The dominant feminist discourse in the struggle against gendered violence against women (trans and cis) and genderqueer afabs (assigned female at birth) rightly proclaims that men must unlearn, and teach other men to unlearn, societal conditioning and misogynistic behaviors. This discourse comes as a response to the common accusations that are thrown at us when we are assaulted by men (But what were you wearing? Why were you at that bar? Why didn’t you leave him sooner? Why were you walking home alone? Etc, etc, and onward for eternity).

It powerfully asserts that we are not the ones who should be the subject of scrutiny after these attacks, but rather abusive men must be the ones under fire for their actions, and must be the ones to change their behaviors.

But, what happens when they don’t?

I applaud the work that men have done to fight misogyny, and am heartened by this powerful shift in the cultural expectations of who must shoulder the burden of misogyny and transmisogyny. Cultural shifts take decades of work to see changes in dominant society. Consent has been a critical discussion in radical feminist scenes since the 1990s and yet, I find myself getting excited to see a consent poster up in a mainstream sports bar like it hasn’t taken almost 30 years for that poster to finally, and painstakingly, get posted. I’m glad the poster is there. I truly am. But presently, we are still in the midst of astronomical rates of violence against trans women, cis women, and queer people.

The reality is that there are still far too many men who hold misogynistic mindsets and who are more than willing to cause physical harm because of them. It hurts to consider how many times I have been cat-called, harassed, stalked, assaulted on the bus, assaulted at the store, assaulted on the walk home. It hurts even more to consider how many times misogynistic violence has resulted in intimate partner violence against me. I am absolutely sure that far too many folks reading this are recounting their own stories of surviving violence too.

For myself, after I was almost kidnapped by a random dude at a rest stop in the middle of the night, I finally decided that I could no longer wait for enlightened men to teach jerks like him to not commit violence against me. I could no longer be satisfied with theatrical street marches or hashtag movements. I decided that the next time a man pulled this kind of violence on me, I would be ready to defend myself, and in this defense, perhaps he would finally learn a lesson. Perhaps he would decide that it’s too dangerous for him to pull that stunt again. Perhaps this cultural shift could be expedited if the feminist norm is such that when men try to attack us, they are met with fierce resistance.

The reality is that there are still far too many men who hold misogynistic mindsets and who are more than willing to cause physical harm because of them.
Click To Tweet

I began training. I joined a Krav Maga gym, and channeled my hurt, rage, and determination into self-liberation. Krav Maga, which literally means “close combat” in Hebrew, was developed in the 1930s by Jewish fighter, Imi Lichtenfeld, in (then) Czechoslovakia. Lichtenfeld developed a brutally effective form of self-defense that he could teach to his fellow Jewish neighbors who were facing violent anti-semitic attacks in the years leading up to World War II. The fighting form had to be one that could be easily taught, work for a variety of body types and ages, and was applicable to street fighting scenarios. As such, Krav Maga is a fighting form that is used to immediately incapacitate an attacker. A groin kick, followed by an elbow strike to the face, followed by a strike to the eyes, for example, is completely acceptable, and encouraged, because it works. This differs from sport fighting techniques that bar the use of these particularly brutal strikes and kicks.

Unfortunately, Lichtenfeld went on to train soldiers in the use of Krav Maga in the creation of the Israeli state, which has committed an ongoing genocide against Palestinian people since its violent formation in 1948. I choose to train in this fighting form, not because I support the Israeli Defense Force, or the numerous military and police forces that use it, but because it is an incredibly effective and teachable self-defense form. In fact, as a police and prison abolitionist (I strive to co-create a world in which police and prisons don’t exist), I see my training in self-defense as even more necessary. Learning self-defense has created a way in which I can further my safety and power in a world that seeks to disempower me, without having to rely on institutions that I don’t believe in.

For the past two years I have been intensively training and building fighting skills, not only for myself, but to share with my friends who also must navigate the world in bodies that are targeted by state and interpersonal violence. I am certainly not an expert in Krav Maga, but I share the skills that I am confident in my ability to explain, demonstrate, and teach step-by-step. I have spent the last year traveling in my region of Southeastern Appalachia teaching free and sliding scale self-defense workshops.

Learning self-defense has created a way in which I can further my safety and power in a world that seeks to disempower me, without having to rely on institutions that I don’t believe in.
Click To Tweet

Unfortunately, the idea that those who experience misogyny should learn to fight back has been used against them. Many have argued that “boys will be boys,” and that self-defense should be the only tool used against violent men, whose actions are treated as inevitable. My desire to share my skills does not come from a victim-blaming narrative that would fault someone for not successfully fighting back. Nor am I arguing that learning and practicing self-defense is some kind of imperative. If someone can run or otherwise leave a situation without having to fight, that’s great, and men still need to take responsibility for their actions. But I am interested in the radical liberation that comes from protecting ourselves, and from protecting each other.

Some might respond that it is dangerous to fight back against an attack, that we are putting ourselves in more harm by attempting to resist. But, the world we live in is already dangerous. Simply walking to our cars (or in my queer, redneck, Appalachian case- walking to my truck) at night can be dangerous. For trans women, cis women and queer afabs who hold additional marginalized identities, such as trans women of color, this world is already immensely dangerous. My argument, therefore, is that we become dangerous. We can be a dangerous force that causes abusive men to seriously reconsider their confidence in assuming power over us.

“I tell my kids, if you have self-control, you have everything,” says Melanie, the innkeeper at our B&B in Fairbanks, Alaska. “It applies to any situation, whether it’s with a wild animal, a school bully, me and their dad. Self-control… it will serve them well anywhere.”

A few days later, my husband and I are sitting in the Denali National Park Visitors’ Center, watching a wildlife safety video. Home to grizzly bears, moose, and caribou, among other creatures, the park is one of the few places remaining in the U.S. where humans are intruders—and need to behave accordingly.

We like to hike, but we’ve never encountered anything larger than deer in the wild, so we’ve been leaning toward exploring Denali behind the protective steel and glass of our rental car. But just in case we feel like wimps once we’re out in the forest, we decide to watch the video so we can make a last-minute call. The trails are open year-round, after all; we can always stoke our bravery later.

Four guides narrate the 30-minute video, structured as a list of do’s and don’ts. The tips for bears in particular are enlightening:

• Minimize surprises—make noise to announce your presence
• Suppress any scents so you don’t attract bears—no fragrances, all food in bear-proof packs
• Stay vigilant: When stopping, choose sites with good visibility. Have everyone in your group face a slightly different direction, so you can see anything approaching
• Bears are curious, and their behavior is contextual; you never want to provoke or set precedent (e.g., don’t keep food in or near your tent—then they’ll think tents equal food)
• Keep bear spray close—you don’t want to be fumbling for it in a crucial moment. Make sure you know how to use it before you head out
• If you do come upon a bear and it spots you, don’t run! (That could trigger the bear’s predatory chase drive.) Back away if possible, but don’t turn your back on the bear. If you can’t retreat, stand your ground and put your arms over your head to look as large as possible
• If the bear attacks, lie in the fetal position, cover your head and neck

As the video wrapped up all the different ways hikers and campers could get in trouble, one of the youthful park rangers offered a final thought: “Don’t be afraid to go out and explore!”

Despite this encouragement, we ultimately opted to stick to our original plan. We drove to Mile 30 and back on Denali’s main road on two consecutive days: the first in afternoon sunshine, the second in morning mist and light rain. On both occasions, the weather revealed different shades of the mountains and valleys, and a variety of animals came out to greet us: bald eagles, caribou, and yes—two grizzly bears. The afternoon bear sidled down the mountain and crossed the road, less than 30 feet from our car; the morning bear stayed up on the hillside, munching on the brush. We snapped a few pictures, the gargantuan beasts transformed into mere specks on our smartphone cameras. We continued on our way, enclosed and safe.

But something about the situation rattled me, and it took me a few days to understand just what exactly it was.

I acknowledged that when I go hiking at home in New England, I am seeking out silence, as well as the opportunity to clear my mind. The recommendations for Denali—being loud and constantly on high alert—seemed in direct opposition to what I’ve always pursued when I hit the trail. I hike to relax, and this type of endeavor was vigilant — maybe even tense.

In fact, I thought, if I wanted to be constantly on the lookout and poised for a potential attack, I’d just stay home and continue my usual, “commuting on public transportation” and “woman walking alone in the city,” routines.

But something about the situation rattled me, and it took me a few days to understand just what exactly it was.
Click To Tweet

Suddenly I realized that those safety tips from the National Park Service video weren’t so different from what I learned in a self-defense class a few years back.

• Stay constantly alert! Don’t wear earbuds or talk on your phone. Know your surroundings at all times.
• When going out, look large: Practice safety in numbers
• Dress conservatively, watch how much skin you’re showing—you don’t want to trigger a prey drive
• Yell and make noise so others know you’re in trouble
• If you’re going to carry pepper spray, make sure you know how to use it. Otherwise it could be grabbed and used against you!

And it then hit me—do we regard men the same way we regard wild animals?

I thought of Mike Pence, who refuses to dine or be alone with any woman who isn’t his wife. Louis C.K.’s compulsions. School dress codes that make sure girls don’t distract boys. The string of assaults against women in my former Boston neighborhood — conducted over repeated years by the alleged same assailant — which terrorized residents so much that the local community center provided the aforementioned self-defense classes free of charge.

I thought of the flood of #MeToo stories, encompassing friends and strangers, famous men and everyday men. My own stories, my friends’ stories. In every case, the proprieties of respect and social mores fall away and the feral urges dominate the experience (and headlines). That sense of unpredictability, that succumbing to animal nature, sets the foundation for repeated indignities—and worse.

He can’t be controlled. You need to be smart. (You need to take that self-defense class!)

Boys will be boys—it’s in their nature.   

Don’t tempt him or be a tease—he can’t help it.

Do we regard men the same way we regard wild animals?
Click To Tweet

We took a red eye home from Anchorage and promptly fell asleep. When we were somewhere over the Midwest, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford started her testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Jet-lagged and bleary-eyed, I watched a video recording of her opening statement later that evening. She was composed, with self control.

I watched Justice Kavanaugh, raging and roaring; Lindsay Graham, red-faced and sputtering; both as volatile as creatures disturbed in the wild. And I suppose they were—here was an interloper daring to call out how they roamed their habitat. In both her statement and replies, Dr. Ford refused to continue the narrative that they had no self control.

Of course, this narrative won’t go away quietly—cultural mores built over millennia don’t just course correct or even adapt immediately. Just this month, for example, the Atlantic gave Newt Gingrich a lengthy (and often bizarre) profile, opening the story with its subject stomping around in a zoo and featuring choice quotes comparing all of human nature to the animal kingdom. Photos show him grinning alongside menacing dinosaur skulls and petting giant turtles.

“It’s not viciousness, it’s natural,” he chides after the reporter pushes back. Later in the story, citing a 2016 speech Gingrich gave to the Heritage Foundation, our president is compared to (what else?) a grizzly bear—specifically, the ferocious bear in the movie The Revenant: “He will walk over, bite your face off, and sit on you.”

Here was an interloper daring to call out how they roamed their habitat.
Click To Tweet

But for those of us who have never wielded power — who have never been regarded (or permitted to be regarded) as wild or ferocious — we know by default that there are other ways of moving through the world.

For those millions of us who have always been held to a higher standard — who have never had the privilege to unleash any “wild” tendencies — we know collectively what’s possible. That we all can do better. That the narrative of “nature dictates violence” has to stop. In short — that we all can exercise self control.  

Two days after we returned home, my husband and I drove up to Plum Island for a hike through the nature preserve. The sun was high and the salt marshes spread as far as the eye could see. It was quite a departure from Denali—mostly flat without a predator in sight.

But at a certain point, I got ahead of Andy on the boardwalk trail, and saw a solo man a few feet away. The wind rustled through the brush that flanked the narrow pathway. It was just him and me as we approached each other. He could be a bear, I thought, or he could be a crane.

And just like that, all senses were firing.

I took a deep breath. Self control, I thought, and hoped it would be enough.

I wondered if he had even an inkling of the same thought.

“Hello,” I said as we made eye contact.

“Beautiful day,” he said, and we continued our opposite ways.

Why Are We Used To Violence But Caught Off Guard By The Existence of Hurt?

We’ve gotten used to violence as background hum, yet we are unprepared to recognize and live alongside people who have been hurt.

flickr/Brian. R

W hen ardent defenders of gun rights don’t want to talk about what’s wrong with guns, they talk about what they think is wrong with the people who make the news for using guns the way they’re made to be used. Often there’s a quietly intense litany of curses — “crazy,” “nuts” — meaning the individuals in question do not count among the “normal.” During this part, they always spit the word “sick” as though there is nothing more wretched and strange than being mentally unwell. Being me. Being among what is actually an enormous and ordinary population.

A disdain for those deemed abnormal is animating the conversation. After the massacres in Las Vegas and Parkland, the idea of bringing back asylums has found new support, in thoughtless one-offs but also in serious proposals in trustworthy outlets. A few Parkland survivors, too, suggested targeting the mentally ill for increased surveillance by law enforcement. There is a troubling desire to deal with the disorder that is gun violence by putting people on notice for their diagnoses.

It can be hard to define disorder, both in the clinic and in talking about what we will and will not put up with as a society. It takes nuance to distinguish disorder from wellbeing on a continuum of possibilities and amid the deep inflections of culture and social context. (Are you depressed, or going through a rough patch? Are you fasting because of anorexia or a religious observance? Is an unlivable minimum wage a spur to betterment or a sign of breakdown?)

But carefully defining disorder is core to grappling with the U.S. gun problem — and envisioning a less disordered, more just world. What do we admit into the fold of normal? What do we map to the edges? And what are we seeing all upside down?

For all the people who marched and spoke out for gun control, there may remain as many with a stoic, fatalist understanding that tragedies like gun violence are to be expected. But this understanding coexists with the idea that the various kinds of hurt seen as the causes and effects of gun violence — mental illness as well as the wounds that follow the path of a rifle round — are not a part of ordinary life. We’ve gotten used to violence as background hum, yet we are unprepared to recognize and live alongside people who have been hurt. We’re caught in a chilling dynamic of hurt disseminated and then obscured.

How We Learn To Love ‘Good’ White Men With Guns

It must be said again up front that the link from mental illness to gun violence is far from straightforward. So entwined are our ideas of mental illness and shocking violence that the question of whether a violent individual is mentally ill is often answered by the fact of their behavior. It is true that reports of mental illness are common among those who carry out some of the most devastating mass shootings. But there remain many mass shooters who do not have an established diagnosis; and among perpetrators of smaller-scale violence, who far outnumber mass shooters, rates of mental illness are unusually low. Even severe mental illness is not enough to explain the pronounced patterns of gun violence unique to the U.S., because concomitant disadvantages are part of the picture. Using the single variable of mental health as a net for identifying danger captures far too many people who were never going to violate the social contract.

The wrongful dread of mental illness as this seed of unthinkable acts makes it difficult to conceive of mental illness as an ordinary characteristic, found abundantly among friends and neighbors and maybe even in ourselves. When I was struggling to get a handle on my major depressive disorder, I understood the concept of “needing help” to mean possessing shortcomings terrible enough to require professional intervention. I shrank from crucial medical care because accepting it would have felt like admitting monstrosity. I did not realize how common my illness was. Nor did I realize that monstrous tendencies inhabit every human being, not just the ones we would make outcasts.

The unseen ordinariness of mental illness, and other illness, can explain gaps in care. Sickness is implicitly seen by too many lawmakers as what happens when you have done something wrong, not a quotidian fact of numerous lives regardless of how they have been lived. If serious illness were seen as truly ordinary, it would not be so hard to afford. Nor would disability be so often a sentence of poverty. Workers would have the right to get sick yet stay employed. Swaths of public life would not still be inaccessible to people with disabilities, and the Americans with Disabilities Act would not be at risk of getting fundamentally undercut.

The people who survive gunshot wounds are no exception to this neglect. The tens of thousands who die every year in the U.S. because of guns are staggering enough, but these dead represent only 20% of those who have gone through the trauma of being shot. Many of the survivors deal with chronic pain and posttraumatic stress combined with health-care insecurity, as detailed by sociologist Jooyoung Lee. Many are uninsured or underinsured and struggle to control their pain, and some may become desperate to find relief; one leapt into traffic in order to be admitted to a hospital for pain treatment. “In addition to feeling victimized by their shooters, gunshot victims also felt victimized by a health care system that did not continue to care for them,” Lee writes.

Even more numerous than the dead and wounded are those who care about them. Some time ago, a rare dear friend to me gained access to a gun, and left us. They were 17, I was also 17. I still dream about it. Impossible to trace the immense shape of the loss. But here is a fragment of it: Not long afterward, I sought out a doctor and asked for a new prescription for an antidepressant. I am trying to say a gunshot has a long echo.

Each of these hurts is elided by inaction. Despite a richness of resources we are at least adjacent to, the threshold at which our current leaders begin to pretend to want to address the health and safety of the hurting, including those with mental illness or physical wounds, is a critical mass of tragic headlines and town hall callouts where constituents beg for access to medicine or for protections from weapons that will continue to inflict injury. The rest of the time, the everyday fact of hurt is, it seems, too atypical to acknowledge through meaningful action at high levels.

Dear Congress: I Don’t Need An Effing Gun, I Need Health Care

“Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship,” wrote Susan Sontag. “Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.” If only Sontag’s view were more widespread.

Next to the refusal to see illness as ordinary is the reluctance, especially among those whose foremost sympathies lie with a couple lines on a centuries-old document, to see current levels of gun violence as disordered. Gun deaths in the U.S. have been repeatedly excused as the price of our exceptional freedom. These deaths now threaten to outpace those from car crashes. Few of the records of people shooting each other are defensive or can be in any way justified; far more incidents are murders or suicides. The violence is absolutely beyond a passing side effect of patriotic or honorable necessity.

Yet the prevailing understanding has been that this violence is impenetrable and inevitable. This violence is not to be challenged, but accommodated. For all the dismay felt across the ideological spectrum after every tragedy, there remains a current of deference. There is a greater willingness to carve out gun-shaped spaces across the lives of the potentially vulnerable than to, say, reinstate the ban on assault weapons. School shootings are to be met with backpacks that are bulletproof or see-through, behemoth panic rooms wedged beside students’ desks, something something CPR, calls for more empathy not from potential shooters but from potential victims, and buckets of river rocks in every classroom for dispatching threats by stoning. Believing violence to be inevitable also looks like increasing the presence of police in schools, which brings further risks of violence toward and criminalization of students of color and students with disabilities.

These measures are sometimes called hardening the target. They amount to a crouch that braces against onslaughts of our own making as against the uncontrollable weather. It is imaginatively flat.

There is a greater willingness to carve out gun-shaped spaces across the lives of the potentially vulnerable than to, say, reinstate the ban on assault weapons.

All these imaginative shortfalls converge in the worst way. The costs of gun violence, from physical to financial, are immense, yet numerically murky. These wounds not only are seen as inconvenient outliers but also have not been adequately quantified, thanks to the ongoing inability of federal agencies to research gun violence. This lack of clarity on consequences muffles the urgency of acting on the problem.

The rhythm of violence inflicted while its effects are obscured is often wielded by the privileged and powerful. We see this with sexual predators. We see this in the increasing permanence of war and the failure to care for veterans, or to reckon with the damage left behind. We see this as the right of the police to freely execute black people, made normal every time yet another officer responsible is released without charges.

And it’s in privilege and power that we might begin to find an explanation for the seeming inability of a nation to connect the dots from gunshot to wound. Gun laws in the U.S. have long operated in service of white supremacy. The majority of mass shooters are white men, and about half are domestic abusers; and men constitute the vast majority of shooters overall. But the group most vulnerable to gun violence is young, working-class black men.

Many noted the contrast between the widely cheered protests spurred by the well-off white neighborhood of Parkland and the less-popular movement for black lives, rooted in Ferguson. Gun violence as it most often occurs elicits so little material response because the aggressor or the injured can often be subsumed into structures of oppression. If those who remain in that imaginative crouch shifted the landscape of their sympathy, perhaps the violence we have come to know as everyday would seem more strange. The people who have been hurting the most could finally make their way from the periphery to the focus.

Looking For A Comments Section? We Don’t Have One.

]]> https://theestablishment.co/sikh-americans-prepare-for-resurgence-of-anti-islamic-violence-c4e6b7cb3f3a/ Wed, 15 Mar 2017 21:40:55 +0000 https://theestablishment.co/?p=4998 Read more]]>

Sikh Americans are turning to community as they face mounting bigotry in the wake of Trump.

flickr

When Guvinder Singh and his family immigrated to the U.S. from India in the 1980s, they found an ideal home in Texas. The “Southern Hospitality” that the region was known for fit their open, friendly personalities. Outside of a few questions about whether or not he was related to Ayatollah Khomeini (this was during the Iran-Contra scandal), Singh found that he got along well with his neighbors. “People might have looked at you a little strange, but if you smiled and nodded, they usually would smile and nod back,” he explained with a chuckle.

Singh’s family was not alone in finding home and community in the U.S. Sikhs have been a part of U.S. society for over 130 years, arriving first as laborers to California. But when former Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi was assassinated in 1984 by her Sikh bodyguards in New Delhi, the resulting decade of violent backlash left 30,000 Sikhs dead, many burned alive. In the wake of this violence, many more Sikhs fled India for the United States and Canada. Discrimination and violence against Sikhs has also prompted many to flee from Pakistan and Afghanistan.

Today there are approximately 500,000–700,000 Sikhs living in the U.S. Sikhs have, as an immigrant group, fared well in the U.S. both economically and socially, with higher employment, income, and educational outcomes than many other immigrant groups. And while Sikhs have never been spared anti-immigration sentiment and bigotry, they were for a long time grateful to be in a country where discrimination could at least be challenged.

Today there are approximately 500,000–700,000 Sikhs living in the U.S.

“Here there is a structure in place to try to fight discrimination and violence. It is a blessing of God,” Singh tells me with a voice full of love and appreciation for the freedom and justice that his family traveled so far to find.

But for many American Sikhs, that peace and prosperity was shattered with the September 11, 2001 terror attacks at the hands of Islamic terrorists. In the 30 days following the attacks on the World Trade Center, over 300 cases of violence and discrimination against Sikh Americans were reported. Sikh students were singled out with bullying and harassment at school, with 69% of California Sikh students reporting such abuse. The abuse was not only harsh words or denied services; Sikhs found themselves on the receiving end of physical violence, sometimes even deadly violence. Four days after the 9/11 attacks, Balbir Singh Sodhi was shot and killed by a white man claiming revenge for the attacks. The post 9/11 violence against Sikhs was punctuated in 2012 with the shocking murder of six Sikhs during prayer in a gurdwara in Wisconsin by a white supremacist.

What Must Be Done In The Wake Of Escalating Hate Crimes

But outside of high-profile murders, little attention in the mainstream press has been paid to such incidents. This is likely due in part to the fact that — while nobody should have to face bigotry, discrimination, and violence because of their faith or ethnicity — it is particularly challenging to talk about people who are facing threats for a faith and ethnicity that they don’t actually belong to.

Though Sikhism, an independent faith centered around unity and public service, is the fifth largest religion in the world, the majority of Americans know little about the faith or its adherents. This ignorance has laid the groundwork for abuse; despite the fact that Sikhs are mostly of Indian rather than Middle Eastern descent and Sikhism is entirely separate from Islam, uneducated bigots have targeted the group as part of their violent campaign against Muslims.

Muslim and Arab Americans are in no way more deserving of anti-Islamic and anti-Arab bigotry and hatred than Sikhs are, and it is difficult to talk about the unintended victims of discrimination without making it seem like one group is less deserving of such abuse than the other. Vile hatred is of course completely inexcusable against any group. But in the complexity of this conversation, the story of what many Sikhs have suffered is often pushed aside.

The story of what many Sikhs have suffered is often pushed aside.

There are no firm numbers on how many Sikhs have been subject to violence after 9/11 (even the FBI has tracked violence against Sikhs and Muslims together), but tallies from Sikh advocacy groups show the likelihood that Sikhs have suffered a large proportion of the face to face violence, verbal assault, and discrimination aimed at Muslim Americans. While the headscarf has made many Muslim women the target of insult and abuse for many angry Islamophobes over the last 16 years, the same has been true for the turban that Sikh men wear. Mandated by their faith, the turban makes Sikh men (who, again, are neither Muslim nor Arab) a target for those whose knowledge of Muslim culture consists of Fox News, a few poorly drawn caricatures of Osama bin Laden, and the Disney movie Aladdin. “Sometimes I feel like we suffer more violence,” Singh observes, “because we are so easily identifiable.”

Over the last 16 years, Sikhs have banded together to push back against discrimination in the workplace, schools, and government offices. Singh proudly tells me of the work that he and many others at United Sikhs have been doing over the years to help protect and empower the Sikh community. They have been monitoring anti-Sikh discrimination and violence, and have provided outreach, education, and legal support in the battle to protect their community against bigotry, all while maintaining their relief work with marginalized populations all over the world.

Mandated by their faith, the turban makes Sikh men a target for countless ignorant bigots.

These efforts have been successful; though discrimination has hardly gone away entirely, the immediate violence that many Sikhs faced after 9/11 has waned over the last 16 years. But now, in response to our current political landscape, bigotry is escalating yet again.

When we talk about the outlook for the near future, Singh’s voice loses some of the optimism that had infused his voice throughout our conversation. The election of Donald Trump has rekindled anti-Islamic bigotry in a way that we haven’t seen since 9/11, and with that, both Muslims and Sikhs are finding themselves face to face with the same hatred and fear that had terrorized their lives a decade ago. The legal structure that had provided Singh with a measure of comfort and security against discrimination and violence is now at risk — it is of note that Trump has appointed Jeff Sessions, a man who has repeatedly voiced fear of Muslim immigrants, to the cabinet office in charge of enforcing many of these legal protections.

The election of Donald Trump has rekindled anti-Islamic bigotry in a way that we haven’t seen since 9/11.

The Islamophobic rhetoric and reasoning behind Trump’s travel ban has made travel even more difficult for Sikhs. Sikhs have widely reported extra searches at airports, have had their turbans searched and even forcibly removed, and have been detained for hours when trying to travel both domestically and internationally.

Singh is not opposed to airport security checks, so long as they are actually providing security: “I don’t mind being searched. But I’m always the only one searched. If you are only searching one person, how is that safe? I want to be safe too.”

The high levels of profiling and discrimination that Sikhs have faced at airports since 9/11 now have a brazenness that they did not have before Trump took office. “Now, if you want to pat down a Sikh — it’s patriotic,” laments Singh. He says that he is already receiving increased reports of profiling and discrimination against Sikhs at airports.

“At the top levels, if we have hatred, misogyny, and bigotry — there’s a veil of acceptance provided for [discrimination]. When you have a message from the top giving credence to that hatred, it is very hard to counter,” Singh says. “We saw that in India, that climate of fear and hatred.”

‘Now, if you want to pat down a Sikh — it’s patriotic.’

We are speaking just weeks after two Sikh men were shot and killed in a bar in Kansas by a white man saying “get out of my country,” and just days after a Sikh man was shot and wounded in his own driveway in Washington state by a man saying “go back to your own country.” Shockwaves from the recent violence have been felt all the way in India. Singh bitterly remarks on the concern voiced by India’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sushma Siraj:

“She reaches out to a Sikh man shot in Kent, and voices outrage at his attack, but at the same time countless Sikhs are being tortured and killed in India. None of the perpetrators are in jail. Some of them are even in her government.”

For Singh, there is little comfort to be found in the concern from a government that he and many other Sikhs had to flee, over violence they now face in the country they had to flee to.

I ask Singh if he is angry at seeing a resurgence of this hatred and bigotry after so many years of fighting. “Internally, I’m pissed off,” he responds. “America is filled with immigrants. How can someone forget that only three generations in and then tell us that we don’t belong?” Singh sighs and the edge leaves his voice; “Rather than being angry, I’m disappointed.” After 16 years of being seen as a threat because of his appearance and the ignorance of bigots, he is tired.

‘America is filled with immigrants. How can someone forget that only three generations in and then tell us that we don’t belong?’

But this is still Singh’s home, and he and many other Sikhs are gathering strength from their love for their communities and families, and from the massive post-election protests that have taken place in solidarity against bigotry. Singh says that he hopes that people across the country will come together to fight the rise in hatred emboldened by the presidential election, which threatens more than just his community. “We have to call out injustice whenever it occurs,” he states emphatically. “When we minimize any injustice, we minimize justice.”

Despite everything, Singh is confident that Sikh Americans can weather this storm. When I ask Singh how he discusses recent events with his children and how he prepares them for the bigotry they will likely face, his answer is filled with love and determination: “We’ve been blessed with our history of sacrifice and valor. We had a wonderful empire. We have undergone extreme sacrifices for our faith. And so we tell our children to be outspoken, to not be fearful, to not shy away. To be confident in our history and know that they have value they can give to the United States. We tell them that the turban is a crown.”

]]>