Culture-clash of pronouns

Jim,

My mother says I have a baby face, and my father always went light on me when we wrestled. My girlfriend and I never fight for long because every time I get angry, she starts laughing and says my "stern-look" isn't very convincing. So, I am perplexed by you, because you seem to be afraid of me. Clearly, it's not my something I've done. I've always been nice, I always say hello when we pass in the hall, and I don't even work in the same department as you, so you can't find me threatening to your job security. Like I said before, it can't be my face. Or, well, maybe it is. My Arab face.

I'm very torn here. Part of me wants to tell you that I'm more like you than them - and I hesitate to use that word. Them. Them, across the ocean, across the country, away in caves or suburban hideaways. Them, that you're afraid of, that you've confused me with. Them, that I reference as people who are not violent like me, and Them, that you reference as people who are not white like you. But, by either definition, I am not Them. I was born here, in America, in Detroit. I don't speak Arabic. My parents, despite their thick accents, keep an American flag on their front door, and remind me how lucky I am to have escaped their homeland. They feel lucky. I didn't do any escaping. I started out in this country.

But, no, I take it all back. So many pronouns. If I'm not Them, then I'm Us, and I know that we are not Us. We are not Us because you would never have it that way, and quite frankly, I wouldn't want it that way either. I do not fear other people because of their skin. I do not give them dirty eyes, refuse to hold the door for them, tell them "haven't you done enough already?" when they are only trying to be nice. I do none of these things, but you do. No, there is no Us. There is Them, there is me, there is you.

I was disappointed when I started to receive this treatment. I expected more of my fellow Americans. It makes me wonder who I prefer to relate to. Who has less hate, less ignorance? But I know I'm a part of this country, that I belong in this building just as much as you do. And if I was from Pakistan or Afghanistan or India, if I had a thick accent and wore a towel on my head (I'm trying to speak your language), what would it matter anyway? Would it matter to you, or am I the same? Osama, your coworker. Saddam, your coworker. That must be how you see it.

I don't know what team I want to be on. When someone joins one side, they create an enemy. I'm not Them, and I'm not Us, and it's because I can not relate to either. You're lucky, then, aren't you? You've got a side. Ignorance just smoothes out the rough edges, and if you're thankful for anything, I'm sure it's that.

Omar.

dirty laundry