Can We Graduate From Suspicion?
My high school held tryouts to see which senior would deliver a commencement address on behalf of the 700 graduates. I auditioned but didn’t get picked. Whatever I wrote was lost to posterity. Just guessing, but phrases such as “look eagerly to the future” probably found their way into it.
As the class of 2005 steps forward, I’m imagining myself to be an 18-year-old senior named Ahmad and giving “The Speech.”
I wonder if I’d say this:
“It is an honor to speak for my classmates tonight. I am but a part of the whole, and that whole is our graduating class. Whatever applause you give me goes equally to all of them.
“Seeing me up here surely would shock my middle school teachers, who gave me detentions for acting out the worst of my juvenile behaviors. Let me assure you those days are behind me. If I didn’t apologize then, I do tonight.
“It also would shock them to know that I graduated with a 4.0 grade-point average. Or that I did so while being a varsity swimmer for three years and class president my last two years. And that I did all that while never missing an episode of ‘The O.C.’ or ‘Survivor.’
“Four-point-oh. Varsity athlete. Popular student. Even I must admit that my high school resume sounds pretty good. I should count myself as one of the fortunate ones, and in many ways I do.
“But I cannot stand here and say I’m a happy young man. Or that I consider myself truly lucky. Much of what makes up who I am is angry and sad.
“That’s because I know I’m suspect. I know that no matter what I do, my darker skin and Arabic name and Muslim faith make me, to some of you, a potential threat. And while a part of me says that with simmering anger, another part says it with sadness.
“I’m not your enemy, but I know I can’t convince some of you of that. The terrorism that haunts our world like the specter has made my life and that of many Arab Americans and Muslims a living hell. We didn’t create it, and we can’t escape it.
“I see it when I walk down the street or stand in a grocery line. At sidewalk cafes or while reading what people say in the newspapers. And there is nothing I can do about it.
“And so I ask tonight, what do you want from me? What can I give you or say that will ease your mind? I can’t change my face or my skin color, and I refuse to change my name or my religion.
“Just about the time I think the pursuit of happiness is my right, too, something happens. We all saw the story last week of the Pakistani American men arrested in Northern California and allegedly linked to Al Qaeda. Maybe the charges will prove true; maybe not. We’ve seen it go both ways in the past. But whichever way it goes, it will reinforce the suspicions about people like me.
“What frustrates me is that I understand your fears. I feel them exactly as you do. I’m not immune to madmen, any more than you are.
“I know that most Americans realize that the terrorist mentality represents but a smidgen of the Arab American population and mind-set. But I also know that they don’t know which one out of a thousand or 10,000 or 100,000 is the real terrorist.
“And that makes all of us suspect.
“I hope you see what a terrible curse that is. When people hear me complain, they may say, ‘If you’re unhappy, go back to your own country.’
“This is my country. I was born in Orange County and so were my three brothers and sisters. My parents’ native Syria is no more my home than the moon.
“I must close now. You have given me the honor of speaking tonight, and that only underscores what kind of a country America is.
“America truly is the land of opportunity.
“But I can’t leave tonight without asking: What happens when I walk out the door and am no longer among people who know and trust me?”
Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. He can be reached at (714) 966-7821 or at dana .parsons@latimes.com. An archive of his recent columns is at www.latimes.com/parsons.
