"I am America. I am the part you won't recognize. But get used to me. Arab, confident, cocky; my name, not yours; my religion, not yours; my goals, my own; get used to me."
This quote is by Muhammad Ali, and obviously, I've replaced the word Black with Arab. It is a perfect description of my sentiments about being an Arab in America. But I'm not just any Arab in America; I'm an Arab-American. I was born and raised here. I'm originally from Yaffa, a city in Palestine, that neither my parents nor I have ever seen. America is the only place I can legitimately say feels like home. My parents raised me to be proud that I'm a Muslim, and to value the fact that I'm an Arab, enriching me with my culture from the very beginning. But they also raised me to view myself as being no different than any other American -- to be ambitious, to pursue my dreams, and to believe that nothing I ever hoped for was beyond my reach. Without the love of my religion and culture that my parents instilled in me, I would not have been able to watch the deterioration of the image of Middle Easterners in the media and still be wearing my scarf, proud, with my head held high.
Even a simple outing can be ruined by an encounter with racism. For example, one day I was dining at a restaurant, and a woman approached my table with an inquisitive look on her face. She said, "Beautiful scarf, beautiful dark eyes, where -- are -- you -- from?" carefully spacing each word, fearing that I would not understand her if she spoke normally.
She expected me to say Iraq, or Palestine or Iran. I aim to shock so I said, "America," and not 'Amreeka' or 'Amerika," as pronounced by some foreigners. Seconds later, I beheld the most confused expression I have ever seen on anyone's face. She persisted, "Wonderful! You speak English. So you've been here a while? Where were you born?" I frustrated her even more when I repeated, "America."
She was thinking; why is this girl not understanding my question, maybe I should emphasize a different word this time? And she did: "No, honey where are you from? Where are your parents from?" What would have made the situation even more hilarious would have been to say, "Ma'am, I really am confused. I don't know what you are talking about. I am American."But in the end I gave her the answer she was waiting to hear: "I'm originally from Palestine." Then she began talking about the last suicide bombing that occurred, and asked my opinion about if the Middle East will ever see peace in the near future. As if I am a politician or a psychic.
As if I hold the key to solving the crisis in the Middle East. As if no statement I told her was of any significance to her, except the fact that I'm an Arab. We couldn't simply sit and talk about the last Harry Potter movie that came out, or how Britney Spears performance at the VMAs really ruined my life, or even about how obesity has taken over America like an epidemic. No, I wasn't American to her; I was just an Arab.
Nevertheless, I did appreciate her questioning because she gave me the chance to prove to her that there are Muslims and Arabs in this country who feel as strong a connection to America as her. I feel demeaned or discriminated against when I am not given a chance to teach and correct misconceptions, in incidents of flagrant discrimination. Like the time a man sang an entire chorus of "Go back to I-raq," to me, through his open window, while stopped at a red traffic light. Or the time the manager of the downtown theater called the cops on my Muslim friends and I because we were standing "too close to the entrance".
The instigators in those situations, unlike the woman who inquired politely about my origins, took the images they saw in the media as facts. They held the stereotypes perpetuated by such abominations as David Horowitz's Islamo-Fascism Awareness Week as evident truths. It is unfortunate that not even at the University, where we are taught to have the deepest respect for all races and religions, and to value each other's differences, has the media spared us. Islamo-Fascism week has shamefully found its way to the respectable Jefferson's University.
My only request of you, as young individuals who have been privileged with the honor of being called University students, is to think for yourselves, and do not let the media, in any of its forms, dictate your thoughts, beliefs and actions.
Manal Tellawi is a third year in the College of Arts and Sciences and Special Programs Coordinator of the ArabStudent Organization
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