karimisms

I am an Arab-American…and I am a peace lover. That is how I announce my origin if I am asked. If I am not asked, it stays hidden, deep within my aching soul.

When I heard about the London bombings, I immediately fell in grief for all the people who lost their lives and their loved ones. Loss of life always makes me disregard my own feelings of shame. However, when I think of the millions of Arabs and Muslims who chose to live in countries offering freedom, a second wave of anguish and sorrow strikes. Sorrow because we have to wake up every day and try to prove to the world that we are not terrorists. That most of us have passions and desires not too different from anyone else’s. That most of us would not harm another human being even if our own life depended on it. That, despite the war in Iraq and the chaos that has ensued, most of us are still peaceful and discerning people. Even though some of us may feel conflicted about the war in Iraq, we condemn the London bombings along with 9/11, the insurgency attacks and any other terrorist act committed by an Arab, a Muslim, a McVeigh, or a Rudolph.

I have lived in the United States for half of my life, 20 years to be exact. I have completely embraced what this country has to offer from free elections to the fact that I can choose my own destiny. I am raising my three children and hoping they regard the freedom they have been born into, and that they would appreciate principles such as self-fulfillment, dreams, and making them come true. I tell all of my friends and acquaintances how appreciative I am of the freedom I have been given. I still have to work hard, but hard work coupled with honesty is justifiably rewarded.

As with most Arab-Americans, I am well aware of what life in America grants. But we live day in and day out trying to balance our own feelings of identity against the image that is perceived of us. After 9/11, I continued to let people know my origin, but my declaration was always combined with a justification or a joke.

I am having a serious identity crisis. I encounter prejidice as an Arab-American in the United Sates, but when I visit Syria, I struggle with repugnance as an American-Arab. Albeit, I have an ingrained pride in my roots. Arabs, like the Greeks and the Romans, were at one point in history the epicenter of civilization. At the same time, I try to understand where things went wrong. You could blame the Ottoman Empire, World Wars one and two, or the cacophony of events that followed. A plethora of reasons for the division of the Arab world in the middle of the 20th century come to mind. However, the fact we have to endure as Arabs willing to live peacefully and coexist is this: We can only blame ourselves.

Where is our Martin Luther King? Where is our Mahatma Gandhi? Or where is our Dalai Lama?

I pray for the people of London; I also pray for all of us. That one day we can look into each other’s faces and love instead of hate. That one day we can use non-violence to further peace instead of prevent war. That one day we can use inner peace to enhance our lives instead of save lives. And that one day we can focus on feeding the hungry instead of resolving the conflicts killing them..

I visited Damascus this past February. My father passed away after 88 years of living as large as any man I know. He was a prolific writer and poet writing more than 15 multi-volume books and encyclopedias about Arabic poetry and literature. He always spoke of peace and how it “can” be attainable. He said that people should focus on the beautiful things in life. Leave it to a poet to do just that. Being around Dad was like living in a fairy tale free of anything deceitful or ugly. Dad never had a problem with me adapting to this culture, although he did always say: “never forget your roots my son, it does not matter how tall and majestic a tree is, without roots; it will wither away and die.”

Dad: I will never forget my roots, and I will take it on as a mission in life to do my part in spreading peace on earth. Until all human beings respect and consider each other equal partners of this fragile planet, we will continue the suffering mostly inflicted upon innocent lives.

I will always be an Arab-American with a soul aching for peace.