During Winter Break, to remember my trip to Florida, I bought an oversized mug from Disney World with Tinker Bell's face pasted across the side, next to the words, "You have a knack for getting your way."
How true this is of me, I do not know. I bought the mug to drink my green tea out of, hoping that its massive size would force me to not only detoxify my system but eventually return to my previously smaller pant size.
The mug is not the only useful item that I brought back from Florida, or, more specifically, Disney World - an enchanted land where adults become kids again, a land where true thoughts are spoken and genuine emotions are freely released. There, everything and anything imaginable occurs. It is a realm that makes impossible fantasies into very possible realities.
My discovery occurred at the Epcot Center at a family attraction called, "Honey, I Shrunk the Audience," where I was joined by my sister and our two family friends. Before we entered the large auditorium, we were prepped with 3-D glasses and a show that served as a prelude to the attraction. As soon as that finished, like good citizens, we followed the intercom's orders and filed in a single line to take our seats.
After we were seated, an older lady asked my friend Annafi to get up from his seat so she could sit next to her family. Annafi, slightly bewildered at the lady's brash request, responded that he was seating next to his family (us) and that all the seats next to us were taken, so where would he go? This lady replied or rather shouted, "I don't know. You cut in front of me. Just get up!" By now, Annafi was appalled and angry, and thus refused.
At this moment, the lady's husband, an old man who seemed at least 70 years old, got up and started to yell obscenities at my friend. Predictably, like any headstrong, young man, my friend started to retort in defense - before the man pushed him. Yes, he physically pushed him and told him, "Shut up, you Puerto Rican."
Because my mind was numb, my body relied on my instincts and the only action I could take was to stand between the two men and try to prevent Annafi from reacting. Unlike mine, his sister's tongue was working, and she answered that we were not Puerto Rican, and even if we were, his comment was rude and his wife's behavior uncalled for.
The old man, making no comment, flipped his middle finger and held it high for all to see. In the presence of his pre-teen granddaughter, with his wife concurring, in front of a whole audience of people, to a young girl, right in the middle of Disney World, the land of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. To add to our shock and rage, none of the other audience members did anything. They passively witnessed the scenario with the exception of one woman who said, "Just forget it and go, guys."
We left and went to sit all the way in the back, and behind our 3-D glasses, we were each a mix of frustration, anger and shame - frustration because we did not know how to respond to this situation, anger because they got what they wanted and were getting away with it, shame because we let them go.
Of course, we had heard and learned about racism, but it was all secondhand. This real, firsthand experience hardly seemed like it was happening; it was surreal. What we should have done was got up, told the Disney personnel, had this couple apologize and arrested in public and then, permanently barred from Disney World. Instead, we sat through the movie with our unsure selves and furious emotions. I have no idea what the movie was about.
By the time the show finished, our senses had recovered, and we found a staff member but the old couple and their granddaughter had already dissolved into the crowd. The staff did their best to find them but being a busy season, the theme park was packed. Since they couldn't be traced, the staff members tried to lighten our moods and our Disney experience by offering us fast passes to all the popular rides. We chose to benefit from this incident and accepted.
So what other useful item did I bring back from Florida, then? That such thinking still exists in 20th century America? That if there are outward racists, there must also be closet racists? That people can be overwhelmed by those who are different? Or do they feel threatened? Or do they have misplaced illusions? How can one explain the people who witnessed the scene? Where do they fall? Is this what it means to live in a country where there's such an emphasis on being "politically correct?" But then again, what about us, the "victims?" Did we just allow ourselves to profit from being harassed? Did we just pull out the pity-me-I'm-a-minority card? Somewhere, aren't we wrong, too?
Perhaps, the only conclusion I can make is that "Honey, I Shrunk the Audience" was not a family experience, and definitely not PG.
Tanzima's column runs biweekly Fridays. She can be reached at t.chowdhury@cavalierdaily.com.
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