The Self Reflection

My experience at the African Community Center has provided great insight about the influence of language on a person’s first impression or judgment of another person. Due to weather and other conflicts, I have only had the opportunity to go the ACC once; however, I already feel as if I am being exposed to a whole other viewpoint of reality. My experience at ACC is illuminating my own tendency to associate one’s intelligence with his or her language capabilities.

           

I am already thankful for my experience at ACC because I believe this experience will help me work on one of my prejudices. When speaking to a non-native English speaker or to a person who is just learning English, I view their lack of grammar and vocabulary proficiency as a sign of lower intelligence. At the ACC, I am working in the interview prepatory program, so teaching English is a vital part of my work. Last Tuesday, I worked with a Sudanese woman who had only been in the US for a few short months and who, consequently, knew very little English. While I did not experience impatience or frustration with her pace, I did begin to notice that I was making automatic assumptions that she was less intelligent than I was because she struggled with my native language. It was not until she mentioned that she had been a nurse in Sudan that I gave her the intellectual credit she deserved. I was very disturbed at the ignorance and elitism present in my own thinking. I couldn’t help but think of the lessons in Of Beetles and Angels. By doubting the intellectual dignity of the woman I was teaching, I had essentially turned her from an angel to nothing more than a beetle; I had dehumanized her in a significant way, allowing her to only “survive … in the ghostly shadow of [her] former [self]" (Hron 39). In essence, I had reduced her story to “easy-to-consume images and narrative forms” (Fadlalla 81). I now plan to use my experience at ACC not only as an opportunity to learn about refugee lives and stories but also as an opportunity to disrupt my own privilege and exclusionist ways of thinking. I am grateful that my own prejudices have been brought to light because now, I have a full opportunity to move forward toward a more understanding and accepting perspective about the world. 

The Promise

Peek’s post-humanism critique of Egger’s What is the What added to the edge of darkness prevalent in the novel. It added to Fadlalalla’s dismissal of a universal suffering form, noting that “the promised freedom and equality for all that emerges from conceptions of a universal humanity is continually offset by the realities faced by the relocated southern Sudanese refugees” (Peek 120). In other words, Peek discusses the danger of making false promises. When I was a little girl, I was told that if I worked hard in school, did well on my exams, and participated in other activities, I would be rewarded with an acceptance letter to the school of my dreams. Throughout my time at Legacy High School, I pushed myself to the ultimate boundaries of capabilities, always keeping the words of my supportive parents in mind. I met all the logistical requirements of the top schools in the country; I felt as if I had done everything right and therefore, deserved a spot at the school of my dreams. However, I was eventually rejected from 4 of my 6 schools and every scholarship opportunity. In the midst of my devastation, I felt an aura of confusion: wasn’t I promised these opportunities? While I cannot blame my parents for instilling a sense of faith and optimism in me, I have wondered, especially after reading Valentino’s continued and incomparable disappointments, if promises actually make the world a more bearable place to live.

Peek argues that promises, specifically humanitarian promises, are illogical and unconquerable. In the end, “the much sought-after ‘Neverland’ of America is revealed to be a promise that remains unfulfilled” (Peek 121). Valentino does not go to college right away. He is continually taken advantage of- his oppression continued in the supposed land of the free. Promises, it seems, are only malleable manifestations of power disguised as selfless signs of help from above. It divides human society into a class of ‘givers’ and a class of ‘aid-recipients’. Now let me ask you: which of these titles is engraved with a sense of dignity? Peek argues that promises of humanitarian aid “embed a hierarchy within the concept of the human that impacts our ability to recognize the lives of others and constitutes its own discursive violence by privileging a Western humanist structure of subjectivity” (Peek 123).

Through the use of promises, the gap between the subjugated story-tellers and the comfortable listeners grows only further apart.

The Comparison

The most striking differences between What is the What, Of Beetles and Angels, and God Grew Tired of Us is the selection of tone. In God Grew Tired of Us, there is a humorous atmosphere. The directors chose to include moments such as the refugees learning to eat potato chips for the first time, which inspired light-hearted laughter and a sense of innocence into the film. The film found a nice balance between addressing the emotional voids felt by the featured refugees and illuminating the optimism present in their every day actions. Of Beetles and Angels, in contrast, contains a sweet sentiment. Its overall message is that ‘angels’ can be found in the most unusual of places and that recognizing angels in one’s life can be a powerful motivator toward life success. Of Beetles and Angels focuses largely on the people in Mawi’s life rather than Mawi himself; throughout the novel, Mawi describes how the work and words of his father and brother helped him strive to reach a better life. Finally, in What is the What, there is a large aura of resentment, prejudice, and hate. During the first pages, Valentino tells the story of his life to a boy named Michael, the boy holding him hostage in his own home. Throughout the story of Valentino’s suffering in Sudan, he makes jabs at Michael; he notes that Michael must have experienced pain in his life but that that pain will never equate the suffering of the lost boys because at least Michael had clothes, food, and shelter during his hardship. The tone of resentment present in What is the What was surprising and unnerving because it hadn’t been prevalent in the other two refugee stories; however, this tone was also refreshing because in my opinion, it made Valentino seem more human. His flaws and his prejudices, specifically against the Arab people, made him relatable because he openly showed how he was far from perfect- far from an ideal manifestation of the America Dream. Through this tone, Valentino was able to drive his story away from the mold of a ‘universal suffering’ account; his raw honesty revealed an edge of darkness that hadn’t been approached in the other stories.

While the tones between these stories may have differed, the goal of each story remained the same: to reveal a truth. By reading these stories, I have adjusted my definition of truth. Truth is not merely the accuracy of historical events, facts, or even, emotions; it is the dedication to making a point greater than one’s self. It is a devotion to exploring impossible wonders and unfathomable pain while remaining loyal to one’s duty to paint the larger picture. This is what truth is to me, and the stories of these refugees constantly warp and expand this new interpretation.  

The First Essay

The article “Afghan Who Agreed to Trade His Daughter to End a Debt Says It Was Paid” by Alissa J. Rubin, published in the New York Times on April 1, 2013, dictates the story of an Afghan refugee whom is faced with the decision to commit his 6-year old daughter to marriage in order to settle an over-due debt with another man in the refugee camp. The desperate situation portrayed in this article aptly illuminates how “immigrants survive always in the ghostly shadow of their former selves” by displaying the devastating psychological and emotional toll seeking refuge can ensure (Hron 39). However, while the natural events of the story covered by the Times provide an intimate look into life as a refugee, the article’s presentation of this event was inadequate and blindly supportive of unhindered Western institutionalization. The article aims to make the case that humanitarian support from developed societies, like the United States and the European Union, is necessary to consolidate inter-refugee conflicts- a misleading and narrow argument unsupported by the raw vulnerability of a refugee’s point of view.

The selection of detail incorporated by Rubin focuses extensively on the role of institutions in solving the dispute between the Afghan debtor and the Afghan lender. Rubin introduces the need for outside intervention by discussing the fragility of the refugee camp’s legal system, stating: “Potentially complicating matters was that the payment was made through a jirga, Afghanistan’s unofficial justice system, which … does not have the force of a formal proceeding in the courts” (Rubin).  With this statement, the author effectively discredits the validity of any local, grass-roots judicial system and underlies the belief that sustainable judicial measures can only be achieved with a very Western institutional entity- the court. Pro-Western sentiment continues in Rubin’s selection of detail as she notes that Kimberly Motley, an American lawyer, “was present when Mr. Mohammad gave the money to the lender” (Rubin). Therefore, this statement works to portray Motley as a true humanitarian hero and discredits Mr. Mohammad’s ability to successfully approach conflict himself. By only including the failures of Mr. Mohammad (i.e. his inability to pay his debt and his willingness to sacrifice his daughter’s hand in marriage) while celebrating the actions of the humanitarian efforts, such as Motley’s judicial intervention, Rubin works to portray the humanitarians as effective change-initiators and Mr. Mohammad as part of a “universal ‘suffering form’” (Fadlalla 80).
In addition to having extensive focus on the role of institutions in this conflict, Rubin also fails to include cultural and historical context. To exemplify, Rubin introduces the conflict with the following statement: ‘Involving elders in the refugee camp, [Mr. Mohammad] agreed that if he could not pay the money back in a year, he would give his daughter in marriage to the lender’s son” (Rubin). The statement is written in a direct and pointed fashion typical of newspaper journalism. However, Rubin provides no insight into Afghani culture; thus, the deal between Mr. Mohammad and the lender is interpreted as a complete blasphemy to Western readers and moreover, these readers have no opportunity to view the event through the relevant cultural lens. Readers are forced to view the refugees in Kabul as a sub-species group, or an ‘uncivilized group’ in need of Western enlightenment, because the readers do not have access to the cultural details of Afghanistan’s history that may have inspired a better understanding of the complexity of the issue at hand. In other terms, “the generic immigrant narrative neutralize[d] immigrant suffering as a necessary part of the immigrant process” (Hron 43).

The perspectives included in this article are limited. There are no direct quotes from Mr. Mohammad or anyone native to the refugee camp. Thus, all the information provided in the story has been filtered through a Western, humanitarian lens, producing an “easy-to-consume image and narrative form” (Fadlalla 81).  The article later reveals that an anonymous donor from the United States paid for Mr. Mohammad’s debt after first reading about the situation in the New York Times a few weeks ago. While “such individual efforts to alter realities of poverty and suffering should be celebrated”, they should not be displayed as “the only viable solution for ending poverty and mitigating the effects of war” (Fadlalla 110). Rubin focuses her piece on the work of the humanitarian advocate, the anonymous donor, and other women’s rights activist organizations in the regions. She fails to incorporate any direct language or accounts from members of the refugee camp. As a result, this article would be more accurately described as ‘news account’ than a refugee story because it does not include the voice of a refugee.

In essence, the story of Mr. Mohammad’s difficult circumstance is fairly reminiscent of the life of Haileab Asgedom: “He arrived at his job one day as … the working man supporting his family. He returned home that same day as … the unemployed beetle” (Asgedom 96). While Mr. Mohammad did not face unemployment in this news article, he did experience a loss of dignity like Haileab. The journey to life as a ‘beetle’ is a delicate and vulnerable story- one that should be preserved through the voices of those who directly experienced it. A story, not just the stories of refugees, has transformative qualities; it can inspire a shared sentiment and change from the center of the soul. Unfortunately, the content and perspectives included in Alissa J. Rubin’s “Afghan Who Agreed to Trade His Daughter to End a Debt Says It Was Paid” failed to adhere to this need for intimacy. It warped the purpose of a story into a political tool, celebrating acts of “rescue and compassion … rather than … claims of entitlement and socio-economic rights” (Fadlalla 79). In total, the news article failed to be anything more than the story of a powerful superhero coming in to save the ever-endangered damsel in distress.

The Analysis of Suffering

            The “universal suffering” phenomenon is a key aspect of both the American dream and humanitarian culture. As Fadlalla revealed, Western humanitarian efforts establish a “universal ‘suffering form’ in order to attract and push their own agenda” (80). In other terms, a group’s pain becomes the crucial catalyst of affirmative action and ‘do-gooder’ behavior. In relation to the American dream, suffering is not only rewarded, but expected in US society. I think back to my college applications and interviews; nearly every format asked about my biggest challenge, portraying an innate hope that I had somehow suffered in my life while pushing to determine the nature of my character by how successfully I overcame that suffering. The social expectation of suffering isn’t entirely a bad thing. It prescribes a reverence of perseverance and persistent hard work.  The social demand for suffering has helped to build the very framework of the American dream. The American dream, or the belief that anyone can be successful if they just work hard enough, is perfectly embodied by Mawi in Of Beetles and Angels. Of Beetles and Angels tells the story of how a naturally born Ethiopian refugee comes to reside in an affluent suburb in the United States, concluding the journey with an acceptance to Harvard University on a full-tuition scholarship. Mawi came with little monetary and social power, and reached a pivotal level of success. His story can be exploited by the US dominant culture, displaying “the sufferings of immigration [as] normalized so as to propagate the ideals of the multicultural nation” (Hron 37) and using “the generic immigrant narrative [to neutralize] immigrant suffering as a necessary part of the immigration process” (Hron 43). In essence, suffering is shed in a positive light as the mechanism by which people become worthy of success. According to Hron, self-sacrifice is an ideal kind of beauty in US culture (56). Even Mawi admits in Of Beetles and Angels, “Of course no worthy endeavor is without risks and pitfalls” (Asgedom 138). I have already mentioned previously that an expectation of suffering is not entirely destructive; however, the universality and grouping of all suffering beings builds a social tendency to “slow the move toward an accountable public sphere” (Fadlalla 81). It poses the dangerous question: if all beings are expected to suffer, why should humans take action to prevent suffering? Thus, just as suffering can “attract and push [the] own agenda” of humanitarians, it can also perpetuate a social condition that incubates a continued cycle of human pain and suffering, which in turn allows humanitarians to keep their jobs. 

The Story

A refugee story is a complex account because it is a fusion of multiple identities. Refugees, as I mentioned in my previous definitions, often exist in a state of limbo- straddling the pressures and expectations of competing and partial identities. Refugees, forced from their native homes due to tragic external factors, have an innate connection to their first identity, yet they must also compensate for they changes they undergo in their new cultures (both the culture of the camp and of their final location). Thus, refugee stories are more complex than other narratives because the voice is not rooted in a single identity. Rather, the voice is submerged in an atmosphere of competition. The competition of identities present in a refugee’s voice has many profound effects of the direction of the narrative. It allows the author to express many feelings of lust- lust for their homes and families and lust for the potential benefits of a future life. For example, Selamawi struggles with maintaining his  Ethiopian roots and his new education in Chicago. The voice of a refugee is unique because it comes from the place of an unknown, and potentially unachievable, single identity; other stories are rooted in the faith that a final identity will be attained. Refugees may not have the luxury to adhere to this faith.

A refugee’s story helps to highlight the principles of the Fadlalla piece. Fadlalla warns against the universalization of refugees, or the West’s tendency to reduce refugees to an undistinguishable accumulation of sufferers. This portrayal leads to the dehumanization of refugees as wealthy humanitarians gain the power to assume refugees are warlike and animalistic by nature. A refugee’s story disrupts these Western assumptions because it highlights the complexity of an individual voice. A refugee’s story accentuates specific details about his or her life and connects them to the themes and hardships many refugees experience (i.e. forced displacement, disconnection from culture etc.). In other terms, a refugee’s story acts as a bridge between the varied representations of refugee culture present in humanitarian work today.