arab american

Right after the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center, my school decided to allow students to express their feelings about the tragedy. I understood that everyone was very upset about what had happened. I was upset too. But the teachers really should have had some consideration and asked if there were any Arab Americans amongst us who would rather leave the classroom than listen to the insults that followed.

Little did anyone know that the quiet student who was sitting by herself in the corner of the room happened to be an Arab and was listening to all of their insults, hatred, and anger. See, there was no way they could guess that I’m Arab, because I dress very American, I have light skin and blonde hair, not to mention that I talk with a New York accent.

For the first few minutes, the students were just screaming and cursing about how the United States should “bomb every one of those “$%A&#$”. Then some students said that every Arab should die, and called them smelly, dirty, and so on and so forth.

In my school, the teachers believe in letting students speak their minds. So as the students were raving on, all my teacher did was tell them to keep their voices down and watch their language.

I sat quietly and acted calm. Inside, I felt a flame of anger that kept growing with every disgusting word that those kids were say­ing. Still, I felt so bad about what had happened, that I just told myself that everybody had a right to be angry.

I stayed quiet until one kid said that he had never thought about joining the army, but now he couldn’t wait to enlist, get a gun, and blow the heads off of every person he sees who even looks Arab.

That’s when I lost my tolerance and screamed, “Why wait for your diploma? Why don’t you just shoot me now?!”

Everyone suddenly quieted down and looked at me as if some­thing was growing out of my head. I was glad I screamed. I couldn’t take hearing that hatred anymore.

I have many Arab friends and they all feel the same way I do. Actually, most of them feel worse. They have been harassed because they look more Middle Eastern than I do. My friends and·I have got­ten abuse even from people we know. Some people from my neigh­borhood have called my brother and me “Bin Laden and his sister,” or “terrorist twins,” or “ugly A-rabs.” Those words hurt, although they’re not nearly as bad as getting beat up or even killed!

The thing that really gets me is that even though I was born in Saudi Arabia, I have spent almost my whole life here and I love the United States, maybe more than a lot of people who were born here and don’t really understand how lucky they are to have the freedoms and comforts we do.

One reason I don’t want to leave is because in this country I have learned to be an independent woman. In too many Middle Eastern countries, women have to stay home, take care of the chil­dren, and cook and clean. My father thinks in this very traditional manner. He thinks girls and women should look up to, honor, and respect their fathers and husbands, sort of like gods.

That attitude drove me crazy when I was living with him and was one of the reasons I went into foster care. But at least in this country, I know that I am much more than a piece of prop­erty. I am allowed to go to school, get a good job, have as many or as few children as I want, and even make more money than my husband ! And I get to pick that husband too (that is, if I want one), without having to worry about my father choosing a hus­band for me.

I also love the education that I’ve gotten in this country. (Despite the harsh words I heard from some students, I especially love the school I’m in now.) I love the fact that there are so many opportunities.

Then there are the smaller things I love, such as the music and going to rock concerts. I love the opportunity to eat Chinese food, Italian food, Indian food, and fast food all in the same day! I love the way the buildings look, and especially the fact that I would never have met my dear boyfriend, who is Hispanic American, if I had stayed in Lebanon, where my family lived after moving from Saudi Arabia.

Most impor­tant, I love that I have the freedom to say no to things I don’t want to do, or say, or take, or anything! I love this country for all those reasons and more, so when people attack me for being one of “them,” they don’t know a thing about how I feel. And they don’t know what it means to be an Arab, either. I have always been proud to be Arab.

Just like I love America, there are also things that make me feel connected to the land that I’m originally from. For instance, I like listening to Arab tunes every now and then. (When I go over to my mother’s, she has lots of tapes.) And as much as I like the mosh pits at a rock concert, I still like to belly dance to Lebanese music (when nobody is looking). I like Lebanese food like grape leaves and stuffed vegetables and chickpeas and stewed beef. Most importantly, I feel a strong connection to Lebanon because most of my family is still there. I believe I can love America and still be proud of being Arab.

Seeing Arab Americans become the target of people’s anger after September 11th has hurt, but I’m still proud to be an Arab American. It’s just that now, I have to be a little more careful about who knows it. I wish other people in this country would direct their anger at Osama Bin Laden and whoever else proves to be responsible for the loss of so many innocent lives. They shouldn’t make victims of more innocent people.