Selfish Orientalist

Danni Clearance
Aug 24, 2015 · 3 min read

I am surrounded by humans, they are everywhere. While I’m punching in data, picking up my coffee, pulling myself up on a bar, while I’m driving and even in the bathroom. Humans are everywhere.

Humanity on the other hand is very rare.

In the society I live in, my mind happens to be at a stand still when faced with a certain matter. If we all live and inhibit this world very similarly, why do we have labels? Why are we so terribly defined by them? Now this conversation could very easily turn into a psychological debate about the forces of in-group and out-group but that’s not my point.

My point is, I live in a society. This society has shaped me — just like every society should, but in the rise of globalisation do you really think it matters anymore?

To get to the gist of my stand still, I’ve been listening and reading to the words of these humans around me as a mission of exposure — to understand how the transformation of the economy is developing us both positively and negatively.

There’s a famous blogger, that blogs about humanity and remaining positive in times of struggle and despair. Appreciating the good in people and always “smiling” is their motto. What I found extremely funny is their filtering to nationality. “xyz nationality — we should support each other! Support the xyz entrepreneurs!” After watching a sufficient amount, I couldn’t help but think why is it filtered? What is this society constructed of? Who built this society? Why are they taking all the credit? Why is he speaking English then?

How can someone be blinded by their own contradiction — that is the bigger question here.

I will refrain from bashing this blogger negatively but I push you to understand that the words you are speaking have been taught to you by people foreign to your land, the education you boast through your wall hangings are the work of people foreign to your land, the language you express yourself in is a language foreign to your tongue, the fabric you wear is foreign to the soils of your ground, the hand that built your shelter is the most foreign of all. How do you have the soul to filter your influence to those that “need support”.

What needs support is humanity, humanity needs support.

An interesting conversation I had the other night with a lady that acted like a man spurred curiosity within me. She looked me down with her gaze so strong you could cut ice with it. I had made a statement, “I’m going to Lebanon to discover where this music came from! I am in love with Arab creativity!” I said. After taking a sip of what seemed like a terrible brand of liquor she quickly called me an orientalist, “Why do you look at them as though you’re not Arab!”. And then it hit me. I was not raised to be from a country. I was not raised to praise my lands. I didn’t have a land. The earth was my land.

What does it take for you to understand that racial segregation and nationality are but mere factors in this huge world we live in?

What does it take for you to understand that racial segregation and nationality are hindering your growth, as a human and as a society?

What does it take for you to understand that society is defined as a group of people within each others vicinity, not a group of people that carry the same piece of man-made paper that defines?

Imagine what life would have been like had we not determined our outward behavior according to a paper.

That’s all I have to say.

I don’t intend to associate this writing with the blogger solely nor am I intending it at anyone specific. I also don’t intend to target a specific community rather society clans in a whole.

Human Development Project

A disruptive digital storytelling project supporting humanitarian initiatives, freeing shackled minds, and amplifying the voices of the oppressed.

Danni Clearance

Written by

An illusion of thought, conspiracy and desire.

Human Development Project

A disruptive digital storytelling project supporting humanitarian initiatives, freeing shackled minds, and amplifying the voices of the oppressed.

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