By Lama Z. Khouri
In Arabic, “November 9” is written “9/11.” The day felt just as cataclysmic and tragic: the ripple effect might last for years to come, racism and Islamophobia are now virtues, and the planet might not survive humanity’s onslaught.
The morning following election night, I woke-up wishing I could ask the sun: “how did you have the strength to rise?” From my kitchen window, I wanted to shout at every pedestrian, every dog walker, every mother and father: “How can you go about your day as if nothing happened? Don’t you know? Don’t you care?”
I wished I could tell my ancestors: I am sorry for not saving your name, for the fate of Jerusalem — your land may be forever occupied, and your people may be facing annihilation.
I wished I did not have to tell my children: I cannot save the planet, rewrite history, modify my genes, or that you will always be diseased.
Your symptoms: your name, your skin color, your heritage.
Your affliction: geographic, and incurable.
Your friends’ empathy won’t save you, their love won’t cure you, and no painkiller will relieve your torment.
Over the past six years, my 18-year-old daughter employed every measure a teenager could use to separate. She rarely explored her maternal Arab/Palestinian heritage and while she felt at ease with her Italian roots, she was not consciously aware or concerned with her paternal Jewish lineage. Before leaving for California to attend college, she insisted that she did not want to come home for Thanksgiving, perhaps not even Christmas.
Following weeks of no contact, she calls me on November 10th:
“Mom, how do you identify yourself? On official forms, I mean, which box do you cross?”
“Other,” I respond.
“Do you consider yourself colored?”
“So, I am half-colored?”
Following a brief silence, the subject changes.
That evening she texts
“I am at a lecture on torture”
As if she just encountered her dehumanized half, she continues:
“Israel was the first country to legalize torture. ..
Trump wants to reinstate waterboarding… Will you be OK?…
I am worried about my cousins who are studying here. Could they be hurt or jailed? Will you be able to stay in the US?”
Before I could respond she texts again,
“I want to come home for Thanksgiving.”
About six weeks after the elections, on my way back from Jordan, my son and I had to change planes at Heathrow airport. Crossing customs, the officer who checked our passports, uttered the four words I often dread: “Come with me, please.” As we were being questioned, I see other families cheerfully passing us by — this bliss is not my children’s fortune. I look at my 15-year-old son and my heart breaks when I see his gaze fixed on the customs officer, as if waiting for the verdict. I place my hand on his shoulder, and when he turns towards me I smile as if to say “we will be alright.”
We spent about 45 minutes being asked the strangest of questions. I know the drill: I could not ask why. I could not object, grimace, or smile. When we were done, and as we walked towards the gate, my son looked at me and asked:
“Is it because we were in Jordan?”
“They want to keep us safe. They have to do what they have to do.”
“Domination deforms and depresses, as much as it inspires revolt,” wrote Muriel Dimen. But when you are suspect, revolt is not an option—deformity and depression is your share.
The rhetoric interpellates. You become your own subject, conspire in your own oppression. Interpellation is not only a feeling, it is not only a way of being. It is the shape of your cells, it is the gaze in your eyes, the beat in your step, the rhythm of your gait, the way you see the world. You must continue to keep your head down, succumb to whatever comes your way, and concede that the crime you did not commit is indefensible
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A hauntingly touching and evocative essay. Thank you for sharing, Lama!
Again my heart breaks for another dear friend. But thank you for these words which need to break us so we can come back stronger. Lama we will all be with you….always. Steve
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your experience
Abuse is abuse is abuse, alas
I love you forever, my dear friend!
Love your writing Lama. Although your words have always been important, they are more so now than ever before.
“You become your own subject, conspire in your own oppression” this sentence will haunt me for a long time. It’s the drumbeat of the slave, the nazis, our passivity and what keeps us prisoner.
Thank you for sharing your own true story. My wish is that your honesty and courage bring light to your life. We all share in the horror of this Nov 9 change.
Nicely written only not true about israrl and turture.
No? It is very true. Sad that people choose to deny the sad sad truth.
This is a very well written piece. I am well acquainted with the airport experience though not through self. Am also aquatinted with your daughters experience as a slightly dark skinned Jewess who went to study in Canada and was first labelled woman of colour. Different experience. Hope to meet you in May in Sydney.
So powerful and moving. Beautifully written. Full disclosure that you are already my friend and I am proud to be your friend and colleague. I echo Steve: we will always be with you.
Lama, thank you for sharing, it is a great read …
This is so touching, I found myself with tears in my eyes. You are a good mom, a great writer, and a very deep, beautiful human being!
This is an important piece.. It is so personal and emotionally real. Are there other forums where you are sharing it?
Forgive me for not responding sooner, but I just saw your message now. I do not get notifications when someone posts a comment.
Thank you very much for your kind words. At this point, one eforum asked to repost, but they haven’t done so yet. This is the website https://iapsp.org/eforum/