Four Roles I Reluctantly Play…Every Damn Day
Essay number 5 is inspired by how depleted I’ve been feeling lately. It is week 10 of the weekly essay challenge, and so here I am, having only completed half of the essays so far. Instead of focusing on my writing practice, I’ve been trying to show up for all the people who demand way too much of me. The universe keeps giving me tests. Some days I pass, some days I fail.
How do we take care of ourselves while also taking care of others? What happens when they need you to show up for them even when it comes at a high cost to you? What happens when the privilege game always puts you at a place where people expect you to give even more?
With these questions in mind, here are four roles I feel like I am constantly being asked to play:
The Spokesperson
The one people feel safe with and call when they have a question about one of your identities and are too afraid or lazy to Google it.
The mind works at such a rate that people are constantly asking themselves questions about random things and God gave us Google to aid in getting us answers to those questions. Sometimes these questions are scientific like why does it rain or why is the sky blue. Sometimes these questions are trivial like when was this freeway built or how old is this neighborhood. Sometimes questions are based in stereotypes and assumptions like why are people in LA so chill and why are people in NYC so mean. Sometimes people are too afraid to ask certain questions because they don’t want to appear ignorant or offensive or both. Isn’t that when people should use Google the most? When they have questions that they are too afraid to ask?
I cannot recall how many people, many of them friends of mine, who have asked me the most assumptive questions about something around one of my identities. There was the friend who asked me why my religion was so violent towards women. Or the friend who asked me why I still have faith when my religion hates me. Or the friend who wants me to meet and educate their Islamophobic and homophobic friends on why I deserve to exist. Then there was the friend who asked me why none of the Middle Eastern guys at the gym shower before they go into the pool or jacuzzi. There was the friend who asked me if all Middle Eastern guys have big penises (and how big mine was) as if I’ve seen my fair share of that specific brand of penis for me to make that conclusion. I wish! Then there’s the “friend” you see for only one occasion and that’s in the bedroom and they ask you to start speaking Arabic to them or wear some culturally-specific clothing. No, thank you!
This gets very exhausting, especially when it comes from friends. I don’t want to always be in educator mode. More often than not, I just want to chill. Girl, can’t we just eat our fro-yo and sing some showtunes?
The Token Panelist
The one who fills the single seat on the important panel reserved for a marginalized individual.
There’s usually only one seat at the table, so the more diversity boxes that the seat-holder can check off, the better. When people learn there’s a queer Muslim Arab artist in their city, the email requests roll in. My presence on your panel adds so many points to your diversity score card that a yes from me would be such a coup for you and your pride. Let me just show up to your event not knowing anyone there and not knowing whether all of my identities will be affirmed or even respected. Let me put myself and my mental wellbeing at risk so you can feel good about yourself at the end of the night.
Also, there’s no need to call anyone else. I will represent for all. No need to have a brown person AND a black person. No need to have a Muslim man AND a Muslim woman. No need to have an Arab/Middle Eastern American Muslim AND a South Asian American Muslim AND an African American Muslim. No need for you to know these distinctions. Surely, we all have the same experiences. Surely, we all have the same perspectives.
This bothers me the most when the requests come from other artists. Like people from theater organizations in LA that have known me as part of the larger local theater community but have never really bothered to get to know me. Not until they need a Muslim on their panel for their post-performance conversation with the audience. When theater people tokenize me, it really stings. These are supposed to be my people.
The Scandalist
The notorious one who did that controversial thing a long time ago and it was the talk of the town.
Since I made up the word, here’s a dramatic scene with two people speaking about the “scandalist” in their Muslim community:
Muslim Gossiper 1:
Oh my goodness, look who it is.
Muslim Gossiper 2:
Is that Ramy?? The youngest of the Eletreby kids? I haven’t seen him in years.
Muslim Gossiper 1:
I haven’t seen him since that whole thing happened.
Muslim Gossiper 2:
Oh really? He’s been coming around more lately. I’ve seen him once or twice. But yeah, that shit was crazy.
Muslim Gossiper 1:
I still can’t believe that whole thing. How he did that play and come out as gay on stage and in the paper and in front of everyone in the whole world. Oh, his poor parents.
Muslim Gossiper 2:
Yeah, their lives must’ve been turned upside down because of that.
Muslim Gossiper 1:
I’m surprised he has the guts to show his face here again to all these people.
Muslim Gossiper 2:
Well, he grew up here. Maybe after taking some time away, he missed it and wanted to reconnect.
Muslim Gossiper 1:
Maybe he’s come back to God to ask for forgiveness.
Muslim Gossiper 2:
Or maybe he just wants to be closer to God and to feel a sense of community again.
Muslim Gossiper 1:
Inshallah. May God bless his parents and bring them peace.
The Punching Bag (or) The Doormat
The one people take their aggression out on and/or walk all over because that person has privilege and can just deal with it.
This is a two-sided coin and a difficult one to explain. What I have to say here will probably piss someone off, but that’s the risk I take for being able to express myself honestly.
I am an American-born male who is college-educated and relatively debt free, which means that I walk through life with a certain amount of privilege. There are many struggles that I don’t have to deal with that others I know have to deal with every day. In many ways, life is way easier for me than for so many other people I know.
One thing that makes this hard to write about is because this is largely about being aware of your own privileges versus the privileges of others, which easily pits people against each other. We measure each other’s lives, we weigh each other’s experiences of oppression, we police how much space each other takes up. When we do that, we might also forget that we’re all human beings with emotions and feelings and we all deserve to be treated with respectful loving kindness. Unfortunately, I see dynamics like this in a lot of spaces that are predominately filled with people of color. I see this happen in spaces that are predominately queer. I see people calling each other out in ways that are not loving, but rather unkind and hurtful.
It’s the brown Muslim calling a white Muslim revert out for wearing a shalwar kameez that he got from Pakistan. It’s the brown Muslim woman, one of the only female-identified people in the room, calling out all the brown Muslim men for once again dominating the space. It’s the queer person operating with a disability calling out all the able-bodied queer people in the room for once again dominating the space and not considering them.
It’s not the message, but the tone. When people come from a place of anger or frustration, when the language becomes incendiary and accusatory, the message is ineffective and gets lost.
In certain spaces, I feel like the privileges I hold have made me a target. Maybe I’m too sensitive, or maybe this is what white fragility feels like, but it often feels like others would rather not view me as an individual but instead some sociopolitical archetype for them to take their latent issues out on. For those who have less privileges, for those who are still working through their trauma to get to a place of peace and wellness, and if it feels like they need someone to blame, more often than not, they end up calling out the person in the room with the most privilege, and more often than not, that person turns out to be me. I am out and open as a queer brown person and there have been many closeted queer brown people who have told me to check myself, before I ever uttered a word, before they ever learned my name. There have been many immigrant brown men and women and genderqueer folks who have told me take a seat before I ever tried to stand up.
I understand that American male-dominated spaces are challenging for people to navigate (I have challenges navigating them too!), but don’t come for me until I specifically give you a reason to. Don’t tell me to shut up until I’ve said too much. Don’t give me a time out and tell me to sit in the corner until I’ve done something wrong.
Don’t come for me unless I send for you.
#52essays2017
