As an immigrant woman of colour, every day I walk next to the same people who were chanting hate speech. The weekend’s rallies shows how far we still have to go
W
hen I moved to Australia more than five years ago, I experienced for the first time the pleasures and safety of being able to go on a night stroll by myself – something I had never done in my home country. Then, as I heard the stories of violence against women on the streets and homes across Australia (and the world), I realised that as a woman you don’t get to feel a sense of belonging in most places. I learned to accept that.
On Sunday, as I walked the street outside my humble, one-bedroom, overly priced Melbourne apartment in broad daylight, I felt unsafe again. This time not because of my gender but because of another part of my identity that I have no control over, nor did I ever think would be under scrutiny in this beautiful multicultural country: my race.
I am an immigrant who works nine to five in a field that strives to advance Australia’s national interest (foreign policy) and studies part-time on weekends. I pay full tuition fees upfront, taxes and a hefty health insurance fee to meet my visa requirements and yet avoid going to the doctor because insurance doesn’t make healthcare any more affordable.
