Last week the thought occurred to me, "I feel happy today. Really and truly happy." It was a feeling of lightness, like a revelation.
It's not that I have been unhappy over the past 20 months of living in Barcelona, but it has been challenging in many ways. I chose this challenge, and I thus I have faced it in my very rational way, constantly reminding myself of how lucky I am, eyes ever fixed on my daily to-do list.
It often happens with me that I don't realize how I feel about things until there is a change of state. For example, I didn't realize how insecure I was as a child until I grew into self-assurance and could look back on myself with some perspective. When I was a teacher, I knew I was working hard and that I struggled with certain aspects of the job, but I didn't realize how stressed I was until I stopped teaching. I think I am just the type of person who can tolerate emotional discomfort for long periods of time without realizing it.
That is probably a good thing, because becoming a foreigner in middle age is not a comfortable thing to do. It's completely different from being a tourist and observing an unfamiliar culture from inside your protective bubble, knowing that you will be home soon enough. Becoming a foreigner is to choose to be an other; an alien, a curiosity, a minority. It carries a certain psychological burden.
If your home country is a powerful one, and you have money or status, then it's easier, because you are likely to feel welcomed and perhaps in some ways superior to the people or culture of your host country. Although if the differential is too great, you may feel suspicious that people are being nice to you in order to get something from you, and that's not conducive to building real friendships and trust. That is why we did not choose to move to an underdeveloped country.
If you come from a country which is more or less equally powerful as your host country, then there is a pleasant mutual respect. The difference in culture is novel and interesting, and you can exchange recipes and ideas freely. This is the situation we are in, and it's fantastic. Many people want to learn English, and there have not been large differences in culture to navigate.
If your home country is a poor or troubled one, however, then the locals know you're vulnerable. You are here to work, and you have the burden on your shoulders of adjusting and integrating to the dominant culture. They may look down on you, or pity you. Your customs, dress, and language may seem strange or backwards. For example, I think about how it must be hard for muslim Pakistanis here: The women stand out like sore thumbs in their headscarves, and imagine trying to eat out when everything contains ham! Those immigrants have every possible hurdle to jump: language, culture, religion, and race.
The Spanish generally like Americans because they are familiar with our music and movies. If they idolize America as a land of opportunity, they may ask, "Why have you come here? Isn't life good where you came from?" The locals know they have it good, with the Mediterranean beaches, the food, the weather, the social security... they wouldn't dream of uprooting themselves unless faced with the prospect of war. They like the idea of visiting New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Hawaii, but they wouldn't necessarily want to live in what they think of as bible-thumping, gun-toting, crime-ridden, ultra-competitive America.
Of course people don't think I'm from America because of my face. Often they assume I'm from Japan or China. Unlike my husband, who can pass as a Spaniard on the street with his brown hair and eyes, I feel very conspicuous. There is a growing community of Spanish Chinese, but the generation born here is still under 18. I have no hope of looking local, so my foreignness can never be concealed, it's a part of my identity here. It's not that I feel discriminated against here at all, but naturally they expect less of me here.
Growing up in Hawaii, I never had the feeling that I did not belong in America. My America was a multiracial one, and living in northern California only strengthened that belief. Although I have gotten used to being often the only Asian in the room here, I look forward to returning to California in part just to feel inconspicuous again.
I did not anticipate how so many inconsequential unknowns can add up to a low but constant level of stress. Not knowing where to buy school supplies, how to get anywhere, where to get your hair cut, whether and how much to tip the stylist, or what company to use for internet service... all very minor concerns, but when added up make everyday living just a little more difficult.
It took me over a year to feel like I actually live here, to not feel like a tourist somehow. It takes time to make real friends, especially if there is a language barrier, so the first year I was surrounded by acquaintances. I clung to any English-speakers I knew just to have someone to talk to, or any friendly Spanish people who showed an interest. Over time real friendships have blossomed and deepened, and now I feel truly valued here. Yet until I am really fluent in the language, I will continue to feel a bit disempowered, and not quite at home. However, I do not regret this experience one bit.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Burkas in Munich
In Munich this summer we noticed a lot of women on the street in chador*, the generally black Muslim robes which cover everything but the hands, feet, and eyes. (*Note that these terms are used differently in various countries)
Naturally I have seen photos of women wearing these before. When I traveled to Malaysia I saw many women with hijabs* or scarves covering their heads, and the effect can be colorful and attractive.
But seeing the full-length jet-black chador on the street in the middle of a modern european city in summer had a strong impact on me. The solid black color makes a stark visual statement, especially in contrast with the other people around in casual western dress. Especially, as was often the case, if the woman in chador was accompanied by her husband and children, who were conspicuously NOT in traditional dress, but in normal western clothing. "Why," I thought to myself, "have the men and children integrated into modern society while the women remain apart, isolated, stuck in the past? How must those young girls feel the day they can no longer run freely and must set themselves apart?"
I am not a religious person, but I am a liberal person who tries to be tolerant of differences of opinion and belief. I try my best not to have prejudices, but like all humans, I come with the cultural baggage of being an American who lived through 9/11, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, and the Boston Marathon bombings. In addition, as a feminist I found it very hard not to feel disturbed seeing these women enveloped in blackness. It was very hard not to feel judgement. Their children looked happy in their strollers, on the playgrounds, and in the parks. I wanted very much to see these families as similar to our own, yet I could not overcome my feelings of sadness. I hope that the women wearing the chador feel that they freely chose to do so. I hope they do not feel it a burden or a limitation. But I can't help but feel that it MUST be one. Bulky clothing does restrict a person's movements. It makes it hard to play sports, to swim, and be active, which is one of the joys of my life. Feeling the power of one's own body seems to me a human right.
A few times we noticed women wearing a kind of metal mask over their noses and mouths. It looked a bit like a beak, and frankly it was a little frightening to look at. I did a bit of research, and found that these are called burqa* and are common in the United Arab Emirates.
I'm sure they can be made to look beautiful, alluring, exotic, and mysterious. However, I had a hard time not imagining that it might be hard to breathe or speak with something over my nose and mouth.
I can't help but think of footbinding, a despicable practice, now illegal and no longer done, in ancient China where girl's feet were broken and bound into tiny hoof-like shapes, to make them more desirable (and less mobile). "Golden lily" feet were actually considered erotic. Some cultural practices need to be discontinued simply because they are oppressive.
In the west, people only cover their faces in hospitals, during Halloween or Carnival, or when committing crimes. I think it naturally triggers suspicion to see someone walking around with their face covered, as if they have something to hide. It's a cultural bias, I recognize, but it does tend to make an unknown stranger seem less trustworthy. I have heard some women who choose to cover themselves like the feeling of freedom from the sometimes preying eyes of men, that they don't feel like their bodies and appearances are constantly being judged as attractive or unattractive. I think that argument is valid, although in the West they are likely to be judged for their religious belief instead.
It is terrible, but on a rainy day at the playground, a women in a black chador in the distance was gesticulating with her black umbrella, and for a brief moment it flashed through my husband's mind that she might have a weapon. One can't deny that baggy robes would make it easy to hide things like weapons and bombs, and on the bus to the airport it again crossed my mind as I sat across from a woman in black. "I hope she is not a suicide bomber. I hope she is just a normal woman like me."
I am a bit ashamed to admit to having had these thoughts, and yet I think we should talk about these things, air our dirty laundry and let the sun shine on our humanity. When I see a woman in a chador, this is what I see:
In April 2011 France passed a law which bans full-body coverings such as burqas and chadors, for security reasons as well as cultural integration. Apparently they do not have such strong views on freedom of religion in that country. I doubt that would fly in the US, but if we had a large influx of orthodox muslim immigrants to the country, I can imagine the conflicts that would cause.
I want for women everywhere to feel equally valuable, equally free to learn, to make, to do, to drive, to write, to read, to dream, to sing, to dance, to own, to earn, to travel alone, to choose their own spouse, to vote, to choose their own clothing, to have control over their own destinies. Is that me imposing my western values on my muslim sisters, or is that what they also want for themselves?
Naturally I have seen photos of women wearing these before. When I traveled to Malaysia I saw many women with hijabs* or scarves covering their heads, and the effect can be colorful and attractive.
But seeing the full-length jet-black chador on the street in the middle of a modern european city in summer had a strong impact on me. The solid black color makes a stark visual statement, especially in contrast with the other people around in casual western dress. Especially, as was often the case, if the woman in chador was accompanied by her husband and children, who were conspicuously NOT in traditional dress, but in normal western clothing. "Why," I thought to myself, "have the men and children integrated into modern society while the women remain apart, isolated, stuck in the past? How must those young girls feel the day they can no longer run freely and must set themselves apart?"
I am not a religious person, but I am a liberal person who tries to be tolerant of differences of opinion and belief. I try my best not to have prejudices, but like all humans, I come with the cultural baggage of being an American who lived through 9/11, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, and the Boston Marathon bombings. In addition, as a feminist I found it very hard not to feel disturbed seeing these women enveloped in blackness. It was very hard not to feel judgement. Their children looked happy in their strollers, on the playgrounds, and in the parks. I wanted very much to see these families as similar to our own, yet I could not overcome my feelings of sadness. I hope that the women wearing the chador feel that they freely chose to do so. I hope they do not feel it a burden or a limitation. But I can't help but feel that it MUST be one. Bulky clothing does restrict a person's movements. It makes it hard to play sports, to swim, and be active, which is one of the joys of my life. Feeling the power of one's own body seems to me a human right.
A few times we noticed women wearing a kind of metal mask over their noses and mouths. It looked a bit like a beak, and frankly it was a little frightening to look at. I did a bit of research, and found that these are called burqa* and are common in the United Arab Emirates.
I'm sure they can be made to look beautiful, alluring, exotic, and mysterious. However, I had a hard time not imagining that it might be hard to breathe or speak with something over my nose and mouth.
In this kind of burkha it must be hard to see clearly and I imagine it to be stifling in hot weather.
I can't help but think of footbinding, a despicable practice, now illegal and no longer done, in ancient China where girl's feet were broken and bound into tiny hoof-like shapes, to make them more desirable (and less mobile). "Golden lily" feet were actually considered erotic. Some cultural practices need to be discontinued simply because they are oppressive.
In the west, people only cover their faces in hospitals, during Halloween or Carnival, or when committing crimes. I think it naturally triggers suspicion to see someone walking around with their face covered, as if they have something to hide. It's a cultural bias, I recognize, but it does tend to make an unknown stranger seem less trustworthy. I have heard some women who choose to cover themselves like the feeling of freedom from the sometimes preying eyes of men, that they don't feel like their bodies and appearances are constantly being judged as attractive or unattractive. I think that argument is valid, although in the West they are likely to be judged for their religious belief instead.
It is terrible, but on a rainy day at the playground, a women in a black chador in the distance was gesticulating with her black umbrella, and for a brief moment it flashed through my husband's mind that she might have a weapon. One can't deny that baggy robes would make it easy to hide things like weapons and bombs, and on the bus to the airport it again crossed my mind as I sat across from a woman in black. "I hope she is not a suicide bomber. I hope she is just a normal woman like me."
I am a bit ashamed to admit to having had these thoughts, and yet I think we should talk about these things, air our dirty laundry and let the sun shine on our humanity. When I see a woman in a chador, this is what I see:
In April 2011 France passed a law which bans full-body coverings such as burqas and chadors, for security reasons as well as cultural integration. Apparently they do not have such strong views on freedom of religion in that country. I doubt that would fly in the US, but if we had a large influx of orthodox muslim immigrants to the country, I can imagine the conflicts that would cause.
I want for women everywhere to feel equally valuable, equally free to learn, to make, to do, to drive, to write, to read, to dream, to sing, to dance, to own, to earn, to travel alone, to choose their own spouse, to vote, to choose their own clothing, to have control over their own destinies. Is that me imposing my western values on my muslim sisters, or is that what they also want for themselves?
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