Sleep deprived and exhausted, I remembered “oh crap, I think the car is still on the street”. I had parked our sedan there earlier in the day to pull out our minivan for the kids.
Oh yes, the kids… the reason Priyanka and I have been sleep deprived and exhausted for a few months now. Ever since we had our second one, they have been running in “high availability” mode, the moment one quietens, the other one needs attention, night or day.
I tied up my hair in a bun, grabbed the keys to the car, and headed to bring the car back in. I didn’t want it to be an inconvenience to drivers or hinder the sweeping truck that sometimes comes by early morning. Then just as I was hitting the lock button, I heard his voice “you ever fucking park your car there again, i will fucking…”. I was taken aback, and the first thing that popped out of my mouth was “why are you being so rude?”. He responded: “Because you people think you own this country…” (continued stream of profanity and racism filled yelling). This was my neighbor. A 60-ish year old white man. Just a couple months ago, Priyanka and I had taken our two month old, to their door to give them Indian sweets celebrating his birth.
His verbal attack continued for about 20 minutes, waking up half the neighborhood in the process.
It was a dehumanizing experience. In that moment, it didn’t matter that I have an MBA from a top-tier school in Canada, or I work at a bleeding-edge tech company, or that I have certain tastes in cheese and jam pairing. Nope. All that mattered was that my skin was a different color.
I went to bed angry, and couldn’t sleep for hours stewing in hatred and disgust. At 3 am, I was staring at the ceiling replaying the incident, wondering what I could have done differently, what I would do if law wasn’t a thing. Eventually, I decided I didn’t want my kids to grow up in this environment. Next morning, I scheduled a meeting with a real estate broker.
Now we are selling the house, for less money than we owe in mortgage.
Nine years ago, I was headed to a job interview at McKinsey. At Montreal airport, a security officer pulled me aside and told me to check in an item that everyone else in line was carrying without question. I brushed it off at first… until I overheard airline staff whisper to each other with a knowing look: “you know what’s happening.”
That moment kept replaying in my head. Instead of preparing to solve cases like I imagine my peers were doing, I kept asking myself: Do I even belong here? Did I do something wrong? What could I have done differently?
I didn’t get the job. I don’t know if I would have if my mind had been on the interview, but it would’ve helped.
Incidents like these don’t just ruin your day. They stay with you for a long time. They cost you mental energy - the same energy that you could have spent preparing for an interview, thinking about how to do better at your job, or just living your life. Ever since this incident, I have become more observant of people’s behaviour towards me. On every cold interaction, I’m wondering if there’s racism underneath. This means I am not living in the same world as someone who doesn’t have to think like this.
For all the talk about the economy or the workplace being a “meritocracy” on a “level playing field”, the playing field is not level. Immigrants are paying this mental tax everyday, and having to work much harder to deliver the same output as everyone else.
While the costs of blatant racism, such as not hiring a qualified candidate, are somewhat easier to quantify, the cost of this mental tax on immigrants are real, even if harder to assign a number to. Racism doesn’t just happen once, like a road accident. It stays with you. It envelopes you like a disgusting blanket. It tints your glasses and plays in your ears during office meetings, while playing with your kids, while eating dinner with your family. It is always there, always extracting its tax.
