Loading ...The hyphen in Arab-American
Toqa Badran
Columbia Spector
Although I proudly identify as Arab-American, I must admit that many of my perceptions of the region have been false and, frankly, stereotypical. Once, I timidly asked my mother when we would talk about the fact that I would find my spouse through an arranged marriage. Needless to say, she was confused as to why I assumed that that’s what my future held. And in elementary school, I would practice what I would say in Arabic to the terrorists during every “code yellow drill” if they came to hurt us again.
When I realized that most people from the region my parents hailed from were not as Western media portrayed them, I attempted to reclaim Arab culture for myself. I started wearing a headscarf, watching old Egyptian movies, and learning about Middle Eastern politics. I thought that these preparations would make me the perfect companion to any Arab international student. I longed for the day when I could find my own Arab crew at Columbia. I imagined us all eagerly searching for each other and ululating when we were united.
This did not happen. I found myself looking for Arab students who were not actively looking for me. When I sent Sami Nassar, a Lebanese Columbia College first-year, lyrics to a monumentally famous Lebanese song, he replied with confusion and a general lack of recognition of the song. Despite having actively immersed myself in the music and art of the Arab world, I was still unable to connect with the international students who actually came from the region. To them, because I have lived my entire life in America, and because my Arabic is a tad broken, I am not truly one of them.
International students, in my experience, perceive their American counterparts as fakes. My South American friends often refer to Hispanic Americans, along with everyone else, as “gringos.”
And they are correct in perceiving them as dissimilar. No matter how hard I try, I will always perceive those from the Middle East as different from myself, just as they perceive me as different from themselves. I previously believed that all Arabs had skin the color of mine or darker, coarse hair, and ragged features. I was surprised to find I was wrong. I was even surprised when I heard Zade Al Borshaid, another Columbia College first-year student, speak in his English accent.
Al Borshaid, an alumni of St. Christopher’s School in Bahrain, and Nassar, an alumni of Dhahran High School in Saudi Arabia, have always been surrounded by a varied set of peers. When I interviewed them for this column, I see their Middle East, a more diverse, free, and normalized version of mine. They do not feel the need to search for me, an American Arab, and to befriend me, because they already have tons of Arab friends and are simultaneously comfortable with non-Arabs because of their worldly educational experience. They have never felt out of place and view Columbia as a new way to learn about the world, not somewhere where they are isolated and different.
The Arab community in America is extremely underprivileged socially and academically. In many parts of this nation it is barely acceptable to be Arab, if not utterly condemnable. Trump’s unabashed xenophobia and the frequency with which hate crimes are committed exemplify this persecution. Consequently, Americans of Arab heritage stick together and form tight-knit communities where they feel comfortable such as Little Egypt in Astoria and the Bay Ridge area in Brooklyn.
But as a result of my attending a prestigious prep school on the Upper East Side, I was somewhat estranged from these communities. I looked forward to my years at Columbia, when I would be able to acquaint myself with intelligent and cultured Arab students. I realize now, however, that the Middle East and Arab region are so utterly diverse that I cannot possibly fulfill this goal of befriending everyone. Our accents are so dissimilar, our musical tastes so disparate and our social expectations so varied that they do not necessarily or frequently draw us to each other. As a consequence of being immersed in American media, I had viewed Arab nations as homogenous when this was not the reality.
At the end of a long conversation with Nassar and Al Borshaid I noticed one overarching theme: The reason our conversation had been fun, comprehensive, and intriguing, regardless of the disappointment of the lackluster connection produced by our mutual Arabness, was because we had all bonded over our shared experience of identifying with a culture besides the one we are surrounded by.
At Columbia, the international students bond over their shared disconnect from their original surroundings, not nationalism. Regardless of the fact that I will never truly be considered Arab by many of my Arab peers, I am still able to bond with them based on my appreciation for the Arab identity and acknowledgement of our cultural and social differences.
Source: columbiaspectator.com