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“Get off the f—ing grass mate.” I heard the security guard but didn’t respond. Surely, he wasn’t talking to me. After all, I had my accreditation card on display and was doing what I generally do in the lead-up to a Test match—watching the nets. To boot, there were also three white colleagues from the Australian media standing next to me at the Gabba that afternoon.
It was only when he was in my face and literally getting me off the “f—ing grass” that I realised that I was being singled out – that my presence was the cause of his ire. Taken aback by the volume and the tone of his voice, I flashed my accreditation card. It took a fellow journalist’s intervention for him to relent. But not before he flashed a toothy smile at me and went, “You are lucky you have one of those, mate. You are lucky,” pointing at my accreditation. The next morning, he jumped on me again and since I was by myself, I thought it best to walk away.
Bharat Sundaresan in the cricket commentary box.
But when the scene repeated itself a year later at the Gabba, I’d had enough. Different security guard, same threatening tone. This time I contacted the Australian team’s media manager, Cole Hitchcock, who was kind enough to walk over and sort the matter out. So, imagine my disappointment when I was stopped by a group of security personnel at the MCG a week later, with one of them going “can we trust him?” to the other, after having checked my accreditation.
In the past I’d have shied away from talking about it. In all likelihood, I’d have responded with a self-deprecatory joke because it felt safer to do so than to have to confront them. It was also easier being the person coolly brushing off the casual racism and unintentionally justifying it. For, these aren’t fun conversations to have for us. My post on social media last week was an attempt to do just that.
To point out how it feels to be constantly talked down to. To deal with that constant condescension in tone while being reminded that you don’t belong here. To be asked constantly to accept how some have the right to belittle you and then expect you to laugh with them in the name of banter.
The dismissive nature of some of the replies to my tweet further exemplified the crux of the issue. The inconsiderate denial that discrimination of this nature exists in Australian society. And also, why it’s so hard to bring it up without being immediately accused of stirring the pot. Even if you are Usman Khawaja talking about having to “get used to” being stopped outside your hotel because you don’t look Australian, while you’re still in your Australian team kit.
I will admit that I’ve been treated as fairly and as respectfully as any other Australian journalist by every player I’ve come across in the five years I’ve been here. I’ve also been extremely touched by the support and love from the media fraternity, which include some high-profile former cricketers, that has come my way this past week in Melbourne.
But if you are one of those who thinks racism has gone away, then just listen. It never did. This is not only about security guards at cricket venues. If you look a certain way in Australia, you end up copping it on a daily basis.
Like how I was asked if I was carrying a bomb in my bag on my first day in Australia eight years ago. Like the time someone walked up to me in a restaurant when I was standing waiting for a takeaway order, pulled their wallet out from the coat hanging next to me, and went, “I didn’t feel OK leaving it there”. Like the lady who stood next to me in the security line at Brisbane airport last month, looked at my bag being scanned, and went, “I really hope I’m not on the same flight as you”. Or when I saw the man walking ahead of me one evening in Perth blatantly crossing the road and start walking on the other side while repeatedly looking suspiciously over his shoulder.
And if you are one of those who thinks this is ok, then just listen: It never is.
Bharat Sundaresan is a cricket writer for CricBuzz and commentator for SEN radio, and lives in Adelaide.
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