Your say / Racism
‘Life for many immigrants now is the constant pushback of being unwanted, unworthy and different’
If, like me, you’ve been feeling overwhelmed by everything happening in the world right now, I see you.
My eyes well up and limbs go weak every time I think of the wars, the people dying, the arrests, the unfair trials, the win of tyranny.
And while there are still a few leaders who offer a glimmer of hope, I can’t help but wonder – are we already beyond repair?
What will bring back the civilians, frontline workers and children who have lost their lives through no fault of their own?
What restores hope to those imprisoned simply for speaking out?
What undoes the daily verbal and physical abuse faced by people because of their skin colour, their origin, their religion?
Karen Johnson says she is grateful for those who come out in support for immigrants like her at far-right marches
What troubles me most is that it no longer feels distant.
There’s a St George’s flag I have been seeing through my bedroom window for weeks now.
I would love for this to be a sign that they love rugby or cricket or football or just their country, but I’ve noticed it appears just before every far-right protest in the city.
I have never felt so helpless and scared. Mainly, because I don’t know who is and isn’t a racist anymore.
Is it the person sitting next to me on the bus?
The one who avoids eye contact on the street?
The one who directs questions to everyone else but me in a conversation?
It’s very much possible that the above examples are just unconscious biases.
But can you really blame me for feeling this way? For feeling paranoid? For wondering whether I might be targeted, insulted or excluded simply because I wasn’t born here, because my skin doesn’t match what is expected?
I’m not saying every place is unsafe. Even when there is rampant hate, there is always a surge of love. I’ve seen it in Bristol at every other anti-immigrant march where “patriots” are always outnumbered by counter-protesters.
“Flags can simultaneously stand for patriotism and unity, they do not need to be a symbol of hate”
To everyone who shows up for those counter-protests: thank you.
I’m a journalist in this city, yet I still don’t feel safe enough to attend them. Some might call that hypocritical.
That’s their opinion. I just know that I don’t want to consciously put myself in a situation that could risk my safety, especially when my family, thousands of miles away, lives with the constant fear that something could go wrong.
My parents moved to the UAE in 2019, soon after I moved to Mumbai from Vadodara.
Until recently, they never once felt unsafe – neither because of the government nor the people around them.
Sadly, I don’t know if I would be able to say that confidently about my own home country of India, where the marginalisation of minorities has become increasingly visible.
As a South Indian Catholic, I am a minority there. As an Indian in the UK, I am a minority here.
So where, exactly, do I belong?
As an immigrant in the UK, I earned a master’s degree in journalism and built a life in Bristol. I secured a reporting role at Bristol24/7 and have spent nearly two years telling stories about this city and its people. I’ve worked with a team that has been nothing but warm and welcoming.
While that might seem like a happy end to my story, because no employer can afford to sponsor me under the current system, I’m now preparing to leave – at any moment.
Not because I lack the skills or because I haven’t worked hard. But because I don’t meet a salary threshold that is unrealistic for someone at the start of their career, especially in journalism, especially in this economy.
So life for many other immigrants and me now is the constant pushback of being unwanted, not worthy enough, too different.
When I turn myself away from the noise of protests and hateful rhetoric to apply for jobs, I face a quieter rejection.
I came here legally. I paid for everything – often through loans and sacrifices. I have studied, worked, contributed.
This is not a complaint: it’s a reality check for anyone who believes immigrants are handed opportunities.
I’ve made peace with the fact that I’ll have to soon leave Bristol and start from scratch. But it comes with the guilt of having spent thousands of pounds and exhausted all my family’s savings.
All of this, not because I lack skills or don’t work hard enough, but merely because I was not born here.
This is an opinion piece by Karen Johnson, a reporter at Bristol24/7 who is currently working and living in the UK on a graduate visa
All photos: Rob Browne
Main photo:
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