No I Can't

When Barack was in Toledo a few months ago, I missed him by thismuch. To say I was bummed was an understatement. So imagine my excitement when I find out he's going to be in Detroit at the Joe.

After much plotting and planning, we left for Detroit at around 3pm and stood in line to see this man I'm so enamored with for over 3 hours. Braving body odor, lack of personal space, and inquisitive minds seeking to liberate scarfed heads, we persevered until the doors opened and we passed through metal detectors to prove we had no intention of harming the good Senator.

Joe Louis Arena is HUGE - it seats about 22,000 people. So we're on a mission to find the best seats possible. As is everyone else. So as I'm dodging slower seekers, I get ahead of my friends by a few steps. I look behind me and they finished talking to a woman wearing one of the volunteer badges and are walking toward me.
I asked them whats up and they replied they had been offered "special seating" behind the stage but were told I couldn't go because of the scarf I happen to wear on my head.
Thinking this another one of our jokes we often make, I say "No, seriously. What were you guys talking about?"
They reply with the same thing - dead serious.

I should mention that I've been lucky enough to not really experience discrimination firsthand. I don't have airport anecdotes starring the TSA, no remarks about WMDs under my hijab, no "Go back to your country"s, not even "yo daddy must be a terrorist" lines. Not serious ones at least. (I think its due to my beautiful melanin - most probably assume I'm blackamerican and not Arab, which of course throws out the terrorist possibility. But thats another discussion for another day) I know people its happened to and I've read and seen the stories and accounts - but I was out of my element here, unsure of how to react. So I stand there staring at them - ignoring the queasiness steadily growing in the pit of my stomach, then continued the quest for perfect seats.

After a few minutes of contemplating seating sections half-heartily, the queasiness becomes un-ignorable and is approaching rage status. So I turn to my friends and tell them I want to find that lady and ask her why. So we venture out of the arena and back into the swarming crowd looking for what I thought to be a needle in a haystack. What were the odds of finding a light-skinned, middle-aged brunette in this crowd? As I was about to give up, my friend points her out. Not gonna lie, I was ready to back out and pretend nothing happened. But the queasiness monster made another appearance. So I approached her and somewhat confrontationally asked (paraphrased because I don't really remember the exact wording in my then state of mind):

-"Excuse me ma'am, is there a reason you told my friends I couldn't sit behind the stage because of my scarf? Because this is not something I'm just wearing for the hell of it."
- "Oh no no no! Its policy - we're not letting anyone with anything on their heads like baseballs or scarves sit behind the stage. It has nothing to do with your religion!"

In other words, you can't sit where the TV cameras will see you. But don't worry, its not you! We're not even letting baseball cap extremists there either!

I could feel myself losing control. I just looked at her and walked away before this escalated. Something I'm continuously regretting as the incident ingrains itself in my mind.

As we're walking, I get a text from a friend at the Joe, who also happens to be a hijabi, inquiring about our seats. I quickly text her what happened and blindly follow my friends, not really wrapping my mind around what happened. We got the next best seats we could find in section 205 and waited for the night to start.

Sometime between the Mosaic kids singing and Chauncey making an appearance, my friend texts me back saying she just had the same experience. Great, now I know its not personal.

The speech was ok, definitely not as amazing as the ones heard on TV - but reality rarely lives up to expectations. The whole thing just totally ruined the experience of hearing Obama speak in person. My mind kept wandering to earlier events, as did my eyes as I strained to see if there were any hijabs or baseball caps behind the stage. (Visually impaired as I am, I didn't have much luck.) And the sound system sucked. But I found myself analyzing the small pieces that I did hear, and becoming skeptical as to how much change is being promised and how much will actually be achieved. Or does change mean for everyone else but me?

Action has been taken: we've contacted the Obama campaign and news has spread rapidly and have reporters ready to take a statement.

Part of me is hesitant, not wanting to make this a big deal. At the end of day, I still believe Obama is the better candidate who can realistically win. There are those who will vote for Nader or other independents running - which is fine, maybe even better morally. But how much change can we aspire to bring about if we facilitate the worse candidate's election into the White House?

But, a bigger part of me is disappointed, angry, and let-down. Disappointed I didn't do more, angry that it happened, and let-down that the Obama campaign continuously perpetuates this attitude towards Muslims and Arabs - as if being merely associated one is a sin. In the words of a dear friend: "Boss up." And start fixing the problems you pretend don't exist.