Sunderland asunder 💔
I had another post planned but the EDL ruined it.
You probably don’t know this (because why would you?), but I originally started sharing my unsolicited opinions online when I was 15. I was angry at the way politics and society worked—or didn’t—in Malta.
I’d get riled up about a particular issue or event, and writing about it felt like a good way to process those thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, it even felt like my words might do some kind of good.
Reflecting on those early days, it's with a strange sense of nostalgia that I came to my desk to write about what happened in Sunderland last night and the broader situation across the UK thanks to a bunch of ignorant losers. Some of them are so proud of their views that they need to cover their faces with balaclavas.
To the far-right losers trying to do something
To be honest, it’s hard to believe that you’re genuinely interested in ‘defending’ your country from anything at all if:
For starters, you can barely write out your hateful, racist rhetoric without making so many spelling and grammatical errors that it doesn’t quite look like English. If you love England so bloody much, do me a favour and learn the language first. Eat a dictionary or something—an English guy wrote it, you’d love it.
You’re destroying the very English place where you and your English (no doubt pure-blooded, blue-eyed, pink-skinned, direct-descendants-of-Ragnar-Lothbrok) family live. What does that accomplish?
You’re forcing English-owned businesses to shut, the knock-on effect of that being they and their staff lose money.
You’re blissfully unaware of the fact that even the most English of English folks are most likely of Anglo-Saxon origin. Vikings. From across the sea. Who came over in tiny boats. There is no such thing as ‘England for the English’ because there never has been.
Oh, and before that, there were a bunch of Romans here.
I am half-English, half-Maltese, and totally sick of being made to feel I’m not welcome on either side of that coin, whether that’s through words or actions. Back in Malta, my distinctly foreign surname has made me a target for xenophobic remarks like ‘go back to your country’ too many times to count, and sitting at home watching the carnage unfold in Sunderland, I felt my Otherness again, acutely.
In relation to xenophobia, the concept of "the Other" refers to individuals or groups seen as foreign and different, leading to fear and hostility. This perception reinforces in-group and out-group dynamics, resulting in social exclusion and discrimination. Philosophically, it explores how fear of the Other perpetuates prejudice and highlights the ethical need to overcome such biases to promote inclusivity and respect.
Being ‘Other’
The sense of being ‘other’ is persistent. It’s in the well-meaning but loaded, “So, where’s that accent from?” from nearly every taxi driver. It’s in the effort I’ve made to shift my Maltese-English intonation so it’s less aggressive to English ears, and it’s in people’s eyes when I can see them trying to figure out where I’m from. It’s in the dumbass observation, “Oh wow, your English is actually really good!”
Thanks. We were colonised. By the British. Who made it impossible to succeed in our own country unless we spoke English, and relegated Maltese to be ‘the language of the kitchen’ (i.e. servant lingo). But you know, we try. And being half-English helps with that. It also makes me a target for Maltese people who don’t think I’m Maltese enough. But that’s a story for another day.
Honestly, I’d have been afraid to open my mouth if I was anywhere near the EDL riots. I am part-British, but that shouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter to them, because they’ve made their mind up about you and to what extent they should treat you like a human because you look or sound foreign.
I need to say: I’m aware of how ‘lucky’ (not quite the right word to be honest) I am not to deal with racism. Ultimately, I have the skin colour of a Mediterranean woman deprived of the sun for 6 years, but I would be lying if I said I felt fine with the current climate. It still smacks of xenophobia. I was afraid last night. I’m writing this while making plans with friends so that nobody travels home alone. What the fuck?
Malta is my home country—I was born there and lived there for 24 years. But Sunderland is my home, and seeing a group of thugs tear it up, setting fire to cars, trying to attack mosques and businesses, hurts my heart. I am sad, and I am furious, but most of all, I am fucking exhausted. How many times do we need to see this kind of narrative unfold for people to see that they’re on the wrong side of history?
If you’re in an area that’s been affected by these ridiculous riots masquerading as protests, please take care of yourself and others. And fuck fascism.
Exhausted is the word. Debating a post of my own on this topic but I just don’t know if I have the energy. I know that’s a luxury for me - to ‘opt out’ to an extent but it’s not an opt out for anyone really. I can’t believe we’re seeing the same crap we saw 10 years ago when UKIP and BNP whipped up the similar hate.
Tbh you’d think these people (most of them grown ass men) would grow up and do something productive with their adult time instead of making up racist lies as an excuse to set cars on fire. But here we are. Thanks douchebag politicians, thanks internet.
And since I’m in the mood to be petty, they all dress badly too.
The fundamental truth is that it is fascism and it needs to be called out for what it is. It is dreaming up a phoney enemy to justify your actions, just like the "socialists" who burned the Reichstag to justify Hittler's grab for poer.
But from personal experience, although not seeking to compete at all, when I lived in the south of England I found my New Zealand accent either mocked or looked down on, and so, unintentionally I found my accent softening and I conformed more to Radio Four (which is not in itself a bad thing, just being forced to it). I have also a long list of examples where professionally I would be sneered at because I came from the colonies and clearly I could not be better qualified than many of those I dealy with.
Since moving to Shetland, which is an unusual place in that it is both rural and cosmopolitan at the same time, and very outward looking, it seems as though much of my natural accent has returned. It is almost as though my inner self has recieved "permission" to revert to my natural state. And amazingly, no-one here cannot understand me, or, as was often the case south, no-one pretends not to understand be for a cheap insult.
That said, I did once have to ring a branch office in Cirencester from the Bristol office to ask for something, and a few minutes later the person from Cirencester rang one of my colleagues to ask what it was that I was wanting, as they were too busy listening to my "dreamy" accent. and so wasn't really paying attention. #takethewinwhenyoucangetit.