The Racism Doesn’t Stop, Even When You’re Learning to Drive

People constantly question your abilities when you are black

I learned how to drive later on in life. With the excellent public transportation system here in Geneva, Switzerland, I didn’t really need a driver’s license. When I got pregnant, I decided it might be useful to get my license so as not to haul around a pram on public transportation day in day out. Driving lessons being extremely expensive in Switzerland, my husband and I agreed that I would take a few lessons with a certified instructor and then practice with him. It seemed like a good plan until my first class.

The instructor came to pick me up. He had an arrogant and aloof air about him. He was an older gentleman with cold, piercing, sky-blue eyes, a plentiful salt, and pepper colored mane, and an overly tanned complexion. He quickly explained a few things and set me up in the driver’s seat. I was nervous — the whole idea of driving a stick shift vehicle for the first time was daunting. I managed to pull out of the parking spot and we were soon on our way.

“The most important thing is not to panic”, he said.

I proceeded, following his instructions to the letter. We drove into the countryside, down narrow tree-lined roads, and mesmerizing landscapes dotted with beautiful vineyards. Every time we crossed another vehicle I felt tense.

“You're in the middle of the road, try to mentally keep in mind the dimensions of the car and move away from the center”, he advised.

I listened attentively and maneuvered away from the center. We road on in silence for a short while and then he said:

“So when do you plan to register for the driving test?”

“I plan on taking it in two months I replied”, without hesitation.

“Ah, I see”, he said, not offering an explanation for his nonchalant response.

“Do you think I should push it to later?” I asked.

“You may want to consider that”, he responded.

“Please tell me what to improve, what should I be doing better?”

“Well, I’ve noticed in my 30 year career that black people have a hard time learning how to drive. In fact, many of my black clients fail their driving tests several times. Black people are just not fast learners”.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here I was sitting in a car with an instructor that I was paying USD 80 for a one-hour class and he seemed already certain that I would not pass my driver's license on my first try. Taken aback by what he had just shared, I decided to take the opportunity to politely challenge him.

“Isn’t it a generalization to put all black people in one basket?” I asked.

“It’s not me that decided that black people are slow learners, it’s your biology, your genetics, I’m just telling you what I’ve observed”.

I was fuming now, my discomfort and anger creating tiny immaculate sweat beads on my forehead. I couldn’t believe that this racist could share such nonsense in a matter of fact way without flinching in the least.

“You really have to accept this. All the test instructors at the Service des Automobiles et de la Navigation— (the US equivalent of the DMV), are aware of this. They rarely let black people pass their driver's license on the first try. You’ll see when you get there”.

At this point, I could no longer focus. I was shocked by the bare-faced racism emanating from someone who was supposed to be teaching me. We continued driving until I got home. I paid him and told him that I didn’t want to continue our classes. He seemed surprised, but then shrugged it off saying:

“I have lots of customers that need my services, so it no big deal for me that you've canceled the rest of your classes”, he vociferated.

“Well I hope they aren’t black students, I already feel sorry for them now that I know you are convinced they will not pass their driver’s license on the first go”.

I didn’t hire a new instructor to take his place. Deep down inside, I was worried that many of the instructors in Geneva felt the same way about black drivers. I felt that it was so unfair to be judged and written off as a failure even before I could open my mouth or prove my abilities. I thought of all the black and brown people who never get a chance to prove themselves because someone, somewhere has wrongly judged them. It was again another sign of the largely unfair and unjust world in which we all live in.

I ended up learning how to drive with my husband. With him, I felt safe and unafraid to make mistakes. I knew that he wouldn’t judge me or make racist remarks about my ability to drive as a black person. But if you think about it, this is what I should have expected from the driving instructor.

On September 14, 2000, I passed my driver's license with flying colors. Never was I so proud to prove that no one’s abilities should ever be judged by the color of their skin.

Thank you for reading my perspective.