Spirit & Conscience

Arab-American magazine bridges East & West

by Elaine Klaassen

I am reading an Arab-American literary publication called MIZNA. In an issue published at the beginning of the year 2000, Steven Salaita, born in West Virginia to a Jordanian father, writes about the day the government building in Oklahoma was bombed. "I recall with an almost unbearable guilt, for instance, that when hearing about the Oklahoma City bombing, my first thought was, ‘Please, for the grace of God, don’t let an Arab be responsible for this.’"

( And it wasn’t. It was a white guy from Kansas. Did everybody get scared after that every time they stepped into an elevator full of white people? Did they think, "Maybe there’s a Timothy McVeigh in here"?)

To be Arab American is not the same as being Arab or being American. The stories of the unique Arab-American experience are spun out and set down in the pages of MIZNA, which has been published in Minneapolis three times a year since 1999. Poetry, short stories and essays are by writers of Arab descent born in the United States, writers born in Arab countries who now have U.S. citizenship, writers born in Arab countries who come to live here for extended stays, and writers who have consciously decided to join the Arab world, such as converts to Islam or activists for justice in Palestine and Iraq. Not all of them know the Arabic language, some are Christian, some are Muslim. Countries of origin or influence represented are Egypt, Iraq, Lebanon, Afghanistan, India, Syria, Palestine, Pakistan, Jordan and Morocco. They reflect an enormous variety of knowledge.

For Americans of all kinds who want to get closer to the complexity of the Arab world, MIZNA is a good place to start. For Arab Americans who struggle to balance the East and the West within themselves, MIZNA is an ideal forum. One of the salient themes presented is identity —the question of how and where an Arab American will belong. Susan Bassam Muaddi describes her solo visit to Palestine , the land of her parents, in 1998: "So my story is neither that of a ‘lost Arab American’ discovering her roots nor of an uncaring Arab embracing her history and the legacy of her people. That would be a far too simple tale. Mine is one of a Palestinian American finally understanding what ‘exile’ means and discovering whether or not Palestine would ever accept her."

Stories about being accepted in the United States are by far more frequent in MIZNA . In "The First Memory: A Bluefield Boyhood," Steven Salaita describes the prejudice he experienced because he looked different and he brought grape leaves for lunch instead of bologna sandwiches. Alia Yunis’ desire to fit in is recreated in a very funny story, "A Minnesota Christmas" in which she longs for processed packaged foods and tries to convince her parents to buy into a commercial Christmas. While her mother doesn’t approve, she at the same time defends her daughters desires. "It’s this overindulged, materialistic society we live in. I don’t want her to feel like she’s not a part of it." The most scathing indictments of prejudice in its most subtle forms —what it feels like to be on the receiving end— are by Nahid Khan, "I Speak English, Therefore I am," and "To Be a Muslim in Minnesota."

Since Sept. 11, to be Arab American— or an Arab in America— is unsettling, to say the least. Kathryn Haddad, executive director of MIZNA, who teaches nonwestern literature at John F. Kennedy high school in Bloomington, said an Arab friend of hers wondered why he had to preface everything he said with a comment about the travesty and tragedy of the World Trade Center. It should go without saying that every decent human being considers it a travesty and a tragedy.

Haddad said there is fear among Arab Americans. Not only are Arab Americans vulnerable, but anyone who even looks Arab is vulnerable. She has noticed that an Asian Muslim woman whom she has seen walking to and from the bus for several years has removed the scarf that identifies her as a Muslim. There is fear all around.. Haddad knew of two instances where the widespread fear of Arab terrorists was translated into violence. An Arab friend of hers said a longtime co-worker told him, "Shut up you dirty Arab," when he offered a suggestion in a problem-solving session at work.

More seriously violent was the shooting death in Arizona of an Indian Sikh who was wearing a turban and taken to be an Arab. There have been reports throughout the country of attacks against Indian Sikhs who stand out because of their traditional turbans and beards.

Although Haddad is an American born U.S. citizen, she said she feels like the flag-flying means "they want to go to war and we are the number one target here."

Haddad has been to Palestine twice (where she studied Arabic), to Egypt once and finally, just this past summer, to her father’s homeland, Lebanon, where he lived through the civil war as he was growing up. She was surprised how emotional the trip was. She was always holding back tears and found it stressful because of the constant emotions that never let up.

She maintains strong ties to family in Lebanon and to friends in Palestine. Occasional phone calls from Palestine give her cause for thankfulness. "Oh good, that person’s still alive."

Haddad is a playwright and essayist who has won numerous grants and awards. Her short story published in MIZNA, "Kathreen Beiruti," portrays an Arab-American teenage girl imagining what she would be like as a girl from Lebanon.

Besides identity, suffering and familial tenderness are strong themes in the MIZNA writings. For example, a poem, "Coming to the city," by Mohja Kahf is quietly tragic and speaks of the longing all people have to be intact —to have physical health and cultural belonging. Sidi Cherkawi Benzahra, a doctoral candidate in nuclear physics from Morocco who writes for fun, presents two stories, peculiar, funny and poetic tributes to an amazing mother: "Death of a Witch" and "Of Turkey and Chicken."

MIZNA was incorporated in 1998. Before that, Haddad was president of the Minnesota American Arab Anti Discrimination Committee. One of her jobs was to put out a newsletter. People started writing literary pieces for it and the newsletter got longer and longer. The national office always wanted to review it before it went to press but the Minnesota Anti Discrimination Committee didn’t want the intrusion so they started a literary magazine. It is the only magazine of its kind in the United States. Its supporters are political activists, scholars, literature lovers, people of color and religious people such as priests and unitarians.

Lisa Adwan, editor of MIZNA, is an Italian American who adopted the Arab world as her own a long time ago. As a college French major in the early ‘90s, she spent a year in Paris where there is a huge Arab population. She was drawn to a man doing construction work on the house where she stayed with a French family. He was "very real, sincere, approachable, not superficial" and she talked with him off and on for a couple of weeks. The son of her host family asked her what she was thinking of by talking to that guy. "He’s Arab," he said with disdain as though she should know what that meant. The son asked her not to talk to him anymore. The knowledge of that prejudice stayed with her and when she came back to the United States, she paid more attention to Arab culture.

She is now head over heels in love with the Arab world and, as editor of MIZNA, wants other people to feel the same way. She wants people to know about the things she values in Arab culture: hospitality, sincerity, frankness and passion. Her essays in MIZNA have been about her two trips to Iraq: "Iraq’s Agony, My Shame" and "Abu Hassan."

I first met Lisa at the beginning of the year 2000 when I wrote in Southside Pride about the weekly vigil for Iraq held on the Lake Street Bridge. The striking part of the story that stays with me is the message she brought back from the Iraqi people. They expressed faith that once the American people knew what was happening to them (because of U.S. and U.K. sanctions), things would change. People begged her, "Please tell my story to the American people."

Lisa would like to see the events of Sept. 11 "seized as an opportunity to discuss America’s foreign policy in the Middle East," a discussion she has advocated for years.

Her husband Jehad Adwan, a Palestinian Ph.D. nursing student with a Fulbright scholarship to the U of M ., said, "With this wave of patriotism, will anyone listen? The congress and population say they’ll stand behind whatever the president does."

Jehad and Lisa have personally experienced no backlash since Sept. 11. They attribute it to the fact that they both move within an academic setting which, in general, is more open-minded.

Jehad obviously loves his culture very much. He displays a Palestinian flag in the living room,

and recalls the Palestine of yesteryear "when Palestine was the home of all nations, religions and races —when no one claimed ownership." As a devout Muslim he sets his computer to play the call to prayer five times a day to remind himself to pray.

He also loves the Arabic language and has learned to write five beautiful, distinct styles of Arabic calligraphy . The thought struck me, as he graciously explained the meaning of his name, "for the 100 thousandth time.," that the intricacies of the letters in the alphabet match the intricacies of thought and feeling in the language.

Jehad said he chose to spell his name in English with an e instead of an i. Most Westerners are familiar with the word "jihad" which we translate as "holy war." It’s not that simple.

"The root of the word means to strive or to do a sincere effort. It can refer to many things such as to win a game, pass an exam, be away from your family improving yourself, fight the enemy,

defend your country, prepare to serve people, look after and provide for your children, be closer to God or fight the evil in yourself. Mohammed said the major jihad after coming home from battle was the battle against evil in oneself. It’s not a crusade. Muslims abhor the word ‘crusade.’ They still remember the 70,000 Muslims massacred in a mosque in Jerusalem during the Middle Ages."

Jehad , who created and maintains MIZNA’s Web site, also elaborated on the word "mizna" translated as "cloud of the desert." "When desert caravans went out for a month at a time, a cloud provided a kind of refuge, shade, and once in awhile, rain. Any little bit of cloud was a big blessing. The magazine is a refuge for Arabs —to get some of that special bounty."

The next issue of MIZNA is scheduled to come out at the end of October. Subscriptions are $15 per year. To reach MIZNA call 612-706-6125 or e-mail Mizna@mizna.org. The Web site address is http://www.mizna.org .