Arab American Youth on Being American
Arab American Youth on Being American
by Abdallah Ewis
Interview: Arab Youth Discuss What Being American Means To Them
Personal Narrative:
The first time I realized that something was different about me was when I asked my American neighbor, also my childhood friend, if I can borrow Zabadi- the Egyptian word for yogurt. I was five at the time and I did not fully comprehend that English and Arabic were different languages. Most of the people I had encountered were also bilingual. Thus, solely speaking one language was not an issue I encountered very often. “Can I a borrow Zabadi?” I asked my American neighbor. Her name was Fatmah, a half Egyptian and half American who barely spoke Arabic. I asked her a few more times before I gave up. However, I could not understand why she did not give me Zabadi. As a five year old, there were many things that did not make sense in my life. For example, the question of where do babies came from. Or why I never grew as old as Fatima, after eating so much. Or why “the guy in the hat,” - the ambulance personnel- had taken my father away from me 2 years ago, and how I was never able to see him again.
I encountered the same issue two years later in the first grade, when I moved to Egypt. This was when I first perceived my American identity. Whenever I spoke English, my Egyptian classmates would look at me with their jaws wide open and astonished stares. My classmates would often ask, “Can you write/pronounce my name in English,”. My “difference” had many perks including teachers starting conversations with me in English and the “cool” kids asking me all about how girls were in America. But this all changed when I realized that my identity somehow meant something more than it should. Media coverage about American intervention in the Middle East had grown so much anti-western sentiment. The U.S. Iraqi war was at its climax, Palestine was experiencing its second Intifada, and the Israeli-Lebanese war was growing. During those weeks, my family would sit in front of the news channel as the three levant countries were being bombarded. I had lost faith in my own American identity. During this time, I witnessed my first encounter of racism. One day, two kids came up to me, pushed me to the ground, held my arms and legs. “You’re an American spy!” they yelled, “You work with the Israelis, don’t you.” Besides this encounter, kids would often question my Americanness and my loyalty to Egypt. It is interesting how the actions of children reflect the sentiments of an entire population. Because of this, I had to give up my American identity during that time. I had justified my identity by saying that while I was an American, I was ethnically 100% Egyptian. It did not make any sense to me as to why something that I took so much pride in was bringing me shame. My Americanness soon became nothing more than an old trophy coated with dust that I wanted to brag about but instead had to keep hidden. America had become a memory of theme parks, junk food, and childhood friends. Period.
Perceiving my Arab and Muslim identity came later when, my identity made me a foreigner in my own country, once again. I was 13 years old, I moved back to the U.S. and just like my American identity in Egypt, media had tainted the other half of my identity. Instead of being called an “American spy,” and “betrayer of Egypt,” I was being called a “terrorist”. While my accent was discreet, my knowledge of pop culture, modern American phrases and lifestyle was quite often behind. For instance, I was still listening to Rihanna’s “Umbrella” when everyone else was listening to her “We Found Love”. Trying to fit in often led to people figuring me out as a foreigner from Egypt. In a time when islamophobia and xenophobia against Arabs and Muslims was so prevalent in America, I eventually became the spokesperson of “Islamia” and “Arabia”- totally countries that existed. Kids would ask me questions like “Do you support Osama Bin Laden?” or “Does the quran forbid women from going to schools?” Out of all of these encounters, the worst was having to walk somewhere with my mom who wore a Hijab and see the stares of ambiguity and disgust thrown at my mom from every corner. For a teenager, such encounters walked me down the path of loneliness where I was an outcast in my own country. It is so interesting to see how the actions of others can make so many decisions for you. The fear of other people’s judgement will force you to make a decision. Be less American or be more Muslim or Arab.
The more I grow up in the United States, the less Arab and Muslim I become. Just like I once gave up my identity as an American, I unintentionally find myself giving up my Arab identity. It is a funny and sad truth. I will be the first to speak up against Arabs who shame Americans or vice versa. However, my own identity will camouflage and conform into the country I reside in. I hate and love this part about me the most. It makes me feel so proud and shameful. The most adverse things in your life will bring out the best and worst in you.
Interviewees:
Interview # 1: Mohra Mikhail
Interview # 2: Nour Abraham
Interview # 3: Mohamed Asker
Post a Comment