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| "We're saturated in words, but in action, we're dying of thirst" |
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Saturday, September 12, 2015
On September 11th from Iraq
This started as an email from a post I put on my Facebook page, but I decided since I've been thinking about it all day, it's worth posting more broadly.
September 11th is a weird day for me. I find the way we mourn publicly to be discomforting personally, and I am always uncomfortable with the way some people's stories are told, while others never are. I posted an article yesterday about how Muslim-Americans stories are often left out of the narrative when we remember 9/11. Normally, I like to let things sit by themselves on Facebook. I prefer not to weigh in, and just offer people something to think about. However, it was pointed out to me that maybe I should have commented more on that particular article. So here goes (paraphrased from an email)..
I think that it is especially important when we are remembering our own pain from terrible tragedies to acknowledge the unanticipated but incredible pain of so many communities in the days, months, and years that followed September 11th.
I remember finding a Somali girl whose locker was next to mine crying in the months following Sept. 11 because she had been called a terrorist so many times. She was new to the country and that was basically her welcome to America. I remember dad coming home, picking up cleaning supplies, and going back to help clean up the liquor store of the Sikh guy who owned it, because it had been vandalized because people thought he should "go home". An Iraqi boy I worked with lost his dad to terrorism in Iraq, and then was called a terrorist over and over and over again in his school until he snapped and beat the kid up. And yesterday there was news of another Sikh man getting brutally beat up, which is what actually prompted me to post that particular article. 9/11 was one, terrible, instance of terrorism, but Muslims and Muslim-Americans often watch their countries torn up by it for years, and then if they make it to America, they are referred to and treated as the very thing that made them lose their homes, their loved ones, and their communities. They are basically being called the very people responsible for the worst things that ever happened to them. Imagine someone calling a family member of someone who died in 9/11 a terrorist. This is a daily occurrence for Muslims (and non-Muslims who "look" Muslim) in our country.
I think when we think about our pain and loss, we have to think about the pain and loss of everyone. Yesterday, to me, was a day for remembering the pain and loss that came from that day. And that includes the pain and loss that the Muslim and even minority religious communities experienced, and continue to experience, because of the way people responded following September 11.
I also think that the way you stand up against this particular kind of terrorism is with increased calls for community and inclusiveness of people who are different from you. Terrorism is all about dividing people-- so bringing people in, making people's stories heard, and acknowledging that they matter even though they are not the same stories as yours, is how you stand up against that. So even though the stories of discrimination that came after 9/11 are not the stories non-Muslims remember, they are an equally important part of what happened to our country, and a part that many people don't want to admit. They are stories that I hear over and over, from people who say that every time something bad happens in the world, Muslims find themselves thinking "Please, God, don't let it be someone who looks like me." I, as a white woman, don't have to worry about being held accountable to the crimes of every white person, but Muslims are constantly feeling the need to apologize for their faith and race. And we stand up against terrorism by acknowledging that fact, by reminding ourselves that these stories matter, that these people matter even though they are different from us, and that we can and should do better. So I want to use the anniversary to remember, to grieve, and to learn to do better moving forward. For me and for others.
September 11th is a weird day for me. I find the way we mourn publicly to be discomforting personally, and I am always uncomfortable with the way some people's stories are told, while others never are. I posted an article yesterday about how Muslim-Americans stories are often left out of the narrative when we remember 9/11. Normally, I like to let things sit by themselves on Facebook. I prefer not to weigh in, and just offer people something to think about. However, it was pointed out to me that maybe I should have commented more on that particular article. So here goes (paraphrased from an email)..
I think that it is especially important when we are remembering our own pain from terrible tragedies to acknowledge the unanticipated but incredible pain of so many communities in the days, months, and years that followed September 11th.
I remember finding a Somali girl whose locker was next to mine crying in the months following Sept. 11 because she had been called a terrorist so many times. She was new to the country and that was basically her welcome to America. I remember dad coming home, picking up cleaning supplies, and going back to help clean up the liquor store of the Sikh guy who owned it, because it had been vandalized because people thought he should "go home". An Iraqi boy I worked with lost his dad to terrorism in Iraq, and then was called a terrorist over and over and over again in his school until he snapped and beat the kid up. And yesterday there was news of another Sikh man getting brutally beat up, which is what actually prompted me to post that particular article. 9/11 was one, terrible, instance of terrorism, but Muslims and Muslim-Americans often watch their countries torn up by it for years, and then if they make it to America, they are referred to and treated as the very thing that made them lose their homes, their loved ones, and their communities. They are basically being called the very people responsible for the worst things that ever happened to them. Imagine someone calling a family member of someone who died in 9/11 a terrorist. This is a daily occurrence for Muslims (and non-Muslims who "look" Muslim) in our country.
I think when we think about our pain and loss, we have to think about the pain and loss of everyone. Yesterday, to me, was a day for remembering the pain and loss that came from that day. And that includes the pain and loss that the Muslim and even minority religious communities experienced, and continue to experience, because of the way people responded following September 11.
I also think that the way you stand up against this particular kind of terrorism is with increased calls for community and inclusiveness of people who are different from you. Terrorism is all about dividing people-- so bringing people in, making people's stories heard, and acknowledging that they matter even though they are not the same stories as yours, is how you stand up against that. So even though the stories of discrimination that came after 9/11 are not the stories non-Muslims remember, they are an equally important part of what happened to our country, and a part that many people don't want to admit. They are stories that I hear over and over, from people who say that every time something bad happens in the world, Muslims find themselves thinking "Please, God, don't let it be someone who looks like me." I, as a white woman, don't have to worry about being held accountable to the crimes of every white person, but Muslims are constantly feeling the need to apologize for their faith and race. And we stand up against terrorism by acknowledging that fact, by reminding ourselves that these stories matter, that these people matter even though they are different from us, and that we can and should do better. So I want to use the anniversary to remember, to grieve, and to learn to do better moving forward. For me and for others.
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