I scanned the list of countries from which President Trump plans to ban most refugees and immigrants, thinking of the friends I have in those mostly Muslim nations. As a Muslim and an immigrant to the U.S. myself, I worried about what would happen to them. On social media, these friends were clearly devastated. An Iranian friend worried about how he would see his brother, who attends college in the U.S. Journalist friends worried about being able to travel for work. Globally, everyone I know has been struggling since Nov. 8, but this has been a particularly bad week.
The prospect of a Muslim ban in any incarnation shakes the very foundation of the freedoms guaranteed to those in America seeking refuge from extremism. This must not be allowed if democracy is to survive. This ban is reductive and reactionary extremism in its own right that must be denounced whole-heartedly.
My friends went to New York City’s Washington Square Park to protest the executive order. They asked me to go. I wasn’t able to join, but that evening, I decided to console myself with a drink. That’s right, I drink. Muslims are not all the same!
“A mojito,” I said to the bartender after entering a Brooklyn bar. My choice felt like an appropriate homage to the Cuban leader who had the gall to antagonize the United States for his entire life.
As a Muslim, during the U.S. presidential campaign I have felt reduced to a single facet of my identity. A religion I rarely practice has taken center stage. I first wanted to visit the United States after reading Archie comics and listening to Madonna as a child in Bangladesh. What has become of that country that seemed so welcoming? I find it disturbing that a small group of ISIS and al-Qaeda terrorists have been allowed to take center stage in foiling the reputation of the majority of peace-loving Muslims. White supremacist ideology has infiltrated the highest office of the most powerful nation on earth, while people who are escaping violence and who oppose it are being wrongfully vilified.
I have lived on-and-off in the United States for thirteen years. I have never felt so unwelcome in my adopted home as I have these past few months. As I read the papers after the election, I wanted to leave the U.S. immediately. The “Fuck Islam” signs at Trump’s campaign rallies flashed back into my mind.
I took a sip of my mojito.
Trump has continually vilified and marginalized all those who oppose him. I wonder, what happens if Muslims defy him and speak up? What if he decides to escalate matters and put them in internment camps for resisting?
I took a bite of the mint leaves and chewed slowly, considering how such an extreme possibility has become even thinkable.
Isn’t becoming an immigrant in America difficult enough already? Don’t we already endure “extreme vetting”? As a South Asian from a Muslim country, I provide extensive banking information and credentials to secure a visa. At the airport, I let my mini-skirt and tank tops (which I regularly don for flights), speak for themselves. But the constant harassment is a regular assault on my dignity. I can only imagine things are about to get even worse.
I drank my mojito in silence. I am still shocked by what feels like creeping turns toward fascism. The system is not as broken as we are being told it is, but the growing intolerance and Islamophobia continues.
I felt suffocated in the bar, despite its sky roof and expansive wooden walls and floor. It appeared unreal among the brownstones surrounding it.
I ordered another mojito. When my glass was empty, I stepped out onto Fulton Street, where I shivered, though the night was unusually warm for January.
Photo by: Janine