What Is My Act of Resistance?

As I sit here while masked agents move through my community, I am trying to articulate what resistance means to me. For me—with my brown skin, as a daughter to immigrant parents and mother to three Muslim children—our existence is quite simply resistance.

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This understanding began in childhood. Growing up as one of the few families of color in a small town, I felt a quiet shame. My mother in her shalwar kameez and my grandmother in her saris felt like declarations of difference I wanted to hide. As I grew, I felt compelled to run from these pieces of my identity, to find other ways to fit. So I did. I ran. I lived in Los Angeles and New York. I kept these identities at arms’ length for a long time. But then, I met my partner who taught me how to stop running. He brought me back to Oregon - to my family and my home. And then I ran for office to resist for my family and my community. 

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But what else is resistance, beyond the quiet rebellion of a life lived visibly?

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A little over a year ago, on the heel of death threats, I sat in my kitchen and wrote "A Letter to My Family." I had angered people who wished violence on me due to my willingness to speak up about injustices I was witnessing around me. I documented my love, my hopes for my husband and children, should something happen to me. I gave two friends access to this letter. In that moment, I understood that as a woman of color in Oregon, my very presence was a threat. I never imagined my existence could be a form of resistance, but there I was, preparing with ink and intention.

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Resistance lives in the daily calculus of survival. It is carefully, begrudgingly pulling yourself from bed when the world feels on fire, pushing through the weight to get your children to school. It is smiling at other families on the walk there, trying to mask the pain you feel over genocide, over federal agents in your community, over fascism's slow creep. You smile, and you resist.

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It is in the hyper-vigilant moments: receiving an alert about federal agents in your neighborhood; seeing them at your mosque and talking through a plan. It is in communal care: showing a friend how to file a bias incident report when they were called a “terrorist”; offering insight to a student navigating her family’s immigration story. These are often quiet acts of resistance. 

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Resistance is a spectrum. Is it voting "no" on the wrong policy? Is it celebrating the release of a community member from ICE detention while another person is whisked away? Is it walking the streets to speak against genocide? Is it calling your child’s school to request accommodations for Ramadan? Perhaps it’s calling a teacher to explain the harm of saying "9/11 was committed by Muslims," because language shapes our children's world.

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It is painting rocks for peace. It is watching your family members move quietly in a society that can feel violent against brown people. It is writing an emergency plan for your family should something happen to you. It is navigating a deep sense of hopelessness and deciding that, on those days, your mere existence is the bravest act.

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It is wearing the very ethnic clothes that once embarrassed me at public events to be loudly Indian, boldly Pakistani, confidently American and unapologetically Muslim. 

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My resistance is staying here when it feels unsafe. 

My resistance is serving in public office - fighting for my students, my family and my community.

My resistance is speaking up & showing up on the dias knowing that harm will be caused, my mental health will take a hit, and I have support to take care of myself in the wake of repeated systemic harm.

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And, most importantly, my resistance is raising our children in America that claims liberty and justice for all when that is not the reality for many people.

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As the forces of fascism continue to attempt to divide and criminalize us, resistance is an act of love. It is an act of hope. It is an act of humanity. 

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It is knowing that our liberation is tied because none of us are free until we are all free. 

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It is a prayer for peace.

It is a moment of bliss.

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But most importantly, through all the mess, resistance is waking up, showing up and speaking up. It is challenging systems and building community. Resistance is ensuring that when the table is set, everyone has a place to belong. 

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So, how are you resisting today?

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