The Day After

Photo credit: Heather Hoppe at Sideways Sunrise

I have a lot of questions about day(s) after. Most of that thinking is about the day after the revolution than the day after my holiday vacation, but both are equally valuable.

Today is the day after the anniversary of 9/11 and, in my experience, the day occurred without more than a blip. Even in NYC, there are large amounts of people that aren't being affected by the constant reminders to "never forget." And yet there are also folks that are acutely aware every year when the date comes up; their families have been directly affected by the loss and helplessness of the moment itself or they've been impacted by the very real hate and violence that happened in its aftermath.

Perhaps it's the healer in me, but the days after always make me think about wellness. What kind of world do we envision, for ourselves and our communities? This thought process has made me feel conflicted -- apart from the violence that comes from "never forgetting" a narrow messaging around 9/11 (read: Islam and anyone read as a "foreigner" is our enemy), there is a genuine helplessness lurking in our collective memory. That helplessness affects how our communities participate in their own healing.

The day after can be one of disaster or resilience. Often, it is both.

As a 5th grader in the Seattle area when the actual event occurred, I remember having a collapse in perspective; in my innocence, I thought that the Space Needle would go down next. But out of that youthful confusion, I grew in sharpness against the Islamophobia I'd seen around me. I gained a specific type of political education, and stubbornness. I never put my head down or took the advice to hide my Islam, and I was rewarded with being able to participate in some of the most amazing community building efforts and activism. In a confusing way, I owe something to that event 13 years ago -- it has sparked many many good questions.

How do we learn to trust again after the immediate crisis has passed? I have the privilege of being physically safe for the most part, and I am at a point in my life where I feel that I'm not just surviving. And yet, there is still this edge of survival mentality that creeps into my everyday life -- from the way I pack my bag in the morning to the way in which I approach responsibilities. I am always planning for the worst, and I am ready to leave at a moment's notice.

I want to live these days after with a renewed sense of vitality. I want to use these critical anniversaries not only to mourn the suffering we have faced, but to recommit to modeling wellness for myself and for my community members. The only way that we'll create a world that will hold us all with the same care/safety is to struggle towards wellness, to fight for it whether our bodies are on the line or whether we are modeling what health really looks like for people that have faced so much oppression.

I am still struggling with how to do this. My questions are still the same, though I have collected a few semi-satisfying answers. For me, the process of trust looks like letting go of some of my old coping mechanisms. I am curious to know what others need in order to feel more whole.

On the day after 9/11, I am getting up to go to work again and feeling tired, but blessed. I am learning as I go.

Oops, Your Islamophobia is Showing

(Muslim and proud.)

I have not written about a contentious argument this month, but there are some things that just push my buttons. I am a routine reader of Salon.com's Broadsheet, and recently they posted up an article about Elizabeth Smart's kidnapping and how her captor used a veil to keep her secreted away. But my quarrel is not with the article itself, which generally presented the issue in a fair and balanced light. My issue is with the commenters.
Why is it that whenever Islam is presented, in any light, people find it their mission to bring up their own prejudices and ignorance? Commenters, in responding to the idea that Smart did not take her veil off in the presence of a male police officer who was on the case, make statements like "Any religion that requires its ordinary practitioners to wear a uniform is inherently fascistic and undeserving of respect or tolerance" (Nebris)? Can we please call out McDonalds and Wendy's for their uniform-mandating fascistic tendencies then?
And let me unpack that statement a little further, not because this commenter needs to be singled out, but because their reaction was reiterated multiple times and I have seen it in too many places - especially when discussing veiling.
This comment shows an inherent ignorance about Islam in that 1. it makes the case that all Muslim women are required to wear the same garb, 2. it puts the commenter on a higher plane of authority than 1.6 billion people, and 3. compares Islam to a political concept of fascism that has inherent social implications in that it spurs memories of WWII oppression.
Clearly, this comment is not meant to add any ideas to the conversation, and for so many people to be making the same insensitive remarks, it makes me both angry and makes me worry about my safety. I do not want to meet someone who has these views out on the street.

I'd much rather we take on our discomfort with certain practices by gathering information about them before blasting off ideas that make the internet (and our world) feel more unsafe and more hateful than it really should be. On Salon, I thank VanessaG (another commenter) for setting some of the misconceptions straight. She tells us: 1. the image Salon used is of a niqab, not a burqa, 2. the rules of modesty only apply around men not related to the woman and offers that a female officer could have been brought in to investigate, 3. police officers should have training to understand what to do in this situation, and 4. a blond, blue-eyed girl can be just as Muslim as a black-haired, brown-eyed girl. Remember that 1.6 billion? We come in just as many variations as Christians or anyone else.

Check out Muslims Wearing Things if you want to see some beautiful examples of "Muslims dressed in their garb" (a.k.a. business suits, t-shirts, salwaar kameez, and anything else they want to)

You may also enjoy reading my opinion piece Discrimination and Mixed Metaphors.