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“We have always been here, it's just that the world wasn't ready for us yet.” This is the melancholic queer diasporic experience. Reading Samra Habib’s was inspiring. The queer “Eastern” life was not just created, it has always existed. It is hard to recognize this as colonialism forced homophobia into our world, but queerness is inherently non-Western. I liked this reading because I believe the emphasis on representation is the most important thing, and the intersection of creativity and society is essential to preserving the identities that the world tries so hard to erase. The part on religion was especially significant, and it was beautiful reading about a utopia where one can be all while also not being alone in that being.
I never thought that religion, queerness, AND “ethnicness” could intersect. It feels like we can either get one or the other but not both; you either bring your religion and queerness in a white way, or you get your religion and ethnicity in a straight way. After looking up the photography project, I found joy in how the photography was not professional. It spoke to how Habib explained how some Queer Muslims “might not have the tools to understand the language wirttten by academics in Ivy League Schools,” but that doesn’t mean they shouldn't have access to queer conversations, just how it doesn't mean they shouldn't have access to queer representation. Mohamed Abdulkarim speaks to this religion, chosen family, and life path. Something that stood out to me was when he said, “I didn’t understand the value of literacy until that day,” which made me think of how Habib was trying to break this barrier of literacy through images of queer joy. Abdulkarim and Habib show how the melancholic migrant experience takes shape differently, specifically melancholia. We must combat its hopelessness, which Habib strives to do with the archival series of experiences.

I found the ​​Gualtieri and Maghbouleh readings very interesting and intersect in ways that are important for understanding the concept of white and the context in which Middle Eastern people exist in/out of that concept. Considering my experience and knowledge of the United States Census, I found it particularly interesting. These readings provided the necessary background to the current debate on representation. My mom has been one of the main people working on adding the Middle East/North Africa (MENA) checkbox to the question on race/ethnicity in the US Census for as long as I can remember. Currently, all Arabs and Middle Eastern people are classified as “white,” no matter what they look like or how different their experiences differ from the white people around them. Our community has been trying to get this passed and our fair representation for quite some time.

Interestingly, in the 2020 census, the box would be added with all the necessary petition signatures, yet Trump vetoed it. This box is crucial to the identity and representation of the Arab American community. At the end of the article, Gualtieri discusses this by explaining that “minority status would render Arabs eligible for federally funded programs and provide greater protection under anti-discrimination laws.” Also, there is a “basic disconnect between their own self-perception as a people marked as outsiders and ‘un-American.’” Forcing people to identify this way leaves them invisible under the law while still hyper-visible to attack. This summer, I worked on a project with data on the changing Arab American demographics to help us understand how the different countries of origin and communities change over time in relation to the Census and lack of representation.

That's why I find this even more interesting: I was doing all this work without even knowing its history. It is incredibly crazy with my experience as a Syrian and Lebanese Christian. Crazy because my identity is rooted in white supremacy. It was used to uplift the Syrians who fought for naturalization against the “Other” of Black and Asian citizens. It was used to create a divide within the Arab community with both racial and religious differences. They argued that they were more civilized than even their neighboring countries. They threw everyone under the bus and did everything in their power to show how they could be considered similar to the Europeans. I get that it was for survival, and it was deemed necessary when it was a competition for the best fit to enter the US, but it's just crazy. Being not white was insulting to the Syrians. The religious division of the Middle East was making its way to the US to explain the hierarchy systems further. It really was a dog-eat-dog world, and even though in the eyes of a white person, a minority is a minority, in the eyes of a minority, there is a ladder to be climbed to whiteness. This also connected in exciting ways to Maghbouleh’s chapter on the Iranian community not wanting to be considered Arab and changing their language to be more European. These systems of hierarchy control the world and have seeped their way into damaging the solidarity of communities with each other, which is so harmful because, in the end, the whiteness that they fight so hard to achieve will never protect them.

The West’s role as a multicultural hub and haven is a facade that involves picking and choosing the parts of the cultures that are palatable. Buettner speaks to the selective acceptance that involves celebrating food but overlooking the challenges of the people who serve it. Not only are these challenges overlooked, but they are worsened when the racist stereotypes of a place bleed into the joy of the culture of a person. This was a problem I was forced to confront this past year with my grandma’s (Teta) food. Food in immigrant culture means everything and can be some of the only things that connect one to one's culture and identity. To cook and share food is how most immigrant families show their love and identity. I believe that it is a blessing to receive this food and should be treated as such. There is something so special about something that others can enjoy and is also so tied to a specific region and lineage. After October last year, something that upset me was this conditional tolerance of culture from the people closest to me. The people who have had many homecooked by Teta authentic Lebanese meals at my house were silent when it came to caring about Palestine. Their enjoyment of this cuisine was undeserving because it is deeper than that. I felt like sharing this food was to share myself and my Teta, who connects me to this culture I don’t know much about. I was angry at the world around me but also offended at the people around me and their selective acceptance of me and my culture. Don’t eat Arab food if you cannot call for the end of Arab hate, and this goes for all non-Western identities. The love of food doesn’t translate to the acceptance of people for white folks, but for my Teta, it is the opposite; the unconditional acceptance of people is shown through the love of food.

Teta has been famous my entire life. Her generosity and food are famous among everyone who has walked through our house. I feel so lucky to have grown up with her home-cooked meals of gold every day. I truly believe that food is the most crucial aspect of diaspora histories and communities. As someone born in the United States who has never lived in my country of origin recently, food was the first way I knew who I was. I could bond with other kids like myself on the food and find community and a piece wherever I went, as my parents were insistent on seeing the Lebanese. My family and I are sure every immigrant family's love language is food, and my earliest memories surround that. I was eating a Lebanese dish in kindergarten when some kids started making fun of me (I know, classic brown kid trope). But instead of letting it bring my perception of my identity down, my mother ensured that the class had a cultural food day where everyone would bring in food without judgment. Food makes me a melancholic migrant. Without food, I would be completely separated from my diaspora. Now, when I am missing home, I get Lebanese food, and what I look forward to the most is Teta’s. Without food, there is no vessel for the migrant to be melancholic.

When cultural food is trending and constantly appropriated, it is hard to find this line of sharing food and wanting to keep it all to yourself, not out of greed but protection.