Samuel Lustgarten (left) and Nika Ranjbar-Irani will wed on June 16.
My partner and I met nearly three years ago on the dating app, Tinder. Now, we regularly laugh and smile that we swiped right and found love. On June 16, we’ll join our closest family and friends in Madison for the wedding.
As the countdown gets smaller and smaller, we are becoming giddy. Almost all the planning and little fires have been put out. All that’s left is to say “I do,” or rather, “baleh.” The latter being a formal “yes” in Farsi.
Nika and I share a love that crosses countries and citizenship. We are an interethnic couple with various identities. She is Canadian-Iranian, and I am a white, male, U.S. citizen. Our love for each other has made for a melange of invitees. Twelve birthplaces and many citizenships are represented: Brazil, Canada, China (and Hong Kong), France, Iran, Korea, Lithuania, Mexico, Romania, Togo, United States and Vietnam.
Perhaps we are but an example and harbinger of things to come. Interethnic and interracial couples have become more common over the last few decades. My partner and I owe a debt of gratitude to a landmark legal case, Loving v. Virginia, where the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that Virginia could not prohibit interracial marriages. Fifty-one years later, we are seeing sweeping changes in this country. A May 2017 Pew Research Center survey found that about one in six marriages are now interethnic and/or interracial.
On our wedding day, we will celebrate family, love, togetherness and our collective diversity.
Similarly, we will honor parents and our ancestors, as their travels and travails allowed for this relationship to flourish. Many are not here with us anymore. All of my grandparents, and most of my partner’s, have passed away. Remembrances must be made for them.
However, even as I type these words, there’s been this anvil sitting on my chest; a pressure to say something, while recognizing that weddings aren’t supposed to be the place for politics.
We are loving in the time of Trump. And there are consequences to caring across cultures.
Executive Order 13780, better known as the “Muslim ban” or “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States,” was signed by President Donald Trump on March 6, 2017. This second iteration of the ban prevents mostly citizens from Muslim-majority countries from entering the U.S. The list includes Chad, Iran, Libya, North Korea, Somalia, Syria, Venezuela and Yemen.
Some of our closest family and friends are in this group.
My partner’s 90-something-year-old Iranian grandmother will not be able to attend the wedding. Nor can a relative of ours who is a citizen of Iran and permanent resident of Canada. His applications for a visa, which cost him upwards of $160 and were non-refundable, were denied; upon appeal, he did not hear anything.
These people don’t qualify for the one exemption as a “close family member.” The U.S. government’s definition includes spouses, children under 21 years of age, or parents. For these citizens of Iran, they have the unique displeasure of being on the receiving end of political gamesmanship. They are treated as pawns in this diplomatic blockade.
These are human beings who — through no fault of their own — cannot attend our wedding due to their birthplace. These people aren’t out to take jobs, commit crimes or terrorize citizens. They simply want to be present for a day of celebration, but won’t be granted a visa to visit.
No person chooses to be born under a theocratic, tyrannical dictatorship. But we repeatedly punish people for their leaders’ decisions through embargoes, blockades and sanctions.
The consequences of these governmental interventions mean families and friends are ripped apart. Far worse than missing a wedding, people will die without getting to say goodbye to a loved one, never meet their grandchildren, and be prevented from seeking refuge in this country.
My privileged identities blinded me to this devastation. I didn’t see how U.S. citizens and non-citizens were separated in different lines while going through customs. I didn’t know about the secondary inspections of non-citizen travelers who were sent for additional screening and interrogation. I didn’t pay attention to the harassment of non-citizen travelers by U.S. Customs and Border Patrol protection officers.
Loving my partner has opened my eyes to this heartache. And she has given me the opportunity to see her cultural background for what it is: generous, communal and kind.
At our wedding I will ask our guests to raise a toast for those who aren’t with us anymore. I will explain that there are family and friends who have passed away (even as recently as a few months ago). Their lives mattered.
Likewise, I will keep my hand raised — and encourage others to do the same — in recognition of those who could and should be with us.
Where politics never belonged, it entered.
Samuel Lustgarten is a Madison-based mental health provider.
