When I saw the news item about the next administration establishing a Muslim registry, I was aghast and thought, “well then, we ALL must register as Muslims! They can’t eliminate ALL of us!” And I would so like to think I’ll have the courage to do just that, should this registry of Muslims in the USA actually come to pass (tho I keep hoping that the Electoral College will do the right thing and elect the person who actually won the popular vote in last week’s election!)
I remember marching against the Vietnam war in November 1969 – standing with so many other people for hours, freezing my toes in stylish but totally inappropriate moccasins. I was ready, willing and able to hitchhike from Storrs, CT to Washington, D.C. because it was a stupid war that had already claimed the lives of my fellow students, with no end in sight – and it was the right thing to do. I took all kinds of chances those days – I was young and felt invincible!
My 17-year-old self would have had no problem signing up for this commitment to register as a Muslim, in protest. I was raised as an atheist (who got to enjoy all the “candy and dress-up holidays” like Halloween and Easter, as well as the “gift and feast holidays” like Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s), became intrigued by Christian Science and joined the Mother Church, and then got baptized as a Lutheran… at this point, I’m pretty much convinced nobody really cares what I believe or who/what I worship! (and since this is America, what business is it of theirs, anyway?)
I tell myself I should just sign up and be counted as someone who won’t allow this Muslim registry thing to happen without a fight. But then I think back on the most recent election cycle; how divisive and ugly it got and continues to be – how I didn’t see a single bumper sticker for either party on any vehicles, and only a few lawn signs anywhere – how even now, 10 days later, no one seems to want to reveal their own political leanings until they know how the other person voted.
So even though I live in a very safe, quiet neighborhood, I feel more vulnerable now than I felt living by myself in NYC in the 70s, walking home in the dark from a gig, getting ogled and catcalled by strangers, slapping away creepy hands on the subway. I feel targeted, even though I’m gray-haired and overweight, that I could be pussy-grabbed or worse by some newly emboldened jerk. I’m concerned that hateful acts may happen to me and my loved ones should no one else stand up and cry out, “I’m Spartacus!”
But I’m even more afraid to live in fear, in a country dominated by racism, sexism and xenophobia. Guess it’s time to take a refresher course at Model Mugging!