A little over a week ago, a
woman came up to me after Jum’a (the Friday congregational prayer), so very touched to be welcomed and included in the service. She spent most of her life in countries where Islam
was pervasive, to the extent that the adhan, the call to prayer, was a source
of comfort to her. However, she relegated to the role of an outsider. She
encountered a Muslim identity that drew strength from community but refused to
let her participate because of her skin color.
This is a very real and complex
issue. Identities are often defined in opposition to other identities. I
thought we were all at fault and that each identity had something to be proud
of, and that was about as far as I needed to think about the problem. I didn’t understand the suffering we cause. I didn’t understand
that a human being’s fundamental need to belong could be left sorely wanting because
she needed to belong to a people who didn’t need her.
Born in India and raised in the
Bible Belt of the United States, I have a hard time thinking of recent
immigrants as Americans, regardless of their citizenship. I truly feel that
Americans, as individuals, are receptive to cultures they are unfamiliar with,
but for some reason, I don’t get the feeling that American culture is a
blending of multiple cultures. The cultures didn’t melt in the pot; they
congealed separately, and they’re all there, stacked on top of and around one
another, mixing at the fringes but each culture holds on to its identity. I
wonder if the reason is because the melting pot never got hot enough. The fire
under the pot was a tolerant one, short of the heat of an all-encompassing
embrace.
I can’t blame one culture for
not embracing another as a sister embraces her brother. Those bonds take time
and trust, and they’re reciprocal. An embrace that is not reciprocated is an
awkward encounter that I wouldn't wish to repeat. So rather than
finger pointing, what shall we do? We’ve got to reheat and stir vigorously,
without stop. It will take a lot of understanding, compassion, determination,
and respect to fuel the fire. Respect for each individual culture that may not
be compatible with its neighbor but may find something admirable in its
neighbor’s neighbor. Ultimately, we won’t turn into a brown sludge, but the
compassionate fire underneath us will serve as a reminder to respect that which
we don’t agree with and embrace its right to live alongside us.
I’ll try to fuel that fire, but
I must admit that I’ve only got a little fuel. I cling to my Indian identity
(even though I don’t feel Indian when I’m in India) because from time to time,
I am scorned in America, and I may not have the strength to declare my
Americanness in the face of those who seem more American than I, so I may need
to retreat to my Indianness to satisfy my need to belong to some community.
I’ve simplified this to two
national identities, but there are many more that come in play for Americans,
including religious identities, sexual orientation, and political affiliations.
If we would really listen to the stories of those we fear or distrust, we would
find a whole host of ideals and events to share our joys and sorrows over, we
would become human first and labeled as X second, and we would find ways to disagree
without compromising our values.
