On Decolonizing the Mind
“Where are you from?” One of the first questions you are asked upon entering any predominantly Arab space. A question that is meant to place you somewhere on the convoluted and complex landscape that is the Arab identity.
For me, my answer could never be summarized in a quick one word response. So let me introduce myself.
Hi, my name is Jinan Chehade. My father is Lebanese and my mother is Moroccan. I was born and raised in Bridgeview, also known as “Little Palestine.” I went Universal from Pre-k to 12th grade, a predominantly Palestinian, Syrian, and Egyptian student body. I went to summer camp every year with the Maghreb Association of North America (MANA), a community composed of Moroccans, Algerians, and Libyans. My childhood consisted of protests for Palestine and Syria, American Muslims for Palestine (AMP) conferences, and making couscous every Friday with my mom.
So how do I define my Arab identity? The simple answer is I don’t.
I remember telling a friend in 1st grade that I was half Lebanese, half Moroccan. At the time I had no understanding of what identity or the idea of nationalism even was. She responded saying “you can’t be both, you have to choose one.”
I remember being at a protest for Palestine handing out flyers, when a friend came up to me and asked why I was constantly organizing for Palestine if I wasn’t Palestinian.
I remember crying with my community during the Aleppo strikes — all of us heartbroken and devastated by the pain of our people. I later found out that many people assumed that I was Syrian after that event because of my sense of worry and care for the Syrian people.
I remember leading the dabka line at a Palestinian wedding, and having people come up to me and ask what balad in Palestine I was from.
As someone who encompasses a multitude of identities, I have often felt pressured to choose — to be one or the other.
Creating boundaries and barriers in my mind of where I belonged in the Arab world didn’t feel natural to me. It is only now, after much reading, visiting different communities, and talking to different people, that I realize that it doesn’t feel natural because it isn’t natural.
That these borders we create in our mind are only a product of the physical borders our colonizers have created less than a hundred years ago. That although most Arab states have physically liberated ourselves from our colonizers (#FreePalestine), we continue to allow the colonizer to influence the way we think about one another and create barriers in our mind.
Our people have always been one. It was Al-Sham long before it was Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, Jordan. It was Al-Maghreb far before it was Morocco, Algeria, Libya, and Tunisia.
Now this is not to say that one cannot be proud of where they are from or find comfort in their own individual enclaves. It is only for us to think about the role these borders have in not only our individual lives, but in the way we stand with one another and uplift our struggles.
These barriers that we create in our mind only feed into the imperialist and settler colonial scheme aimed to fragment our people. A fragmented people is a weak one — and a weak people is one that is easily about to be controlled by the colonizer.
It might have been just a game, but the week of the world cup is reflective of this big-picture idea. That week I finally saw my people happy — I saw the kids in Gaza chanting and laughing with every Morocco win, I saw fisherman in Morocco dancing on their boats, I saw a stadium of 80,000 people chant “There is no God but God” (in Arabic) and sing for their love of Palestine. I saw mothers dancing with their sons on the most global stage of our time.
That week showed us that another world is possible — that the dream of a world beyond the western colonial conceptions of borders and isolation is possible. That against all odds, we are still one.
So where am I from?
I am from the olive groves of Mazboud whose roots stem to the gardens of Al-Quds. I am from the Mediterranean waters of Rabat whose breeze touches Algeria to the Nile of Egypt. I am from the mountainous valleys of Beirut whose birds sing in Damascus.
I am Arab.
This blog post is part of the #30DaysArabVoices Blog Series, a month-long movement to feature Arab voices as writers and scholars. Please CLICK HERE to read yesterday’s blog post by Nina Shoman-Dajani.
@SawsanJaber946
@SJEducate
