☽Tot☾

I highly recommend watching this testimony from Aliya Rahman, the disabled woman who was dragged out of her car and kidnapped by ICE on her way to a doctor appointment in Minneapolis a few weeks ago.

Thank you members, for taking the time to be here today, and thank you staff for making this happen.

My name is Aliya Rahman, and I am a resident of South Minneapolis. I am a Bangladeshi American born in Northern Wisconsin. And I’m a disabled person with autism and a traumatic brain injury.

Not all autistic brains do this, but mine fixates on sounds, numbers, and patterns. And while what the world saw happen to me exactly three weeks ago today on video was a terrible violation it is still nothing compared to the horrific practices I saw inside the Whipple center.

So I am here today with a duty to the people who have not had the privilege of coming home, and I offer this data because these practices must end now.

On January 13th on the way to my 39th appointment at Hennepin County’s traumatic brain injury center, I encountered a traffic jam caused by ICE vehicles and no signs indicating how to get around it. I had not wanted to pull in to a blocked, chaotic intersection, but verbally agreed to do so and rolled down my window after an agent yelled, “Move! I will break your f-ing window!”

His first instruction.

Agents on all sides of my vehicle yelled conflicting threats and instructions that I could not process while watching for pedestrians.

Then, the glass of the passenger side window flew across my face.

I yelled, “I’m disabled!” at the hands grabbing at me and an agent said, “Too late.”

I felt immersed in a pattern, and I thought of Jenoah Donald, an autistic black man killed by the police during a traffic stop in 2021.

I remembered mister Silverio Villegas González, who was killed by ICE in his vehicle last year.

An agent pulled a large combat knife in front of my face, which I thought was for cutting me, and later learned was used to cut off my seat belt. Shooting pain went through my head, neck, and wrists when I hit the ground face first and people leaned on my back.

I felt the pattern, and I thought of mister George Floyd, who was killed four blocks away.

I was carried face down through the street by my cuffed arms and legs while yelling that I had a brain injury and was disabled. I now cannot lift my arms normally.

I was never asked for ID.

Never told I was under arrest.

Never read my rights.

And never charged with a crime.

Approaching the Whipple center, I saw black and brown bodies shackled together, chained together, being marched by yelling agents outdoors. I continued to hear the word “bodies”, because that is how agents referred to us:

“We’re bringing in a body.”

“They’re bringing in bodies 7, 8 at a time, where do I put ‘em?”

“We can’t use that room, there’s already a body in there.”

You have no reason to believe you will make it out alive if you’re already being called a body.

Agents repeatedly had to stop and ask how to do tasks. I received no medical screening, phone call, or access to a lawyer. I was denied a communication navigator when my speech began to slur. Agents laughed as I tried to immobilize my own neck. I asked for my cane and was told no, pulled up by my arms and prodded forward in leg irons by agents laughing and saying, “Walk! You can do it, walk.”

Agents did not know if the facility had a wheelchair.

When I was finally placed in one to be taken to interrogation an agent taunted, “You were driving, right? So your legs do work.”

I pleaded for emergency medical care for over an hour after my vision had become blurry, my heart rate went through the roof, and the pain in my neck and head became unbearable.

It was denied.

When I became unable to speak my cellmate pleaded for me.

The last sounds I remember before I blacked out on the cell floor were my cellmate banging on the door, pleading for a medic, and a voice outside saying, “We don’t wanna step on ICE’s toes.”

When I opened my eyes at Hennepin County’s emergency room, I learned I was brought there to be treated for assault.

The impacts of DHS detention on my physical, mental and financial well-being and safety have been very severe, but I do not deserve more humane treatment than anyone else, US citizen or not. And I am here today with a strong spirit and a duty to the many people who haven’t had the privilege to tell their stories or see their loved ones come home. I am extremely distressed by the pattern that violence from law enforcement has been happening to black and indigenous communities for centuries, and to DHS survivors for over 20 years.

We call ourselves a civilized nation, but we lack rules and accountability around what a person claiming to be law enforcement is permitted to do to another human being.

Not trying to tell people they should believe in a higher power, but being aware of how people around the world have viewed the idea of a higher power or something similar makes it easier for you to have deeper and more diverse conversations and ideas.

easy to pronounce, even for children (though kids 4 & younger may pronounce it more like "mayd" or "maygh")

ONE SYLLABLE!!! ("individual" is too goddamn LONG.) you have to be able to say it quickly and casually

ends in a soft vowel sound, so it'll flow right into the next word ("ind" halts the whole sentence)

fits neatly into the existing structure as a relative of master/mistress that can be abbreviated down to an m and one other letter

distinct enough that it can't be mistaken for either gendered term (if you call me mix I'll kill you. it sounds like miss with extra steps)

wizard.

drawbacks:

there aren't any

"can't stand transmisogyny"

ten minutes later

-healthy

-common

-normal

Questioning isn't:

And in that time, the asexual community welcomed me, supported me, helped me feel good about who I was, protected me from the harm I would have done to myself if I had pushed myself to have sex. That made a huge difference.

If I see an opportunity to support asexual organizations, I do so not just because it’s good but also because they were there for me in a difficult part of my life without judgement. I owe them for that.

If you at one point identified as transgender or questioned your gender identity, maybe you too sought a home in the wrong place because you were struggling with something else. And it is very likely that the people in that home, the transgender community, believed you and welcomed you and listened to you.

the problem is that it is used to reinforce social essentialism in a way that reinforces ideas of sexgender assignment that are either untrue or misleading. people talk a lot about bio-essentialism on here, but not so much about social essentialism. to put it simply "Social essentialism entails the belief that certain social categories (e.g., gender, race) mark fundamentally distinct kinds of people". or, a woman is a different kind of a person than a man, solely or in-part because they received fundamentally different social environments in their upbringing

this simplifies a whole heap of factors, often without careful examination of what those factors are, or why they might matter. a lot that is ascribed to "female socialisation", for example, is actually a rational fawn response to the experience of marginalisation. what this looks like will be shaped by other intersecting identities and experiences. the demands placed on someone who is socially perceived/treated as a woman are contingent on so many factors that it becomes obfuscating to talk about "female socialised people" as if that is one coherent group or experience

there is actually a pretty significant Indigenous land rights movement here in Australia. the language of "landback" is not always used because it was pretty thoroughly demonised by the Howard government (see: "they're going to steal your backyard"). for more on land rights: