Social Pandemic

Almost 17 years ago now, I was in a pub in sunny Folkestone enjoying a pint with friends and playing pool. I was having a hell of a time. The rickety jukebox was blaring some of my favourite oldi tunes as I skilfully, and deftly I might add, dispatched yet another foreign student from the pool table. As the incumbent, it was my right to instruct the loser - like a boss - to get me another pint of Strongbow and to hurry up while they were at it. Xavier gave a wry smile and gestured defiantly before meandering through the karaoke crowd and towards the busy bar.

“Müller!” I yelled at the top of my voice between sips of cider, “did you hear the sound of that break?”

“What sound Bo?” retorted my Swiss German friend in his most sarcastic Swiss German tone. “That sound, my dear friend,” I continued without once looking up from the table, “is the sound of the inevitable!” With this tired, sardonic refrain out the way, I calmly but confidently sunk yet another stripe from an impossible angle.

Not long into our new game, whilst mocking my latest opponents’ poor technique and amateur posture, I just about heard the voice of a young man “cuss” quietly but intensely in the background. I half-turned to see what the fuss was all about and instantly knew that something was awry. I had been in such a groove that evening, that I had failed to notice to two anxious lads and their respective partners waiting patiently for their turn on the pool table. Realising my mistake and being the best communicator in the group, I immediately took leave of the table and approached the two lads to negotiate.

Folkestone, as a destination, is friendly enough most of the year. During the summer, however, the town's proximity to the Channel tunnel and a prominent language school, sees hundreds of students pour into this coastal venue to brush up on their English skills. Most locals welcome the arrival of foreigners - because they are good for business - but there are plenty of dissentient souls who clearly despise continentals.

As I approached the two lads, the tall imposing one in black skinny jeans - the one who had just cussed under his breath - quickly grabbed his pint and took off without ever making eye contact. I didn’t think much of his sudden departure apart from assuming he was popping out for a cigarette or making his way to meet someone.

It didn’t take long to come to a mutual agreement with his magnanimous friend. He agreed, without protesting, that we could finish off our game before handing over to them. The conversation didn’t end there. We began randomly chatting about some other matter when his tall, now flustered-looking mate, returned and abruptly interrupted our conversation. He mumbled a few inaudible words in his blonde friend’s ear before striding off without making eye contact.

Sensing I was a little perturbed by this bizarre intrusion, the blonde friend turned to me and explained: “Look,” he began, “my mate over there has issues with foreigners but don’t mind him. He will get over it at someday.” I thanked him for alerting me then continued chatting. I was keen to find out a little bit more about his agitated friend. Eventually, the xenophobic lad grew weary of watching from a distance; he cautiously dragged himself back to the group and stood awkwardly amongst us for the first couple of minutes. He didn’t say a word. When he finally opened his mouth – I was stunned by what he had to say!

It turned out that he wasn’t just xenophobic; he was an outright racist who didn’t mind telling anyone who cared to listen. He began telling me a little bit about his background and why he despised outsiders. When I probed him a little further about his anger (there were clear anger issues!) he confessed that it probably stemmed from the fact that his grandfather, whom he was close to, had been captured during the war and tortured by Japanese soldiers. I was quickly getting the picture. He was a little more relaxed now and starting to make steady eye contact.

About ten minutes into our conversation, I started to tell him a little bit about my background and journey to the UK. I told him that where I came from, racist attitudes and behaviours were often passed on from grandparents to parents to children. As soon as I shared this with him, he admitted that even though he was racist and xenophobic – he had never actually spoken to people of different nationalities or race. I was the first black person he had ever spoken to at length. I was shocked but not entirely surprised.

We must have spoken for about 20 minutes before their pool table became available. By this time, his tone of voice and entire demeanour had changed completely. He no longer looked nervous, defensive or distracted; in fact, he spoke and listened like I was selling him the world’s best-kept secrets. Before heading for their table, both lads thanked me profusely for approaching them and offering to share the pool table. My racist friend, the taller more imposing one in black skinny jeans - the one who had cussed under his breath - shook my hand firmly and even offered to buy me a beer. I politely declined (it tastes better when commandeered!) … but the gesture was well taken.

The war against racism can never be won from a distance - it requires close combat. There are no mass conversions either. Protests and demonstrations can effectuate systemic changes and beget new laws - which is essential - but they can never change the heart. I have seen some tough conversations on various platforms over the last few days: some have even descended into a dreadful war of words and name-calling. But these sorts of combustible engagements should not deter us, rather, they are to be encouraged. No progress can ever be made in race relations and social justice if we only ever talk to those who already agree with us.

I learnt an important lesson that night in Folkestone. The best lessons are practical and simple. Hatred will never overcome racism: had I confronted the tall fella, the racist, the one who cussed under his breath and had anger issues - had I confronted him with rage and called him all sorts of unprintable names - there is a good chance he would have left that crowded pub with his prejudice and worldview firmly entrenched. There is also no doubt in my mind, that I would have left with my negative assumptions about racists reinforced.

Did the tall fella ever change his ways? Was there ever any fruit to our conversation? I honestly don’t know. I never ran into those two fellas again which is surprising considering the size of Folkestone. This, however, is what I do know: I know that first impressions matter! As someone who had never really spoken to people of different nationalities or race, it was incredibly important that his first experience be a positive one.

Did the black fella ever change his ways? Was there ever any fruit from the conversation? Absolutely. That encounter changed me and has born much fruit over the years. There was a seed planted in my heart that evening that made me determined to “walk in love” no matter the provocation. I have not always succeeded but I do have a perspective that helps me consider how I engage with those whose opinions and worldview differ from mine. If you pre-decide how to respond to racists and racism, you have a far better chance of reacting in the right way in the heat of the moment.

The late Ravi Zacharias was one of my heroes. Ravi possessed the uncanny ability to debunk and deconstruct his opponents’ arguments and worldview whilst preserving their dignity. He never once deployed his considerable intellectual arsenal to demean, humiliate or mock people. As a direct result, people were drawn to him. Ravi would consistently fill auditoriums with people who fundamentally disagreed with just about everything he believed and said. He didn’t mind. People don’t just hear our words; they hear our hearts too. We need to create spaces in our world where people feel they can express their thoughts and feelings without fear of reprisals or libel. Ravi had a huge impact in his sphere of influence because he spent most of his time with people who were different from him.

I sincerely hope that conversations which have begun in the last couple of days will continue long after the protests and demonstrations have petered out. The conversations must go on! Racism and injustice are social pandemics, not just in America, but the world over. It struck me, just as I was concluding this piece, that the likely answers to racism and injustice are the antithesis of advice under Covid19. At the height of Covid19, words and phrases like 'self-isolation' and 'social distancing' were prevalent. To address racism and injustice we need to take off our masks (speak out), come out of self-isolation (our cozy little lives) and practice social engagement rather than distancing.