Egyptian Archives - The Race Card Project

Light skinned, biracial, Jewish, Arab American man.

June 23, 2022June 23, 2022 Arab, Arab-American, Austrian, baklava, biracial, Egyptian, English, Falafel, food, German, Greek, Iraqi, irish, italian, Jewish, light skinned, Norwegian, Polish, qitnyot, religion, Russian, scottish, Sephardic, Shabbat, South German, Swedish, Swiss-German, synagogue, Syrian

Arturo Hull,
Anchorage, AK.

My mom is Syrian, Iraqi, Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Swiss-German, Austrian, South German, English, Norwegian and Danish. My dad is English, Scottish, Irish, Swedish, German, Polish, and Russian. I am light-skinned and can easily pass as French or Italian, but I embrace my Arab roots to the fullest and enjoy foods like Falafel, ful medames, and baklava. I also celebrate Arab holidays, such as Syrian Independence Day and Syrian Revolution Day. When I go to synagogue for Shabbat, I try to attend a Sephardic Synagogue and I eat qitnyot on Shabbat.

Wearing your difference on the outside.

September 12, 2021September 13, 2021 Arab, College, DC, difference, Egyptian, first experience, heritage, High School, Mona Khadr, origin, outside, stereotype, Washington, wher are you from

Mona Khadr,
Washington, DC.

“But where are you from, originally?” is a question I get a lot. When I was younger, I answered proudly (“Egyptian!”) because my heritage was something that made me unique from my mostly white-American peers in the suburbs of MD and PA. As I got older and entered high school, college, and the work force, things changed both in myself and in society. I was becoming more sensitive about this question and aware that some people had preconceived notions about Arabs because of what they saw either in 80s and 90s movies and TV shows, where Arabs were often portrayed as terrorists, or because of very unfortunate events in the news. And there didn’t seem to be any portrayals in the media or popular culture of “normal” Arabs to even things out. I started wondering about the best way to answer while retaining my right to privacy. I received advice from colleagues who were also either immigrants themselves or from immigrant families. Some advised me it was nobody’s business where you’re from and to keep it to yourself. These people basically promoted the idea of playing a game of chicken until the question-asker gets the hint and stops asking. But that can lead to awkwardness in a conversation if a person doesn’t “get the hint” to stop their line of questioning (as if you didn’t understand the question the first or second time), and I’m not a confrontational person by nature – so this would be uncomfortable for me. And I truly don’t believe that everyone who asks this question has bad intentions – most are just innocent and curious. I tend to evaluate on a case-by-case basis depending on the tone of the conversation, where it’s taking place, and the vibe I’m getting from the person asking questions. Sometimes it feels completely innocent, like someone in a store or a restaurant asking me where I’m from because they think I look like I was from their home country. And sometimes it feels completely inappropriate, like a colleague in the workplace asking the same question. (You’d think everyone would know that this question is illegal to ask in any workplace in the U.S., but they don’t!) Luckily I’ve never encountered a hostile person asking this question, and I’m not entirely sure what I would do in that situation. I still have no perfect way to handle this question, so I just try to take it one instance at a time. Wearing your difference or your uniqueness on the outside is a fact of life for many people (tall people; short people; people with physical disabilities; women in a male-dominated workplace/field; any minority in a majority-dominated situation), so I try my best to keep that in mind and take it in stride.

Wow, you are the melting pot.

February 2, 2018February 1, 2018 Alpine, Black, Egyptian, Hispanic, melting pot, Natalie Mariam Pattillo, TX, what are you

Natalie Mariam Pattillo
Alpine, TX

It always seems that my ethnic background becomes a guessing game at dinner parties. Even strangers will come up to me and ask me “what are you..wait, let me guess…egyptian, hispanic, black.,? Usually, I want to say “I’m a human” but I allow the guessing game to continue until they’ve guessed incorrectly enough times or I’ll applaud them for being somewhat regionally correct. I’m culturally quirky, I’ve decided, but my ethnic make-up consists of 50 percent Caucasian, 25 percent Indian, and 25 percent Malay. I was born in Singapore but raised mostly in Texas. This typically gets the response , “wow, you are the melting pot”.

Frustrated with the Concept of Race

July 30, 2013 9/11, Austin, crazy, Egyptian, interment camp, Mediterranean, muslims, Pakistanis, Riad Nassar, TX, WWII

Riad Nassar
Austin, TX

Up until 9/11 race wasn’t something I ever thought. I didn’t look at my Hispanic friends as Hispanics nor were my Black friends as Blacks. Being Egyptian was just a thing and they accepted me for me and not my race just as I accepted them for the beautiful people there were. Then 9/11 happens and my race was a problem. Not for my friends, mind you, but rather for other people. And for a fifth grader who had just read a book about the interment camps in the US during WWII, it was scary. Going into middle school and all the way through high school, I started meeting fewer minorities and more White people and my race was now my identity. It wasn’t because they were inherently racist and wanted me dead but because I was exotic and different. But it was isolating. I felt like everyone was studying me. I had to work hard to show them that I was intelligent, athletic, funny and not just an Egyptian. That I was a multi-dimensional, that you couldn’t give me one label. And that seem to make things worse. Because they couldn’t label as anything else. I did too many nerdy things to be a jock and too many jock things to be a nerd. They had no choice but to give me that one label. Many of them say they don’t see me that way, but that’s not how it felt. So I started joking about the stereotypes of my race. And then every year I would try to stop but would ultimately fall back to that comedic farce. And when I went to college, I swore to be different. Those who had been through high school and middle school with me and went on to the same college with ended just bringing it back out. I tried hanging out with other Muslims in college, but there too I found my race standing in the way. There were mostly Pakistanis, who wanted to talk about Pakistani things. Of course they also talked about Indian things with Indians, since the countries do have a lot more similarities than they are willing to admit, (Perhaps they should try using those to foster a friendlier relationship, but I digress). So even when my religion says race shouldn’t matter, it still seems to impede my life. And that’s not even the scary stuff. Walking down streets, my family members and I will sometimes get looks. Most of the time it’s not in Austin, but it still happens here. And I think, “Is it going to happen today? Will my family be targeted today? Are we going to be attacked?” 12 years after 9/11 and I still have this fear. I hate this. Why does my race matter? Why do people care? I go to Six Flags to spend the day with my friends. Why do I have to be pulled out of the line to be asked questions about my age and if I’m a US citizen? Why is it when my roomates are asked “Where are you from?”, any city in Texas will do. But when I get asked that question and I answer with Austin, a city I’m proud to call my home, they say, “No, I mean where were you born?”. I was born in California and that still isn’t a good enough answer. “What’s your nationality or where is your family from?” is where I give up and say I’m Egyptian. But I shouldn’t have too. I should have to worry about being attacked for having a beard. I shouldn’t have to worry about my sister or my mother being harmed for having their heads covered. My race shouldn’t be my identity. I would take being called an idiot for the rest if my life if it meant that I was being measured by my aptitude and not being labeled simple because I look different. I already have to worry about the same things as other people my age worry about. Why must I be saddled with an extra load for something I never chose. Nobody chooses their race and yet we are still judged on it? How does that make any sense? Why does it have to matter? How come when you first meet me, or hear my name, you think “I wonder where he’s from?” and not “I wonder what his favorite animal is?” It’s the Holland Lop Dwarf Rabbit. I think that’s more interesting and substantial than the fact that my ancestors (not me) are from the Mediterranean.

I’m not Hispanic, thanks for asking.

June 13, 2013 College, Egyptian, Elizabeth Norris Taylor, Fernandina Beach, filipino, FL, Greek, Hawaiian, Hispanic, Inuit, italian, latina, Mexican, Moroccan, Native American, Polynesian, Spanish, what are you

Elizabeth Norris Taylor
Fernandina Beach, FL

I have lived my entire life with people coming up to me and asking, “what are you?” For a while in college, I had some very clever comebacks… now days I simply shrug and say, “American, and you?” I have had people come up to me and speak Spanish because they assume I’m Latina. I’ve been asked; Are you Mexican, Filipino, Polynesian, Hawaiian, Native American, Inuit, Egyptian, Moroccan, Greek, Italian, Spanish, all types of Latina and even Samoan. Strangely enough both branches of my family have been in America since the early 1800’s and they all came from England, Ireland, Wales & Scotland… no one ever believes me. I’ve always felt like the token ethnic friend yet, I could hardly be more American and white-bred to boot!

We pass for everything but ourselves.

May 3, 2013March 4, 2015 Chippewa Lake, Egyptian, everything, father, Grandma, grandmother, italian, Katherine Fulton, mother, OH, pass

Katherine Fulton
Chippewa Lake, OH

My mother, father, aunt, grandmother and I have been mistaken for everything from Italian to Egyptian. When we tell the truth, reactions range from surprise to disgust.

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