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| No country for Moroccans. |
Travel to the city of Granada, in Southern Spain, where unemployment stands at nearly 36% and where most people make 1,000 euros a month -- about the same as people in the Dominican Republic, a "developing" nation next to a failed state, ie Haiti -- and stand in the line to enter Mae West Granada, the most chic, "preppy" nightclub in the city -- which charges a mere 10 euros cover -- and you will notice a sea of Andalusian faces.
A black couple is turned away, the Romanian bouncers tell them that the girl is not dressed appropriately; she's wearing hoop earrings and too much jewelry.
Eventually a pattern starts to form, and it becomes apparent that there are certain faces and certain styles that are completely unacceptable for those with dark skin. A white guy in shorts enters with his blonde girlfriend. A Brazilian guy in slacks is turned back because his shoelaces look too "sporty."
Travel to Latvia, where in the capital the cost of living is 558 euros a month for a single person -- just 14 euros more than Santo Domingo -- and stand in line to enter a fancy club in the Old Town of Riga. A half-black American is told that he can't come in because his New Balance shoes are sporty. Eventually his white friend talks the bouncer into letting them in; he realizes they're Americans and not deadbeats. Inside a Latvian guy is wearing Converse sneakers.
A brown Puerto Rican Princeton graduate travels to Cebu in the Philippines with a white American friend who dropped out of high school. The Princeton graduate is invisible as the women in the nightclub go crazy at the sight of a tall, rich and smart-looking white American in their midst.
Two Dominican engineers living in Mid-Town Manhattan travel to Berlin and find that not a single nightclub allows them entry. They're not sure if it's because of their potentially Arab faces or because they were speaking Spanish in line. A mixed-race American man with a generic, possibly-Arab face realizes
that Europeans can't or won't care to tell the difference between the
two groups.
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| No country for Haitians. |
A black friend from Yale travels to the Dominican Republic, stays at a fancy resort, but wants to party with the locals so goes to a nice nightclub. She gets turned away, perhaps the bouncers thought she was Haitian.
In Seoul, a Dominican, shaggy-haired college professor wearing ripped jeans and his blue-eyed, blond friend try to enter a regular nightclub in Hongdae, a university area. The blond friend is asked for ID, he's told that his California state ID is not enough, that he needs Korean ID. He's unable to produce his Korean ID because he's merely visiting. He wonders if his short hair and wrist tattoo gave the bouncer the impression that he was a US soldier looking for trouble.
The story goes like that the world over. That's why in the future, when I pick which area to move to, I'll go and examine the line outside of the nightclubs.
