Hijab Butch Blues

by Lamya H.

As soon as I’m eligible—about a year after I’m done with grad school—I apply for a green card so I can stay more permanently without the hassle of visas, maybe one day get citizenship, vote, join political parties, participate in protests without being terrified about getting arrested—all things that Americans get to do without worrying about being deported. I know what my staying entails: becoming a part of the settler colonialist project that is this country, contributing toward imperialist wars with my taxes, becoming complicit in the government-backed abuse of other marginalized people. But I want to stay. Because where would I go?

I was never going to stop fighting for what I believed in, but I needed to fight differently. Only fight with people I’m invested in and care about, and who are coming to the conversation with genuine openness and curiosity. No fighting with casual work colleagues, frenemies, or friends of friends. Definitely no fighting with strangers on the internet.

This better world—that is the world I’m fighting for from inside the whale, this world I want to be birthed into. A world that is kinder, more generous, more just. A world that takes care of the marginalized, the poor, the sick. Where wealth and resources are redistributed, where reparations are made for the harms of history, where stolen land is given back. Where the environment is cared for and respected, and all species are cared for and respected. Where conflicts are dealt with in gentleness. Where people take care of each other and feel empowered to be their truest selves. Where anger is allowed and joy is allowed and fun is allowed and quietness is allowed and loudness is allowed and being wrong is allowed and everything, everything, everything is rooted in love.