Loading ...Quite Contrary: It's the substance, not the surface, that counts
Summer Awad
Most people look at me and see a white girl.
I have light brown hair, light skin and light hazel eyes. I speak perfectly unaccented English and am completely assimilated into American culture.
For some people, then, it comes as a surprise to find that my full name is Summer Ghasan Awad, and I am Palestinian American.
Now people aren’t entirely wrong to view me as white. I’m half white. My mom is from Jackson County, Tennessee. But until my parents divorced when I was 8, I grew up immersed in my dad’s Arab-Muslim culture. Arabic was spoken in my home. We drank a lot of hot tea and never ate pork. My grandmother prayed five times a day and spent a lot of time cooking delicious Palestinian cuisine. Being Arab has always been an extremely important part of my identity.
Although I very much consider myself Arab, I never felt like I fit in when I was around other Arabs as a child. I barely spoke any Arabic. I didn’t practice Islam. And I didn’t wear the hijab or have any visible markers that I belonged in the Muslim community. It always felt painfully clear I was not and never would be Arab enough.
Because I have always been so proud of my Palestinian heritage, I have often resented my whiteness. I have frequently wished my skin were just a little bit darker, or that I could make myself believe in God so I could become a practicing Muslim and wear the hijab. Wishing for something that invites intense discrimination seems ridiculous and insensitive to the Muslim women who suffer from their decision to wear hijab. But my feeling of wanting to be Arab enough is very real.
People, especially men, often tell me that I look “exotic” or even that I must have some “not white” in me. They ask me where I’m from, and when I say Knoxville, they ask me where I’m really from. When this happens, my first reaction is to cringe. I want to be attractive because of my personality and not because I’m an exotic specimen like a tropical bird. Sexual exotification of racial minorities is a huge problem. Biracial people like me experience this a lot; we still have “exotic” features but are palatable because we fit into the mold of whiteness.
Although I am offended by these objectifying questions, part of me is happy the ignorant man in question recognized my Arabness. I am glad to get the opportunity to explain that I am Palestinian. Without understanding this part of me, no one can understand me at all.
My whiteness brings up some interesting questions about privilege. If I unthinkingly accept my white privilege, I am benefitting in ways that my visibly Arab or Muslim friends never can. But if I “come out” as Palestinian, I run the risk of claiming or co-opting oppression I don’t have to experience on a daily basis because of my appearance. I interface as a white person, but I have felt the weight of discrimination against my family members and have been subject to jokes about me carrying bombs in my backpack. Especially as a Palestinian, I have experienced identity erasure: being told Palestine is not a real place, Palestinians are terrorists and my people should leave their homeland and surrender it to the state of Israel. But does all this make me a person of color? I am inclined to say no because I do not experience discrimination based on my color. But my brother and sister are much darker — are they people of color while I am not?
It has been difficult for me, as someone who interfaces as white and has only been to Palestine once, to find my place in the Palestinian-American community and in the struggle for Palestinian liberation. It is something I think about every day. But then I remember the privilege I have. As a Palestinian, I have special access to Palestinian history and culture. I know real people with real stories of living under Israeli occupation. As a white person, I am in a position to tell these stories and have people listen to me. I have access to white communities and white social circles. With this privilege comes great responsibility. I am obligated to tell people about my experience with Palestine and Arab culture and Islam, and do my part to dispel the myths they learn from the media. Being between two cultures makes me an ambassador of sorts. And although my Palestinian-American identity is confusing and shifting and complex, I am happy to be caught in the middle.
Summer Awad is a senior in College Scholars. She can be reached at sawad@vols.utk.edu.
Source: www.utdailybeacon.com