Undercurrents Spokane’s Racism Isn’t Overt, But Flows Just Under The Surface There May Not Be Swastikas On Walls, But There Is A More Subtle Dynamic At Work In Spokane

Two women were helping me one day at the Spokane County Courthouse when I realized how unpleasant the conversation was getting. And how they weren’t really helping at all. The women began speaking slower and slower to me, repeating themselves, and using some sort of sign language as if I did not understand English. They were trying to explain why the papers for my license plates had not yet been processed. They drew rectangles in the air.

That incident has stuck in my memory. The kind of sticking like a sore throat that just doesn’t seem to leave - tolerable, but sufficiently annoying.

I was born in Cambodia but I’ve lived in America almost all of my life - for 20 years. I attended American schools and graduated from an American college with two degrees, in English and in journalism. I’m confident to say my English-language skills are comparable to someone who was born here.

I didn’t come to Spokane thinking I would encounter the subtleties of prejudice I had heard about all my life. In fact, I thought our society had progressed enough that racism is no longer this prevalent.

I’ve since been disillusioned.

About five months ago, I was living in Portland, interning as a reporter for The Oregonian. The internship ended, and I was offered a job as cultural reporter with The Spokesman-Review. So, here I am.

I love my job. And I took it mostly for the challenge I expected to encounter. But since I’ve been here, I’ve found my job is challenging, yes, but even more challenging is living in this city. Walking into nice restaurants and having people stare at me. Getting spit at by two men as I walk downtown. Having to explain my name to what amounts to about a dozen people a day. Don’t get me wrong, I like my name. Thing is, all of it just gets tiresome.

“What kind of name is that?” is the most common question. “A neat one, don’t you think?” is sometimes the response followed by: “It’s Cambodian.”

In my job, I come across many people who battle racial discrimination head-on. I listen to their stories, and feel their pain. I don’t know what to do for them other than tell their stories. So, here are a few.

Working on an article about Spokane’s only black theater troupe, I interviewed a woman who was raised in Spokane. As a child, she remembers being taunted by her classmates, called derogatory names, “nigger” among them. She still hears the word. She still cringes. It breaks her a little more each time.

While covering stories in the Vietnamese community, I interviewed a young woman who works at a fast food restaurant. She fears the anti-immigrant sentiments from her co-workers. “They say we’re taking their jobs and that we should go back to our own country,” she said. She works part-time, and attends school the rest of the time. In the summer, she and her family look for work on farms. Work most people would think of only as a last resort.

While profiling an American Indian actor, the man told me how he is stopped by police on a regular basis. “How much have you had to drink?” they ask. “Nothing.” No breath test, no ticket, not even a citation. The cops just ask questions, then let him go. It’s happened so many times he’s lost count.

While talking with a woman who works at a community center, she told me how her black daughter returned home from school one day and asked, “Mommy, is there something wrong with my hair?” The girl is 4 years old. She told her mom she wants to be white. “What do you tell them?” the woman wonders.

My heart is still breaking over that little girl.

Let’s face it, if you’re non-white, and even if you are white (say Russian, Cuban or Bosnian), if you weren’t born here, you’re often made to feel out of place. Is it merely coincidence that black men routinely get pulled over by police for no apparent reason? That young people of color are leaving the Inland Northwest each year because they can’t get jobs at local businesses, owned predominantly by whites? Hardly.

Maybe you’d like to think that discrimination doesn’t exist here, and even if it did, that it’s not so bad compared to other cities. You’re right. We’ve had no L.A.-style riots here. But look deeper.

Racism isn’t only swastikas spray-painted on the side of a business or a burning cross in a yard. It can be subtle, and in Spokane, it’s the subtle discrimination that seems to be doing some of the worst damage.

Through my work, I’m beginning to expose Spokane’s often-hidden cultures. I’m writing stories about communities that traditionally have been ignored by mainstream media. The diversity is out there. You just have to look for it. And want it.

To hear their stories is in itself a privilege. I hope the tales will help people understand other cultures. Sometimes that’s all a person needs.

True, Spokane isn’t my town, and the United States isn’t my homeland, but it’s still my home. As one of my sources put it: “This America, this is ours, also.” And you readers out there, you’re all immigrants, too, whether or not you want to believe it. Everyone but American Indians.

It is sometimes exhausting and frustrating to explain myself and translate other cultures to people inside and outside the newsroom. But for now, I believe this is where I need to be.

I remember once as a child when my older sister and I were building a fort in our back yard. We came across a boulder we wanted desperately to use to anchor it. We were little. And the rock was huge.

At age 7, my sister had discovered the secret to life, and she became giddy about sharing this revelation with me. She whispered: “Just say to yourself, ‘I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.’ Then, you can do whatever you want.” We repeated those words, over and over again, expecting a minor miracle as both of us tried to heave the boulder.

It didn’t move an inch. We ended up using sticks to anchor our fort.

But we tried.

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Photo

MEMO: See also Gita Sitaramiah’s article under same headline.