But the mass shooting at San Bernadino happened.
Because I felt paralyzed by fear of making someone upset or suspicious, I decided to sit and write to calm my nerves.
I'm sharing this short essay today because Donald Trump won the Indiana primary last night. He will likely become the Republican candidate for President of the United States of America. This man has built his campaign on racism, xenophobia, and hatred. I share this short essay because I do not want the story of my life to be reflected by these words.
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I always feel uneasy the day following a terrorist attack.
Part of it is because of personal safety and whatever, but there is this deep,
dark, secret part of me that after a tragedy or violent act, I say a list of
prayers.
I pray for the victims and their families.
I pray for peace.
Then there’s that deep, dark, secret part of me that prays that the act wasn’t committed by a brown person.
My nerves are cranked up when it is a brown person. That means I get to be even more aware of the skin I inhabit.
As I was sitting at the gate of my very delayed flight, I took notice of three teenagers who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be white. Their carry-on luggage was strewn about on the floor at their feet and they were either talking to one another or absorbed with the iPad game in front of them. An announcement came from their gate with the news that their flight to San Diego had been cancelled. There were a series of groans and a "Really?" that came from their area. They wandered off to the gate agent to get rebooked on new flights. But their luggage remained on the floor, unattended. Unaccompanied.
I stared at this unattended luggage for a bit and realized the privilege that is attached to it. These young and unaware people walked to the gate agent and left their bags unattended. I don't know if the automated message, "Please report any unattended luggage" played over the loudspeaker, but it echoed in my mind. If I were to walk away and leave my luggage unattended to check with the gate agent, I fear that there could be hell to pay. I fear not for my luggage, but for myself, for my being, for my person. I fear that I will be questioned, interrogated because my skin is of a particular color.
If I were to be bitter and even spiteful (because these emotions come up during a time such as this, God forgive me), I could report the unattended luggage. The young, unaware people could claim the irresponsibility of youth to departing their strewn bags at the seats. If I were faced with a similar situation, I couldn't claim the irresponsibility of youth even though I look younger than my years. I could claim the sin of sloth, but even then, as a brown woman at the airport the day following a mass shooting committed by two brown people, my being, my nationality, my loyalties would be called into question because I will somehow always be "other." I will always be a "modified" American; my South Asian otherness will be brought up, never mind my birth and seventeen years of residence in Colorado, my decade of education in South Carolina, my current domicile in California, my role as an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament in a mainline Protestant denomination with Western European roots. I will always be other due to a complicated history of brutality, of lines drawn, of glass ceilings, of being a "model" but also a "minority."
This is why I must be aware of the skin I inhabit, especially in particular places. This is why I behave. This is why I don't raise my voice. This is why I am polite. Even when people are rude. Even when I am pulled aside in lines for additional security. I was once pulled aside when traveling with my white husband. He is a quiet and calm man, but when I was pulled aside in a security line and being treated "unfairly"; he became angry. I told him that he needed to calm down; his anger wasn't going to help me get through security any faster. It was odd to see him angered; I wondered if he knew I that moment that his outward expression of anger was also a privilege?
I behave. I am pleasant on the surface. I don't leave my luggage unattended. But I certainly do carry around some baggage.
I pray for the victims and their families.
I pray for peace.
Then there’s that deep, dark, secret part of me that prays that the act wasn’t committed by a brown person.
My nerves are cranked up when it is a brown person. That means I get to be even more aware of the skin I inhabit.
As I was sitting at the gate of my very delayed flight, I took notice of three teenagers who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be white. Their carry-on luggage was strewn about on the floor at their feet and they were either talking to one another or absorbed with the iPad game in front of them. An announcement came from their gate with the news that their flight to San Diego had been cancelled. There were a series of groans and a "Really?" that came from their area. They wandered off to the gate agent to get rebooked on new flights. But their luggage remained on the floor, unattended. Unaccompanied.
I stared at this unattended luggage for a bit and realized the privilege that is attached to it. These young and unaware people walked to the gate agent and left their bags unattended. I don't know if the automated message, "Please report any unattended luggage" played over the loudspeaker, but it echoed in my mind. If I were to walk away and leave my luggage unattended to check with the gate agent, I fear that there could be hell to pay. I fear not for my luggage, but for myself, for my being, for my person. I fear that I will be questioned, interrogated because my skin is of a particular color.
If I were to be bitter and even spiteful (because these emotions come up during a time such as this, God forgive me), I could report the unattended luggage. The young, unaware people could claim the irresponsibility of youth to departing their strewn bags at the seats. If I were faced with a similar situation, I couldn't claim the irresponsibility of youth even though I look younger than my years. I could claim the sin of sloth, but even then, as a brown woman at the airport the day following a mass shooting committed by two brown people, my being, my nationality, my loyalties would be called into question because I will somehow always be "other." I will always be a "modified" American; my South Asian otherness will be brought up, never mind my birth and seventeen years of residence in Colorado, my decade of education in South Carolina, my current domicile in California, my role as an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament in a mainline Protestant denomination with Western European roots. I will always be other due to a complicated history of brutality, of lines drawn, of glass ceilings, of being a "model" but also a "minority."
This is why I must be aware of the skin I inhabit, especially in particular places. This is why I behave. This is why I don't raise my voice. This is why I am polite. Even when people are rude. Even when I am pulled aside in lines for additional security. I was once pulled aside when traveling with my white husband. He is a quiet and calm man, but when I was pulled aside in a security line and being treated "unfairly"; he became angry. I told him that he needed to calm down; his anger wasn't going to help me get through security any faster. It was odd to see him angered; I wondered if he knew I that moment that his outward expression of anger was also a privilege?
I behave. I am pleasant on the surface. I don't leave my luggage unattended. But I certainly do carry around some baggage.
2 comments:
Sigh...true
Sigh...true
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