Who will be the stranger when we finally move into Aston?
Chances are that we, the white Western Europeans, feel the most out of place. The reason is sheer numbers: we shall be a minority in a neighbourhood where the other strangers, those usually called stangers because of their colour of skin or the way in which they dress, far outnumber those of our complexion and appearance.
The first feeling may be defiance: “WE out of place? ... but we belong here more than THEY do, don’t we? We are not going to allow ourselves to be reduced to a remnant of the past. We shall show them what quality we are made of.”
The trouble with feelings is that you don’t have full control over them. They just arise out of some hidden depth in you, without you knowing how, and they make their point, whether you manage to put them into words or not. They may even be the more insidious, the less you succeed in naming them.
Nobody is above racism, it is said, and I’m afraid that it is true. Nobody with a fair amount of self-esteem is above a feeling of superiority. Your own culture, your own religion, is always the best. You are rightly proud of them and you are not prepared to settle for second place.
One advantage of our moving into Aston is that we do not occupy a position of power in that neighbourhood. It means that we have to earn our respect, and if we did not know it already, we shall soon find out the hard way, that respect is only shown to those who are respectful of others.
Respect and strangers go very well together. Respect does not take differences away, on the contrary it thrives on them.
Ton
