Behind the Veil, or something catchy like that Zara Khan So suddenly everyone wants to know where my flag is. But most days I don't have to explain how when red isn't the blood of innocents, Afghan or otherwise, when white isn't the color of supremacy, when blue isn't the police department's résumé of brutality, or that crisp prison guard's uniform, -- well there'll still be a long list of grievances to get through before I can consider sporting red white and blue. You expect my answer to be yes to everything blinding expectations, bleeding racisms. But you know what, No. I will NOT participate in this deluge of American flags this patriotism because I know better. You want me quiet and doll-like. Limited English Proficient. [see, even I'm a victim of Americanism - as though being limited in English proficiency was a deficiency.] You need to have faith in my docile nature, need to believe there's something backwards about modesty. Something about this veil makes you think I'm mute. [well something about that uniform has gone straight to your head.] You want me oppressed, so you can 'liberate' me from myself from this way of life you know nothing about from all the men in my life that cover me up husband, father, brother. Because you can't even conceive of a woman liberating herself. Can't conceive of a woman who's not a slave to man, to money, to materials. A woman so liberated she wears the veil. You talk about independence but you don't know the forms it can take. You want all this and so much more. But I won't be your subject. You won't orientalize me. I won't be a victim of your ignorance because you won't stifle that scream that's gonna rip they sky in two. [like a woman giving birth, guttural shriek of life passing life.] My life, my deen, my veil, my womanhood. My every act is a dissent from you and yours. I refuse you. I will outlive endure persist survive you. And I'll do it all from behind the veil. All the while you put me in a box labeled "Muslim Woman". The walls are made of fiction that exploits princesses, harems, and clitoradectamies. The floor is volumes and volumes of fifteen hundred years of racist history crusades, heathens, and manifest destiny. The ceiling's a televised newscast -- proudly waving the American flag and measuring progress as 'the women of Afghanistan have taken off their veils!' congratulations. on 'liberating' the women of Afghanistan on saving them from that horrid dread -- the veil. [at least now their children can enjoy Macdonnel Douglas Happy Meals can enjoy cluster bombs the same shade of yellow as food packets.] and besides, we'll just ignore that the red white and blue never passed the E.R.A. that American women don't get equal pay for equal work. [Sigh] Muslim Woman- Veil- Oppressed-. The triad is inseparable in your world. But in my world, your rhetoric penetrates - I wish it wouldn't, a testament of my own weakness - But it does, it gets behind my veil and under my skin. There it crawls, to my life vessels vermin circulating in my blood. I try to spit your words out of my system, but sometimes I can't. Sometimes a bloodletting is needed. And I bleed it out of me, red stripes on a white tourniquet. red stripes on white. no white stars on blue, though. I'd rather look for those in the sky. But enough of this, khalaas. Let me lead you somewhere. Jumping out of your invented race and class I'm gonna right-side-up that hourglass. The era of your oppression has come to an end. As the grains sit piled so calm and complacent my mind's wrath is gonna flip it violently. I am that dark shrouded figure you can't quite discern. Take a closer look and you probably still won't learn. I'm dressed in all black from bottom to top. The reins of the camel firm in my hands, my squinting eyes make unapologetic demands. The speed of my travels creates a sandstorm so turbulent, it obstructs your vision. A blast from your racist past, I just won't be your subjugated caste. Orientalist missions and crusades from hell, my weapon is my mind and my knowledge of you. Take cover, because it's been unleashed. So I dare you not to fear my words as they escape from behind this veil. I dare me to be an agent of change. Till then, till justice, till salaam, the lines have been drawn in the sand. And what do you know - I'm facing you.