Arab American Literature and the Ethnic American Landscape: Language, Identity, and Community
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Arab American Literature and the Ethnic American Landscape: Language, Identity, and Community A dissertation submitted to the Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department English and Comparative Literature of the College of Arts and Sciences by Niven Herro, B.A., M.A. July 2018 Committee Chair: Jennifer Glaser, Ph.D. Committee Members: Lisa Hogeland, Ph.D., Laura Micciche, Ph.D. Abstract This dissertation explores the works of contemporary Arab American women writers with a focus on language, identity, and community. I am especially interested in the ways in which the Arab American immigrant experience mirrors that of other ethnic American groups, as demonstrated in their literatures. First, I argue that Randa Jarrar’s debut novel, A Map of Home (2008), which uses language—both Arabic and English—as a source of empowerment, reflects Chicana writer Gloria Anzaldúa’s concept of the “new mestiza consciousness.” Comparing the Chinatown community in Fae Myenne Ng’s Bone (1993), to the Muslim community in Mohja Kahf’s The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf (2006), reveals the complicated relationships the novels’ characters have with their communities. In both novels, the personal development of their young women protagonists is greatly influenced by their respective communities, which simultaneously serve as positive sites of support and complex sites of difficult negotiations. While the characters in A Map of Home and The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf ultimately learn to effectively navigate their hybrid subject positions as both Arabs and Americans, the failure to do so leads to a tragic end for the couple at the center of Laila Halaby’s Once in a Promised Land. Halaby’s characters fail to recognize that the racial profiling they experience post-9/11 is symptomatic of the U.S.’s long history of violence against people of color. Once in a Promised Land serves as a cautionary tale, demonstrating that the idea of America as a “promised land,” especially for people of color, is false. I posit that placing the literature of Arab Americans in conversation with that of other ethnic American groups reveals the similarities of their experiences, ultimately promoting solidarity and creating the potential for coalition building. ii Copyright 2018 iii Acknowledgements I am grateful to so many wonderful people that have supported and encouraged me during the process of writing this dissertation, especially my advisor, Dr. Jennifer Glaser, who has been instrumental to my scholarly and personal development over the past six years. I remember meeting Jenn when I first visited the University of Cincinnati in the spring of 2012. Even though I had not yet committed to attending UC, Jenn took the time to meet with me and give me sound advice—advice that I still carry with me to this day. I admire Jenn as a scholar, advisor, and woman, and I am lucky to have her as a mentor and friend. Dr. Lisa Hogeland and Dr. Laura Micciche have also been instrumental to my development. Reading and writing about Once in a Promised Land under Lisa’s guidance helped set the course for this dissertation. Laura has taught me so much about writing, teaching, and mentorship. I aspire to one day have a fraction of the influence on my future students that Laura has had on my peers and me. To the other wonderful mentors I have had a UC: Dr. Beth Ash, Dr. Frederic Cadora, Dr. Theresa Culley, Dr. Joyce Malek, Dr. Therese Migraine-George, Dr. Christine Mok, Pamela Person, and Dr. Cara Pickett—you have all taught me so much. My experience at UC would not be the same without all the amazing friends I made along the way. Mercedes Katis, Julia Koets, Lindsey Kurz, Janine Morris, Insun Park, Bhumika Patel, Rachael Shockey, Steven Stanley, Christine Rezk, Sara Watson, and Madeleine Wattenberg—I consider myself incredibly lucky to know you, to go through this experience with you, and to call you my friends. Furthermore, I am grateful for the support of the Taft Research Center, which allowed me to spend the summer of 2014 in Granada, Spain learning about liberation theology and Islamic feminism. I was lucky to participate in this program with some of the most intelligent, passionate iv people I have ever met—and to leave Granada with so many new friendships. Their energy and commitment to social justice continues to inspire me. In addition to my support system at UC, I am grateful to Wagner College, where I earned by B.A., and Seton Hall University, where I earned my M.A., for giving me the foundation that allowed me to pursue this degree. I have had so many amazing teachers and mentors that have guided me along the way, especially: Dr. Simone Alexander, Bill Coulter, Dr. Nancy Enright, Dr. Jeffrey Gray, Dr. Christopher Hogarth, Dr. Anne Schotter, and Dr. Angela Weisl. And the most wonderful friends—Michelle Dowd, Orrianne Florius, and Amanda Ritondo—thank you for the hours you’ve spent on the phone patiently listening and encouraging me from afar. In this dissertation, I write about the importance of community—especially in supporting individuals as they come of age—and I honestly could not ask for a better community of supporters. My family in New York, Egypt, and Cincinnati, has helped me become the person I am today. I am infinitely grateful for their support and encouragement. I am especially grateful for my big sisters, Noha Mataoui and Nermeen Louis, for setting a great example for me; my nephews and niece, Brendan, Adam, and Julie, the source of so much joy in my life; and my husband, Brian, and children, Nicholas, and Jonah, who have taught me so much about patience and unconditional love. Teta, my maternal grandmother, encouraged me to pursue my PhD eight years ago. When others remarked that pursuing an advanced degree would dwindle my prospects for marriage—she dismissed them. I miss her everyday. My parents moved from Alexandria, Egypt, to Brooklyn, New York with my sisters and me when I was three years old. When I think about the courage it took to move to a strange country, where you do not speak the language, with three young children, I am in awe. Mama and Baba—all that I am, all that I have achieved, is because of you. Thank you. v Table of Contents Abstract…………………………………………………………………… ii Copyright Notice………………………………………………………….. iii Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………….. iv Table of Contents……………………………………………..…………… vi Chapter One: Introduction……...………………………………………… 1 Chapter Two: The New “New Mestiza”…………………………………. 18 Chapter Three: The Complexities of Community………………………... 42 Chapter Four: The Language of Post-9/11 Discourse……………………. 87 Bibliography………………………………………………………...….. 120 vi Chapter One Introduction: Contextualizing Arab American Literature I thought pain had no tongue. Or every tongue at once, supreme translator, sieve. I admit my shame. To live on the brink of Arabic, tugging its rich threads without understanding how to weave the rug…I have no gift. The sound, but not the sense. -“Arabic,” Naomi Shihab Nye (16-21) This dissertation explores the ways in which Arab American Literature can be read and understood in the context of the American multiculture at large. I first became interested in exploring Arab American identity in relation to other marginalized American groups after reading an article in the Washington Post, “On Growing Up in Ferguson and Palestine,” by famed Arab American poet Naomi Shihab Nye. Born to a Palestinian father and American mother, Nye’s poems grapple with the difficulty of negotiating her subject position as both an Arab and American. Nye’s August 2014 article is a reflection on injustice in the two places which she called home as a child, Ferguson, Missouri, and Palestine, written in direct response to two events that occurred concurrently that summer: the shooting death of unarmed African 1 American teenager, Michael Brown, by white police officers in Ferguson, and the disproportionate bombing of the Gaza strip by Israeli forces in response to Hamas’s rocket fire. Brown’s killing, which revealed the racial injustice apparent in Ferguson to national audiences, led to weeks of justifiable outrage and protest that resulted in an overzealous, militarized response by police. Watching the two events unfold, Nye was moved by Palestinians’ expression of support for the people of Ferguson, which was especially extraordinary considering they were facing their own humanitarian crisis at the time. “People in Gaza actually sent messages of solidarity to Ferguson—Internet petitions signed by Gazan citizens,” writes Nye. In the article, Nye struggles to understand why Americans do not express similar solidarity over the injustices experienced by the Palestinian people: If the U.S. can’t see that Palestinians have been mightily oppressed since 1948, they really are not interested in looking, are they? And we keep sending weapons and money to Israel, pretending we’d prefer peace. We send weapons to Ferguson, too. After unarmed teenager Michael Brown was shot, quiet old Ferguson took over the news. Citizens marching, chest placards, ‘I’M A MAN TOO’ ‘DON’T SHOOT.’ It’s easy to see how delusions of equality in Ferguson – where a white officer might raise a gun against an unarmed black kid – are simply wrong. Why is that harder for people to see about Gaza? Nye links the U.S.’s militarization of police forces in Ferguson to the U.S.’s militarization of Israel. By revealing that violence in Ferguson and Gaza can be traced to the same source, Nye demonstrates the importance of solidarity amongst marginalized groups—even those whose struggles may initially seem unrelated. Nye concludes that the widespread demonstrations in 2 response to Brown’s death will catalyze change since racial injustice in Ferguson can no longer be ignored.