I’ll admit that I’ve been fortunate to barely experience firsthand hate and violence for my skin color, knowing all too well that it happens to my Sikh and black and Muslim family and friends (along with other marginalized minorities). But the saddest part of this whole thing is that I’ve been naive, so damn naive, to hope I’ve perfected straddled my identity and being American enough and Sikh/Indian enough that I could escape hate, prove myself a minority ally for the people who need me and liaison. I’ve been dumb to think that what white privilege I have had would be enough for this terrifying outbreak catalyzed by Trump.

But in a time where I don’t want to see “sides,” I’ve been pigeonholed.

Am I not welcome in my own home country? Tell me again that I’m overreacting. Tell me he only said that because his ego was bruised. That I wasn’t exoticized before I was dismissed. Tell me my helplessness and fear are unnecessary. Misogyny and racism are rampant and Trump has only made it acceptable and worse.

I know I’m not alone in my feelings. I embrace being an other, and I know I (along with other minorities) am what makes this country have the potential it does. But that’s my identity crisis: I’ve never felt like I’m a minority because I’ve always considered this country an accepting melting pot of races, identities and communities.

It’s clear that we have work to do, and inclusion begins with awareness and advocacy. There were a handful of other people on the sidewalk with me, and nobody said anything. I’m not going to let this incident belittle and undervalue my role in this country, and I won’t give up; I will, however, allow myself to process this temporary defeat before getting into a proactive mindset.



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