While roaming around in Mexico, I got a better understanding of the men who wrote the canon of Latin American literature. On the one hand, they were orphans if they full out rejected Spanish colonialism. But a part of them also loved their new home with more passion. Their knowledge was a privileged burden. Fuentes, through the voice of Artemio Cruz, suffered; Garcia Marquez suffered. All could compare themselves to the worse off Latin American country, e.g. The traffics situations or the drug sources. And yet American imperialism grew despite them all. What were the men supposed to write?
A dysfunctional clock commemorating the Armenian genocide in Colonia Roma
The mexico park adjacent to the spain park; where kids played
A modernist car
A China clock tower commemorating the Sino-Mexican relations. dates back to Qing dynasty / 1800s
Edgar Allen Poe in public street art
The 20th century was the century of modern literature, and Latin America produced much better modern literature than China, yet they are strangely absent from mainstream institutions of China or the US.
Spanish translation of Tahar ben Jelloun's novella inside a cute cafe. He writes in French though his first language is Arabic.
An art museum in the old city center host san exhibition the new generation of Mexico-based artists inspired by Marcel Duchamp and others' idea of Camp. I quietly note that none of whom are indigenous or black. The guard communicates to me the boundaries of the exhibition through a whistle, a non-linguistic sounds, hiding our mutual ignorance of each other's colonial language. A 40-year old woman and her accomplice try to steal my phone in a bookstore guarded by a suited security man.
Mothers of Mexico
Looking back at the 15-day trip, I did not have a single English discussion about literary books during my trip. Only magazines and a film. What is the weight of Spanish? The handsome pedlar of English language textbooks handed each out to the commuters. I notice the US flag printed on the cover. He scurried around the subway, retrieving them into a backpack like any ordinary contraband. A century of Magical Realism?
Selfie with a Che statue in a park with a lot of males, both statues and live ones. We avoid eye contact and soon I am the only living person in the park.
Dolled-up girls in public notice my attire and compare themselves to me without holding back. Boys are mostly more restrained.
I return to Massachusetts and notice more Aztec themed restaurants in well to do areas. I still have not finished Savage Detectives. The suicidal tendencies of some of the characters are impossible to offer an actual lesson for my trajectory, since the American continent has been so generous to me. I was slightly disappointed by Mexico City's structures, with all the malls, greatly resembling those cities of the US, yet I can still imagine a brighter future there. Just like all the other Latin American exiles. We share the ambivalence towards Europe, yet we all, enjoy our vacations abroad and Nouveau Vague aesthetics in films. We do not care if Spain was the original or copy of Mexico, as long as music keeps us dancing and the food tastes great.
Academic works continue to explore the multiple meanings of Hispanidad. Online, political controversy surrounding Hispanic issues continues. Latinx authors of the English language continue to languish without much praise while non Latinx authors benefit from their writings on issues related to the borders.
During my trip to one of the pyramid sites, Teotihuacan, thankfully saved from Spanish destruction, I booked a tour guide on Airbnb. I did not expect as many people as eight other visitors, but we were all eager and enthusiastic for the trip, if not somewhat competitive as well. One girl from the US in particular liked to show off her Spanish as well as her closeness to her amiga blanca.
At first, I thought the designated driver of our fancy Nissan van was Alejandro because I did not read the email prior to departing. He was actually the brother of Alejandro, Sergio, and spoke little English. We waited in front of the gate of the tour site for Alejandro together and I was a bit puzzled.
Soon Alejandro emerged and the answer to my question was revealed.
He said some things that struck me as particularly revealing. For example, he repeatedly said he had Arab blood and then later said his "Mayan" heritage was 42 percent. Only then I realized he took one genetic test exam to get such results. One of my other self-conscious friend, who also interacted with another ethnic group for a living, took this kind of test as well. Alejandro commented on the other Mexican American couple on the trip in regards to their shorter height, and commented that shorter people were possibly “purer” in their indigeneity. I also read recently that someone has argued the study of genes in the history of science directly related to the study of eugenics.
Alejandro also talked about the language his mother spoke. He said when he traveled to Arizona, another “Hopi” man heard him speak the language and remarked, “how come you speak my mother’s language?” At first Alejandro slyly pretended that he did not understand. Later he said to the man in English, “It’s because we are brothers.” Alejandro clarified that his version is called Nahuan rather than Hopi. I loved that story, more than the test story.
Old paintings in a royal house
In the introductions, he asked us to say what we expected from the tour. I said I was interested in Aztec design and paintings. He concluded by saying there will be all of what we expected. Yet during most of the tour of the structures, we barely saw drawings. He emphasized a lot of the water-levelness of building structures, well-designed acoustics, technological as well as drainage accomplishments of the Aztecs, in somewhat of a defensive manner. He bragged about the availablity of fresh fruits in the Mexico agricultural economy vis-a-vis the Global North, something which tourists often exclaim to him during their travels. He also joked frequently about possibly scary situations but soon laughed it off. He recalled when the sites were less guarded and regulated, he and his friends used to relax around and do what many teenagers did in the absence of their parents.
"We humans are made of different colors, like corn."
When we approached lesser visited sites, of the royal domestic quarters as well as his own house, there was more presence of Aztec aesthetics.
Alejandro's talk about pure Aztec Indians reminded me when Walid showed me a video clip where people seeking refuge claimed to be "suri" (Syrian) in their primary spoken Arabic. The "real" Arab would interview them about their origins with a fluent "non-creole" Arabic dialect. One girl with dark skin giggled in response to the question "where are you from" and said "ana suri" and looked away in shyness. In the same edited clip a purported Afghani man among other men in an outside environment, possibly waiting in line for some distributions, said similar things. While Walid found it entertaining and funny, I thought the video clip was cruel. Privileged spectators joked while people seeking refuge adopt new social orders. Still, Arab men tend to be quite funny and self deprecating in most circumstances, and I also found the interactions filled with humorous energy. After all, who would've imagined that being an Arabic-speaking "suri" was so globally accepted to be politically important?
Now after my travels in Mexico and I think back to this clip, authenticity in this day and age is so regulated by our notions of purity and whiteness.
The same instance is repeated when Zayn in the film Capernaum tried to claim that he was related to a dark skinned baby.
An Ethiopian worker took him in and left her son with him and could not return on time due to rounded up in jail after encountering the Lebanese authority. The fixer who tried to take the baby from him understood the kinship relations from the standpoint of his precariousness, and joked about the improbability that Zayn and the baby were actually related, but then decided to exploit it. Zayn also claims to be Syrian in order to get provisions from a stand during moments of desperation.
During this competition for resources under capitalism, authentic suffering and/or civilization becomes the true measuring stick for humanitarian attention-- will the real Syrian / indigenous person please stand up? Or rather, has the struggle of the Syrian leaving a warzone or an indigenous person trying to maintain their identity by any means necessary inspire the other people who are also not indigenous or Suri by descent?
In some senses, Alejandro was the only person who I could speak to on his indigenous identity and his life during my two weeks in Mexico, partly because he liked to as a mischievous man and his slightly self-absorbed personality, partly because I paid for this Airbnb experience. I unfortunately realized that white supremacy existed in Mexico very quickly, even though I had subconsciously hoped for something else.
Still, the Mexican-Spanish language and music are relatively open systems (more like Linux than Windows or Apple), and overall people did not assume anything about my personhood as quickly based on my looks as some other white-passing / white supremacist cultures in the world.
I wrote this for a film and religious studies class in 2011, at Claremont McKenna College. The course was taught by Prof. Gastón Espinosa and he selected this film as the last one we watched. I am posting it now because I am researching for my paper on the history of disability in America and I find that there are still not many engagements with this subject.
Ali Sachay Rizvi is a famed noha performer who has performed worldwide, including places like Pakistan, Houston, Maryland, and Washington D.C. He is the son of the poet and noha-performer Sachay Bhai.
I have found his performances because of this year's Muharram commemorations. I searched randomly on Youtube and was captivated by the dignity and rhythms of his recitals. The video accompanied me during journeys along the public transportation system. Zeba saw my share of his performance on faceb00k and informed me of his father's work. She also mentioned attending his majalis march in D.C. during her work trip and we both praised his graceful sonic effects.
As a historian, very few look into sonic resources. Sounds of Islam is one exception by an anthropologist. Many histories of Islam also do not address South Asian contributions to the spirit of Islam (which is also a reference to South Asian thinker Iqbal's book). This post seeks to do some justice; but it is by no means complete. Sadly my Urdu is not up to par for translations.
Whenever the baby or child cried during our majalis, Shaikh Imranali Panjwani of Gujarat (by way of England) would recite salawat and sometimes it could calm down the child. That is the amazing effect of vibrations.
Here are some of the Mr. Ali Sachay Rizvi's Urdu noha performances in latam sessions, mostly uploaded by Hyder Rizvi.
For Bibi Zahra (a.s.)
For Bibi Fatima (a.s.)
For Abbas (a.s.)
2012
Text for this noha listed below; copied from Noha Writeups
Bazaar may binte ali deti thi sada bhai
abbas kahan ho
sar par bhi nahi chadar laakhon hai tamashayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
is aalam e ghurbat may koi bhi nahi mera
hai khaak e safar sar par aur raat rasan basta
pardes may zainab ko taqdeer kahan laayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
paywast hai naize may sar shaahe shaheedan ka
ye dekh ke ay ghazi phat-ta hai mera seena
marjayegi is gham may shabbir ki maajayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
darya ke kanare tum aada se gaye ladne
sab dekh rahi thi mai darwazaye qaima se
ab jung hamari bhi dekho to zara bhai
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
dunya ka sahara hai baba jo hamara hai
mushkil may magar maine tumko hi pukaara hai
ab dhoondti hai tumko bhaiya meri beenayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
be-monis o yawar hai batlao kidhar jaaye
is tarha to jeene se behtar hai ke mar jaye
faryaad kare kis se hoti nahi sunwaayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
ay mere jari meri imdad ko aajao
maanga hai kaneezi may zaalim ne sakina ko
hai waqt qayamat ka masoom hai ghabrayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
ahmed ki nawasi ka yasir yehi noha tha
na bhai bache mere na koi bacha beta
ab jeeke karoongi kya gar maut nahi aayi
abbas kahan ho
abbas abbas….
For Bibi Sakina
Tewar wohi shabab wohi baakpan tamam (urdu lyrics listed below)
As I am interacting with more and more immigrants in the East Coast, some common themes emerge: 1) peer group competition; 2) relative access to white privilege. It is partly due to the fact that we do not have access to many resources in general. Thus, we often appeal to our ethnic communities and are aware of how each person survives in white-supremacist America. But people who can sometimes pass as white also access that form of white privilege or white-passing privilege. This is an art project that has been born out of these themes.
From Wikipedia
White privilege (or white skin privilege) is the societal privilege that in some countries benefits white people over non-white people, particularly if they are otherwise under the same social, political, or economic circumstances.
One person who exercised white privilege while also claiming ethnic membership, for example, is Mahmoud "Al-Astoria". The last name is not his real last name since I have decided to take into account that he was once a friend of my partner Walid. Walid does not want to disclose his last name.
He uses his ethnic resources as well as his ability to pass as white to leverage his road to success in America. Such contradictions have led to many people's cynicism in regards to the label "people of color." I still find this label useful for progressive political mobilization, and hopefully, this project can keep some of the people in this community accountable.
Adrian Qian. "Certificate #1." Digital Media. 2019.
Thus, I have written this certificate to convey my dismay at such survival practices, since I am a person of color who will not pass as white in all visual interactions. (My voice, on the other hand, with its East Coast accent, can pass as white.) I also acknowledge the fluidity of race, and thus I do not invoke any authority on this subject other than my personal name in the certificate.
This is also subject to context because not everyone wants to have the white-passing privilege. In the Arab American context is it especially important to talk about this aspect because 1) some white(-passing) Muslims have dominated discussions on Islam in America and 2) there are some Arab immigrants who use the N-word in conversations. My professor, who is Lebanese American, has also used the N-word in class. One of my classmates voiced her concern with her peers, but I do not think any other steps were taken.
This documentary "Not Quite White" by Jamil Khoury is also useful for understanding the long historical process of Arab American identity formation.
Some personal factors are also involved in making this certificate, and some of you may detect my spite. Simply, Mahmoud decided to invite us over for lunch. We traveled 5 hours from Boston and was 20 minutes late. He ended up ditching us altogether and was spotted eating lunch instead at Walid's old workplace in Astoria, NY.
听了个音乐表演。
用网络(social media)发家的阿拉伯语说唱人 有点像当下的年轻学者 都从小在吸取音乐或书本的养分。出道后非常慷慨 往往提前把内容分享给了大家 但接下来面临如何把产品变成钱的疑问。不仅是个体户 同时需要面对很多不可控的因素。能控制的只有自己的激情和敬业精神。
