The Weight on His Head: My Brother’s Story
Standing at 5 feet even, with good posture and a goofy smile, my younger brother has always been the funny one in the family. At dinner, his clueless remarks make everyone choke on their food from laughter, and when my parents are stressed out, he makes sarcastic comments that push them closer to their edge. In the most serious situations, he is humming to himself, doing LeBron impressions, and pretending to kick a soccer ball around. All in all, he is a very happy-go-lucky, lackadaisical, and relaxed kid.
This summer, my family and I took a trip to San Francisco.
There, we visited Alcatraz. Alcatraz’s tram drivers yelled at my brother and cousin for “walking in the middle of the road.” Because they didn’t want to get in trouble with our parents, they stepped out of the way, but the driver was still upset.
He continued yelling and cursing at my brother.
After that incident, I worried. The driver didn’t care how old my brother was; he just screamed at him.
My brother carries the responsibility of being someone people may not like just because of his turban. He carries the responsibility of representing an entire religion constantly because, for many, he may be the only Sikh male they will ever see. As a result, I always want him to be respectful, humble, and kind. Undeniable.
This week, I finally realized what an unreasonable standard that is. While my brother is amazing, he is also just a kid.
Other kids don’t have the pressure of carrying an identity like he does. And I understand that wearing a turban is a choice, but just because he chooses to wear it, he should not automatically face such intense pressure.
That made me reflect on why that pressure exists in the first place. It exists because Sikhs are underrepresented, and so many people have an internal bias against us.
I hope that, as an intern for the Anti-Racism Commitment Coalition, I can spread awareness about Sikh hate and help relieve the burden on young kids like my brother who endure its effects daily.