Words by Wajd El-Matary

As the youngest child in a family of six, life was always insane in my household – as weekends were often spent making baklava or other treats that were often hard to find. You would hear the beautiful melody of my sister and me crying while doing our daily homework, which consisted of us spending a minimum of three hours a day writing out the Arabic alphabet. As well as attending a regular primary school, I attended an Arabic school focussed solely on culture and language. My parents spent their entire parenthood drumming into our heads the importance of speaking, reading, and writing Arabic. “How are you supposed to speak to your grandparents?” my mum would cry as we stumbled upon each word in our exercise books.

I like to think my empathetic tendencies come from visiting my extended family in Jordan and Kuwait yearly as a child and appreciating the lives they lead. My gratification is owed to my parents, who moved here in an effort to make our lives better than theirs were back home. My mother gave birth to my eldest sister during the middle of the Gulf War, and I hear stories from my father about how hard life was during the invasion. My childhood consisted of choosing if I wanted Barbie or Bratz dolls, and that’s all thanks to them sheltering us from their harsh reality.

Now, I want you to picture this; you’re at a party, and you are introduced to someone. You can tell they look different, and you think “I’d love to know more about them!”. You start asking some juicy questions to get a picture of their ethnicity. They explain they were raised in Auckland, and you say the dreaded sentence: “yeah, but where are you really from?”. This question is not the end of the world, and I don’t really mind when I get asked it. But it can serve as a painful reminder that I’m not actually from here and I look different to your average Kiwi. There is absolutely no definitive guide on how to talk to a person of colour, and nine times out of ten people won’t be offended or lash out when you ask them something that may be marginal. But in an effort to move forward, I’ve compiled a short and sweet list of dos and don’ts.

DO – Engage in political conversations with your friend!

It is so crucial that you and your friend have common ground when it comes to politics. As minorities, we tend to be affected drastically by everything happening in the political sphere. I’m not saying to talk about politics if you don’t want to, but backing their opinions and understanding why they feel so passionately will help you understand each other more.

DON’T – Use your privilege to shut down their opinions.

I hate that this is still happening – but if I had a dollar for every person who told me they don’t care about changing political discourse, I’d be a fucking baller. Again, it comes down to understanding; understanding why you don’t care is the key ingredient here. Educating yourself on how to help people who are not favoured by the system is not a radical idea. As members of the human race, this should be considered a duty. Standing up for people who might not have the voice is not something courageous; it’s the right thing to do.

DO – Appreciate other cultures and educate yourself!

There is no pressure in any way to go out and read an entire encyclopaedia on every culture on the planet, but there is something so rewarding about learning about how other people live!

DON’T – Appropriate culture

The easiest way to explain appropriation vs appreciation is what you’re choosing to appreciate. You can eat all the hummus in the world; I don’t care. You can wear henna and make your own falafel. But if you wear a traditional Palestinian gown handstitched in Jerusalem to a music festival you need to check yourself (true story, I can’t believe this actually happened).

DO – Give genuine compliments!

I like that you think my hair is lush, it makes me feel good about myself!

DON’T – Relate compliments back to ethnicity

I appreciate that you think my eyes are pretty but telling me it’s because I’m middle eastern makes me feel like a fetish.

I’d be lying to say I’ve nailed the art of being a minority in Aotearoa. The main difference between now and when I was six is that people around me are so understanding and compassionate. The friends I surround myself with are pretty great at supporting and uplifting me. It’s a cold world, but there are moments of light knowing people are actively taking steps to better themselves and our society!

It’s simple: don’t be a dick