We were halfway into our 9 a.m. Arabic class, each of us thinking longingly of bed, when we were jolted out of fantasies of flannel and down by political dynamite. My Arabic teacher, a kindly Palestinian man with a penchant for caps straight out of Newsies, had said those four magic, evocative syllables: 9/11.
Mostly, our beginner's class concentrates on learning conversational essentials: "I am a student," "I drink milk," "Look at the shininess of that industrial strength stainless steel tubing."
We found ourselves devastatingly unequipped for germane political discussion. Everyone was suddenly fascinated by the water stains on the wall as Professor Tahrawi read and translated an airport dialogue probably experienced first-hand. Syntactically unremarkable, it went something like this:
Airport Official: Your name is so not Joseph Abraham.
Man: You're right; it's Yousef Ibrahim. I changed it after 9/11 to make my life easier.
Airport Official: Eureka! My genius is unparalleled.
This tendency to probe Arabs in airports a little more deeply than other Americans, explained the Professor, is widespread. He reported that the inverse situation is common as well: Arab officials, spotting an Americanized Arab name on a passport, often conclude the obvious name change must be the result of shabby Zionist espionage. The class, sensing a return to more familiar waters, relaxed. Professor Tahrawi's illustrations were laments rather than opinions. His sighs and sagging shoulders suggested that this is just the way it is.
Yet I couldn't help but wonder. Forget airports, where bored, self-important officials dramatically capitalize on their rote questions to play Jack Bauer for a day. The Sigma Chi debacle exposed the slimy undercurrent of tense minority politics on our own leafy, liberal, diverse campus. Surely, like Professor Tahrawi, there are students who feel marginalized: if not by the university, then by Society, Government, The Man. In such a globalized, allegedly post-racist environment, where it is not unusual to see lunch tables shared by students from China, Swaziland, Bahrain, and Israel, how many of us feel like minorities?
Junior Farha Marfani, a self-described "Muslim woman," emigrated from Pakistan at the age of two.
"I was pretty much raised here and consider it my home," she said. "At times I do feel marginalized in this country, especiallyc9 post 9/11c9 but groups like the Muslim Students Association and the Interfaith Council embrace my ethnic diversity."
An active member of both organizations, the Public Health major is ennobled by a sense of mission: "I feel that Americans want to learn more about Islam and Muslims. I plan on staying in this country, making a mark and making a difference."
On days I spot Marfani across campus, her hijab bobs bright against brick buildings and denuded trees.
Saddled with a polysyllabic name alien to blithe American orthography, Ouranitsa Abbas, a freshman, gets a lot of "ohhh, your name is so interesting! Where are you from?" questions.
Bluntly, she answers "The States." Upon further prodding, Abbas reveals "I am firstly American, and thenc9 I'm of Greek, Egyptian, Lebanese, Cypriot, and Tanzanian descent."
The tentative psychology and Spanish major, who is involved in numerous student organizations, revels in her ancestry: "Being a minority makes me a stronger person and more willing to stand up for what I believe in."
She celebrates her heritage during belly-dance practice; her multicultural fusion dance troupe, Egyptian Sun, boasts girls from across the ethnic spectrum. She is also a part of the Diverse Gender and Sexuality Alliance ("I guess a straight ally can be considered a minority?"), the Interfaith Council, the Hellenic Students Association, and SEED (Students for Education and Empowering Diversity, whose meeting times remain a mystery).
As a global citizen committed to pluralism and multiculturalism, Abbas lauds Hopkins for its attempts to encourage conversation and acceptance, but maintains "there's still a long way to go. Offering more classes that deal with ethnic and religious minority issues and conflict resolution would help. So would doing fun stuffc9 like getting different and contrasting organizations to sponsor events, or showing movies that are a little bit controversial."
In that vein, the Coalition of Hopkins Activists for Israel has organized a five-part films series that examines life in Israel through varying lenses, bringing Israel into campus scrutiny as more than just a hotly debated political entity. Amnesty International screens films concerning ethnicity as well, using cinema to galvanize students against oppression and racism. Both organizations are student- run, a fact that senior Anna Yukhananov finds important.
"We're adults. If people want to share their culture, they can do that," she said. "Start a club, organize a festival. But that is not necessarily the University's responsibility."
Yukhananov, who is of Russian decent, added: "I think ethnicity is important, but, especially recently, there has been too much stress placed on it as a primary identity. Culture influences thought and behavior, of course, but current environment perhaps influences it more."
As an IR major, Yukhananov admits, "I take a lot of classes on Israel and the Middle East because I care about Israel, both as a Jew and as a political scientist. Of course I've gravitated toward topics and areas of the world that have personal resonance, or in which I think I have an advantage."
Her fluency in Russian has been a boon to her study of Central Asia and former Soviet republics.
"I went into IR because that's just where my interests lie," she states. Being Russian is "just a nice little quirk, especially when people ask me if I know Stalin. But the fact that my background is diverse -- well, that's difference without any value judgment attached." Unlike the other girls interviewed, Yukhananov views her ethnicity as something almost ancillary to her identity, but agrees that her heritage, rather than marginalizing her, has only imbued her with a sense of direction.
Like the fictionalized Yousef Ibrahim in my Arabic textbook, many of us have faced denigration, subtle or otherwise, based on our heritage. But just as "Arab" is not synonymous with "terrorist," mere ethnicity cannot be taken as the sole indicator of political affiliation, religious beliefs or general Weltanschauung. It certainly cannot be used to lob personal insinuations or castigations. These three formidable women are proof that at Johns Hopkins, where you come from is less important than where you're going.
