The Bittersweet Stories of Middle Eastern Immigrants
I’ve always struggled to answer the question: “Where are you from?” I was born in New Jersey to Lebanese immigrant parents. I lived in Lebanon and Dubai between the ages of 11 and 21, and now I’m based in New York. Straddling those different worlds inspires me to report on Middle Eastern culture and the diaspora, slices of everyday life that don’t usually make front-page headlines but are, to me, just as illuminating. My latest article is about an exhibition at the New York Public Library on the history of Middle Eastern and North African immigrants in New York City. The artifacts on view include portraits of Algerian, Egyptian and Syrian immigrants at Ellis Island; memorabilia on the Iranian-born, avant-garde playwright and director Reza Abdoh, known for his large-scale works; and a short film about Arab women living in New York after Sept. 11. “There are still so many misrepresentations” of the Middle East, said Hiba Abid, the curator for Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies at the library. She added that many Americans may know only of current events in the region, like wars and political upheaval, but don’t necessarily get to see beyond that. That’s why Abid, originally from Tunisia, wanted to showcase lives and experiences that haven’t received much attention, alongside works by well-known names like the Lebanese American writer and artist Kahlil Gibran. The stories of those lives spoke to me, and they were bittersweet. I lamented the fact that successive crises in the Middle East had pushed so many (myself included) to leave. I imagined how difficult it must have been for the early immigrants to board ships to a foreign land and figure out life on their own, without today’s social media to keep them connected to their loved ones. But I was also proud to see a spotlight on Middle Eastern immigrants who walked these same New York streets and thrived. They might have faced discrimination, loneliness and survivor’s guilt, but they didn’t abandon their cultures. Instead, they unapologetically embraced their roots by creating record labels, publications and grass roots organizations. My parents immigrated here in the 1980s, during the Lebanese civil war, and did not make much of an effort to assimilate. At home we spoke in Arabic and ate Arab meals. My parents surrounded themselves with Arab friends. They never stopped missing Lebanon’s rivers and mountain views, or mouthwatering saj bread. No matter how much they tried to re-create their lives in America, it just wasn’t the same without their families. But the library’s exhibition showed me that, though they may have been anxious and afraid for those they left behind, they were certainly not alone. Many Arab immigrants had come before them. Some even made history.
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