When I took up a software programming assignment in Dublin in May 1998, I was seeking a "different" experience - an experience of working in a different culture, seeking to enrich my outlook and skills. But what I went through was so shocking and traumatising that I am still trying to recover. I am an Indian-American, lucky enough to have had a decent education and work for a large trans-national corporation. I like to think I am reasonably well travelled, and exposed to different cultures and people. When I got the opportunity to work in Ireland with an up-and-coming software start-up, I jumped at it. I thought this would be my chance to break away from the soft, cushy and stuffy big-company atmosphere, live in the real world and sample some of the dynamism of the Celtic Tiger. But little did I know I would be the prey of its sharp racist fangs.
"F*** off bloody Wog!" greeted me the first day I was walking home to my place from work. I wasn't quite aware of the meaning of "Wog" until I asked a few friends what it meant. I shrugged it off as part of being in a foreign country and culture; after all, there are aberrations in every society - or so I thought.
Virtually everyone at work and most others I met were extremely friendly and welcoming - I must add, this was probably the most welcome I have ever been made to feel anywhere. From helping out with renting a place to simple everyday matters, my co-workers, friends and people around were absolutely marvellous. I couldn't express my gratitude more. But, the "other side" was startling in its ferocity, and vicious in its hatred. Racial slurs and acts were routine.
I did not realise how severely this was affecting virtually every aspect of my life: from watching my back every step of the way wherever I went, avoiding most social contact, and not venturing out of home unless absolutely necessary. Even stepping out for lunch became a tense experience - life for me was escape from work into home, and back to work again. And weekends were spent simply staying home. Not surprisingly, this affected my performance at work too - I was touchy, irritable and uncommunicative; obviously this did not reflect the best part of my personality. It was a downward spiral.
Though, I realised I had to get out and get out soon, I did not want to leave with a sense of failure and that's probably what made me hang on, complete my assignment, and try to salvage whatever I could. Luckily for me there was only a small number of more violent incidents, but I consider myself incredibly lucky to have got out of such situations unhurt, even alive. Walking home down a deserted Harcourt Street late one November evening after a rather gruelling work day, I was followed by a gang of six young men shouting racist abuse. They were almost definitely about to pounce on me when, by sheer luck, a police cruiser passed by. They walked away and I escaped to tell this tale.
Other incidents range from beer bottles hurled at me from passing cars, people shoving me as I walked, people (men in business suits walking out of swanky offices) spitting in my face as I walked by. I wasn't spared these insults even when I was with friends and colleagues - white friends and colleagues. These ranged from having a barstool pulled from under me (because some person's girlfriend needed it, and I was the nigger around), to a searingly horrendous experience of having half the pub turn to look at me, and laugh mockingly as someone remarked: "Look at the Nigger there - that bloody f***ing monkey! Send him back to the jungle to pick coconuts!" This couldn't be happening to me! Not in this day and age, and not in this country! After all, this was Ireland, a nation whose entire history is defined by emigration of whole generations, turning in this manner against visible foreigners.
One of the more enduring images of Ireland that I have is the sense of self-denial, a sort of collective amnesia about Irish history. Even in casual discussions, I found quite a few well-travelled, educated Irish people making remarks like "Oh! Why do people need to immigrate?", "Aren't there jobs in their countries?" These are the very same people who would have relations in every corner of the world, and who themselves would have lived, worked and holiday in "Wog-lands" like mine.
Until not so long ago, Irish men and women were leaving their country in droves, and now when the times are good it seems just too convenient to forget the past. However, what is also forgotten is the fact that economic prosperity could be very fleeting - things could just as well and as quickly go wrong.
I lived for just over a year in Ireland, and it was an experience I would have very much liked to have avoided - and is a place I shall most certainly avoid in the future. However, I also realise that most people there are very well-meaning, decent and extremely hospitable.
I do not mean this to be a diatribe against Ireland or its culture, nor to be insulting, but merely a summary of my experiences. For me, the healing process shall be long and slow - and I hope my emotions do not get the better of me and make me do the same back to an Irish person. I know that a lot of Irish people are not even aware of such happenings - but this seems to be so widespread and open, that if people just look around I am sure they will see plenty of instances of naked racist hatred and often in-your-face bigotry.
