Still Here

“Will all the medical staff seeing me today be women?” I asked the mammogram technician before I undressed. Without a second thought she nodded, smiling, and said, “Oh, yes, absolutely! We have a coworker who wears hijab so we know and are prepared.” Though I wholeheartedly appreciated her sentiments, I found myself lost in painful thoughts as I changed into the old white robe neatly folded on the chair in the dressing room. Stacking my bra, my shirt, and my undershirt (I’m Arab) atop my purse, safely, inside the lock box provided—the key in the security of my hands—I wondered, would she ever know that my preference for an all female medical team does not stem from my religious background but rather from my body’s exhaustion of being touched by entitled men? Does the nurse know of other women, like me, who had been promised a female physician at urgent care and undressed to only have a man walk in without acknowledging my discomfort and request? Will the radiologist understand how much safer I feel having my breasts examined by someone who has a shared anatomy and a shared sociopolitical experience? An ultrasound and an x-ray cannot show how many times consent was stolen off my tongue. They do not illustrate all the men who helped themselves to my body like a sampler platter I never laid out: 

My ex-husband before we got married. The man in the overcrowded marketplace who grabbed my thigh, then sprinted away laughing before I realized what even happened. The boy in middle school who grabbed my face after September 11th to prove his popularity. My friend’s drunk brother at her holiday party. The foreign exchange student who grabbed my wrist, assuming my “foreignness” granted him access to me. The guy who tugged at my scarf on a date to pull it off because he believed he deserved to see my hair. The upheld and beloved community leaders, engagers, and activists who groom and prey on us during our times of grief and healing.

Contrary to stereotypical assumptions about my faith, this headscarf does not automatically deem women unwelcoming to/of men. It is the men themselves who have established this discomfort. Who have built, with their hands, such toxic environments that women have been taught to walk like minefields. We are unsafe in spaces such as schools, the doctor’s office, markets, fundraisers, social justice events, and as I’ve learned recently, even art communities. This is why I am both humbled and honored to curate and host the STILL HERE Open Mic Night with Waymakers Sexual Assault Victim Services. Because regardless of how many times we are objectified, treated like we don’t matter, or assaulted, we are still here with our stories and with our survival, and we deserve a place to exhale safely.

I invite you to join us Friday, December 4th at 5p.m. PST to share your story or listen to others. The program includes a brief introduction from SAVS Waymakers, followed by an open forum for anyone interested in sharing their stories/expressions. Everyone is welcome. To RSVP and sign up to share on the mic, click here.