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On Being Hated in Your Own Home: Arab-Americans in the Heartland I
was born in Two
of my four grandparents were WASPs in ethnic background. My paternal
grandfather was a native Egyptian Arab and my grandma was a native Syrian
Arab. My mother was of Norwegian/Swedish background, and I'm told by many
that knew her that I resemble her more than my full-blooded Arab father.
I've been told that if I changed my name, I could "pass for a real
American (!) very easily." This lengthy preamble about my family
history and ethnic makeup is to set the stage for the story I'm about to
tell you of an incident that happened just a few days ago. I
was out of town on business and was in a coffee shop waiting for my
coffee, and perusing the pastry display through the glass counter. Over in
the corner of the place was a large screen color TV tuned to one of the
cable news channels. People in the shop were intermittently watching as
they sipped their beverages from their seats and tables without any great
interest. Then this happened. A
hostage held by some Iraqi resistance group came on the screen. She was
life-sized and in color. She was crying and moaning and barely in control
of herself as she read between sobs a propaganda statement begging for her
life and urging British Prime Minister Tony Blair to withdraw his troops
from somewhere. As the hostage read this obscene and sadistic infomercial,
armed men in masks flanked her, brandishing AK-47 rifles and wicked
looking unsheathed knives. It was riveting in a blood-curdling sort of
way. I and everyone else there were transfixed by all this, as surely as
if we were hypnotized, although I felt vaguely ashamed about watching. And
finally, I couldn't watch it any longer, and I averted my eyes. I felt
sick inside at the morbid and disgraceful conduct of these people, and so
I said a silent prayer to G*d to comfort and aid this poor woman and the
people who are close to her. And then it was suddenly over. A toothpaste
commercial was now blaring away in its place. Like a spell being broken, I
shook it off and was ready to go back to my own thoughts. But
then a man, middle aged and middle class, at the table next to me suddenly
exploded with a verbal and noisy expression of his outrage and wrath. "Those
f*cking people should be killed. Those goddamned ragheads! Every single
damn one, and then we should lock up and get rid of all the ones around
here too, goddamn it!" "Amen
to that bro," someone I didn't see chimed in. I heard others, total
strangers endorsing his call for revenge and genocide. I didn't look up to
see who said what and who "amened" it. I just wanted out of that
coffee shop. Right then and forever. Then my coffee was up; I hurriedly
paid and left. I
had business to attend to, so I put this searing and horrible experience
out of my mind as best I could. But it was futile, as everyone should
expect. Like trying not to think about a pink elephant after being told
not to think about a pink elephant. It is just impossible to. I
concluded the task that brought me to this city and drove home on the
expressway. Which unfortunately gave me a chance to rehash and try to
interpret for myself what to make of these incidents. Both the one in First,
I understand the man's outrage. Because see, I felt it too. I was raised
in the Islamic faith, and while I have to admit I'm not devout anymore,
the Islamic-prescribed ideas of proper moral conduct and the duty to be
just are still within me. They are the basis for my actions and opinions
and likely will be for the rest of my life. Torturing
a person and her family as that poor woman was is condemned by the Holy
Quran and mainstream Muslim opinion and always has been. I truly hope
people realize that fact. But that being said, let me say to you reading
this: Consider the events that lead up to all this before you say
"amen" to angry calls for genocide against your fellow citizens. After
the "Liberation" of Soldiers
and Marines barge into people's homes and hold them at gunpoint while they
rifle through their possessions. And search their cars at checkpoints when
they travel. And take their privately owned firearms with a zeal that
would make Sarah Brady proud. They clomp through thousand-year old Mosques
and holy places in combat boots and carrying weapons. These are places
that haven't had anyone in shoes walk through them in centuries. Not even
Saddam would have done this. And they urinate against the walls, spray
paint them, and flick cigarette butts against their homes and buildings. Which
brings me back to the point that I wanted to address when I started this
story. As I said, I am an American, and the American Midwest is the
society I know the best, because I've lived in it my whole life. If
I could address those people in the coffee shop, I would try to get to
them to understand the wrongness of what they were saying by trying to
gain their empathy with this hypothetical example. Imagine
that troops from another nation and another culture occupied Hotheads
would likely even go to the extremes of taking, humiliating and executing
hostages and other acts of sadistic and horrifying terrorism. And
Americans would (mostly) condemn it too. Just like the Iraqis do. Please
think about this story the next time you become angry or outraged at
something you seen on the TV news. And remember the words of novelist and
poet Willa Cather spoke when she said, "when kindness has left
people, even for a few moments, we become afraid of them as if their
reason had left them. When it has left a place where we have always found
it, it is like shipwreck; we drop from security into something malevolent
and bottomless." Like hate and genocide. discuss this column in the forum "Chemical"
Ali Massoud is a father, political theorist, apostate Muslim, small
business owner, college graduate, crack rifle marksman, cat lover,
shrewd investor, US Army veteran, and currently single. He lives in |