Yeah, so this is portion of a paper I wrote for today that I thought held some very blog deserving aspects and thoughts of mine. (Particularly leaving the country soon, after having a perspective altered by the events of September 11th)

As Paul Martin Lester states in the very first article, 9/11 changed the perspective of many Americans, myself included. After the attacks on the towers, was the first time I started to become aware of the Arab and Muslim communities as other minorities living in the United States, and tried to develop what exactly my thoughts were when it came to this issue, because previously I hadn’t thought about them at all. Living in my small, mostly white, town I was never confronted with the issue of having any prejudice against these groups until suddenly everyone around me, and an entire nation, were talking about them constantly and usually in a derogatory way. I knew that I didn’t like what was coming out of some people’s mouths, racial slurs, ill-mannered jokes, and of course stereotypes of a generality consisting of anyone with darker skin who wasn’t Mexican, Chinese, or African American.

But I did notice in myself an awareness of whenever I saw someone looking of Arab decent, whether on TV or in a store 4ft. away from me. The fact that I would so quickly note the ethnicity of someone near, and mentally judge how far they were away from me without thinking really bothered me. Part of me wanted to know why this had changed, because I knew these individuals had done absolutely nothing for me to fear them, but still a part of me felt like I couldn’t let my guard down. Thankfully all of this has changed in the time since 9/11, especially after becoming aware of how I was reacting internally, and taking the time to sort out my feelings with the rest of America as more and more stories of crimes or prejudices against innocent Arabs (or others mistaken for them) were spread across the media.

The summer of 2002, in late August with the first anniversary of 9/11 approaching, I was visiting my father, and he, my brother, and I went to the demolition derby at the county fair as we did every summer. This one I distinctly recollect, even now with a ‘bad taste in my mouth’ as some say. That year before the opening “heat” (round), they had a special event with all the contestant cars to get the crowd rallied before hand. In the middle of the ring they had placed a stuffed imitation of Osama Bin Laden on a stick, holding a pizza box with something anti-American written on it. I don’t remember the phrase, but the point of the pizza box was that whichever car could knock down Osama first would win a free pizza, which as you can assume was not really the central motivation of the drivers in this task.

At first my reaction was, “Well, what do you expect from a bunch of Midwest hicks with September 11 coming, I mean, we’re at a derby for goodness sakes. A bunch of guys completely destroying each others cars for pure entertainment would most likely draw a unique crowd the way it is.” But as the crowd grew feisty, shouting all kinds of encouragement and the contestants labored to be winner (of the contest or of the crowd’s adoration?) I started to feel sick to my stomach. Even after the fake Osama had been knocked down, the cars continued to drive over the stick figure determined to completely deface what was left of the innocent pillow, sheets, and marker-ed on bearded face. The people around me, lots of them familiar faces, suddenly started looking nothing like the crowd I usually felt a part of at he derbies, and more like a mob at a lynching. I just felt so disgusted with something that was completely unnecessary (they could have just had a pizza box on a stick) that my dad could tell I didn’t seem to be getting pumped like others. Unfortunately after that, I couldn’t even enjoy a more stupid and non-politically motivated display of violence.

Strangely some of the same feelings I was having at that derby that summer, have now shifted somewhat to be applied to my feelings about seeing the American flag today. After 9/11 I became somewhat supportive of Bush, I was fairly impressed with how well he seemed to be dealing with a national crisis so early following his entry to office. Whether his actions as President have changed at all since then, or people are finally distanced enough from their pain/anger surrounding the aftermath that many don’t feel the need to go to war, since then I know at least my own opinion has shifted. When I see the flag, of course one of the first things I think of is supporting the troops overseas, yet I feel hesitancy in making any patriotic displays myself. It’s like being torn again in that mob at the fair; the mob made of all the people I knew and loved from around town, a community I’m part of and loyal to and supporting of, but whose actions I am not.

This pressure is one pressing down on me more recently, as I’m starting to prepare for my semester abroad in a few months. I’m slightly afraid of what meaning, anything I have resembling the U.S. or anything remotely patriotic, may be conveyed to people in another country. I don’t want to be judged for the actions of some in my country, but I also don’t want to feel ashamed of my country either. Simply being an American overseas is enough to attract certain stereotypes of character and beliefs that I don’t want to provoke any unnecessary glares or comments.

When I see dozens of patriotic stickers decorating the bumper of car, I myself almost scoff at the overly zealous American in my own country, so something as simple as using a credit card adorned with the symbol of the American flag in a foreign country could warrant an equal or larger reaction from a non-American. Or if I happen to mention that I like country music, some people might instantly assume I mean that Toby Keith song about America sticking a boot up their ass (a country song I happen to not like). So even now, after being born in, and living in this country for 19 years, knowing what being American means is still something that I’m personally struggling with.

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