Written by JJ Singh Kapur On September 11th 2001, I was two years old. That evening my family watched as the horrific tragedy unfolded. My parents recall that at one point on that terrible day, an image appeared on our TV screen, and my two-year-old self was amazed to see what appeared to be my father on the nightly news. I tugged on my father’s sleeve, pointed at the screen, and shouted, “Papa! Papa!” The image on the screen was not my father. It was Osama Bin Ladin. My father tells me that this was a moment of profound fear. He was afraid that Americans would, as I had innocently done, see my father’s beard and turban and think—terrorist. Chai + Americanah = Paradise I now realize that on September 11th, 2001, I fell victim to what author Chimananda Ngozi Adichie calls in her Ted Talk “The Danger of a Single Story,” a simplified narrative where all Sikhs and Muslims are national villains. In Americanaha, Adichie makes a powerful point: stereotypes can lead to misunderstandings that affect our cultures and ethnicities. Adichie is a Nigerian author who has had to deal with these stereotypes on an intimate level. The protagonist in Americanah is Ifemelu, an avid blogger who identifies herself as a non-American black. The reader is introduced to three distinct masks Ifemelu wears in America: Ifemelu as a Princeton University student who is currently seeking employment, Ifemelu in her African hair salon, and Ifemeulu as an anonymous blogger on race issues. Because readers are exposed to three unique versions of the protagonist, Adichie sends a clear message: we can never rely on a single story. Chai + Americanah = Paradise Sikh temples across the U.S. have been vandalized after 9/11. But I was not the only one affected by the single story; my Sikh community soon experienced the negative effects of stereotyping. In the months after 9/11, vandals spray-painted the words “Towelheads” on our Sikh Temple. Two Sikh-owned gas stations in our community were held at gunpoint. And many Sikh boys who were bullied at school were forced to renounce tenets of our Sikh Faith by removing the sacred turban and cutting their unshorn hair. There have been times when I too have been tempted to disband from my Sikh identity, but my father encourages me to strengthen my roots, because he says that “as Sikhs we are rare ones, and if we don’t stand up for our beliefs, we will go extinct.” These words inspire me everyday to deconstruct the danger of a single story—they are a constant call to action. Sikh temples across the U.S. have been vandalized after 9/11. But I was not the only one affected by the single story; my Sikh community soon experienced the negative effects of stereotyping. In the months after 9/11, vandals spray-painted the words “Towelheads” on our Sikh Temple. Two Sikh-owned gas stations in our community were held at gunpoint. And many Sikh boys who were bullied at school were forced to renounce tenets of our Sikh Faith by removing the sacred turban and cutting their unshorn hair. There have been times when I too have been tempted to disband from my Sikh identity, but my father encourages me to strengthen my roots, because he says that “as Sikhs we are rare ones, and if we don’t stand up for our beliefs, we will go extinct.” These words inspire me everyday to deconstruct the danger of a single story—they are a constant call to action. Like Ifemelu, I too "like my hair the way God made it." As I read about Ifemelu - brave, vibrant, stubborn Ifemelu - my father's words once again echoed in my mind. I couldn't help but think that Ifemelu, in many ways, mirrors my personality. For instance, while Ifemelu was getting her hair styled at an African hair salon, a hari-dresser criticized Ifemelu, "She touched Ifemeulu's hair. 'Why you don't have relaxer?' I like my hair the way God made it (page 15).'" At this moment, I immediately felt the urge to applaud. I know realize that I am not alone. We are all rare in our own ways. Some of us, like Ifemelu, speak numerous languages. Some of us marry the same gender. But we lose these rarities that make us who we are the day we try to fit in, the minute we try to be someone else, and the second we shed our identities in order to feel accepted.
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August 2017
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