremists. So again they won. By sitting back and waiting.

So how do I respond?

It's overwhelming. The feeling of helplessness and weakness I am feeling right now. My hands are tied and all I want to do is stop.