Iffat Nawaz
 

I hated it when people told me stories of discrimination; I hated it when they complained about the consequences of being the color brown. Blind to racial discrimination and neutral towards Americans or Bangladeshis, I had less sympathy for illegal immigrants huddled up in the streets corners of Queens, New York or Los Angles, California and bashing America, not just Bush. When I got into a conversation with one of them I often told them to go back home. If it really is as bad as they portray it to be, America and its system and the American people, why do they need to be here, I asked them. Those arguments never ended happily or with solutions… I actually liked it best when I stayed 100% non political and 50% philosophical and 50% oblivious. Perhaps it's from the teaching of my parents about politics and the negative connotation it carries, that it is food not meant for superior minds. I mistakenly thought I was part of that better half and worried about my inner struggles and got irritated when people complained about politics, the dirt, the finds and the blame…

So last year when on my way to DC getting in the subway I saw some getting stopped by police troops and their two Belgian Malinois I took it as a necessary routine check that must be done. The nation was under orange alert, and like me many who took the metro every day feared a suicide bomb would go off, so the dog and his masters didn't seem threatening, not as threatening as the invisible suicide bomber with any face and any name, so I was glad random searches were being done. Then the day came when I was picked to be searched randomly. It was bound to happen; my non-threatening submissive face was obviously not a giveaway. I could be a female terrorist, so they went through my belongings, my office bag, my gym clothes, my box of tampons, and after I came out clean and they let me walk away, I wasn't sure if I had all of myself, all my odds and ends tucked in with me, did the Belgian Mallinois chew away a few strands of my beliefs? Did the strong police palms mush a few nods of my confidence? I wasn't sure what I left behind…but there was something amiss…

Few days passed, I tried to get over the incident, tried to move on, slept semi-well during my nights in my home 15 minutes away from the Pentagon. Sudden helicopters and airplanes which fly at dangerously low levels ({o it seems from my unprofessional eyes) around our area woke me up at night sometimes, or distracted me during quite Saturday afternoons, but that's the price you pay for living in an area close to the happenings, or suspected happenings, or where happenings might take place?

So when someone asked what is the affect that 9/11 has left on me, I look at them with a blank expression. I was not one of many who got laid off, or my family was not interrogated, I was not given stares of disapproval/discrimination, I and my blue passport felt safe, safe as I can living under color coded security alert system. I wasn't pro anything neither was I against. I wanted to stay impartial, that's what my parents taught me, to worry about the non-materialistic, imaginative, spiritual side of life. So when Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 made me a stronger democrat, or Robert Fisk's speech made me furious about the power under which I currently reside, I wasn't sure who I was, how can my non-political soul be upset about dirty politics and games? Was it because it was touching humanity, touching real people in a level I never thought it would, was it because I had just as much chance of being interrogated, discriminated and hurt? Or was it because politics no longer drew a circle and stayed limited affecting only those who were involved and it affected all of us, the ones who wanted to stay blind and live life selfishly, as long as my backyard was not getting bombed, I didn't need to worry.

Without knowing, sometime between 9/11 and today my spirit has turned a bit political, my oblivious mind has turned a bit more opinionated, so the affect on 9/11 in this Bengali might not be a drastic one or a one that confidently sip{ out, but like all naive turned aware minds my mind has lost a bit of it's peace and in turn borrowed a bit of the burning fire from Iraq, a bi| of insecurity of middle class Americans and a lot of courage to write this piece and recognize, discrimination exists and the those who receive do give, negative, positive and bitter.

Please Note: This article was first published at The Daily Star