School bullying and racism, and how it ended

 

Permit me to share with you a reflection—an old woman’s monologue, if you like.

 

Long time ago, I was a student at an international school in London. It was a salad bowl of languages and cultures, an environment that left an indelible mark on my younger self.

 

Among my classmates was someone who often reached out to those struggling with English. Notably, all these students were Japanese. I recall thinking to myself at the time, "What a considerate and generous person he must be."

 

Then came a moment of discord that has lingered in my memory. Perhaps due to my own faltering grasp of English, I misinterpreted his words, believing him to be speaking ill of others. Hurt and indignant, I cut ties abruptly.

 

The following day, as I descended the staircase from the first floor to the ground floor, I overheard a conversation—one that has stayed with me ever since.

 

“You should stay us! If you stay with Japanese, your eyes will be slanted!”

 

This phrase bears a resemblance to the infamous remark made by the Duke of Edinburgh, the late consort of Queen Elizabeth II, during a visit to China—a comment that became widely known for its insensitivity.

 

The term “slant-eyed” was, at the time, a common racial slur directed at East Asians. It was one of those phrases you might hear whispered at close quarters while waiting on a platform in the Underground.

 

There was a reason to the whispering. The intent was to ensure the target heard the slur while shielding the speaker from being noticed by others—a covert act of discrimination designed to wound with precision and impunity.

 

If they assumed you couldn’t understand English, such words might be spoken openly on the streets or in public spaces. However, the moment they suspected you had even a rudimentary grasp of the language, the insults would be whispered, softly yet pointedly, into your ear.

 

As someone with relatively “slanted” eyes myself, I heard this phrase more times than I care to remember. My typical response was to feign ignorance, as though I hadn’t understood, or to simply ignore it. At times, the disdain was too much to bear, and I resorted to wearing my Walkman, headphones firmly in place, to block out the world.

 

Within the walls of the school, however, I believed these hateful utterances seemed to vanish. The school environment felt, if not entirely free of prejudice, at least a sanctuary of sorts—a place where overt racism didn’t reach me.

 

That was until the day I heard that phrase—“slant-eyed”—uttered right in front of me, piercing through the perceived safety of my surroundings.

 

One of the classmates interjected, “Don’t say that phrase. People might hear you,”

 

I was halfway down the staircase when I heard every word, the exchange reverberating in the space. Without breaking stride, I said, “Excuse me,” as I stepped over the group of British classmates who had gathered at the bottom of the stairs. I continued on my way towards the classroom where our next lesson was scheduled.

 

For a fleeting moment, the urge to respond—to say something sharp or even step deliberately on one of their feet—flashed through my mind. But I held back. Responding to every instance of racial prejudice was a battle without end, one that risked consuming far too much emotional energy.

 

At the time, we were studying the Indian independence movement in history class. I had been particularly moved by Gandhi’s philosophy of nonviolence, his steadfast belief in ahimsa. Inspired by his example, I resolved to restrain myself. Non-viorence—neither hand nor foot would be raised in anger that day.

 

The following morning, upon arriving at school, I noticed two Japanese students who had arrived slightly earlier than I did. As I approached, I overheard what seemed to be a British student mutter the phrase “Slanted eyes” in a low voice near them.

 

The two appeared momentarily confused, not quite understanding what had been said. Recognising the slur immediately, I wasted no time in guiding them away, saying, “Let’s ignore it,” as I ushered them towards the staircase.

 

Once we were away from the scene, they asked what had been said. I explained, “They called you ‘slanted eyes.’ Like this,” and mimed the offensive gesture by pulling my eyes upward. Their expressions shifted to one of disbelief, and they turned to look at the student—presumably British—who had uttered the slur.

 

“Which one said it?” I asked. One of them pointed and replied, “The one standing in the middle.”

 

Three students were standing nearby, and it became evident that the remark had come from the boy in the middle, identifiable by his jacket.

 

Unable to contain my anger, I muttered under my breath in Japanese, “Fucking racist.” Aware of the risk of being understood, I quickly composed myself and urged us to leave the area without further confrontation. We headed straight for the classroom where our lesson was about to begin.

 

After the first period had ended, one of the students I’d spoken with earlier in the morning came to me and said, “I’ve reported it to the school councelor.”

 

I thought to myself, “That was quick.” But as events unfolded, it became clear that the situation wasn’t going to be resolved so easily.

 

Looking down the corridor, I saw one of the Japanese students crying. When I asked what had happened, she explained through tears, “They called me slanted eyes.”

 

Once again, the culprit turned out to be the same student wearing the jacket.

 

The following day, I noticed another student—this time a Japanese-American from the middle school—looking visibly unwell. Her posture was slumped, and she seemed to be carrying some emotional weight.

 

I asked, “What’s wrong?”

 

She responded hesitantly, “Can I have a word with you?” Her tone was subdued, and her body bent slightly forward, as though she had been deeply shaken by something.

 

“Ok. Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?” I suggested, guiding her to a bench outside where we could talk in private.

 

She revealed, in a quiet voice, that she too had been called “slanted eyes.”

 

I asked whether anything like this had happened to her back in America. To my surprise, she said, “Never.”

 

When I inquired about who had said it, the answer was unsurprising—it was, yet again, the student in the jacket.

 

As we sat there, a thought crossed my mind: America must be a good country. But I quickly refocused on the present and said, “Let’s go and see the school councelor together.” I then accompanied her to the teacher’s office to address the issue directly.

 

As I approached the room, the councelor called me aside just before entering.

 

I asked, “Can the Japanese-American student come with me?” The councelor replied firmly, “No, I need to speak with you alone.”

 

Turning to the student, I said, “I’ll get this sorted. Just keep your head up and smile, OK?” With that reassurance, I stepped into the room.

 

Once inside, I explained to the councelor that it appeared only one student had been targeting Japanese students with the slur “slanted eyes.” Based on what I’d heard so far, every incident seemed to involve the same student, who was always described as wearing a particular jacket.

 

The councelor listened in silence, his expression neutral but attentive.

 

When I finished, the councelor spoke, “It seems yesterday’s argument between you and a classmates might have triggered all of this. What happened?”

 

I explained, “Yes, I had an argument, but afterwards, the group of British students began saying, ‘If you spend too much time with the Japanese, you’ll end up with slanted eyes.’”

 

The councelor nodded silently, absorbing my account. With nothing further to add, I left the room.

 

It was somewhat reassuring to realise that not all the students in the school were involved, but rather that a specific individual was responsible. Had the slur been coming from various directions, from an unknown number of people, the atmosphere would have felt far more sinister, even overwhelming.

 

The following day, however, another Japanese student experienced a panic attack. Once again, she had been called “slanted eyes.” This particular student, it turned out, had also been bullied back in Japan with the same insult, and the memory appeared to resurface, causing her to break down in tears.

 

I did my best to calm her and asked who had said it. Her answer was unsurprising—it was once again the boy in the jacket.

 

I considered confronting him directly, but having already spoken to the councelor, I decided to trust that the matter was being handled through the proper channels.

 

A few days later, a letter arrived at my home from the school. In it, the administration acknowledged that certain students had made racist comments towards Japanese pupils. The letter assured us that the school was addressing the issue and would take steps to prevent such incidents from happening again.

 

As for the boy in the jacket, it seemed the school had intervened swiftly. He was summoned and given a serious reprimand for his behaviour.

 

Several weeks later, I noticed a surprising shift. The same boy who had been at the centre of the incidents had apparently apologised to the Japanese student he had insulted. Remarkably, the two seemed to have become friends. I started to see them talking together, a sight that felt almost surreal given the tension just weeks prior.

 

However, this incident seemed to leave a lasting scar on the Japanese-American student. From that point on, she began to say things like, “The racism in Britain is terrible.”

 

I replied, “There’s discrimination in every country. Even Japan has its issues with discrimination against foreigners, and perhaps America has its own problems too. If you face racism, don’t lower your head—stand firm.”

 

Yet, the matter was not so easily settled with a mere piece of paper from the school. There was even a fool who, undeterred by the official response, came up to me and said, “Even so, Orientals are ugly.” This time, it was a French student.

 

I was no longer willing to expend any more energy on this, so I dismissed him with a blunt remark, “No matter how beautiful your outward appearance may be, if your inner self is as ugly as a white pig, Please, go away.”

 

Supporting these three individuals—who, perhaps for the first time, were experiencing racism—was an exhausting task.

 

Looking back, I now believe that the racial slurs at school were, in part, an attempt to test the English proficiency of the Japanese students to see if they understood the term “slanted eyes”, and in part, they stemmed from the immature, discriminatory sentiments that often come with youth. (The target, in this case, seemed to be students with relatively narrow eyes.)

 

However, forty years ago, during Japan’s economic boom, Japanese people were easily seen as targets for criticism, and this particular incident at the school, where I heard the straightforward opinion that “Orientals are ugly,” was, in a way, a revelation.

 

The attitude of Londoners towards Japanese people during the Economic bubble era in Japan was, in retrospect, quite cold. This was likely due to several factors: Japan was still perceived as a former enemy of Britain (especially during a time when World War II veterans—who still had considerable influence—were alive, and when Emperor Showa had just passed away), and Japanese companies were aggressively expanding into Europe. They were buying up prime real estate and luxury goods across major cities, leading to a growing sense of resentment. It was a period where Japanese affluence, particularly in London, was seen as disruptive.

 

The British, who had once ruled the seven seas and prided themselves on their traditional luxury goods, now watched as Japanese citizens—whom they had rarely encountered before—began to buy up what was perceived as their national heritage.

 

At the time, Britain was struggling economically, with high unemployment rates. The sight of Orientals, seemingly out of nowhere, strolling through the streets and making extravagant purchases must have felt like a slap in the face to many. For some, it might as though they were being struck by wads of banknotes, symbolising a loss of control over their own heritage and assets.

 

Even now, I believe, London is home to a diverse array of immigrants and long-established multinational communities. Amidst this, I, as someone who had frequently been called derogatory terms like “Chink,” “Jap,” “Slanted Eyes,” and “Go home, you bitch” by both Black and White Londoners, thought that at least within the school, I might find safety.

 

Looking back now, I can’t help but think how naïve I was. Bullying and teasing exist in schools all over the world, and if there is racism outside of school, then it’s only logical to expect it inside as well. I should have accepted that there would be all kinds of people at school. Naturally, there would be those who dislike East Asians. In the end, merely hearing the candid opinion “Orientals are ugly” was, in a way, a learning experience.

 

There were other incidents, which led me to make the decision that I would never return to that school again. I left Britain, convinced that my time there was over.

 

Or so I thought. Ironically, a few years later, due to all classes in my university in Japan being closed due to lack of participating students, I found myself back in the UK to study social anthropology and learn about Orientalism.

 

The conclusion I came to at that time was this: “I do not want to be a minority in Britain.”

 

When you don’t understand racial slurs, they’re somewhat harmless. If you don’t know what’s being said, you can simply ignore it and carry on. If you don’t understand what “Slanted Eyes” means, you can stand tall without letting it bother you.

 

However, once you understand the meaning of these words, there’s a tendency to react unnecessarily, and in some cases, you might feel compelled to respond.

 

Whether it’s better to retaliate or to ignore it, I still haven’t made up my mind. But I suspect the answer lies in either ignoring it or learning to respond with a retort that mocks the perpetrator—perhaps something that disarms them with humour or wit.

 

 

Recently, in the United States, the term “Oriental” has been recognised as a racial slur, with people now advised to refer to individuals as “East Asian” instead.

 

The term East Asian feels somewhat awkward, as it seems to lack nuance.

 

Geographically, countries like Malaysia and Singapore, which are considered part of Southeast Asia, also have sizable Chinese populations. However, these people are, in the strictest sense, descendants of Chinese migrants, and many do not embrace Chinese culture, with English often being their first language.

 

The term Oriental, therefore, seems to be a blanket term that refers to people with physical characteristics similar to those of the Japanese or Chinese, regardless of their nationality or cultural background.

 

It makes me wonder whether people from Malaysia or Singapore, walking through modern-day London, might still be covertly labelled “Slanted Eyes” in hushed tones. This raises some interesting questions: Do they retaliate, or do they simply let it pass? Do they choose the path of diplomacy, or do they show their displeasure? Such moments will always rely on individual judgment.