I am a white British public school educated child of the fifties. I grew up with shows such as The Black and White Minstrels and Love Thy Neighbour, where stereotypes were reinforced and played for laughs.
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As Britain started to evolve in the seventies and became more multi-cultural, I thought I did too. But was I still just a good old English racist at heart?

Outsourcing, Globalization and a New Computer System
Around 2012, I was working as a well-paid tech contractor for a medium-sized company. A company of about 6,000 people, spread across multiple offices worldwide.

The system I worked on was coming to the end of its natural life, along with my career, which had served me well over the years. I was tired of it anyway.

The company engaged an Indian firm to implement a brand new SAP system to replace the old, out-of-date system I worked on. I was a key part of the handover team, given I knew the old system inside out.

Outsourcing was a contentious issue at the time. It still is. Local people are let go, and third-party suppliers from across the globe fill the gap. It is cheaper and, one can admit, sometimes better, but it can also generate animosity.

Our company had already reduced internal headcount. One person I knew was crying at her desk a few weeks earlier, having been told to quit before her due retirement date. She’d worked for them for thirty years.

There was resentment in the air. Globalization and outsourcing take no prisoners.

​Into this atmosphere came the Indian tech guys. Thousands of miles from home, an important project, for some of them their first time in England. I didn’t consider how they might have felt.

Meeting the New Team for the First Time
My first meeting with the Indian team went like this: Me and my manager sat in a small office. In came about 15 Indian tech members. Fifteen of them! They filled up the room and sat or stood where they could.

The first challenge was the language. My English is excellent; I pride myself on it. Their English was not. Their boss, Subha, was the lead speaker. I found it difficult to tune into his accent. He was irritated by that.

There was an immediate tension. I worried it might be seen as a cultural misunderstanding or even racism — me, the Brit, expecting perfect English, and him perhaps assuming I was judging him. It was an awkward situation that created an atmosphere.

Alongside the racial tension, real or perceived, was the fact that these guys were here to replace my system. They were the masters of the situation, and they expected me to be resentful. Truthfully, I was!

There was also a strong possibility that I, as a relatively well-paid UK freelancer, was earning as much as the rest of them on the other side — apart from Subha, I suspect. They may not have cared, but I was aware of it.

However, we were also professionals. As we started to do the tech thing, it relaxed a bit. Tech is global; computers are a shared love. Discussing the minute details of file transfer formatting was a relief to any tension.

Subha challenged various points during the meeting. He wanted to establish dominance. I resisted. We negotiated from opposite trenches. I suggested something; his team largely agreed, he objected, they largely agreed.

We spent too much time discussing data formats for a shared file — a meaningless conversation in which he seemed to be arguing for the sake of it. It was his way of demonstrating who was running the project and telling me not to be an awkward obstacle.

​At least by then I was tuning into his accent. People have different accents, even within the same countries. It’s something you get used to. But I hadn’t fully tuned into who Subha was as a person.
The end of the first meeting was a draw, I thought. It was a relief when it finished.

My Team Gets a New Manager
As the initial six month project extended its deadlines, it was decided that my very small team, two or three people, needed closer managing. We were failing in our role. This was nonsense. We were being picked on as an easy excuse for repeated project delays.

We were given a new project manager — a woman named Sowmya. When I write her name now, I have a small tear in my eye.

Sowmya came in like a bull at the gate. She had been briefed that we were useless and micromanaged us accordingly. Her English was better than Subha’s but she fell down occasionally when using expressions such as “Not my cup of coffee” to express disapproval. No matter, it was charming rather than annoying.

As an experienced and valued contractor for the company, I was being bossed around, treated like a child by an Indian woman. Oddly perhaps, I felt no resentment. Because Sowmya had been told what to do, she did it, and she was very good at it. I admired that.

It didn’t take her long to realize she had been sold an untruth. Over time, Sowmya took our side. We were her team, and she supported us. She argued with Subha about where the blame lay for delays.

She argued with higher-ups too. I respected her, happy she was our manager.

After several months of this ever-lengthening project, she left abruptly. They didn’t want Sowmya showing them up anymore. Not racism but sexism, another all too common problem.

​Sowmya was one of the good people, I missed her a lot when she left.

My Close Shave
At one point during the project, I raised my own objections in a meeting. Something they wanted to do wasn’t doable. It was a simple and obvious thing, and I was correct, but it was the wrong message.

Words were spoken at higher levels and passed down the management tiers. I was called to one side and accused of being disruptive. I was on the verge of getting the Sowmya treatment — a no-notice dismissal.

I suspected it was Subha who complained, but I had no proof. My point is that it was all part of office games and politics. Racism had nothing to do with it. We were mutual competitors if anything — no more, no less.

​I nearly quit over the issue, but my wiser head prevailed. Eventually, I received an apology when they tried covering over the problem I raised and couldn’t. I was past caring by then. End of my career. Whatever, mate.

Working With Subha
Subha and I were on opposite sides of the project. I was the old soon-to-be-replaced consultant, he was the future. It was my system being replaced, his bright shiny thing being delivered.

He expected resentment and pushback. Whatever resentment I initially felt was of no consequence. The new systems would come whether I liked it or not. My job, as a professional, was to do all I could to support that process.

Subha often needed my knowledge and help. Moving one system to another requires deep cooperation. Care and attention to detail. He would test me. Could I do this? What did I know about that?

Subha was used to working in large teams, while I worked in small ones, often on my own. He was surprised when I knew answers without having to build a team to get them. Surprised I could talk about solutions and deliver them without a six month delay.

As we worked together we got to know each other’s ways. He stopped testing me and just asked sensible questions, which I did my best to answer. I proved to him I could be trusted, with my goal being to deliver the best service to him and the project. He also had one goal — successful project delivery. Now we were starting to work as partners with a mutual respect.

The initial frostiness became professional courtesy, and then the comradeship that people stuck in a nightmarish never-ending project develop. We were both in the same trench now.

We were still from different cultures and backgrounds but any racist thing, real or perceived, had been long put to bed. Just people, trying to get the job done.

The project continued at a leisurely pace. Three years turned into four, then four into five. By this time, we all worked in a large open-plan area. Subha and I discovered we both loved cricket. The England v India test series was fun. Shared moments and banter became small highlights in otherwise boring days.

​Two professionals, working through the tedium of a long-term project. East and West, doing their best. We should have put that on a Post-it for the Agile board.

Final Thoughts
I left the project, the company, and working life as the first phase was completed. I’d had enough of working and travelling. It’s no fun working on systems as they are pushed out the door. That’s just soul-destroying.

I learned some things about Indians and myself over those five years. Previously living in a fairly closed environment of white people doing white things — it had been a culture shock at first. By the end, any difference was something to be accepted, not scared of.

Office humor helped break down barriers. Small jokes about the minutiae of coding details can bring tech people together — we’re the same nerds the world over.

The same people trying to get along and live our lives. Earning Subha’s respect and friendship was the best part of that awful project.

My advice for people facing similar, often uncertain and challenging times is this: keep an open mind. We are all in this thing together.

Martin Luther King said to judge people by the content of their character. I stopped hearing accents and started listening to what people were saying.

Those Indian techies and managers I encountered during the five years of that project were thoroughly decent people. I hope my acceptance and in time, friendship, was obvious to them. This piece was written with love and fond memories.

​For Sowmya and Subha, my Indian friends.