In their efforts to combat racism, a high school in California has gone from their mascot, “the Arabs” to “the Mighty Arabs.”
The recent suspension of star Baltimore Ravens running back, Ray Rice, has caused a furor both on and off the Internet. Rice was suspended for 2 games before a video was made public by none other than the gossip outlet TMZ. I watched the video. I have skipped over the ISIS beheading ones, not wanting to give an audience to terror. Domestic violence, however is closer to home. After seeing for myself an intimate fight between a husband and wife, I was shocked that the video was still allowed online, and chagrined I had participated in a voyeurism. His wife, Janay Palmer has since spoken to the media, defending her husband and a private moment. There’s much we could say, and has been said, about the abused protecting her abuser. At the very least we have empathy for a wife trying to save her husband’s career.
Ray Rice isn’t the only man in America – or the world for that matter – who could knock his partner out during an argument. Like Rihanna’s infamous fight with Chris Brown, during which he bruised the pop star, the fight is one part of the puzzle. What happens after the fight and our reaction to it are others.
Take for example my friend from high school. In a close knit Indian community she couldn’t come forward about the dangers in her home. When she was persuaded to go to the adults, on more than one occasion she was told that the problem was culture.
Indian men beat Indian women was the message she received from her Caucasian teachers.
“I believe her father is abusing her,” a chemistry teacher said.
No one, even we her friends, did anything. We pretended that she was like the rest of us.
My friend suffered in silence, partly to save her mother (and the rest of the family, including herself) the humiliation the Rices are undergoing in the international media.
She pretended because that’s what everyone needed her to do. Because blaming culture or overlooking abuse was easier for everyone than confronting the deep sadness and possibility of mental illness that drove her father into a blinding rage.
Easier on everyone except for her.
I’m sad for the Rices but also for the rest of us that we continue to pretend that this type of behavior is rare or surprising. Or that we think shame is the solution.
I was raised as a Hindu child in Christian America. We did not celebrate Christmas or Easter, nor the more food oriented Thanksgiving or 4th of July. Far from India, and away from the Indian centric metropolises of Orlando or Pittsburgh, even the Hindu festivals did not receive communal pomp and circumstance. The Hare Krishna farm was about as close as we could get to worship.
Yes, you can understand why a birthday was a big deal. Coming as it does in September, in the early part of the school year, I was never sure who to invite. Usually the people who came over for pizza or went out for a movie were not the girls I was talking to in January.
As an adult, and now mother, I love celebrations. We have added Christmas, Easter, New Year’s, Thanksgiving and the 4th of July to our family’s repertoire, with international travel on Eid holidays to boot.
Birthdays, however, haven’t yet been replaced in my heart. Until last week. Every few years I have a party. Same childhood dilemma but newer version: who in the expat community is still around to invite? Who will I still talk to in January?
Last weekend we had a party. No one likes the night before work (which in the GCC falls on a Saturday). Friday night. Three days before the actual day. There was dinner. Dancing. People jumping in the pool. On the whole, many 30somethings (and older) recapturing the essence of college, or trying to, as the essence of youth was floating in the air, a residue of the new semester beginning at the universities where many of us worked.
Then came Tuesday.
Midweek in the GCC (we start the week on Sunday). Everyone in the house up early, a big lifestyle shift, to accompany new schedules. No boxed gift on my pillow like in years past. Completely fine: I asked for donations to charity instead of luxury brands.
Hubs left the house in a rush, wanting to avoid traffic, without a happy birthday. And so it went. None of my students remembered until my 70 year old aunt interrupted class with a buzzing phone. She wanted to say happy birthday. Good old auntie. Somehow that call made me feel worse.
I slunk back to my office. Facebook was pinging away: Happy birthday! Hope you’re having a great one! Each virtual ping pushed me further down in my chair. You’re alone, they all seemed to say, alone, and worth only a few virtual seconds. Even worse (never say it can’t get any worse, it always can) I was getting emails from people on LinkedIn. People I had never met because LinkedIn knew it was my birthday and thought they should too. Lower and lower I sunk, opening the door now and then to answer a few student queries with wads of Kleenex on my desk.
I went to pick up the cake, chosen by our older son, a toddler, a la edible Paw Patrol characters (look it up, it’s what you think it is). The baker forgot to say happy birthday.
Sobbing in my car on the way home, safe behind my sunglasses, a realization hit me. I am not as important to anyone as I am to myself.
This may sound counterproductive but it was a breakthrough. Somewhere on the lone highway in Doha, between birthday wall post 90 and 100 on my Facebook wall, my ego caved in. I’m only important to myself. Expectations are the road to disappointment. These ideas are the essence of Zen Buddhism. They are freeing, humbling, and awakening. I’m still mulling it all over.
Suffice to say, this will be the last party for a long time. Never say never. If you don’t want your birthday ruined, here’s my advice.
1) Don’t have an early party.
2) Don’t go on Facebook.
3) Learn to sit with the quiet in yourself.
This soup was so easy, once I tossed everything in there and put the lid on, it literally cooked itself. With fall’s cooler temperatures right around the corner, can’t wait to make this again.
Women’s bodies are their property. If they want them to appear in advertisements, or as fictional movie characters, that’s their business. Don’t look at unauthorized photos of anyone, male or female. Whether Kate Middleton or Jennifer Lawrence: looking at leaked photos supports so many ideas antithetical to how you want your mother/sister/wife/daughter/friend/self treated.
As many of you know, I am a professor of literature and writing. Last week the fall term began with exciting new developments: I am teaching a new course, called Gender in Popular Arab Fiction. I love literature, both reading and writing it, but often am teaching first year composition. The opportunity of developing a writing about reading course is the best of all worlds.
After hearing the course’s title, many mentioned wanting to sit in on the course – which meets at 8:30 a.m. but few (other than those registered) attend. So here’s your chance! This semester we are reading short stories from Beirut 39, as well as Girls of Riyadh, and Finding Nouf. Read along with us. Feel free to test out the elements of literary analysis as well.
If you’ve ever wondered how to analyze fiction, here’s your crash course. Grab any one of these books, write a 100 word post following these directions, and I’ll give you some feedback (if you want it). The most important thing about reading – have fun. Write about an aspect of the text that engages you – or explain why it didn’t.
The premise of this strategy stresses you, as the reader, as central to interpreting a work. There’s no fixed meaning of a story – no right or wrong answer. Rather we create our own meaning, filtering the text through our life experiences, feelings, and backgrounds.
In order to write about your response as a reader to a text, try following these “close reading” tips on how to examine the text of the story.
Close Reading Ins/Outs
- Pay close attention to the language and structure of the story.
- Consider the relationship between the parts of the story that stand out to you (symbol, theme, figurative language, etc.) and the meaning of the whole story.
- Discuss specific details and patterns in order to make a generalization about an overall issue, idea, message, or effect.
- Look for patterns in the text (or across texts)—repetitions, contradictions, or similarities.
- Ask questions about the patterns you’ve noticed—especially how and why. PROVIDE ANSWERS.
Providing answers is the part where we the reader demonstrate our understanding or position on the text.
Experimenting with a baked goat cheese recipe moved this item to the top of my appetizer list. Roll a log of goat cheese in any combination of nuts and dried fruit, then drizzle with honey (I used cranberries and lime chili cashews).
Bake at 180C/350F for 7-11 minutes (depending on how spreadable/gooey you want the cheese). Serve. Seriously, you’ll want to make another, especially if this Labor day weekend the grill is taking longer than usual.
Greatest part about the dish is that you can within 10 minutes.
Let me know what combo your palate prefers. Enjoy!
August means the first day of university for many students, at least in North America. You could be attending for the first time, starting your senior year, or coming back as a non-traditional student.
The rules for success are the same: show up. That’s right – Woody Allen is credited with the saying “80% of life is about showing up.”
That means be on time to class; turn in your assignments when they’re due; come to your professors’ office hours with questions.
That is what it takes to be successful as a student. Show up, again and again, do the work, engage in class. You think I’m down playing it but trust me.
This advice comes to you after teaching and working for 14 years on at 9 different university campuses.
The hardest lessons in life are deceptively simple.
What advice do you have for university students? Or what do you wish you had known on your first week?