Call Me by My Name: It’s Musbah

My name is Musbah, and I am from Syria. I chose to come to the United States to study at a private research university because I was interested in liberal education and the academic freedom that was available on U.S. university campuses. Little did I know that the academic freedom I was seeking would attempt to erase my connection with my Syrian heritage, a process that started with my name. One of the first things I noticed during orientation was that most Americans could not pronounce my name and often asked me to repeat it, after which came the dreaded question, “Where are you from? ” I noticed throughout my time as an undergraduate student that my peers either avoided saying my name at all, conveniently called me “M,” or suggested I find a name that would be more suitable for the American tongue. Upon learning about my Syrian background, people often express awe or astonishment and ask questions like, “Is it really dangerous there? What was it like living there? Did you grow up speaking English? Do they speak Syrian in Syria? ” It always seems like people are only interested in my culture as an educational tool that they explore when they feel curious, not necessarily because they want to invite me to express my Syrian identity. Even as a student affairs professional, I want to share my history and culture with my friends and colleagues yet seldom feel like there are an appropriate time and place to do so. My time in the United States has complicated my relationship with my country, family, and culture. My inability to visit my home or to reunite with my family due to the financial burdens and travel restrictions imposed on Syrian nationals has put a strain on our relationship and reduced it to a weekly phone conversation, typically about the weather. My family had been a central part of my life in Syria, and it was through family that I learned about Syrian culture. The physical and emotional disconnection from my family exacerbates the detachment I feel from my culture. My parents are getting older, yet I cannot be with them to understand how their lives are changing and support them through these changes. I have grown and changed a lot over the last five years, yet my parents cannot see or understand the person I have become. As my worldviews have evolved and have been shaped by my interactions with US culture, my family has not been able to witness such changes which further perpetuates our disconnection. Essentially, we are becoming strangers to each other. In many ways, I do not belong on either side of the Atlantic, and my college experienced left me with an overwhelming sense of cultural loss. The current practices of working with international students on college campuses contribute to the erosion of international students’ cultural belonging. The ability of international students to practice, honor, and simultaneously maintain multiple cultural perspectives without feeling the need to sacrifice one culture for the sake of the other—biculturalism—is essential for forming meaningful relationships in the United States while maintaining authentic connections with the students’ home countries. Higher education institutions must persistently push back against dominant thinking that contributes to the plight of biculturalism, namely, American elitism, and white supremacy.