But that incident marked a big change in my views and feelings toward Israel. I thought deeply about it and discovered the decency, beauty, and grace in Jewish culture. But a wall of separation keeps Arabs from seeing the truth inside Israel. We were prevented from seeing Israel for ourselves in a true and objective light. Many questions went through my mind: Why is the Muslim world threatened by Israel? Why are they obsessed with hating it? Why are they doing everything within their means to spread lies and distortions about that little state? What is the Muslim world afraid of? Is it afraid of Israel, or is it that they are afraid of comparing themselves with it and seeing reality? Is the culture of envy once again envious of another culture that is competent and believes in itself? When Egyptians made the decision to send my brother who was dying to Hadassah Hospital, they proved one startling fact: in times of crisis, Arabs trust Jews.
After my views about Israel began changing, I wanted to speak out for peace and respect for the territorial integrity of Israel. However, within my culture, I felt outnumbered by Israel-haters, and I had very little support in the Arab community. After much thought, I chose to stay quiet about Israel and the whole issue of jihad, especially since by that time there was some hope for peace after the Oslo Agreement.
But I did wish to become politically active in some way to show my appreciation for the freedoms I enjoyed in America. I very much admired the way women in America volunteer and work together to help their communities, and so for the first time I began to do volunteer work. I became involved in the Republican Women’s Federation, where I started writing a few articles that were published in the organization’s newsletters. We registered voters and helped many community causes. My circle of women friends grew tremendously, and I learned a great deal from these dedicated women.
In the 1990s, my husband and I often traveled to the Bay Area in Northern California, and I started learning more about a part of America that was unknown to me previously. In Berkeley I met people who were not happy with America. In fact, many blamed America for most of the ills around the world. Among them I heard things like: White men committed the worst atrocities to humanity. They criticized American foreign policy and the military and often used words such as colonialism and imperialism. They blamed America for using cheap labor around the globe. They were attacking big business and advocating rent control; a topic that I know quite well since Nasser’s rent control policies destroyed the housing market in Egypt. If they only knew, I would think to myself. These Bay Area people seemed to dislike Los Angeles and were very excited about such things as unisex public toilets. Their view of America was totally opposite of mine. I saw America as a world superpower that was trying to inspire democracy. Furthermore, instead of using its power to rule the world, America struggled to juggle the many conflicting demands by Third World countries as best it could. As one who had come from that Third World, I was amazed at the views of some of the Northern California “intellectuals” with their somewhat uninformed admiration for the Third World. Third World governments are not so innocent. They are expert at blackmailing, using and abusing the superpowers and other industrialized nations to their advantage, and they do not hesitate to use bribery, boycott, or outright terror to get what they want from them. Before the Soviet Union fell, Third World nations were experts at playing the two superpowers off each other. They would favor one side, and then make demands on the other. It’s no longer that easy. Now there is no other side so they just gang up against America. That is why the United States has to look after its best interests while trying to reward democracy around the globe. It is not an easy job. There is much about the West that is hidden or distorted in the Egyptian media, but unfortunately, I also saw there are many dynamics behind the international headlines that Western media does not expose—not because they are prevented from doing so, but because they don’t understand these dynamics. Many in America and elsewhere in the West who rush to defend the Third World as a badge of honor do not understand these regions, their needs, the reasons behind their turmoil, or the difficult dynamics of how to treat it.
In Berkeley, California, I saw a car bumper sticker that read “Free Palestine.” Even though at that time my perception of Israel was still confused and evolving, I felt that many of these pro-Palestinian American activists did not truly understand the core of the problems in the Middle East. They had good intentions, but good intentions are not enough. They were uninformed and naive.
At first I could not comprehend how any American citizens could fail to appreciate America. When I tried to defend my adopted country, I saw that some appeared offended by it. Once again, my tendency to say what was on my mind was getting me in trouble. So I decided to instead be polite and just listen to their attacks on America and not respond. But what they said often reminded me of the old-fashioned, Soviet Union–inspired slogans I used to hear in the Cairo streets in the 1960s, slogans that no Egyptian dared reject or criticize.
That is when I started fully understanding the divisions in American politics and society. I comforted myself by saying that it is healthy to have a range of different views in a democracy like that of the United States. In this country, people may disagree, but unlike my culture of origin, they don’t kill each other over their political differences. Influenced by the Berkeley area where he grew up, my husband had a similar ideology when I first met him in the late 1980s. But he gradually changed over the years. We were both changing—he about America and I about Israel.
By the year 2001, I had been away from Egypt for twenty years. I had not been back since my brief trip in 1980. I missed it and wanted to visit Egypt with my family, in spite of the conflicting feelings I held toward my culture of origin. I believe there is a yearning in the heart of every immigrant for the original homeland, a feeling of missing it, wanting to enjoy it, or perhaps to “save it” from the ills that prompted us to leave it behind. My husband and three children were very eager to see Egypt for the first time. My two older children, age twenty and eighteen, as well as my youngest, who was seven at the time, had all been born in the United States. The whole family was excited about a trip to Egypt.
We left during the summer vacation in August and were scheduled to return on September 10, 2001. My husband and son had to return to the United States earlier, but the girls and I planned to stay until September 10. After a brief visit to my older sister in Paris, we all headed to Cairo. I was very excited—almost as excited as I had been on my first arrival at the United States in 1978. I had not seen Egypt for twenty long years. I was very eager to indulge in the many aspects of Egyptian culture I love—entertainment, cuisine, and the family I missed so much. I was as excited as a little child. In the Cairo airport I felt like hugging everyone I met.
But my euphoric feelings gradually evaporated when my husband and I were given an unfriendly stare from the airport passport official who probably did not like an Egyptian immigrant coming back to visit with an American husband. It made my husband and me uncomfortable from the beginning. It was very hot and humid in Cairo as we waited to clear customs. At customs we were asked several times if we had a video camera. When we said yes, we were asked to register it to assure that we took it back home with us. I said to myself, Welcome back home to senseless regulations.
But our spirits were lifted when we saw a large crowd of excited family and friends waiting impatiently for us. Meeting them was the best part in the trip. We drove to my mother’s home in Maadi, Cairo, with several cars following us. There we enjoyed a gathering of friends and family, and a huge Egyptian feast of my favorite foods; moussaka, stuffed grape leaves, stuffed pigeons, lamb, and the famous Middle Eastern pastries. It was everything I love about the Middle East.
Many things had changed over the last twenty years. Some members of my family had passed away—my grandmother, my uncle, an aunt, my sister, and a cousin. In those years, the family had also grown larger with the addition of several beautiful nieces and nephews. The discussions gradually moved
in the direction of who does not talk to whom, who is envious of whom, who did not attend someone’s wedding, who is now wearing Islamic clothes, and who got himself a second wife behind his wife’s back. Ah, all the old familiar gossip. Some things do not change.
We stayed at my mother’s large four-bedroom home near the Nile River, where she lived alone. My husband was impressed with how elegantly furnished it was. He and I slept in my old bedroom and were awakened in the morning at 6 A.M. by a call to prayer from the loudspeakers of several mosques in the neighborhood. Both of us were shocked by that unrequested morning wake-up call. It struck me as an imposition on the personal lives, comfort, and freedom of non-Muslims and also of Muslims who do not want to wake up at that hour. It was the first reminder, coming early in the trip, that even our freedom to pick the hour to wake up was not our own; we were not in the USA.
My husband went jogging along the Nile shore, which he thoroughly enjoyed, especially when some Egyptian youths were friendly and told him, “Welcome to Egypt.” He told me that what I said about Egyptians was true; they are kind and sweet with a great sense of humor and eager to meet and talk to foreigners.
My mother introduced us to a taxi driver who lived in the area, and we hired him to drive us around whenever we needed. There was no question what our first stop would be: the pyramids, which were so close to my mother’s house that on a clear day you could see them on the horizon. As we drove, my husband and children were simply amazed at everything they saw. I was also eager to rediscover the country I had left twenty-three years ago, when I emigrated to the United States. Along the way we enjoyed the beautiful palm trees that lined the streets, the impressive Nile, and a great new Supreme Court building. I saw a lot of new developments, streets, highways, and stores. I was amazed at how many Egyptian women were now wearing Islamic attire. The Muslim Brotherhood, which was dissolved and weakened during Nasser’s time, had come back with a vengeance. Nasser’s socialism has changed to Islamism. But I also saw a lot of things unchanged or even getting worse—extreme poverty, a lot of garbage, flies, and pollution in many streets and along the Nile branches. The streets were dusty, extremely crowded with pedestrians, and clogged by chaotic traffic. Cairo is probably one of the most difficult cities on earth to live in. Just going from one place to another is a challenge.
As we approached the pyramids, my husband and children were in awe. The sight of the pyramids and the sphinx was chilling and breathtaking; a part of ancient Egyptian history that represented a great culture and civilization that stood the test of time. The sphinx and the pyramids have stood up with pride for thousands of years as Egypt changed drastically and went through many dark and painful periods. Many dynasties, kings, and rulers rose and disappeared. Many changes in its language, culture, religion, and political system occurred. Foreign occupiers came and went, but the pyramids remained. It is both humbling and awe-inspiring. When I looked at the magnificent pyramids I wondered, Will a period of enlightenment ever come again to Egyptian soil? I hoped so.
As my children were running around buying souvenirs from vendors on the pyramid grounds, I noticed my eighteen-year-old daughter was purchasing something from two beautiful nine-or ten-year-old girls who were obviously very poor. She gave them one Egyptian pound and took something in exchange. The two girls came running after us, telling my daughter they owed her some change. My daughter told them it was okay, they could keep it. The girls then gratefully gave her one more little gift and thanked her. I later saw my daughter with tears in her eyes. Other children who were selling stuff were very thirsty, and we gave them a water bottle we were carrying. This is the part of Egypt that I love dearly and that also breaks my heart.
As we were taking family pictures around the pyramids, my daughter started laughing when she saw three Arab women in black burkas standing next to one another taking pictures with the pyramids in the background. “How would they know which is which in the picture?” she exclaimed. I laughed along with my daughter; it was a welcome relief from the tears and sadness she felt over the poor little girls.
Knowing the abject poverty I would see, I had brought with me on the trip approximately five hundred dollars to give away. It was not easy because I was not that wealthy in America, but I felt it was my duty toward my fellow Egyptian poor people. At all times I carried several twenty Egyptian pound bills (each twenty-pound note was equal at that time to approximately three dollars) to give to the Egyptian poor around me wherever I went. I did that because I simply did not trust organizations that might divert my donations to fanatic terror groups in the area.
My two older children, of course, loved going out at night with their cousins. They were amazed at how safe they felt walking the streets of Cairo at night. Their only negative experience was when the police tried to extract money from them. They called me in the middle of the night from their cell phone. I asked them to hand the phone over to the policeman, and then gave him a little lecture over the phone. That took care of it!
A few days later I had the opportunity to sit and speak with a large number of young Egyptians who were mostly middle-and upper-middle-class nonpracticing Muslims. They had many questions. Several of them said they could not get married because of severe shortages in apartments, a consequence of the extreme rent control policies by the Egyptian government since 1960. They were restless, angry, unemployed, and confused. Much of their anger was directed at America and the West. They were ready for attack and not a discussion, eager for a fight to blame America, Israel, and everyone but themselves or their own culture. As I spoke with them, it became clear they had no idea about Muslim-upon-Muslim atrocities in Iraq, Algeria, the Sudan, and other places. All they cared about was Israel’s humiliation of Palestinians at checkpoints and America’s presence in the Middle East, even if it was to protect countries from Saddam Hussein, as it did for Kuwait in the first Gulf War. Some even said that Kuwait deserved the attacks from Iraq. They stood with the aggressor against the oppressed. It was sad for me to hear them justify terror, hate, and aggression. When I asked them if they were aware that Saddam used gas against Kurdish villages, killing thousands of citizens, they said no. Arab television never showed the pictures the rest of the world saw of Kurdish Muslim women hugging their dead babies on the ground. Arab media systematically cover up Arab dictators’ atrocities toward their citizens and instead turn around and blame Israel, using such incidents to stir up Arab anger and turmoil. Not a bad solution to divert the attention of desperate Arab youth—who easily fall into such a trap—from the real problems.
However, amid all the confusion, hate, and anger, I sensed a need by those young Muslims for an escape. While they are vulnerable to being shamed into accepting certain beliefs, they are also smart enough to sense that things do not add up. They are torn between what they hear and what their common sense tells them. They gathered around me with their questions, wanting to defy and test my support for America as their way to learn the truth. I admit to being a little sensitive about their attacks on my new country, the country I love and am grateful for, but I did my best to be honest and truthful without becoming too defensive.
I was not surprised when at the end of the conversation several of them asked me “How can we get a visa to the USA?”
I came away from this encounter amazed that despite the Internet and satellite dishes, Arabs are still incredibly misinformed.
My conversation with these young Egyptians caused me to wonder about the baggage many Muslim immigrants—who are often torn between their new and old cultures—bring with them to the United States. What kind of citizens will they be in America? Given the misinformation, hate, and anger they have been subjected to in their homeland, many Muslim Arab immigrants find themselves alienated from American society. Some even become terrorist sympathizers and easy prey to radical mosques installed in the United States, ironically by the same governments they left behind. All immigrants contribute something to America; my fervent hope is that the culture of ha
te, anger, and intolerance will not be the contribution Muslims make in the West.
I knew before visiting Egypt that conditions were still bad, but I could not have imagined how virulent the anti-American sentiments had become. One would think the opposite should have happened after the United States began pouring almost $3 billion a year in aid to Egypt to help the nation keep the peace with Israel. It can only be understood by looking through the prism of the Arab culture of envy. There is nothing America or the non-Muslim West can do that will be met with gratitude and appreciation. Not even America’s and Europe’s attacks on the Serbs to stop the slaughter of the Muslims in Bosnia, or defending Muslim Afghanistan against the Russians, earned the West any favor or gratitude from Arabs. To the contrary, good deeds of non-Muslims toward Muslims only deepen their sense of dependency and inferiority in the context of the macho and pride-driven Muslim culture. In the end, the culture of envy and shame always dominates Arab sentiments. The famous Egyptian saying “Beware of the evil from those you show kindness to” is what resonates in the Arab street.
The strong anti-American feelings I encountered during my 2001 visit was a shock to my system because at the time I left Egypt in 1978, feelings about the United States were positive. I remembered when Nixon visited Egypt in the early seventies, Egyptians spontaneously went out to meet the president of a “savior country.” America gave Egyptians hope. Anti-American sentiment was so strong that one of my brothers-in-law who was a high-ranking government official avoided meeting us during our visit. I understood and I felt that it was probably a good policy for him not to meet American family members.
I was also in for a rude awakening when I attempted to get news myself while in Egypt. I watched CNN—no other U.S. media outlets were available—and was amazed that the network failed to adequately correct the rumors and misunderstanding regularly promulgated by Arab media. CNN had a golden opportunity to bring the light of truth about the West, democracy, and the virtues of the Western culture—or at least not pander to the local bias. To my surprise, CNN contributed to Arab hatred and suspicion of America by regularly criticizing America and President Bush. At the time I was there, CNN indulged in blaming America for withdrawing from the summit on racism in Durbin, South Africa. They did not tell Arabs the full story of what happened there. That summit was hijacked by Third World and strong pro-Arab and Muslim countries to accuse Israel and America of racism while rejecting any discussion of anti-Semitism in the Muslim world. There were also one-sided anti-Israel demonstrations on the street. America withdrew from the summit because of the virulent and blatant bias and anti-Semitism. I was terribly disappointed at CNN, which has been in business for more than twenty years, a period during which there has been a steady increase in hatred against America. I could not help but wonder if the American media itself was contributing to this hatred.
Now They Call Me Infidel Page 19