I am not going to Arizona anytime soon, unless their immigration law is repealed or declared unconstitutional and void.
It is not any hyperbole, which unfortunately fills the airwaves and drowns out the genuine concerns. In my case, my decision not to visit Arizona is simply because I remember all too well the awful feelings of sudden awareness of my brown-skinned ethnic appearance and accent after the horrific events of 9/11.
I lived in Bakersfield, California, when the towers of the World Trade Center in New York tumbled down to dust. Later that day, when it was early morning half way around the world in India, I talked to my parents and assured them that I was safe and that they needn’t worry about me.
After a momentary pause, my father slowly said something like “maybe you should consider shaving your beard off, at least for a few weeks.” His concern was that a passionate mob might think that I am one of “them”, which could then have disastrous results.
I laughed it off. I did not want to scare him by admitting that the thought had crossed my mind as well, and that I had already planned to restrict my movements outside the home only to the bare essentials. There is, after all, millennia of human experiences distilled into the statement, “better safe, than sorry.”
My worry was justified to some extent by the news that a Sikh had been shot and killed because his beard and turban made him look suspiciously similar to the images of the bearded and turbaned Osama bin Laden and his followers. Incidentally, this tragic incident happened in Arizona—in Mesa!
It was a strange time, for the country and for me. After years of living in the US without having to think twice about my skin color and my beard, I now had to systematically think through the potential downsides of being brown-skinned, bearded, and with an accent.
I did not become clean-shaven, and nor was there even one single incident where I was even remotely threatened. Even at the security screening at airports, I went through without any special treatment—just like anybody else. And, yes, the scientific training reminded me about the data that showed that there was no large-scale and systematic targeting of people like me.
But, it was a while before my perception of the reality would return to the pre-9/11 days when I did not have to be self-conscious about my ethnic appearance. I suppose I am like most humans in that we need to be convinced within ourselves that our fears are unfounded.
Which is why I am not in favor of visiting Arizona. How much ever their elected officials and public safety officers claim that brown-skin will not become a blip in their enforcement radars, they have planted a worry in my head about a probability that I could be asked to prove my citizenship if I am in Arizona.
Earlier this year, I met a Hungarian environmental attorney, who was in Eugene for ten weeks as a visiting fellow with Environmental Law Alliance Worldwide (ELAW.) I chuckled when she made sure that she had her passport before we stepped outside for coffee. “Even in Hungary I always carry my passport” she said.
I thought it was horribly bizarre that a Hungarian citizen had to walk around in Budapest with citizenship papers in case the police asked for it. “But, this is America” was my response. I explained that like most people, I never carry my passport with me when I am in the US. To top it off, I joked that we would sue the police if we were asked to prove our legal right to be here.
Well, it is not a joke anymore, I suppose.
I worry that the possibility exists—even if a low probability—that I could end up in a jail in Arizona because I don’t carry my passport while within the borders of these United States of America.
Well, I would rather bypass the Grand Canyon State.
