“I’m not racist!”

I’ve heard this often. It goes with the “I’m not a bigot”, “I’m not sexist”, “I’m not something bad”. But it’s not really true for we are all, even if it is only a tiny bit, every one of those things.

Of course, the problem is that we like to pigeon-hole people. We put them into categories in the same way that we put everything into categories. Food we like – food we don’t like; people we like – people we don’t like; books we like – books we don’t like. If I read a bad book, it goes into a category. If it is bad because I didn’t like the story (that’s one category) or bad because the writing was dismal or even atrocious (that would be the Honeymoon-by-Amy-Jenkins category).

What makes us a bad person is that we take some action on the categories or we expect that our version of the items or people in that category is the right and only view. Honeymoon was a terrible book – in my opinion. It may be that some people think it’s great. I wouldn’t buy a book by Amy Jenkins ever again. That doesn’t mean that, since Honeymoon, she hasn’t written some great books. I’ll just never know.

It’s the same with people. I see someone wearing a dirty jacket with layers of other dirty clothes and dragging an over-laden shopping trolley behind him, sporting a thick and out-of-control white beard – I assume he is one of the homeless people wandering around Milan. I could be wrong, of course. Maybe he’s the CEO of one of the fashion businesses here?

I see a lady waiting on the street corner, short (but I mean short, short) mini skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels, tight white top, checking every car as it goes past, occasionally speaking to the driver through the window when one of the cars stops, most probably the driver only asking for directions somewhere – in my head I immediately put her in a category. I know, it’s wrong.

There’s the old woman. Always waiting at the same bus stop. I used to pass her every evening when I used to go to F’s place. She was old. Sixty plus. She had a honey-blonde wig, had her face plastered with make-up, always wore this big fur coat and underneath (‘cos I saw once or twice) a short skirt, skimpy top, etc. It didn’t matter what time I went past, she was always there. Early evening, late evening. It didn’t matter when. Always the same fur coat. Always the same make-up. Always the same bus stop. Always not getting on the bus if the bus happened to be stopping. She went in the same category too. Perhaps she was a cleaning lady? Or maybe a care worker?

I remember when we first came here, years ago. We didn’t understand, coming from the UK, that the shop assistants dressed the same as ordinary people entering the shop – i.e. the customers. In the UK, most shops had the shop assistants wearing the same clothes as each other. Often an actual uniform. It was easy to spot them. To categorise them as ‘someone that can help me should I be in need of help’. Coming here, it was harder. Some woman, once, came up to me as I was waiting for V in a shop, asking me if ‘we had this in a different size or a different colour’ or something. I remember it pleased me at the time, being mistaken for an Italian.

However, just because I do categorise everything doesn’t mean I do anything about it. I even try to be just as nice (and smile at the lady at the bus stop) as I would with anyone else. Why not?

However, some people, I guess don’t think like me. Or don’t try to think like me. Or can’t think like me. If they put people into a category (which we all do) they seem to think that these people ARE in that category. Telling them that they are wrong, just won’t fix the problem in their heads. This article says all of the above but in a much more eloquent way, I think. And, no, I don’t condone rape as I don’t condone anything that hurts someone else. However, telling an assassin not to murder people for money doesn’t stop them doing it, does it?