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I Am Sikh and Tired
Wracked with pain about being othered, I dressed up like Captain America. Here’s what happened.
My turban and beard have always made me a target of anxiety, stereotyping, or outright racism. Post-9/11, the hate has been taken to a whole new level. Sikhs have been killed, attacked, and verbally abused in a never-ending American saga. We might not ever know what was in the mind of 19-year-old Brandon Hole, who shot and killed eight people including four Sikhs at a FedEx warehouse in Indianapolis on April 16. But it hurts to keep seeing Americans who look like me paying the price for looking different, for standing out.
Ten years ago, in my anger and frustration, I accidentally found a way to confuse fellow Americans into thinking I am one of their own.
In the aftermath of the 2012 massacre on a Sikh house of worship by a White supremacist in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a photographer convinced me to don the uniform of an American superhero I had illustrated months before. And so, dressed as Captain America, I walked out onto the streets of New York City.
This is not a Black and White problem only. It is an American ailment. It is a human disease.
I found myself in a sort of twilight zone. I got hugs from strangers. Police officers took photos of me. I got access to a fire department truck. I got pulled into weddings. I was able to stand outside the 2016 Republican National Convention in Cleveland while holding a banner that read: “Let’s kick some intolerant butt with compassion.”
Captain America does not exist, but the story does.
I got to experience the power of this fictional story. If Captain America was real, they could certainly sport a turban and beard to confront the villain that has been ravaging America for a long time. Narratives built around our perceived differences are villains that have to be confronted at all costs.
This is not a Black and White problem only. It is an American ailment. It is a human disease.
