An Ishmael of Syria

by Asaad Almohammad

  After that awkward meeting he became very friendly. Until the end of that semester, I enjoyed my classmates’ respect and many privileges. I even received a written apology from an Iranian student, though not the same one who made the racial remarks. I guess this other student felt the urge to demonstrate that she was not like her fellow Iranian classmate.

  **********

  As the nicotine rush rose, I decided to move to the café patio. I took the table close to the road; I could see almost all the other tables from there. Having to pay my tuition fees, make end meets, and transfer my family a monthly allowance, I had to put every second of my day to good use. It might sound a bit extreme but I often skipped breakfast and lunch. Of course, sometimes there wasn’t much work to do but I wished that particular day could have lasted forty-eight hours. For some reason, I found myself on Facebook. My mind drifted to a conversation with two Malaysian acquaintances that had taken place in that café, I found myself typing a post on my wall:

  I think it would be better if people chose to be explicit about their preferences. Well, in Malaysia it’s not a choice; almost everybody I’ve interacted with is implicit about nothing. Many people believe negative stereotypes to have been scientifically proven. These premises (stereotypes about Middle Eastern and Africans) could be theological scripture; science is only for the ignorant. So either you submit to such politically incorrect sentiments, assimilate to a culture of negative generalisations, and consider yourself inferior, or alienate yourself to retain whatever is left of your dignity.

  The most ridiculous thing you might hear is what I call the “social liberal idiotic talk”: Here I am quoting Z from X ethnicity. Z claims that “sometimes I give people the benefit of the doubt so therefore I cannot be a racist”. Z gives us the benefit of the doubt and Z was looking at me as if it was time for me to contact every Middle Eastern and African I know, so we could celebrate Z and reward Z for Z’s contribution in civilising the savages’ universe. So I was wrong; it is way better to patronise and be implicit about your ignorance than to deliberate it. Anyhow as a Syrian in such interactions, although I don’t believe in souls and curses, I curse Assad’s soul and I move on; I bet other people have other souls to curse too.

  So as usual, I had written a lengthy, not very personal status. I was thrilled to get two likes and a comment. Carl liked it and wrote, “Douchebag, we should meet!”

  **********

  Not long ago Carl and I were close; he was a narrow-minded ass, but my options were limited. He set me up on a date with his friend, Anna. I had gone with him the day she arrived on the island. That day, she’d spoken to me in Italian. Eventually she’d asked if I spoke the language. Carl was a know-it-all kind of a guy. Upon your first meeting, he’d cut the formalities and lecture you on how to lead a better life. He had an opinion on everything and expected conformity. Either that or you would get douchebagised.

  I still recall the day Anna and I had invited him over for dinner. That day Anna stayed over for the night. Eating twice his usual intake, he lazed around. He also had too much to drink. In fact, Carl finished three quarters of our stock of cheap wine.

  I had met him downstairs as he was on his way up. He was wearing an old white shirt that looked yellowish around the shoulders. I cannot recollect a time he ever changed his torn brown sandals. His accompanying frayed jeans were his trademark. Those jeans could’ve survived a nuclear apocalypse. In financial terms, Carl was the most fortunate guy I knew. He owned a house in Florence. He had a steady income. Above all, he stayed in his girlfriend’s house. Never spent a penny on that poor little thing. Anna told me that among their mutual friends his was called “The Short-hand Man”; apparently, it was too hard for him to reach into his wallet. Looking at the dirt on his shirt and feet, I couldn’t help but ask, “Where have you been?”

  “I was at home. I smell like a nigger after a long day working on the cotton field …”

  “That is utterly offensive. Don’t be racist man!”

  “You and racism,” Carl shrugged, “everything I say is racist!”

  “Not everything. But sometimes you go over the top.”

  “I have to be blunt with you, Adam, I am a realist…”

  “There is a fine line between realism and prejudiced mentalities. May I add, what you say is not only stereotypical but utterly offensive.”

  He sighed his irritation and continued, “It is scientifically proven that they smell worse.”

  “Shut your face, asshole! I doubt…” giving him a glare, “I am certain that you made that up.”

  “I am…” sighing in devastation, “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Get over it asshole…”

  “We are racist!”

  “Man,” I scoffed, “you don’t speak on behalf of your nation, let alone your race.”

  “You are arrogant.” Carl shook his head, “It’s impossible to have a fruitful conversation with you. You always have to be right.”

  “That’s me, righteous old Adam!” With a sneer I placed my hand on his shoulder and invited him in.

  Without a doubt I had eagerly waited for Carl to make such remarks. For on each occasion, the opinion was deliberate. What bothered him the most was that I never let it slide. Among friends, peers, acquaintances, and even strangers, I made it a point to ridicule his self-perceived European supremacy. He was an insular, stereotypical, entitled xenophobe. Over time, I had realised that if it wasn’t for such qualities, he wouldn’t be a part of so many social circles, including my own. After all, psychological research supported that the use of stereotypes, in certain settings, is associated with a welcome sense of humour. The lowest of all jokes are stereotypical. But that’s only my opinion. Unfortunately, there are those who look up to certain nationalities and their peoples. Carl knew that well. Seeing him around people, I always felt he abused such ignorance.

  From an observer’s perspective, racism takes the form of a pledge of allegiance. In a country divided by ethnic backgrounds, you often find yourself in situations where you are urged to pick a side. Such a choice is strongly associated with the submission to all prejudices and negative stereotypes. Carl had mastered the skill of pledging such allegiances. One might expect submission from those of weak character, but Carl was not a submitter; he was an initiator.

  Carl made a good first impression. He was my plus-one on numerous occasions. Familiar with my attitude, he often begged me not to pick on him. My reply to his request became a cliché. I have to admit that the sight of Carl shrugging his shoulders in his attempt to mimic me saying “Political correctness is no joke.” always brought me pleasure. It was his demeanour and obvious Italian accent, I guess. He just couldn’t hold it in! My Pavlovian approach had conditioned the poor guy to anticipate a reprimand following his impulsive remarks. Sometimes he would look at me frozen with fear from anticipating a punishment, unsure of whether he had transgressed. Eventually Carl fell into a state of political-incorrectness paranoia.

  Sami was a different case. I had to be more subtle with him both in public and private. By far, he was the most irritating character I had ever met. He lacked any sense of tactfulness and was highly critical of even the tiniest of flaws. The forbidden scruples! The most subtle admonishment was enough to arouse in him the urge to tear you to shreds. He would harangue you with his ethnocentric ways. Dare you go against his never-ending externalisation of every problem that came his way! Sami’s externalisation of problems coupled with his generalisation was the root of his prejudices. A victim of his own interpretation of events. Though, I have to confess that he too suffered race-based injustices. Nevertheless, an encounter with one Chinese girl would be sufficient to derogate the whole Republic of China. However, notwithstanding his immunity to direct pressure, his scrupulous attention to another’s slightest ineptitude in handling a matter opened the door for confrontation. In private I wouldn’t confront him with my take, unless he sought it. I wouldn’t partake in his conversations, preferring inste
ad to show all the non-verbal signs of disapproval. Though, it was nearly impossible not to lecture him in public.

  Sami's meticulous care in his pursuit of pointing out others’ flaws was the key. As long as he was not the subject of criticism, you might have a chance to elicit a lasting attitudinal change in him. My belittling of Carl woke him up to the danger of prejudices. I still remember the time we got acquainted. Back in those days, he shamelessly used the N-word. One Malaysian person was a representative enough sample for him to generalise a nationwide behavioural pattern. Witnessing the public denigration and castigation of those making race-based remarks disciplined him to avoid falling for the temptation of externalising his problems through generalisation.

  **********

  On Friday nights the café would often get packed after nine. That night I worked until they closed, as recently more Saudi students had been hiring me for my usual ghost-writing services. Looking at my watch, I realised that it was a quarter after eleven. I’d have to get myself some dinner as it’s my only meal when I am swamped with work. I hadn’t cooked for ages. Last time I did was after Christmas. My girlfriend, Jennifer had insisted I make her siniyah kebab. To this day I can’t tell whether she likes that dish or just likes the idea of me cooking for her. Before she moved back to Korea we used to cook all sorts of things, but not on Fridays! Before things went south between us and our Iranian friends, we used to dine at their place every Friday. Despite everything, they were very generous. Harris and Hannah would serve many courses. Sami would always fix an unending flow of drinks for himself and Carl, no permission asked, of course. Sami functioned by “if it’s not lethal and it’s free, it’s a win”. Usually his face portrayed all the signs of self-inflicted hard alcohol. Our Friday night hosts’ facial expressions of irritation at Sami’s manners didn’t take an attentive person to decipher. The rest of us would always get embarrassed. Sami would notice our hosts’ disapproval but choose to be oblivious about their annoyance. Harris and Hannah were aliases. Their actual names were Arabic and didn’t fit their desired self-image. A common misconception is that Arabic names are Islamic. Harris had a superficial charm that came in handy on many occasions. We became close after I used the line, “agonistic at the corner of atheism,” when he asked me about my faith. The odd couple defined themselves as atheists.

  “Hannah told you that they only talk when we visit them. Beside we’ve no other plans,” was what I told Jennifer before we went to their place a month before she left to Korea, the first time since she had moved in with me. Jennifer was not thrilled to willingly bore herself to death. “Is everybody going?” she disappointingly enquired. “Yes my love!” As I pulled her head closer, kissing her on the neck just below her right ear, I purred, “Everybody.” Sami, from the balcony seat shouted, “Guys are you going or what? I won’t if you won’t!”

  “Yes we are! Jennifer needs some time though.”

  “Just fifteen minutes!”

  “Hey, should I call Mustafa?” Sami asked as Jennifer walked to our room.

  “No, I already called him,” I shrugged, “he said he’ll be on time. Maybe less than three hours late this time!”

  “That guy…”

  “Yah! Carl will be there too. Harris told me he invited this guy. Some Turkish PhD student, I presume. I don’t want to say it in front of Jennifer but I have to admit that I am not thrilled. The gloomy atmosphere in their apartment has started to put me into a minor state of depression. I don’t know why they are still together! I don’t know why they keep insisting on inviting us! Hannah made Jennifer feel guilty because we ditched them the other week. She told her that the only time they talk is when we visit. Harris is obviously using Hannah, but she is deeply in love with him.”

  “Besides, he's run out of topics and keeps repeating the same tales every week.”

  “Not a smart liar I would say! Have you noticed the discrepancies…?”

  “I guess everybody does!”

  I gave Jennifer a gracious grin as she made her way out of the room. “What do you think,” she smiled. I grinned, “Elegant, yet sexy!” Beaming her satisfaction she enquired, “Shall we?”

  “Yah it’s better to be on time,” I smirked, “I don’t want to hear another of Harris’s made-up tales of Australian punctuality. If we go now, we’ll be there in five.”

  We could hear their dog barking the moment we got out the elevator. Giggling, Jennifer noted “There isn’t much sex happening in their apartment. You can even sense their dog’s frustration.” We all laughed as we made our way towards their door. We didn’t need to knock as their dog jumped and voiced his excitement from behind the door. I could see the table from outside; it was covered in numerous dishes. Harris shouted, “Come on in guys!”

  “I see everybody is here, except of course for Carl and Mustafa,” Sami sighed as we seated ourselves on the couch that faced the balcony.

  Harris noted, “Mustafa called to ask whether it is ok to bring his friend along? I don’t think he’ll be on time. He never is…”

  Sami interrupted, “Don’t tell me it’s his Chinese lady friend. I can never tell the nature of their relationship. I don’t know why he keeps bringing her around. Until this day he hasn't introduced us…”

  Looking at Harris’ friends’ face, I said, “Speaking of which, Harris why don’t you introduce us to your friend?” I shrugged and smirked, “I am Adam by the way! This is Jennifer, my girlfriend, and the guy pouring the whisky before eating or greeting today is Sami. He is my housemate.” Harris went to open the door as their dog began to jump, marking the arrival of somebody. As Harris opened the door, I caught a glimpse of the three remaining guests. “Ah,” pointing my right index finger at the guests I continued, “that’s Carl and Mustafa. Just an FYI, this the first time ever Mustafa has come on time. As for the lady, I have no clue who is she and whether she speaks at all. Yourself?”

  “Rezeg, PhD candidate at UPS.”

  “Nice to meet you Rezeg from UPS,” Jennifer grinned.

  Carl's demeanour, his facial expression and Italian body language, conveyed his immediate excited response to the many dishes, making the whole room chuckle. Observing us on the L-shaped two couches, Hannah said “People, I am sorry, I was on the phone with my sister. The food is still hot and you don’t need an invitation.” We all sat around the table. By the time we had finished and paid our gratitude to the host, we had complimented every single dish, a tradition our host had grown fond of. Sometimes, you could see the burning desire to rise to the not-so-sincere compliments. As the ritual came to an end, I collected the dishes and started to clean them. Others felt obliged to do the same, though our host always begged me not to do it. It took us around ten minutes before all of us returned to the living room. The kitchen and the living room were not separated. The dinner table was in the middle, dividing the two spaces.

  On the couch, Mustafa’s special friend was captivated by something on her smartphone. For the whole evening she didn’t say a word. Carl asked her few questions though. She’d whisper in Mustafa’s ear and then he’d answer Carl's inquiries. After dinner I sat beside Jennifer and Hannah. I tried my best not to get involved in any political or science-based conversations. I could not recall what we were talking about but the ladies seemed entertained. Despite the many temptations, I prevented myself from getting involved in my favourite topics. It was not for the ladies though. I had kind of made a pact with myself to avoid such topics with the guys.

  There were times when I was forced out of my silence by saying, “Stop mixing your shit with cream.” Responding to baseless, self-proclaimed, and conspiracy-based socio-political notions, as always, led me to harangue and lecture all parties involved. It brought them pleasure to debate such topics. Then they extrapolated on the aforementioned aspects for the sake of winning an argument, especially when they grew short on concrete evidence to support their stance. Their poor political interest and knowledge combined with nonsensical ethnocentric rationales often l
ed them to mix their shit with cream. Cultural and philosophical-based subjects were approached in the same fashion. Nevertheless, for some reason, they almost always engaged in such conversations. I explained my detailed opinions, but only if asked. Unless their mixture of shit and cream splattered onto me or topics of deep value to me were brought up, I kept to myself. That night Harris interrupted, “Stop talking politics with them! Why don’t you join our conversation?!”

  “I am not talking politics. Hannah’s been telling us about her sister’s wedding plans. She is explaining to me and Jennifer the Persian ways. I can talk about things beside politics. What are you talking about by the way? Maybe the ladies and I can join you!”

  “Yes, please!” The Turkish guy said excitedly and continued “I was responding to Sami's troubles with Asians…”

  “What kind of troubles are you talking about?” I cleared my throat, “Maybe Sami would rather I didn't get involved. I don’t want to cause any fuss!”

  Sami couldn’t hide his annoyance, yet he felt obliged to respect our host’s wishes. He murmured, “No, no. Please join us!”

  “If you insist! So Rezeg, you were saying.”

  “I was telling him, it’s not his fault, as Asians have shortcomings.”

  I was surprised by his choice of words so with an irritated tone I exclaimed “Shortcomings! Would you care to elaborate on that?”

  “Asians are materialists with no sentimental sense and conscience…”

  “Are you for real man?!”

  Sami seemed to be taken by Rezeg’s notion. With a smirk, he said “Allow him to explain; he has a compelling argument.”

  Calming my nerves, I sighed, “Sure, go on, go on.”

  Rezeg irritatingly continued “Um, I was explaining the reasons behind their shortcomings. Harris and Sami have had their share of bad experiences. Harris has tried hard to get close to his colleagues. He has invited them out countless times. But their backstabbing nature just pushed him away from them. It’s obvious that they lack even the faintest sense of etiquette. Sami is disgusted by the way they eat. His friend only contacts him when she needs something. After inviting his classmates to a dinner, the Chinese girl asked him to pay for the gas and parking. Their concern is merely pecuniary.”