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| Red, White & Blue. RESPECT. |
The value of respect has vastly depreciated in this day and age. Youth don’t respect their elders, men don’t respect women, those who are “different” aren’t respected, and the cycle seems to go on and on. Without respect however, life becomes a little disgusting to tell you the truth. I miss the days when humanity had a standard for etiquette. When people had a sense of personal space and boundaries that they wouldn’t dare trespass. But I do wonder if that time ever existed?
We walked into the
comedy club and were greeted by the hostess, who was a small pretty girl with
black hair that matched her outfit. She walked us to our seats and I realized
that we were making our way to the very front of the club, near the stage.
“Right here,” she said as she gestured towards the red chairs to our left. It
was one row away from where the performers would be and I knew that this was
going to be interesting. At amateur comedy shows, I noticed that more often
than not, comedians get their work from picking on various audience members and
then they go off tangents. Some succeed and some fail. As my friend and
I took our seats, both in our headscarves, I looked around and realized that
even on “Middle Eastern Comedy Night” we were the only ones covered. Probably
even the only Arabs there. The rest of the group varied between Persian and
Caucasian.
The night of
comedy started off well with an unbelievably hilarious emcee, really good jokes
and the right sweetness to the Cherry Coke. As expected, our black and
turquoise scarves made the headlines of almost every comedian that landed on
stage. From Al-Qaeda references to desert and camel bits, we heard it all, and
at that point nothing had seriously offended me. On the contrary, I was
impressed by how well they spun the various jokes and were able to get all of
us Americans laughing. That was until one comedian stepped up to the plate.
His cocky
demeanor was the first turn off. Being some new actor on a Comedy Central
show had clearly made his head swell, and he walked onto that stage thinking
that he, his Ray-Bans and his moustache could win the night. He didn't.
As his jokes kept fading in and out he decided to focus on the girls with the
head covers. Sure, his first attempt seemed like the ones we had already heard
during the show; but then it was like an addiction and suddenly all he could do
was bash us. Even the Jewish comedian didn’t stoop to that level when he used
us as his punching bags—he had class.
It began with
his assumption that we were sad little fob girls—fresh off the boat. I guess he
didn’t realize that our parents flew to this country, and that some of us were
born right down the street from the comedy club. Then he
began to explain to the audience that our current attire is vastly different
from what we used to wear back in the desert land; that once we got off the
supposed boat we stripped off the face cover and black robes and slipped into
jeans and floral dresses.
At this point I
couldn’t laugh anymore, because not only was he serious, but he was piercing me
with his eyes knowingly as he spoke each word, letter by letter, truly aiming
his arrow at us—the targets. I saw it as a sign of desperation as he continued
to use us. I wondered why the whole Justin Bieber making a surprise appearance
at the club just 20 minutes earlier didn’t suffice. (Yeah, seriously, he was
there!) I guess after he talked about Bieber’s ability to get sex with a simple
tweet, it all went downhill for the guy.
His jokes
continued and made their way into the raunchy world, as he described that next
week we’d be back, with less naïve gazes and making our way into strip clubs
using our scarves as dance accessories. He went on to mimic what we supposedly
would look like dancing, and increased his voice to a false girly pitch saying,
“Oh, haha, we’re free? We don’t need to wear this anymore? Haha!” and he
gestured to the removal of the scarf.
Although I
couldn’t see myself, I knew the look on my face was terrifying, and that
probably fueled him even more. Luckily his time was up and his unattractive
aura was off that stage. But he left me thinking, despite comedy and
desperation, what on earth drives people to believe that (1) if I wear a scarf
I’m from some far off desert land that just arrived to the blessed Americas,
and (2) I’m oppressed and in need of liberation?
It took a lot of
courage to remain silent because he kept haggling us and pausing to see our
reactions and responses, but I knew it would do no good. He would find another
way to shoot down the reality that I was born in LA and raised in OC. That I
probably have more freedom, class and Americanism than all his years combined.
And that I will never, ever, ever want his kind of liberation or freedom
because this scarf is an aspect of my faith that I chose to practice and I
choose to keep.
As we walked to
our cars, trying to remember the humor from the better comedians, I kept
remembering a similar incident, but slightly less offensive. It was four years
ago in down town Long Beach, as my friend and I made our way to the car after
dinner. At 11:00pm we stood at the traffic light waiting to cross the empty
street with two other guys who waited beside us: A tall heavy built guy and
a slightly shorter and skinner guy. As I began bidding my friend farewell the
taller heavier man approached me. “Excuse me, can I ask you something?” Almost
thirteen years of wearing the scarf, I had assumed he was yet another eager
person asking me why. I was wrong.
“Do you wanna be
free?” I was confused. Was he preaching? “What?” I asked. He smiled and his
friend began pulling him away and apologizing to me. Now I was curious and
couldn’t help but wonder if they were drunk. “Listen, I understand it, you
know, all of your rituals and I respect that very much. But don’t you wanna be
free?” I laughed, innocently thinking he was talking about my scarf, not
realizing his freedom meant a lot
more than the layer on my head. “I am free,” I said, “Last time I checked
America still allowed us our rights.” His friend was impressed and said, “Damn!
Give me five!” I laughed and began trying to make my way to my car.
“No, no wait!”
the taller man called out. “I mean don’t you want to be really free? I mean come on. I know you think you’re free but
you’re not. I wanna show you real freedom with me. I totally respect you and
all that you believe in and all that stuff so that’s why.” His irony was
brutal. Respect? There was no respect at 11:00pm at night while his drunk self
hit on a female Muslim stranger, harassing to show her “freedom” in the back of
his car or apartment.
His friend
started to realize that boundaries were being crossed and he felt
uncomfortable. “Man, she’s cute and all but come on, let’s go. Enough!” He said
it in a hushed tone so that I wouldn’t hear, but the scarf doesn’t make me
deaf. Nonetheless I was beginning to see a bit of respect in this skinny guy instead
of his friend. But he didn’t listen. “Nah man, she’s not cute she’s gorgeous
and that’s why I want her!” Gorgeous? Why is it that only the drunken sailors
find me gorgeous and sober ones can pass right by? Once I was on my way to a party
when I stopped at my friend’s house. As I got out of the car, her male
neighbor noticed me. “Dania! Dania! Is that you? Oh my goodness you’ve changed!”
He was clearly drunk, as usual, so I merely smiled, said hello and made my way
to the door. Contrary to my belief, the conversation was not over. “Wow, you
look…beautiful! Amazing! My god you’ve grown so much!” I thanked him, realizing
that this was reaching the cross streets of awkward and creepy. A man my father’s
age, following me into the street to tell me how I’ve “blossomed” and have
become “unbelievable” was not what I expected of the night. I started to
sympathize with Amy Lee in regards to the whole, “Call me when you’re sober”
ordeal. If I really was unbelievable, I needed to hear it from a sober man. Instead
all I hear from them is “cute.”
I’m not sure if
it was entirely the alcohol or what, but I wondered what made Mr. Drunk in Downtown LB think showing me his “freedom” was a sign of respect? Why isn’t it
respectable to be clean and pure? Or to have chosen to keep hold of your faith
even if you’re American or in America? Sometimes I’m confused at this whole
land of the free thing because sometimes people are so keen on freeing me their
way, they forget that I’ve chosen my own freedom, thanks to the freedom I’ve
already been given. And I wish everyone would just respect that!
