Everyday racism takes many forms.
The question of where someone comes from, no, really comes from, because it can't be “Stuttgart” with this skin color, the answer has to be “Nigeria” or something like that.
The grip in the Afro or the braids: “May I touch that?”.
The assumption that someone knows rap or can sing and dance incredibly well because they're black.
This is mostly meant harmlessly, with no malicious ulterior motives, simply said so, in the name of sincere interest.
In fact, it's not exactly that: harmless. Anyone who says so has never listened to someone on the other side of the conversation. Has never bothered to think seriously about the privileges that white skin brings - automatically, without having somehow worked for them. And conversely, what it means to go through life as a non-white person. As much as some people like to convince themselves that the color of the other person's skin makes no difference: it does. Racist thoughts are in most people because they grew up in a world that has always favored whites.
At the presentation of her exhibition at the MMK Zollamt this week, the South African artist Lungiswa Gqunta had to be asked whether the only black man in the room was her husband and the child who was with her was hers. "I have neither," she replied, visibly trying not to lose her composure. In this case, too, the question was asked without malicious intent, was meant in a friendly manner, was asked in a conversational tone. Nonetheless, she reduced the artist, the man and the child to one externality: the color of their skin.