Avoiding Racism 101

I’m from Colombia—or Columbia. Either way, it’s fine. Not a huge difference, really.

Honestly, if they think you’re from Columbia, you get bonus points and a sense of higher respect. So, my first advice would be that when they ask, ‘Ohhh, Columbia?’ Just nod. Avoid replying with a ‘yes’ because that’ll give away the Latino accent on the Y sound. That’s it! An easy way out of the cocaine jokes that follow—you’re welcome. In the end it’s on you to avoid situations where people feel the need to be a bit racist.

If you’re feeling picky and must mention the difference between the country with 52 million people in South America and the U.S. state, fine—say Colombia. But be warned: you’ve got to put in more effort from this point forward.

Think from their perspective. There are almost 200 countries in the world. Why is yours special? Why would they need to know everything about everything? It’s just unfair. And I know what you’re thinking—then why is it that we know about their countries? It helps me empathise if I imagine this scene as a massive high school: everyone knows the popular kid, but the popular kid can’t possibly know everyone else. It’s even more challenging if you think of those kids without lunch money, hiding in the bathroom during breaks. They’re nearly invisible.

Following this metaphor, if you ever want a seat at the cool table, you have to cooperate. You can’t pretend you deserve a place there and expect that everyone should just treat you that way.

If they say, ‘Oh, you’re that kid whose mum died last week, right?’ and everyone laughs—you’ve got to laugh, too. Even if you don’t get the joke. Even if you want to cry. Especially then.

Some might think that comparing a country to a ‘dead mum’ is just too extreme. It could be. My Motherland isn’t dead. But she’s bleeding—bombed, stabbed, raped by some of the coolest kids around—and still blamed and laughed at for all of it.

So, no, I really don’t get what’s so funny about it. But neither should you. Or anyone. I think nobody gets it—but how else can you prove your superiority if there’s no one smaller to make fun of?

Laughing makes a point.

Just laugh. It’s not even that hard. This isn’t about ‘getting’ the joke. This is about staying in the game. Earning a place at that table where you could, one day, be somebody. Maybe somebody more than the kid whose mum died. But you need to prove it.

So, again, if people ask, ‘COLOMBIA LIKE… COCAINE? DRUGS? PABLO ESCOBAR?’ (Which, in their defence, is essentially the same reference), just be chill. The repetition works in your favour; you only need to prepare for the one joke. Laugh at the expense of 6,402 innocent people murdered by a narco-government. Hilarious, right?

Sure, a fake laugh could get you out of trouble. But I recommend leaning into your humorous side.  See it for what it is: well-intentioned, light-hearted people wanting to connect with you via the knowledge they have of your culture. Are they stereotypes? Yes. Bad stereotypes? Okay, yes. But remember, this is a problem caused by mass media, not them. Approach it as their attempt to connect. Laugh sincerely. Go even deeper—embrace the darker humour.

Don’t try to correct them on the spot with things like, ‘we have the world’s top coffee’ or ‘we’ve got a Literature Nobel Prize winner’. No one appreciates that type of moral superiority when they’re just trying to be funny and friendly. You’ll be perceived as a threat to their good, cool vibes and that’ll be the last time you sit at that table.

If the coolest kid who you desperately want/need to like you makes a joke about your mum’s sickness and everyone at the table laughs, do NOT cry at the table. Don’t think of Luz Marina Bernal, mother of Fair Leonardo Porras. Don’t think of all the real people, of all those declared crimes against humanity that we’ve had to endure as a country.

Leave those tears for when no one can see you. Crying is such a loser’s move. You’ll be seen as a victim. And victims get pity, not dignity. You’ll be isolated—and isolation is way worse than discrimination.

And for the love of God, don’t write a think piece about racism. But if you absolutely must, here’s what’s worked for me: don’t use the words ‘white’ or ‘privilege’—they’d feel accused of something. Make it fun and not too subversive. Don’t mention things that are not relatable to them like “mothers of Soacha” or personal stories about how your city was bombed by Pablo Escobar and countless innocent people have died —and continue to die—in that never-ending war.

No. Don’t be such a bummer.

Write something they can appreciate without feeling personally attacked. You’ll see that when you’re pleasant, there’s no place for the so-called ‘racism’.

That’s the price for that seat.

Laura Gutierrez is a young Colombian with a passion for writing and dreams of opening the eyes of her readers. It is through non-fiction Laura expresses her lived experiences such as navigating microaggressions and racism and finding her place in the world. Although some may only see words, in each piece of writing, Laura shares a fragment of herself.

O, gloria by Jonathan Suárez.

Jonathan Suárez is a proud Colombian writer and photographer who is a graduate of politics, philosophy and economy at UQ. You can find his articles on Medium (@jd_suarez), and his photography on Instagram (@jd_suarez).