LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Hear Me Out: Emails Trigger Reclaiming Arab Identity - Without Separating Out Gay Identity |
by Mubarak Dahir |
I was surprised to get a rash of e-mails recently from two Arab cousins I had not spoken to or heard from in over a decade. For more than 12 years, I had cut myself off from my Arab family and friends by essentially turning my back on my Arab ancestry. Until recently, I wouldn't even admit that was what I had done, not even to myself. After all, I had good reason to be angry with the Arab side of my heritage. Several years after discovering I was gay, my father retired from his job as a university professor in the United States, and returned to the Middle East. My American mother, who had spent almost ten years of her married life living in and loving the Arab world, happily packed up her life here and followed her husband to his homeland. Soon after they returned, however, the social pressure of Arab society got the better of my father. He reckoned that since his only son was not going to get married and produce a male heir, the responsibility to carry on the family name reverted back to him. In a sequence of what at the time seemed to me like stupifyingly surreal events, my Arab father divorced his American wife of 30 years, set up an arranged marriage with a woman almost half his age, and in the intervening time has, at the age of more than 70, produced another four children. Two of the four are boys who, he hopes, will eventually give him the male grandchildren he so desperately desires. My father, of course, put all of the blame on me for his marriage to my mother ripping apart. If only I would seek mental help, and "change" from gay to straight, he wouldn't be "forced" to go to such extreme measures to have grandkids. In the aftermath of his actions, I refused to speak to my father for more than a decade. Only after my mother died two years ago did I feel able to contact him again in the hopes of maybe finding some sort of peace between the two of us before he dies and the chance is forever lost. During all those years, however, it wasn't just my father I cut out of my life. For all practical purposes, in my hurt and anger I abandoned everything Arab but my name. I had plenty of good rationalization for it, of course. And it wasn't just my father and his hurtful actions that provided the emotional cover for turning my back on my heritage. Whenever I met Arabs, the first question I was always asked was if I was married. Without expounding, I would simply answer no. Without actually lying, I knew I wasn't really being honest. Here I was, as openly-gay as any homo could be, and yet when faced by total strangers of Arab descent I couldn't stand up to the social pressure. I told myself I just didn't want to have to explain myself to total strangers who wouldn't understand anyway. I told myself that Arabs, even those here in America, would never change, would never accept it. I didn't have to apologize to these strangers for who I am, I told myself as I put more and more distance between myself and anyone or anything Arab. But again, I wasn't being totally honest. After all, during this same period of time, I wrote openly about gay issues for many mainstream publications. In my columns for mainstream America, including a large urban daily newspaper where I wrote for many years, I would take on anti-gay politicians and church leaders without shame or fear. And yet the truth is that I was being a coward in my own community. The recent exchange of e-mails with my long-lost Arab cousins has given me hope that inroads can be made into at least some of the more modern, progressive elements of contemporary Arab society. And it has given me the courage to acknowledge my responsibility to face my fellow Arabs as an openly gay man. I didn't solicit the e-mails from my cousins. Ironically, one of them had read a column I'd written about gay Arabs for a mainstream publication. The article made it clear that I, too, was gay. At the end of the article, my e-mail was given. One of my cousins saw the article, and forwarded to the other cousin. Together, they decided to e-mail me and get in touch again after so many years. I now know they figured out that I dropped out of their lives, like I did of so many Arab friends and family members, because I am gay. Their separate e-mails both started with letting me know that they'd read my column, and were thrilled to have a way to contact me again. They wondered how I was doing. They missed hearing from me. And, they added, it was terrible that some Arabs couldn't accept me because I was gay. Some Arabs. But not them. They made sure to make that clear. I've since written them both back, and we've begun a series of e-mail exchanges, trying to reclaim the lost years. With it, I've reclaimed part of my Arab identityand the courage to merge it with my gay identity, too. Mubarak Dahir receives e-mail at MubarakDah@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 02, March 8, 2002 |