Why Blonde Hair Matters: Thoughts on Stara Lubovna

I felt the discussion of our service in the Roma community required its own entry.

Going in, I was nervous. I knew almost nothing about the community, and the little I'd heard was hardly complimentary. It was generally agreed that the gypsies were thieves and liars, and though I knew these stereotypes were untrue, I couldn't help but be a little unnerved.

But my anxiety had another source. As I've discussed, the Roma have a very bad relationship with the white Slovaks, and we had been further warned that the Roma did not like to be touched by whites. I worried that, as the only person of color in our group, I had a special responsibility to "sell" Dramatic Adventure. What if I were the only person immediately approachable? Our visit was important; if well-received, DAT would consider staying with that community for a longer time in trips akin to ACTion: Ecuador. There was (potentially) a lot riding on me.


Our day started bright and early with a 7:00 am train to Stara Lubovna, and the ride did little to calm my nerves. There were few enough people on the train to begin with, though a handful tourists were in evidence: there are some ski resorts nearby (in Zdiar, for example). As we approached our destination, however, more people got off the train than on. By the time we got to the village, our car (along with most of the train) was deserted.

Of course, we were immediately scooped up by volunteers from ETP Slovakia, (a group dedicated to bettering the lives of children in Roma communities) and all my fears proved unfounded. The boys weren't skittish at all, and the girls warmed up to us soon enough. Because I didn't have to worry about not touching the children, I  made a point of seeking out the shyer girls in the corners, grabbing their hands to pull them into the circle. I succeeded in making them stay about 50% of the time.

As we gathered for goodbyes, someone pulled out a camera. Suddenly, no one was shy. Every child wanted a photo a photo with every volunteer — we were swamped for about fifteen minutes.

I took a lot of these.

Later that evening, one of my fellow artists later remarked that my eyes "matched" the eyes of a girl I'd been photographed with. And in that moment, something clicked for me. Something rather unpleasant, actually. I remembered odd looks I'd gotten in Bratislava that I had attributed to my being American. I now attributed (at least some of) them to my resembling the Romani. It hadn't initially registered because the looks weren't aggressive so much as sidelong, or confused at their most extreme. Did the thought of a gypsy in Bratislava unnerve them so much? Did my skin tone make me somehow incongruous with my surrounding?

So we return to blonde hair. Most of the blondes I saw in Bratislava had a somewhat swarthy complexion — maybe there were a lot of dye-jobs? It would make a kind of sense. An attempt to "whiten" themselves so as to resemble the Roma as little as possible?

Or maybe I'm over-thinking things.