When a university-level EFL teacher asked her Saudi students to work on an assignment entitled “My Family Tree,” she had no idea what she was getting herself into. At first, the teacher did not understand the whispers and snickers that suddenly filled the classroom. Her curiosity was soon quenched, however, when the students started voicing their objections to the assignment — not that the reasons were acceptable, but at least now she knew what all the commotion was about.
Why did the students react in such a way? Well, to put it in their own words, the topic was “too sensitive,” “too embarrassing,” “could reveal information that was too private” and “could get us into a lot of trouble with our families.”
Hearing these reasons, one would think that the whole nation is hiding the best-kept secret of all mankind. What is so wrong about revealing your family tree? Why are many people ashamed of talking about their roots?
Well, when you live among people who make you feel inferior because of your roots, you tend to start believing it, especially at that sensitive age. And when your whole society lives by those unwritten rules, you start accepting it as a fact of life.
In Saudi Arabia, we have one of the world’s most racist views about family origins and roots; the whole population is divided into different layers according to many revolting criteria. First, we have what we call families with “tribal” roots that go back to well-known tribes; they are considered “original” Saudis. Next you have families with “non-tribal” roots, meaning their origins cannot be traced to “original” Saudi tribes. The strange part is that even if your family goes back hundreds of years into history, you are still not considered “original”.
Even more peculiar is the fact that these two main branches of society cannot intermarry without causing a scandal. In fact, it is less scandalous — although not really altogether acceptable — to marry a foreigner than a “non-tribal” Saudi. So unacceptable is the “tribal/non-tribal” intermarriage that our society uses the 220 volt/110 volt analogy — 220 being tribal and 110 being non-tribal — to demonstrate the catastrophic results of such a union.
These beliefs are instilled within us from youth. When I first came back from the US at 14, one of my new friends at school asked me if I was tribal or not. I shrugged, saying I did not know but would tell her tomorrow. I went home and asked the first person I saw, who, unfortunately, happened to be my uncle. I recall being in the garden outside and shouting the question at him across the yard, when suddenly, he sprang at me like a panther, dragged me in the house so that none of the neighbors would hear and violently shook me saying, “How dare you ask that question? Don’t you know your own roots? Of course you’re tribal! Never, ever, forget that!”
Shocked, I nodded my head numbly.
As if that tribal discrimination was not enough, we added a little more just for good measure. People are also ranked according to a regional hierarchy. People from the central region, Najd, consider themselves the elite. Other regions follow in different orders depending on where you stand.
Why do Najdis view themselves as special? Well, the main reason they give is that this region, being the central one, is isolated by desert from all sides, and hence, has not been influenced by the people of other countries. Why this should make Najdis better is beyond me. Personally, I would have loved it if this region, which I was “blessed” enough to be born into, was spiced with a little seasoning from other countries. It might have made us less rigid.
Obviously, then, mixing with other races is looked down upon because it tarnishes our “pure” lineage. This might explain why the students squirmed at the assignment, although many of them came from the most influential families in our society, the setting for this assignment being a prestigious private university in Riyadh. The fact that their families had wealth, education and influence, however, did not mitigate the feelings of insecurity. Most of the students felt ashamed to put their family roots on paper simply because many of them had non-Arab or even just non-Saudi blood in their lineage.
What is bad or wrong about coming from an interracial or intercultural marriage?
Frankly speaking, I think children born of mixed marriages have the added benefit of being exposed to more than one culture during their upbringing.
When King Abdul Aziz united all the regions of the Kingdom in 1932 under one flag, that in itself should have made us all equal citizens of one country. More importantly, the inscription on our national flag reflects a creed that most of us boast they believe in: Islam. Where does Islam stand on the discrimination and prejudices we live by? The Qur’an says, “O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you.” (Surah 49, Verse 13). Also, the Prophet (peace be upon him) warned his people who boasted about and compared lineages, saying: “Let that go, for it is rotten.”
I do not know if the family tree assignment will be canceled or not, but either way, I wish that these young ladies and the rest of our youth could be taught to think in a different, more enlightened and tolerant way. I wish that all the attention, constant speeches, and numerous fliers being distributed amongst us about the most minute details of implementing Islam would instead be directed toward correcting more crucial issues like the one at hand. Then, just maybe, we can claim “purity”.
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(Moodhy Al-Khalaf is a Saudi writer. She is based in Riyadh.)
