10 minute read

WHITE?

ARE MIDDLE EASTERNERS WHITE?

Written by Nikki Hekmat, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

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Standardized testing — the American teen’s worst nightmare. But a er my recent PSAT, it wasn’t the fact that I’d forgotten the Quadratic Formula that had me irked.

It was the fact that I had to say I was white.

You might be wondering what race has to do with testing; and believe me, so am I. But nonetheless, that was a question asked of every student at the end of the exam. I fumed as I read the phrase that had been carved into my mind since childhood: “White (including Middle Eastern origin).” If one must stress that a group is included, let’s just say they’re not. If one must dictate my choice because they think I will be confused as to which box to check, then wouldn’t you think there’s a problem within the system?

This issue has existed for a long while, partly because many are not informed of its existence. For instance, when I brought up the matter to my friends, I was regarded with raised brows. They were all surprised to hear that MENA (Middle Eastern and North African) people are not represented on forms, applications, etc. How can this be, you might wonder?

In his article “The U.S. Census Sees Middle Eastern and North African people as white. Many don’t,” Hansi Lo Wang outlines that this notion of Middle Easterners being white began in the 1800s, when large numbers of the community started arriving in the US. “The complicated relationship many people with MENA origins have with whiteness is entangled with a naturalization system in the U.S. that, until 1952, imposed racial restrictions on which immigrants could become citizens,” Wang illustrates. Early generations of Middle Eastern immigrants believed being white was their only way to gain full rights. In several court cases, “[Syrian immigrants] argued they were white in court because the only immigrants that could naturalize to become U.S. citizens had to be found white by law.” So you see, being white was a shield of power—not any recognition of a true identity.

MENA people today now su er from this falsehood set in place long ago. We are not given proper representation in many aspects, from o cial forms to the education system to Hollywood. But the truth of the matter is that we simply cannot be masked by the white label any longer. In the North of Iran, there are indeed those with blue eyes and blonde hair. However, as you dri down South, skin darkens to the point where many Iranians look Southasian. And the rest of the Middle East varies similarly. It is a region of extreme cultural, religious, and genetic diversity, with folk having skin dark as night and light as day. Squeezing everyone under a white umbrella is an insult to the majority of people who truly aren’t.

Establishing a MENA category will do wonders for the community. It will identify and target any disparities within the group, and o er a voice to a people who have been snu ed out for far too long. And this ght is important to not only Middle Easterners and North Africans, but others as well. If we do not stand together when one group is mistreated, what are we to do when it happens to the next? If we had le Jim Crow laws intact, the US would look a lot di erent today. If we had held our tongues at Asian Americans being ridiculed during COVID-19, the hate might still exist now. So I ask — I plead — that it is time for society to extend a helping hand to a new community, and continue the precedent their forefathers began.

“Squeezing everyone under a white umbrella is an insult to the majority of people who truly aren’t.”

“If one must dictate my choice because they think I will be confused as to which box to check, then wouldn’t you think there’s a problem within the system?”

TRANQUILITY IS A FACADE

Written by Rini Khandelwal, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

Stared at so much, Called out for so much, The panic, the anxiety. Everyone’s eyes set on her as soon as she walked out the door. Oh god oh god when does it ever end? Then nally, Finally, Five years later, change — or “glow-up”, they call it — Suddenly at the height of popularity: The prettiest, The goddess, The smartest –“Who is that?” “She’s so pretty.” “She’s so smart.” “She’s so perfect.” “I wish I was her!” Stared at so much, Called out for so much, The panic, the anxiety. There was no blending in.

leuocholy

Kaitlyn Ho, '25 and Rini Khandelwal, '24 Mixed media

“QIE ZI”

Written by Sophia Tang and Kate Xu, ‘25 | Designed by Sophia Tang ’25

glossary: qie zi (茄子) - eggplant, Chinese equivalent of “say cheese” for photographs hong shao qie zi (��茄子) - Chinese braised eggplant dish yang ( ) - sun xiao yang (小 ) - nickname for daughter; literal translation: little sun

trust me, all i want to do is hold you like i did when you were a toddler. we’d walk along the busy streets, holding hands, our smiles tilted up at the basking sunlight.

you’re still the same you even a er i’m gone. i know it’s hard moving on but, darling, you have your own life now.

be in the present with xiao yang, days are limited, time is precious. please don’t dwell on me, listen to her, cherish her.

i know it’s hard to enjoy life a er a tragedy but sadness should never restrict you. keep doing the things you love.

and of course i remember, how could i not? i loved gardening with you. you don’t even know that when you became more distant i would kneel at our garden just to remind myself of the good times. sometimes, my bittersweet nostalgic tears would water our dying plants.

the day you died, I printed an old sel e of us: my small arms wrapped tight around you both of us aglow, twin smiles of joy. when did we stop taking those sel es together? every time I pass by it my eyes prick with tears.

yesterday xiao yang asked about you. I lashed out my tongue coated in ames my words burning as they ew out of my throat. I can’t handle her questions—can’t she see I’m mourning? she was quiet a erwards and hasn’t mentioned you since.

today we went out to eat for the rst time in weeks. the rst dish on the menu was hong shao qie zi. Chinese eggplant used to be my favorite. remember how you taught me to plant eggplants?

I could tell xiao yang wanted to ask about the dead eggplant garden in our backyard but she bit her words back and we ate in silence.

One of my earliest memories with you was in our eggplant garden. Every day you would go out to the garden to check on the eggplants, water them, harvest them—you cared for them as you cared for me. When I grew capable enough to stand and reach my hands to the top of the eggplants, you taught me, shared every trick there was to know about harvesting eggplants. My favorite part of the day was always planting with you, laughing together as we walked through our garden.

When I was sixteen, taking my hardest classes in school and piling extracurriculars into my life, planting with you began to eat out my time. One day, you asked me to plant with you, and I snapped: “Go away, I don’t care about your stupid eggplants. Can’t you see how much work I have?” You were defensive and hurt, and retorted something. I don’t even remember what you said anymore, something about school or grades or something else trivial—all I remember now is the heat of my anger simmering up. I went into the garden, so meticulously ordered and perfectly cared for, and uprooted rows of eggplants. “Why don’t you replant these eggplants instead of bothering me?” I stormed away, indi erent towards your stunned, hunched gure at the corner of the garden. Back in my room, I could see you through the window, slowly and carefully replanting the uprooted eggplants even as the sun set.

I grew older and busier, and became ever more stressed and irritable. I never saw how your eyebags darkened and your wrinkles deepened, how you now had to support yourself with a hand before leaning down to plant eggplants, how coughs racked your body a er we screamed our throats raw at each other. As a toddler, you loved to get your hands on everything you saw. Colored paper, gluesticks, glitter—everything had to be hands-on for you. So when I noticed how much you loved my Chinese eggplant dish, I went to the supermarket one day and found eggplant seeds. Together, we planted the seeds. It took hard work for them to sprout, but it was never a dull moment with you. Sun shining on our backs, sweat glistening, but none of that mattered when we did it together.

Darling, when you grew older, I knew of your busy schedule. I wanted to reach out and let you know how I was always there, but you had become so distant, and I didn’t know how to bridge it. My job was so exhausting, and I was trying to provide for both of us—but I should have reached out to you because the longer I waited, the more daunting it became.

I shouldn’t have snapped back at you that day. I don’t even know why I did—I desperately wanted you, the real you, back. I just didn’t know how to express it properly.

But you should know, those eggplants were my only connection to the days when you were still mine. You ripping them all up, that hurt more than any of your words. The new eggplants I planted were never as succulent or fruitful as our original ones, my trembling ngers unable to support them.

mama, I bought eggplant seeds today to start an eggplant garden in our backyard.

xiao yang was reading when I came home and on an impulse I asked her to come out in the backyard with me.

her eyes lit up. immediately she was closing her book and jumping up. in one hand I held eggplant seeds and in the other, I reached out to hold her small hand, smiling down at her as we stepped outside to begin our eggplant garden.

xiao yang,

I realize now how precious our time is.

it’s just the beginning. we’ll plant eggplants together you’ll be the yang to our plants and it’ll be more than enough.

today, I printed a new sel e of us: my arms wrapped tight around you both of us aglow, twin smiles of joy, holding up our rst eggplant: the rst time the eggplants sprouted, you were in the garden and you called for me. seeing that little green bulb, we knew our passion and dedication paid o . together we had created something.

weeks later, the green bulb grew into a ripe, plump eggplant and i cooked it that night. you watched me mesmerizingly as i poured soy sauce, pinched sea salt akes, tossed the wok. we nished that meal in minutes, knowing it was from our own garden a product of our love and care.

the moments gardening with you were precious. you thought you needed to give so much more but i just wanted ve minutes with you to check in our plants, together.

together was all i needed. planting eggplants together was more than enough.

seeing your bright smile with xiao yang is everything i wished for. i’m proud of you and i’ll say with you: seeing your bright smile with xiao yang is everything i wished for. i’m proud of you and i’ll say with you:

“qie zi!”

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