My eight-year-old daughter did something a few weeks ago that surprised me. She asked me what “Asian” meant. In Britain, Asian is usually taken to describe people of South Asian origin—Pakistani, Bengali, Indian and Sri Lankan, unlike America where Asian generally denotes East Asians. People my age and older have been grouped into one of a few broad categories: white, black or Asian, with little ambiguity about this. It surprised me that my daughter did not identify herself with this label.

I am lucky to live in a very mixed area. The schools here have had strong anti-racism policies in place since I was a child. People from every religion and almost every country in the world are represented and my children’s school celebrates that diversity. I have always tried to be mindful around my children of how prejudices and stereotypes can creep into our words and actions unknowingly.

The way my children have always described people physically is not by their race as we always did, but by their physical, apparent characteristics. So for my kids, a person is either brown like us, dark brown (which could mean Sri Lankan or Ghanaian) or yellow haired. It struck me as strange that white children were not described by their skin colour, but by their hair colour, until I realised a small child wouldn’t have a word for the range of colours that can constitute what we call white. Perhaps a child wouldn’t think of calling that skin colour white, because it isn’t literally white.

Children don’t identify and divide themselves into groups by race, I observed, until we start offering them labels to apply. So how do they identify themselves? My children have a strong religious identity because of the tight-knit Muslim community to which we belong. They also identify with their country of birth. I grew up very confused about my identity—Pakistani? Punjabi? English? British? I would have liked to say I was British but never felt accepted as such.

My children don’t seem to have that confusion. They don’t automatically associate British with “white.” In a recent discussion with his dad, my four-year-old son firmly declared, “No Dad, you and Gran are Pakistani, all us kids and Mum are English.” I’m not sure what the conversation was about, but his statement had me in stitches. No ambiguity there at all, and certainly none of the worry that was instilled in my generation by our elders about losing our culture and language if we tried to assimilate too much. (I always knew my children were English anyway—the boys wear socks with their sandals, an old English tradition evident at any English seaside).

The way our children’s thinking about race and identity has changed from ours, doesn’t mean that all of our troubles are over and that the monster of racism will now be laid to rest. There is always someone else to take over the mantle of “other” in any society. Sometimes it’s not the most obvious candidate. I have had to speak to my children a few times about comments they have made about the Roma. A number of Roma families have recently moved into our community and I have become aware of vocal criticism and prejudices against the Roma from people from ethnic minorities. It makes me wonder why they cannot see the parallels between their treatment of this new community and their own experiences of coming to this country.

These prejudices are being picked up by children and shared in the school playground. The school has taken the matter seriously and threatened to suspend anyone saying racist things to Roma children. On hearing my daughter make an unkind comment, “Phew, good thing those smelly gypsies are left behind,” I was tempted to start telling her off. Instead, I explained to my daughter that when her grandparents came to this country, they had to endure people telling them that their clothes were funny, their food smelled strange and that they should go home. I tried to give her an idea of how they were paid less for doing the same jobs as others, how they often had to do the worst kinds of jobs and how they lived in cramped, substandard homes. The Roma are now in a similar position. I explained this to my daughter so that she could consider whether she wants to become like the people who were unkind to her grandparents.

As a family we need to be clear that this does not mean people who identify themselves differently from us are any less valuable or deserve less respect. This incident with the Roma made me realise that I can’t be complacent about racism. While I am happy that my children are comfortable in their identity, it doesn’t mean that racism is no longer an issue just because race has not figured as prominently in my children’s lives as it did in ours.

© 2011 – 2013, Umm Salihah. All rights reserved.

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1. Ammena   |  Friday, 28 October 2011 at 3:27 am

   Assalamalikum sis…. interesting some of the things you say in this. As you know I dont have any children yet, but I still hear and see many things children related. Whether it be from my nephews versions of things, or my brothers reasonings or the young muslim community where I live. This Ramadhan I was in the mosque for taraweeh prayers and I overheard a conversation between two young girls, it started off with the usual questions, how old are you? where do you live? even what religion are you? (so it isnt just adults that assume you still cant be muslim just because youre wearing a scarf or in a mosque!) when it came to where are you from the elder girl proudly continued to tell the younger girl that she couldnt be english because only kuffars (non-believers) are english I pray this girls parents teach her better and she finds her identity

2. Fruitful Fusion   |  Tuesday, 08 November 2011 at 11:20 am

   Brilliant article ma sha Allah. I can relate to so many parts. But being an expat in Saudi Arabia and raising my children here (currently) they have such mixed views. Some I’m not particularly happy about, as they go to Saudi schools. It makes me realise that there is still so much to teach them!

3. Elizabeth   |  Thursday, 10 November 2011 at 9:17 pm

   My dear friend, as always, I love to read your articles and blog posts. Your writing so easily expresses what so many of us think and feel. You know my situation, having a Peruvian husband and biracial children, and having lived in Peru for just over three years. My husband is very dark (he looks South Asian, and has even been asked by a Bangladeshi once if he was from Pakistan). When my oldest was very young, if you asked him what color someone was, he would tell you their shirt color. Later he would say Daddy is brown, Joshie is yellow, and Mama is pink (I am very rosy, LOL). But all of my boys identify themselves as American. None of them would say he is Hispanic, though half of their blood came from a different continent. I am glad that we are a point where they don’t have to feel like they are strangers in their own land. I also worry about when they are older, will police stop them and ask for papers, due to many of our states’ new laws requiring the police to do so. My boys were born in the US, only learned Spanish because we took them to another country, and my youngest has actually forgotten a lot of it in a short time.

   I have always wondered, though, and this applies to all people born in Great Britain: do English people consider themselves English, British, both, or are they used interchangeably? Do Scots and Welsh people consider themselves British?

   Love reading your work.

4. Samar   |  Saturday, 26 November 2011 at 9:41 am

   Umm Saliha, You always write such insightful articles! I love your open mindedness and willingness to think outside of your socialised upbringing.
   However, as it pertains to this article in particular, and its not a criticism of your work, but is really something that I think is overlooked by Muslims of Asian descent.
   How do we teach our children to not be ethnocentric? I am Asian and I have found that there is never enough evaluation of our own selves on the community level as it pertains to the concepts of beauty, ideas of fairness, and what constitutes ‘good’ and ‘bad.’ Many times, most Asians associate beauty with being fair and having typical Asian (read Indian, Pakistani, etc) features. Asians seem to have an obsession about being fair and cannot get away from socialised understandings of beauty as being fair-skinned.
   As Muslims, how accepting are we to other Muslims who are not like us, who do not look like us?