Gentle Revolutions: #whyimarched
As I was heading to the march on Saturday, my mother expressed a lot of concern about safety and caution — she asked me why I was going to DC to march, and what if Trump finds out and retracts my visa? On the four-hour bus ride from NYC to DC it occurred to me how unconcerned with fear I was. The one person who was asking me why I was marching was one of the main reasons I was.
We talked again on Sunday post-march and she was relieved that I made it back to BK safe and was excited to hear about the march. I then realized that, similar to all Arab mothers and mothers at large, her primary concern was not whether women could continue to vote and possibly have equal rights, but whether or not I will make it back in one piece.
Life and living are still the foggiest cloud that haunts Arab women and their families. So as I sit and digest the beauty of Saturday, the love we all felt on the streets, the unity, the willingness to help and care for and protect one another, I remember why I marched.
I remember all the Arab women, in the Middle East and the rest of the world, who oftentimes need to be reminded of their powers, their rights, and their freedoms. That even if life was at stake, it did not mean that the other battles that concerned the value of living did not matter.
In fact, for Arab women, they matter the most.
So I woke up on Saturday at 4 A.M., packed a fanny pack, and headed to the capital to march, not against Trump, but for the rights of Arab women all over the world. And the beauty about the march on Saturday was that we could each bring our own personal causes with us and they all had their place on the streets.
Here is why I marched:
I marched for every Arab woman fidgeting in her own little world trying to create a place for herself. I marched for my mother, the landscape of womanhood and motherhood that I aspire to. I marched for my new baby cousin, hoping she will grow up in a world where she could at least fight for what she believes in. I marched for my aunts, my cousins, my friends, for every Arab woman I know who has empowered me, impressed me, and made life fuller and more exciting.
I marched for every Arab woman who is shamed because of who she is, beaten, silenced, shut down. I marched for every Arab woman who has been made to believe that that was okay because of her gender. I marched for every Arab woman who has looked customs, society, and taboo in the eye. I marched for every Arab woman who is proud of her religion. I marched for every Arab woman who is prosecuted in the Arab world, in Europe, in America, in Africa… because of her body, what she is wearing and what she is doing.
I marched for every queer Arab woman waging her own silent, gentle revolution that the world will never hear about. I marched for every women’s march gone silent in the Arab world. And finally, I marched for myself, for every time I was made to feel less, for every time I was treated in a lesser way, for every time I accepted it, for every time I was made to do things beyond my will, for having to put down my fight, to look the other way.
I marched for all of this and more. I marched because I am angry. I marched because I could finally say that without fear.
