the weight of oppression, and our journey in resistance
It’s been a tough week and I anticipate the upcoming week being the same or more. The news of Mahmoud Khalil’s state sanctioned kidnapping and being held a political prisoner, 22 Columbia students being expelled and degrees revoked, and now Dr. Rasha Alawieh’s illegal deportation, has had my system in a perpetual state of freeze. It’s odd how growing up in post-911 America hasn’t made existing in post-911 America any easier. Islamophobia still freezes the system like nothing else. I find myself writing this as I literally have no other accessible way to gift myself opportunities to thaw. Bearing witness is hard, being ignorant is not an option.
The weight of experiencing anti-Arab racism, islamophobia, and explicit fascism, especially in a time when silence and complicity enable further harm, has further crushed a soul that felt entirely crushed already. My community often find ourselves carrying not only personal wounds but also the collective grief of our people, our lineage, our ancestors. This violence is not just physical—it’s systemic, psychological, and deeply embedded in institutions that claim to protect but instead dehumanize.
When discrimination shows up in spaces that should offer safety—workplaces, mental health fields, and even within so-called progressive circles—the betrayal cuts deeper. It reinforces that our existence, our voices, our pain are inconvenient truths to those who benefit from oppression. Gaslighting, professional retaliation, and attempts to silence our experiences become another layer of violence.
This trauma is not just something we think about—it lives in our bodies. The nervous system holds onto the moments of fear, humiliation, and helplessness, often manifesting as dissociation, chronic pain, insomnia, and emotional numbness. This week has been particularly more dissociated for me, which says a lot as dissociation has been a top used coping mechanism since the start of the holocaust in Palestine/Gaza.
Balancing my lived identity as a Muslim and a south asian, any experience of islamophobia to any of the diaspora is an attack to my home and family, blood related or not. I see my cousins, uncles, brothers in Mahmoud, my aunts and older cousins in Dr. Alawieh, my sisters and friends in Mahmoud’s wife. As a healer and trauma therapist, I see my own clients in the Columbia students. I see myself in all of these aspects. This trauma is alive, it’s stored, it’s oppressor made. Our resistance is community made, Islam informed, somatically released.
Somatic Healing & Trauma Support
In times like these, survival can feel like the only goal. But it’s also unfair of us to be forced in a survival state. We deserve environments to thrive, we need presence. Here are some somatic and emotional care strategies I have found myself really leaning into:
Grounding Through the Body – When you feel dissociated or overwhelmed, bring yourself back to the present. Stomp your feet, place a hand on your chest, or hold an object with texture to remind your nervous system that you are here, now. Describe your surroundings in vivid details, pick up something cold, change your body position. At the end of it all, dissociation is a coping skill. When I use presence to bring myself out of dissociation, I do so with understanding that I most likely will dissociate again and soon. And the moment of presence between those windows are moments where I strengthen my muscle and practice of awareness and action. The goal is just a break from the freeze.
Shaking & Somatic Release – Trauma often gets trapped in the body. Shaking your limbs, dancing, or even engaging in slow, intentional movement can help release stored stress. Pushing the wall as if your a football player blocking at practice. Tighten your hands into fists as tight as you can and then release. Repeat as often as you need.
Crying Without Shame – We are conditioned to suppress our grief, but crying is a natural somatic release. Let yourself cry. Lots of tears, one tear— it literally doesn’t matter. Unclench your jaw, scream if you need to. Take deep loud sighs. Allow the vocal cords to be activated and to vibrate. Our rage is sacred and the expression of them is authentic. Your emotions deserve to move through you. Let them move through you.
Community Care – Individual healing is important, but collective care is revolutionary. Seek spaces where you can speak without fear, where your pain is honored, and where advocacy is met with action. Hell, even for me community care feels overwhelming right now. that’s why im here writing this. Community in another way.
Refusing to Internalize Shame – The system thrives when we believe we are powerless. You are not what they say about you. Your worth is not defined by their hostility. We are not whatever the f administrations and pro-genoccccc folks say we are. We are allowed anger, we are allowed resistance, we are allowed frustration; it’s truly the most authentic appropriate response to reality right now.
We Will Not Be Erased
To those who have faced workplace discrimination, professional defamation, and Islamophobic/anti-Arab rhetoric—you are not alone. To those in school and college worried about what the rest of your degree may look like— you are not alone. To those carrying intergenerational grief, watching the world turn its back on our people while we scream into the void—you are not alone. To Mahmoud Khalil, Dr. Alawieh— you are not alone, we are you and you are us.
We hold our truth. We hold our history. We hold each other. We hold the reality in which we are free.
We deserve to be here. We always have. We always will.
