I knew I wasn’t white. Realising I was working-class hurt more | Rabiah Hussain

Growing up in an east London immigrant community, I didn’t feel different. That was forced on me by the middle-class world

I have known I’m not white since I was very young. But I didn’t always know I was working-class. My earliest memory of racism was when I was six. My cousin and I stood silently in the front garden as the kids from a white family down the road strode past calling us “Pakis”. As they continued to walk away, we started conferring about what to call white people. When they reached their house, we shouted out “Engees!” – because English and white were interchangeable – while being ready to run inside should they decide this was a real insult. It was at that moment I understood “Paki” to be a derogatory word for my skin colour. Up until then, I just looked different. But at that moment, I knew I wasn’t white.

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