what is my skin colour?

What colour am I?

The young Japanese generation, presumably, may read the anecdote I share here in disbelieving surprise. It is what I experienced in the late 70’s, within a few months of my arrival in Japan. But before relating my story, a short note on how the geographical realities of Japan, compared to Iran, may be appropriate.

Being an island country, “shimaguni”, Japan claims to be homogenous, proud of being a nation of one race, one language (despite the fact that there are ethnic groups such as the Ainu and Okinawan). They also believe in their distinctiveness from the rest of the world which I believe affected international relationships.

In contrast, as one of the influential countries on the Silk Road, Iran has always been a great contributor to creating a bridge between East and West. Its location on the globe, and its role as a cradle of civilization since ancient times, enriched its culture with diversified ethnicities, and made it a melting pot with people of different features, languages, tribes, and religions; something in which Iranians take pride. The varied physical features of its people exist even within a family. For instance, in my own family, two of my siblings have light skin while two are darker.

In addition to this background, I was raised in an environment that from early childhood I was taught the beauty of unity in diversity.  Naturally, skin colour was not important to me until I came to Japan and experienced, with a heavy heart the existence of what I would call “silent” discrimination. From what I have experienced, I feel that the white race is associated with power and prestige here. I call it silent because it is unexposed and unchallenged. Some interpret it as ‘differentiation’ rather than ‘discrimination’ as if that places it into a different category from discrimination which sounds terrible. My experience says otherwise.

I was fumbling my way around every day, desperately looking for a job. Seemingly underrated and unappreciated for something that I felt was not even remotely essential for the job I hoped to work, my initial hope began to slowly disappear. At times, as necessary, I tried to hide my nationality in conversations. However, being a highly hierarchical society even in terms of a foreigner’s nationality, doing so was difficult. One of the first questions, if not at times THE first question, was about my nationality, even in halting English, such as, “Where is your from?” This linguistic mannerism exists to shape people’s interpersonal relationships in accordance with various levels of hierarchy.

This strictly hierarchical system of one’s social status in society extended to foreigners and their respective countries, too. Broadly-speaking, I have the impression that Japanese perceive the countries of world in terms of three categories: the first being the developed, mostly western countries. The second being the neighbouring countries with which Japan has some historical bonds. The remaining being the rest of the world; including third-world, poor, or not-so-popular countries. Most people do not care greatly about the third category, and unluckily, that is included in the country I am from.

Therefore, I believed I needed to come up with something to overcome this hurdle. On one of those frustrating days, as I was calling schools, I toyed with an idea. This time, I would use a slight twist of tongue to the repeated query on nationality and say: “I am from I-ran”, as in “I ran in the marathon yesterday!” After all, isn’t that how some native speakers of English pronounce Iran, instead of the more correct pronunciation of “Iran”. Perhaps it would pass for a remote town in the United States or Canada and I would be given a chance, at least, to have an interview which, up until now, I had been denied. A woman who I assumed was a secretary answered the phone and put me through to the manager. I cleared my throat, being careful not to reveal the Filipino accent I had picked up during my university days in the Philippines blended with my native Persian accent I learned as a child. It felt funny and I was nervous as I tried to sound as much like a native speaker as I possibly could. Alas, it did not go my way, and I was completely taken aback with what followed. In a tone of voice as if annoyed by interviewing several applicants and not finding the ideal one, the person abruptly blurted, “What is your skin colour?” The question was loud, and its intent as clear as crystal. The inquirer sounded quite earnest and wanted a truthful answer. I did not know how to respond right away, thinking he might be asking in jest. When I did not hear him laughing after an uncomfortably long pause, I realized he was not.

I became totally puzzled by such a seemingly inappropriate question. For starters, did he literary mean it? If so, what was the relation between skin colour and one’s teaching, I wondered? When I heard that students wanted to learn from a native speaker, I thought it was because they wanted to hear pronunciation accurately, and learn about western culture first-hand. I actually thought of it as not a bad notion. But here, did it really matter whether I was white or black American? Or white, but not North American?

What is more, at that moment, I did not know what exactly my skin colour was. I certainly am neither white nor black; but I am not brown, yellow, or green for that matter either. Did this guy not know about the complexity of human colour; that it is not just a question of black or white? When one speaks a second language, it is sometimes difficult to grasp fully the connotation, or indeed the indecency, of the spoken word. At this moment, I didn’t know if he had this kind of confusion, or if he simply did not care.

Later on, I talked about this amusingly bemusing job enquiry with a friend. He suggested that my skin colour is best described as ‘olive’. I imagined an olive but could not make out the resemblance in any way. Never mind, I thought. At this point I knew that if my answer was not “white”, the choice of any other colour would not really matter. Even now, I cannot recall what my response was to that bluntly crass question. Later on, different ideas came to my mind that I thought I should have replied to him at that moment, such as, “Do you mean my skin colour before or after makeup?” Because the before and after answers are quite different. However, I remember our conversation ended in pitiful silence on my part because he did exactly what he was not supposed to do, namely judging a book by its cover. And possibly with a slight shrug of a shoulder.