The Westernization of a World

When I was eight years old, my mother sat my sister and I down and told us we’d be moving to Mexico to live with my father. Sometime before we left, my grandfather explained to us that this meant we would get to grow in a new world. We would have the opportunity to learn a new language, a new culture. We would have access to a completely different education and a new life which would lead us to greater and brighter pathways far away from home. His stern voice still echoes in the back of my mind “From now on, as long as you are living, wherever you will go, you will have to work twice as hard and twice as long, to earn half as much, and to prove you are half as deserving of the things they are gifted with and the things they get given at birth.”

He was right then, and he still is now. We went to Mexico, lived there for five years, and came back. It was a life changing and humbling experience that granted me with a priceless education which cannot be taught in any school, as any subject. But it was not what we needed nor hoped for, so we moved on. Fast forward another five years, it is 2014 and I am doing a BA in Nuclear Engineering in the University of Sofia. Regrettably, due to unfortunate personal circumstances I was only able to do the first year of my degree and had to leave the programme to provide for my family full-time. During this period of turmoil, the opportunity arose to come to the United Kingdom and study here, even if I chose to do a different degree.

I moved to Liverpool, living in a relatively rough area but with cheap student housing. My first instance of discrimination in the UK came but a fortnight after moving in, when I went to a corner shop while on the phone with one of my best friends, speaking in Bulgarian. The shop owner threw a can at me, which hit me in the head, and yelled “Get out of here Polish scum!” Suffice to say, I ran - all the way home. I locked my room and I cried, and cried, and then cried some more till I had no tears left. I started settling in at university and I avoided the area to not run into trouble again, but from that point on I would not speak in Bulgarian when other people were around me. Even with my mother.

There was big talk at the time about Romanian, Bulgarian and Polish nationals allegedly coming into the UK just to “get on benefits”. Unsurprisingly, I met a lot of people who felt this was true, and who felt very strongly about how these “gypsies” should be treated. Some of my classmates, and even some of my flatmates, asked me if I was a “gypsy” too and how come I had such light skin if I was one, because that’s all they’d ever known about the Balkans as seen on TV. I tried to let it be, but still started replying with “Why?” to the always looming question of “Where are you from?”, regardless of who was doing the asking.

Some of my classmates then made fun of my name, because Kalina apparently sounds like the English word “cleaner” said very fast, which is presumably all that Bulgarians are good for, allowing them to believe it’s fine if they offer to pay me in exchange of going in to do their dishes. In that moment, I too laughed and downplayed the way it truly made me feel. Some of my tutors could not get my name right and called me Karolina, Katerina, Katalina, and just anything that sounded remotely Slavic. Perhaps in their mind’s eye, Eastern Europe is just one single big country where individual subcultures do not exist, much less their separate geopolitical, geographical, religious, and socioeconomic nuances. I even have clients to this day with whom I have exchanged series of emails, each signed “Kalina” whom will also call me anything else under the sun and have gone to the lengths of asking in conversation “Oh I’m sorry, it’s just so different to remember, can I call you Kate instead?”… and to be honest, there was a time in the past when I agreed and replied “If you don’t mind, I prefer “Kay” if it’s easier?”.

Throughout my volunteering in digital imaging at university, I had the opportunity to set-up and run the tech for a lecture capture of one of the 20th’s century most brilliant design minds. The individual and their partner were kind and it was wonderful to meet them, but it is one meeting I will never forget. This is a duo who can truly be thought of as citizens of the world, yet when they asked me where I was from and I opted to reply – Bulgaria, the response was “Oh, then how come your English is so good?”… English is not my second language, not even my third, it is my fourth. It comes after Bulgarian, French and Spanish, in chronological order of my life and academic practice, followed immediately by Russian and Italian. All of which I speak with an accent – granted, and learn new words in constantly simply because I have only one mother tongue (Bulgarian). Hence, I am continuously looking to expand my vocabulary in all other languages. But an accent or the use of a dictionary do not make me any less cultured, educated, or able, all they make me is foreign. Of course, in that exact moment in time I did not say that, what I said instead was “Well I used to work in technical support in English only, so I’ve had lots of practice!”. I said it with a smile too when I could feel nothing but aching inside.

While developing my portfolio, I wondered whether I should change my name or at least publish art under another. I wondered if I should change it for job applications, if I should erase my education and work experience in Bulgaria from my CV. I wondered if I should practice speaking English in a British accent, a London accent to be precise. Or if perhaps I should tell people I am from some mixed Spanish background instead. In interviews and then at work, I used to erase any trace of another culture from myself – no red thread on my left wrist, no blue eyes around my neck, no martenitsa during March, no pictures of holiday celebrations with my family or any tradition which might be considered remotely “pagan” on social media, because none of those things speaks out to Western culture, much less what it considers to be “professional”.

It took me a lot of time, and a lot of internal battling, to reject the notion that I am not as worthy of occupying space in this environment, to reject the notion that I am not deserving of a seat at the same table – because I am. I have worked twice as hard for so long, and will continue to do so for the rest of my life, that it is simply not an option for me to any longer allow any part of me to be erased out of the self-imposed imaginary inconvenience of another. I am a root of a different kind of tree, which will always be entrenched in everything I do and all that I am. It does not grow near, but its growth is directly fuelled by every negative comment or joke made at the expense of my heritage and each attempt at its eradication. Through its Slavic form, my first name means red, beautiful, fiery, and full of life. Through its Greek form it means beautiful and great victory. My last name means made of gold. My mother gave me these names for a reason, and it is up to no one to take them or change them regardless of how “inconvenient” in pronunciation they may seem for no other reason than because they are different. Great power comes in being different, and even greater power still in allowing yourself to be different against all odds.

The West, the White West especially, has allowed itself to grow predisposed in the belief that it’s experience of the world is universal. That cultural difference is a threat, rather than a gift, if it is not to be overpowered, if it is not to be owned. But Westernization does not equal Modernization, it is not synonymous with progress and does not enable equal freedom and access to all. The perception and presentation of “greater” and “lesser” cultures only further seals the theory regarding the origins of privilege, in the fact that these are identified as such solely by those who wish to remain supreme over all, for as long as it will enable their own personal gain. This is further enabled by their lack of commitment to matters of social justice and the utter inadequacy of their actions in times of constitutional change. Individuals and organizations who wilfully chose ignorance and treat basic human rights as a commodity are products of the same ideologies which once fed colonizers’ own mentalities. Their assumptions that a negative zeitgeist is not possible in the coupling of cultures if one chooses to act as an oppressor of contrasting beliefs, traditions, and ideologies, would be jejune and benighted to say the least.

Many may read this, take it as a complaint and think “Well go back home then!” (I have had it said to my face too), which goes to prove they will have missed the mark. I can go home, so can many others, but even if we all leave – don’t you want freedom and access too? Wouldn’t you want to have the same rights as those around you, to be treated with the same respect, regardless of where you are from and where you may go next? What about your children, or theirs or the ones to come after – don’t you want to leave the world a slightly better place for them as you exit it than it was as you entered? Because this is not a complaint, but it is a call to action. For me, for your friends, for your colleagues, and others you know who do not get a vote and do not get a say only because they are different. And for everyone who does not get listened to even if they do have a say, because the ones doing the listening can take no gain from it.

In 2020 we are already familiar with concepts like cultural appreciation, cultural appropriation, the differences between enculturation, acculturation, and cultural globalisation. However, we still need to learn about the correlation of economic, social, and cultural capitals, how they influence communities and shape environments. Education on these matters is a process of unlearning systematic beliefs which are intertwined with the homegrown stereotypes and prejudices we all carry within. It is a never-ending process we all must commit to for our own growth and that of those around us. Even more so, it is a commitment myself, others like me and all those who may have walked the same path, must push for uncompromisingly. If we do not demand change, it will not come. We must not shy away from the challenge out of fear of being singled out, of being different, because we already are. We always have been different, we are foreign.

I will always be Bulgarian, and in the wrong environment it may cost me jobs, opportunities, friendships and other relationships, but I know now that I have the ability and power to support the building of a right environment. Not only for myself, but for all others who may have been thought of or treated as “lesser” in their own journey. If I am able to break down even just one door, can you imagine how many more after me will still be able to walk through it? And if you break down one too, if our friends break down one each, and so on – then we might just one day get to see a world without doors. Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold? Remember, powerful people empower other people. Think of your darkest moments and the person whom you may have needed at that time to pull you out and light the way. Then wake-up every morning and chose to be that person for those around you. Fearlessly, make no apologies when you stand for what is right. Just make sure to break down some doors.

In the words of my favourite author Nikolay Haitov – “Eдно е да ти се иска, друго е да можеш, а пък трето и четвърто — да го направиш." Roughly translated – It is one thing to want, another to be able, while a third and fourth – to do it.