Every morning I wake up to the smell of strongly brewed coffee, fluffy pita bread, and za’atar, my mom’s daily breakfast. This meal, although simple, signifies Middle Eastern culture, an invisible attribute we both possess. I have pondered this very “secret” of my culture for years now, especially as my Syrian background of The Ibrahims is coupled with my dad’s family’s Irish descent, which over the years has developed into the classic American family that is, The Reileys.
I started to notice my inconspicuous ethnicity through little things. The first time took place on a family trip. When I was four, I started going on what are now my yearly vacations to Tampa, Florida to visit my grandma, who I lovingly call “Minky.” This first trip to Florida, we spent every second outdoors: trying to jump over waves at the beach, kayaking through Hillsborough river, and walking Minky’s little dachshund everywhere we went. A week into this eventful vacation, I noticed my dad was as red as a lobster from the Florida sun with skin peeling from his face, but my skin had merely turned a sandy beige. My Irish hair had lightened though, from dark brown to a light auburn.
As time went on, my Middle Eastern features started to sharpen. My hair was now a mess of dark curls – which I later started to blow dry straight – and my eyebrows grew thick – which I later started to reshape. I looked just like my mom –just six inches taller and with paler skin. I began to look Middle Eastern, but the thing is, I’ve come to find out that many people don’t even know what “Middle Eastern” looks like. Not even the country I have lived in all my life recognizes Middle Eastern people.
Every ten years, the United States takes the census, a head count of all US citizens. From this tally, we are all sorted into groups, by gender, by age, and by race. As my mom and I go to check the boxes, we end up with the same conundrum shared by millions of Middle Eastern people. We read the section titled “Race and Ethnicity” and then its options: “White, Black or African American, American Indian or Alaska Native, Asian, and Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander” wondering which one of those we should check off. Every time we come to the same conclusion. White. For me of course, the decision comes much more easily, but I still feel as though I am masking a part of my identity.
It’s interesting, the history behind Arabs on the census. While invisibility, in the modern day climate of diversification, is now our worst enemy as Middle Easterns, it used to be our superpower. When millions of Middle Eastern people migrated to the US over the course of the 1890's through 1920’s, they faced constant discrimination especially when it came to getting a job. Employers would read the immigrants’ race as Middle Eastern, and then dismiss these potential hires on that fact alone. Realistically, at the time, trying to change everyone’s mind about Arabic stereotypes would be a large feat, so it made most sense to assimilate like the other immigrants had done. Arabs back then took this assimilation far, far enough to pass as white, and far enough to convince the government to list them as caucasian on the census in order for them to get more jobs. While this process got us a foothold into the workforce, looking back on this history gives me a bittersweet feeling.
I found it melancholy, seeing everyone hastefully wipe away their culture just to get a livable wage after moving to the country where “anyone” can be “anything.” Curiously, although American society has objectively progressed from their xenophobic past of immigration camps and tenement housing, I still notice this lingering pressure for us Arabs to assimilate. While my mom left Syria in 2001, well after the United States’ progressivism movement, she was quick to learn English and did not feel the need to teach me more Arabic than “Hello”, “How are you?”, and “goodbye.” Although I also ended up learning the words for “come on” and “sleep” because she would constantly say those to the insomniac child I used to be.
It’s important to note here that I do not blame Middle Eastern people for still continuing to assimilate. When everyone sees you as white, and you’re legally white, it’s hard to differentiate yourself from that. However, it seems as though other cultures have struck a balance between conforming and staying true to their roots; in some cases they’ve even managed to spread their culture into mainstream American society. Whereas Middle Easterns are still not integrating into mainstream culture to the same degree. The main crux of our struggle with staying true to our culture could simply be the fact that the Middle East is already composed of so many things to the point where our own culture is less defined. The Middle East is a collage of different languages, appearances, foods, religions, and general ways of life; in a way it’s like the US.
What perplexes me about this premise, that our culture is too undefined to spread in a noticeable way, is the fact that we are past the times of Silk Roads and Junk Ships, and are in the times of short formatted video clips and statements of 280 characters. We don’t need a diaspora to have cultural diffusion, we just need to be seen. In fact, the lack of concrete uniqueness that makes up our culture would in theory make us more capable of integrating elements of it with other cultures, as this integration would not be drastic. Since trends are generally picked up fast in this age, Middle Eastern food, music, and beliefs could easily be further integrated into the lives of non-Arab Americans. So, there must be more to this dilemma than our lack of specifics.
In the past thirty years, the United States as a country has poured trillions of dollars into fueling conflict with the Middle East because of the history of corruption of governments, and more recently of terrorism. Sadly, based on what a large portion of the general media has expressed regarding the overall population of Middle Eastern civilians while addressing these acts of foreign policy, I am led to believe that the true reason behind our urgency to assimilation is likely the lingering stigmas of our people, enforced by generalized narratives.
This means the message in the media that we, immigrated civilians, could be connected to terrorism, and the message that all of us Syrian immigrants are a product of poverty and misfortune. This same message is what makes people feel the need to apologize to my mom after she reveals that she’s from Syria. This same message is what causes my mother to portray herself as wealthy and eloquent with designer clothing and jewelry. This same message is likely what motivated my mom to become a project manager instead of a project architect, so that she could ensure that she’d be taken seriously in the workplace.
Tomorrow, when I take in the aroma of coffee, pita bread, and za’atar, I will remember that it is a privilege for me to know and live the story behind this meal. That this breakfast is a symbol of progress, not of misfortune, and that this little dish I inhale every morning is just the beginning of the Ibrahims’ integration into this country.
About the Author:
Noora Reiley is a Junior at Redwood High School in the San Francisco Bay Area. Noora spends most of her time outdoors, at dance, or sitting in a cafe, doing something creative.
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