An American Muslim Woman's Post-Election Red, White And Blues

An American Muslim Woman's Post-Election Red, White And Blues
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My brother and I and the Hamburglar, New Orleans, LA 1980

My brother and I and the Hamburglar, New Orleans, LA 1980

“Fifty nifty United States from 13 original colonies.” I learned that song in elementary school for a jump rope performance. I remember feeling quite proud to jump rope and recite all of the states in alphabetical order at the same time!

Half of America voted for a Donald Trump ticket last week. Is that half of the people I see on a daily basis or half of all of the people I don’t see regularly, in those small counties outside of the city I live in? I really need to know.

As election night continued and each state flipped red, a weight grew in my stomach. My heart was racing and wouldn’t slow down. The floor kept calling to me. Maybe if I lay flat I could connect with the earth and all of creation in the most primal way. Instead, I pulled my husband closer on the sofa and grabbed a pint of ice cream, because, well, ice cream makes everything better for a diabetic.

Michigan? Deep breaths. Wisconsin? Slow down your breathing, and your heart rate should come down. Florida? Maybe I need a brown bag. As more states flashed red on the screen, “Fifty Nifty United States” kept repeating in my head.

I went to bed at 2 a.m. and was up with my baby at 5:30. My head was still spinning. It’s hard to slog through the morning routine when you can’t stop your fingers from shaking. I tell my daughter Trump is president between servings of eggs. “Mommy, he’s going to build a wall and kick us out.”

“That’s not going to happen. It’s not that simple.” And there ensues a long conversation about three branches of government, checks and balances, and how laws are passed. 6:52 am is the best time for a civics lesson. Can she tell I’m still trying to convince myself?

Mostly, I’m concerned about safety right now. After Brexit happened, hate crimes spiked in the UK by 41 percent. And, I’m supposed to let my beautiful, multi-racial, Muslim baby girl walk out the door like it’s just another day? Are Trump supporters also worried about minority children?

“But a Trump vote feels like approval to hate and acceptance of bad behavior.”

As someone who has survived hate crimes, this is exponentially harder for me. I’m a woman, the daughter of Indian Immigrants, and a visibly identifiable Muslim. Who knew I had so many boxes to check? Is American on there?

The worst thing about being a victim of hate crimes is you never know if you’ll be safe again. We all have rules in our head about ensuring safety. Go outside in a group. Stick to public places. Stay away from dark alleys. Those rules mean nothing when you’ve been attacked before in broad daylight, in public, and out with friends. Tell me I’m going to be ok. Can I believe you?

I don’t believe all Trump supporters are bigots. But a Trump vote feels like approval to hate and acceptance of bad behavior. How can I ensure my safety when hateful people have been given carte blanche? Maybe I can take my scarf off, but I can’t rip my skin off.

I’ve talked to my 8-year-old about prejudice and hate for a few years now. This morning, I had the luxury of telling her that nothing has changed. As a third grader, her job is to cultivate a strong mind, heart, and body by making beautiful choices. And if someone else is not being beautiful, then her job is to keep her body safe, even if that means dialing 911. In the meantime, I’ve already spoken with her vice principal and teacher to ensure safety is top of mind for them as well.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I can’t even figure out when I will do my laundry. But I do know this.

I will not leave.

I will not give up on the United States of America.

I will not stop working to make this a country I’m proud of.

I will be brave, even though I’m scared.

I am rolling up my sleeves.

I am taking my rings off.

We hold these truths to be self-evident… all men and women are created equal…. we have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

If this is sacred to you, you are my people.

Here’s my question for my people, are you ready to get your hands dirty? Because I am. These are my Fifty Nifty United States. And no one can take them away from me.

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