6/4/17

Three ex-fighter jet pilots together again after 40 years. They each shared their story about how they escaped the revolution in Iran in 1980. Each story was unique but the feeling was the same, the sadness of a sweet golden era gone. Each was scattered across the globe, each was ridden with heavy burdens, each had to struggle to rebuild a life again. 

What would have happened if the revolution did not happen, Iran flourished in the world market, and our 3 families stayed close? It is so sad to think about but easy to daydream.

What would have happened if any of the dads were killed on their journey out? Two had very treachourous journeys across the eastern desert and mountains of Iran with no food, little water, under the sun, and amongst gunfire. They entrusted their lives, futures, and families into the hands of the smugglers who at multiple points could have took the money only to leave them stranded to die, and no one would have ever known. I don’t know if that was the fate of some trying to flee Iran in the late 70’s and early 80’s, but thankfully it was not the fate of these 3 old friends.

Immigrant is such a loaded word these days. It seems like the negativity against immigrants can go in to two ways. Either people don’t want foreigners in their land and they cite multiple reasons like taking away jobs, increase in crime, terrorism. But there is another misconception. They are ok with people coming in but they look down upon them as inferior or feel sorry for them.

First, what would have happened in our world if everyone just stayed within their borders? Would someone be eating tacos or Indian food in Portland, Oregon? Would there be English  written on every T-shirt I have seen in Belgium? Would there be New Zealand sheepskins for sale in a home store in a small coastal town in Northern Belgium?

Ideas, goods, and culture spreads. But it spreads with people through trade, immigration, and now the Internet. If we stopped immigration, it would put an end to not just the exchange of ideas which helps evolve our race, but an end to some of the fun parts of life like having delicious new foods like pomegranates and falafel. It seems like western countries want parts of other cultures but not the people.

People from all over the world have a rich and unique culture. Some have been eradicated or oppressed. Some have just pieces that have survived, but holding strong. Some come from very wealthy and educated backgrounds. Some have a lot of class. Some speak many languages and dialects.

If a brown person speaks broken English and is washing dishes in a restaurant, it does not mean they should be pitied or the host country should pat themselves on the back for helping these poor uncivilized people find a bettter life and new opportunities. While it is true that some of these people were looking for a better life because of war or the effects of neocolonialism, but they are not any less of a person. Some of these people could have been captains in the Air Force flying Phantom F4 and Tomcat F14 fighter jets, something that only the truly exceptional candidates are able to do.

6/3/17

I may have left one homogeneous place for another even less diverse one. I shouldn’t complain as much about Portland because at least it is better than northern Belgium in regards to ethnic diversity. I am sure there is more diversity in the big cities of Brussels and Antwerp. I have just been spending most of my time in the Flemish territory of the northern coast. And to be honest, I am not good at being able to distinguish based on looks between the Flemish and immigrants from its neighboring countries, France and the Netherlands. I would assume they make up a good chunk of their immigrant population. 

The few non European immigrants I have seen, seem to be Arab and maybe Eritrean. In a sea of white they definitely stick out here much more than in Portland. Spending about 2.5 hours today in the shops in the coastal town of Nieuwpoort, I saw only one brown family. Then I started to think about how I am being viewed right now. 

I think most people think I am Indian and not Middle Eastern or Muslim. I don’t know what their view is of Indians vs. Middle Easterners. Yesterday was the London terror attacks. I wondered if people would be looking at me differently today. But I was with my mom who is very light skinned and the wife of the family we are visiting who is Flemish, so everything was fine. People were more interested in us being from America and what we thought about Trump.

Yesterday, I saw a young Arab couple on the boardwalk. The woman was wearing a hijab, the man nice conservative clothing. I wanted to follow them to see how they were treated. I wanted to hear their story. Where did they escape from? Where is the rest of their family? Have the people of Belgium been kind and accepting of them? 

Islamic terrorism is not Muslims killing white people. It is extremists killing everyone else. They don’t care if their victims are white, brown, Muslim, or Christian. Although they get much more publicity when their attacks happen in white Western countries. 

The Muslim world experiences the most amount of terrorism, their families are torn apart, and they live in daily fear of being attacked when doing even sacred things like attending a funeral. 

My heart breaks for anyone killed. It breaks for animals. It breaks for the Earth. I can’t even kill ants or use chemicals anywhere because I think about the consequences and don’t want to hurt anything. But I have a special place in my heart for Middle Eastern families that live in terrorist territories: Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan. 

Maybe it’s because I escaped and I have survivors guilt? Maybe it’s because I understand how so many Middle Eastern dads just want to work so they can provide for their families and give their children a good future? Maybe it’s because I know how scary it is to be forced to hide underneath furniture with the lights off when there are explosions outside?

It’s not fair. Most people don’t want to leave their home countries, their culture, and their families. But they want to be able to survive to see the next day. And to do that, most of those people have no choice but to try to immigrate.

6/1/17

I am on a beautiful farm in the countryside of Belgium. There are sheep, chickens, horses, and pigs to name a few. It is beautiful and life feels good. But today we went to the grocery store and I am reminded of a cancer that has spread thoroughout the world. It is that of capitalism, consumerism, and greed for money and power.

I am not an economist or even knowledgeable on the subject. I just have my humble observations. But it seems to me that this cancer started in the US, metasized to Western Europe, and is trying to take hold in the rest of the world.

Some places put up a good fight, like Cuba and Iran, but then they were overcome by their own secondary diseases.

As I walk through the grocery store of the small town of Nieuwpoort, close to the northern coast of Belgium, I am struck by its emulation of Costco, a place that advertises buying more for less. I am torn because in some cases, it is good to buy in bulk since it can cut down on packaging, fuel costs, and energy. But it is contingent on the American idea of buying more and more and bigger and bigger. And where all of these things being produced? The shelves are packed with American companies: Kellogg’s, Mars, Hershey’s, Quaker Oats, Lay’s. And the non American products look just like their American counterparts.

A place known to make some of the best chocolate products is selling Twix on its shelves.

As an anthropology major, I accept the societal and cultural changes that happen over time with exposure and trade. But because I am who I am, it makes me mad that American junk, the products and ideas, have spread across the ocean and secured a stronghold in so many other countries.

There is an entire room in this grocery store that is refrigerated. It is packed, floor to ceiling, with different kinds of animal products. It is overwhelming. My first thought was a young child who just immigrated from Yemen or South Sudan, countries experiencing famines. I imagined her standing in the middle of that refrigerated room. How would she experience a sight of so much food in one place that could probably sustain her entire family or tribe for years? “All this food has been here this entire time???” I imagine her thinking.

But those countries that are experiencing famine are not poor because they don’t have natural resources or are lazy or stupid people. Their countries are war stricken and exploited and kept that way because of the hunger for amassing wealth and power by the economic elite, the corporate giants and ruling governments.

One of the world’s most valuable resources, oil, is concentrated in the Middle East and North Africa.  Saudi Arabia and the UAE are the richest countries in the region and they have very close business ties to the US government and different corporations. A lot of the other countries in the region are in havoc or not allowing themselves to be controlled by the US government or corporations and thus not on the good list.

The richest governments and individuals involved in these international businesses don’t care about taking care of the people in these other countries. They don’t care about giving a fair sustainanle price to the countries they are exploiting so that everyone wins. (British Petroleum’s history in Iran is a great example of this.) They don’t care about the well being and development of these countries. Their goals are short term and self serving.

This type of control and desire to keep people in developing countries oppressed and struggling crushes me inside. The West steals their culture, goods, treasures, and natural resources and continues to keep them down?

I just pray that we move into a different way of being, that what all the new age astrologers say about entering a new stage of awarness in consciousness is true. I pray that my idealism of equality and even distribution of wealth across the world will one day no longer be a hope but a reality. I pray that if there is a God or karma or some similar force, it will wash over the world like a mighty stream, filling the empty pockets of despair scattered across the landscape with the rich clay of the hillsides and sparkling abundant rocks of the mountains to even out the playing field.

5/29/17

It’s hard to describe my new love for Dulles International Airport. Usually when I fly to DC, I prefer Regan National. It is smaller, easy to navigate, and in the middle of the city. But going to Dulles is a different experience that I cherish.
Airports are a liminal space between worlds. They are a transient place created by those that are occupying it only at that time. And those occupants give it its defining characteristics, but only temporarily. But that feeling of nonpermance is constant.

Walking into the building from the curbside drop-off, I am instantly aware that this is a place with characteristics not existing in my everyday life. The 1/4 mile radius of space surrounding me is filled with the entire spectrum of human skin tones.

Ahh, I can breathe a sigh of relief. I feel at home.
My favorite game that I play inside my head is “Persian or not?” I always love when I overhear people speaking Farsi. A lot of times, Persians are not the most friendly people when they encounter each other out in the normal world. This should be explored in a series of other blogposts. But even still, hearing Farsi spoken by strangers is music to my ears, like a sweetly sung lullaby. And even before people speak, I love to try to pick out the Persians. It’s a game I am very good at.
My second favorite game to play by myself is to try to guess which country people are from either by their appearance or by their language. I usually can’t verify my claims, so I think I am very good at that game too. 
The term liminality was coined by one of my anthropolgy professors and her husband, Victor and Edith Turner. It is a temporary and fluid space created between two more permanent realities. One reason that this is so important for social anthropologists is that this place of uncertainty and malleability gives rise to new creations and ways of being, new social structures and instructions. 
As an immigrant, I feel constantly stuck in a liminal space between two more concrete structures, Iranian on one side, American on the other. Maybe the airport gives me a sense of solace because I see there are others like me. Do they struggle the same way I do? Do they need to alter or even hide pieces of themselves to be able to live comfortably on one side of the world. Do they also have issues with feeling a sense of safety, understanding, and belonging? Is the airport the closest we can get to that feeling of home?

Again, something new is supposed to emerge from the place of in between. And those of us that immigrated at a young age are in that perpetual inbetween stage. But maybe others have created a new world that takes the good from both sides and gave that merger a foundation with walls, a roof, a fireplace, and kitchen table. I feel like mine looks like a house that was bombed where I scavenge through the rubble strewn about to figure out how to put my blender back together.