Picoaggression

The woman hesitated, then approached me. I like to think, because of my friendly look.
"Do you know where Botkinskaya 6 is?"
Hmmm, I didn't, but she had a map. Though I'm new to this neighborhood, I know the streets. I turned her map and showed her how the streets line up.

Suddenly, she snatched the paper, gestured with impatience, uttered something, and walked off, shaking her head.

Whatever she said, to me it meant, "You are worthless."

The shock of her abrupt rejection flamed into anger. It was my accent, of course. I must know nothing, if I'm a foreigner. Worthless, no help, no good.  So many great comebacks to toss her way, show her how wrong she was, to mock her for rejecting my help. I was heading the same way, and smoldered behind her, wanting her to turn and see my direct gaze.

This was not a microaggression.

 I was never threatened, not even really insulted. I don't know why she was so rude. And I am from the culture with power, which is wreaking havoc on her country's economy. She is no threat to me.

And yet it stung. And it made me really angry.

Every day, I interact with dozens of Russians. In general, they are more polite to me than to each other, interested in who I am, responding to my foreign friendliness. This kind of rejection is very rare. Maybe once or twice a year I see something personally that reminds me of the anti-foreigner rhetoric that is preached from the media stage. Yet this quickly fans the flames for me to blame the whole of the country and paint them all with one wide brush. In one moment of rudeness, I can discount the entire sum of all the pleasant interactions.

If it was quantifiable, I'd say I experienced a picoaggression--one millionth of a microagression; I felt a tiny spec of the what people of color experience in my home country. Even if one in a thousand people is demeaning to someone because of the color of their skin, the sting of those prejudiced reactions adds up over time. And any actual physical threats would multiply it all times adrenaline.


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