To be Iranian-American in Trumpland is to feel stomach-curling fear. In my heart, I know that this is Trump’s plan ― to make us feel threatened so that the seeds of distrust grow stronger
“I refuse to be treated like a second class citizen. I have to live here for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sorry for the words that I used as I know they offended people and I admit that the joke itself went too far.”
That afternoon was my introduction to something called Antifa, a sort of loosely-held together consortium of Bernie Sanders worshippers who hate hatred so much they have to go out en masse at public events to destroy municipal property, torch cars and beat the living shit out of anybody who dare shows any inkling of what they consider racist, homophobic, misogynistic, anti-Semitic, transphobic or Islamophobic sentiment.
In the case of this note, however, something very bizarre happened. The customers praised both the service at the restaurant, and the taste of their food — but they still would not be coming back.
I was telling a story to four colleagues about how at a park in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, that morning, a man had said to me immediately upon seeing me, “Hey, where are you from, Japan?” I told my coworkers that I couldn’t believe that people were still asking, “Where are you from?” to ask about ethnicity.
A man wearing a Trump hat held a door open for me after the march. He asked me where I was from and why I was in town. My first instinct was to lie. I would have gotten away with it. I want to be an intersectional feminist. I want to be good. I want to do what’s right.
This is not about losing an election. This isn’t about not winning a contest. This is about two very different ways of seeing the world.
To this day, he still maintains that he had to do it.