March
2nd 2016
Dying
Wish
A crisp white envelope arrived for my
grandfather a few days ago with his name in shiny black type written across it.
He opened it to reveal a very classy and elegantly printed 5x7 card—still in
black and white like the envelope. A nearby Arabic Language and Culture
Institute was hosting a panel session on the importance of preserving the
mother tongue (native language) which, for them, is Arabic.
{Sidebar: Where did this etiquette go?
This classy and formal regard for hosting and inviting? What has happened to
our generation; us milliennials or Gen X or Gen Y? I’m somewhat ashamed to be
part of them. They are the ones who have produced poorly worded Facebook
invites that include a “Maybe” option in the responses which technically
translates to, “Yeah, I’m diagnosed with the FOMO disease (Fear of Missing Out)
and therefore will bookmark your effort filled event and see if anything better
comes along from now till about the hour before your event. Then I’ll decide if
I want to come, because I don’t respect you or myself.”}
Having always been a fan and lover of
the Arabic language—though I am no linguistics expert—I told my grandfather
that I wanted to go. He was surprised that both his daughter and granddaughter
were eager to attend what he considered something that may have bored us.
We arrived to a large white marble
building with a small staircase that led into a dimly lit lobby where a tanned
woman with the brightest green eyes was serving coffee with a smile. My
grandfather enjoyed his small cup as my mother and I savored the Arabian taste
of the art that decorated this hallway and the auditorium where the panel was
being held.
It was gold, in all senses. Gold and
wood colors weaved into Arabian geometric patterns, intertwining various verses
from the Quran that reflected on the significance of knowledge. What so many
fail to notice is that the Quran constantly emphasizes the value of education
in life, as well as the necessity of using your logic. We sat in velvet like
red very comfortable chairs in a room that started to fill. My grandfather,
caught somewhere between his many endearing friends in their 80s and 90s, was making
his way towards us.
A man, from the same generation as my
grandfather’s, slowly made his way to the stage. To me, he was adorable. Most
of the attendees were. I admired their passion, drive and dedication to
pursuing not only the attendance of this very important matter, but also in
hosting it, at their age. But that was the first problem: No Youth.
As the session began, with the host
speaking followed by the two guest speakers, who each gave a phenomenal and
straight to the point talk on the dwindling status of the Arabic language in
today’s generation, I began feeling the heartbreak. Alongside this very painful
war, the older generation of educated intellects and investors in this country
are watching the next group of people grow up in the comfort of knowing nothing
but colloquial Arabic. I thought this was a phenomenon of concern only for
those of us Arabs who grew up outside of the Arab world. Had my parents not
invested the time and effort of ensuring that my brothers and I go to school
and learn Arabic, we would have been like the many others I know who cannot
even read the letters.
The truth of the matter is, the real
Arabic is that in its original classical form, known as Fuss-ha. Today, Fuss-ha
is found in Arabic books, the Quran and on the news. Many shows and movies have
either been translated or dubbed into colloquial Arabic, making it easier for
the younger crowd to easily distance from Fuss-ha.
I could sense the frustration of the speaker when he shared this point.
While to many this is no big deal
(aren’t y’all still speaking Arabic?), it is in fact a great big deal. Fuss-ha is the authentic root of our
cultures and knowledge in the Arab world. Our countries are being dismantled
for what seems to be far too many hidden agendas, one of which is most likely
an effort to destroy our adherences to our culture and its root. To me, the
dismantling of this skill in my parents’ generation and even more so in mine,
is the attempt to dismantle Arabs in their entirety. And are we not seeing that
today, everywhere?
Did anyone even know that UNESCO marked
February 21st as International Mother Language Day, where all native
tongues are to be celebrated? Did anyone know that in some foreign colleges
(and by foreign here, I’m referring to outside of the Middle East), you can
actually take different Arabic dialects and have that counted as credits
towards different languages? I heard about that six or seven years ago and it
was infuriating because it was a clear attempt at creating a divide within
Arabs and their root language. It’s as pathetic as taking courses in
Californian, Texan and New Jersey accents and claiming you can speak three
languages!
The beauty of Fuss-ha is that it is the universal unifying factor of Arabs
everywhere and anywhere, regardless of religion. Now it is slowly dying out and
no one but these older men and women cared. What happens when they and their
passions are gone? Where is the younger crowd to learn of the value and then
take on the mission to uphold their language?
That was what my mom asked, after she
raised her to hand and walked to the microphone. People were impressed and
asking the same thing.
I started to remember the community
where I grew up, and this innate competitiveness among the members about whose
dialect and culture is better or more accurate.
-->
Recently
I was exposed to the depths of another culture and learned to bite my Syrian
tongue around them and speak English
in order to keep from offending anyone since everything had morphed
into perverted meanings. I swear to God, I couldn’t say “allergic” or “woman”
without inadvertently and unknowingly referring to sex or sluts in their
dialect and at one point I got extremely frustrated. How had language devolved
into such ugly depths? The same exact words I use in Syrian for those two are
actually found in the Quran and are therefore accurate.
On the drive home, in the extreme crowd
of Damascus—a majority of the population from the outskirts of the city had
migrated inwards from the war for safer living—I felt like I needed to stay and
strengthen my Fuss-ha. I needed to
stay and help empower this next group of worn down men and women.
In an effort to expedite this dilution
of the language, somewhere in history the term “Mother Language” was redefined
to simply mean the language you grew up with, rather than its authentic meaning
of Fuss-ha. Therefore, many Arabs
have been led to believe that their colloquial is enough. But it’s not and the
concern now is about raising awareness on this very dire issue.
How can our Arab youth be injected (for
lack of a better term) with this same burning passion for the language’s
preservation as that of their grandparents? Just imagine, if my parent’s
generation can read, write and understand Fuss-ha
but rarely speak it, what will my generation do? We can barely understand it or
write it but we can slightly read it. What about those that come after us? Smoking
hookah and having a shawarma sandwich while saying, “Habibi” and “Yallah” does
not really constitute.
The scariest part of all this is that Syrians
here, amid war and turmoil, still placed value on this great concern because
they recognize the connection. That is something extremely weighty for us to
notice and work on worldwide. Syrians are genuinely afraid of being
extinguished and they are seeing this right before their eyes, physically and
linguistically.
For the remaining Arabs everywhere
else, wake up and value your heritage and roots. Uphold and appreciate what is
being taken away from you in your sleep. Stop these divides and hold true to
what matters. The dying breed of Syrians has this as their wish.
