Sometimes, particularly this year, I find myself in highly intriguing circumstances - the sort that make me step back, observe the scene, and chuckle and shake my head in amazement. This weekend, it came in the form of finding myself speeding through Loudon County, VA, with a young Cuban and two Iranians, blasting Kurdish music, en route to a company party. ...As a great man once sang, "life is so peculiar."
Ignoring the fantastic story that led up to and follows that, however, I'll attempt to briefly focus on the pieces relevant to this blog, particularly in the form of the Iranians in question. The situation: I made my way down to the DC area this weekend to visit a friend, who, though not Iranian, happens to work with a largely Iranian construction/renovation company, all of whom were entreated to attend this rather well-to-do affair hosted by another Iranian-owned company they do a fair bit of work for. ...To skip along to the moral of the story, however, I don't know that I've ever felt so completely out of place (though in a hilarious sort of way)... or so... un-American, frankly.
Even as I retell the story, I find myself referring to "the Americans" as a group very much excluding myself. Blame both the company I was keeping at the time and the ridiculously ostracizing looks we were receiving. All, unfortunately, in jeans (though the guys looked much more put together than myself, who had not at all planned for this and lacked a proper set of clothes to change into), we immediately stood out upon entering this well-to-do shindig, finding ourselves the recipients of many an interesting look from lounging Caucasian Americans in tuxedos and floor-length dresses, sipping wine and chatting about the economy and how little anyone under the age of 40 really understands anything. I'd have to guess I received the most looks, of the friendly intrigued sort from the young Iranian coworkers, and of the "What the hell is going on here?" sort from the majority of the Americans, most likely due to whom I'd arrived with, our attire, and our propensity to be less than deathly serious.
I'm babbling, though. The intriguing factor, from the ME side of things: well, for starters, the characteristics of the immigrant community here in the US, how they interact with one another, and how they interact (or not) with Americans. The timeless question of class and wealth. The Kurdish factor, as I was introduced to one in particular, Mumid, as being "from Iran - from Kurdistan.... He's from Kurdistan," and who, after much laughter re. wealthy Americans "bullshitting" (forgive the language, I'm merely quoting), was torn between obligations to attend a Kurdish party and obligations to attend a Persian party (both of which, according to him, furthered the "night of bullshit").
While chatting with a friend the other day, my seeing baboons and antelope while hiking about a nature and wildlife reserve in Ghana somehow made its way into the conversation. "Ooh," she said, "so you saw the real Africa! I just saw the resort part." ...While I agree that there's a vast difference between the resorts and the reality, I highly doubt that baboons and antelope alone count as really seeing the truth of the matter.
When it comes to attempting to understand or learn about any place or people, I've always got to side with the option of speaking to natives themselves, as I noted in an earlier post. We discussed it a bit earlier in the semester, as well - statistics vs history and area studies, etc. Both are fantastic, but life seems to continue to remind me that statistics can only tell you so much; getting to know those who really live it is not only telling, but is also unspeakably fascinating- and humanizing. ...I have a feeling the tuxedoed Americans at the gathering on Saturday were much more concerned with the statistics (particularly the monetary ones) than they were in even feigning an interest in the young Iranians joking amongst themselves and accepting the offer of a duck appetizer with a smirk.
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