On similarities between Arabs and the Aswaad (African-Americans)…

We’re not exactly the first to be invited to the annual holiday office party—and neither are they

We’re both dark-complected and, some would contend, very suspicious looking.(Scoot over guys, we gotta make room for the Mexicans on this one, too.) Ultra conservative, narrow-minded, Archie Bunker types don’t particularly like us, or trust us, very much. There are those who think that all Black men are criminals, all Mexicans are illegals and all Arabs are terrorists. Somehow though, they’re very astute at being able to differentiate between 10,000 blond, blue-eyed, pale-skinned, surfer-dude looking guys. But, for some reason, we all still look alike to them.

We do look alike, actually

In all fairness to Mr. Stiff-A** and his friends, I must admit that there’s a part of me that understands his dilemma. I mean, it’s true, we actually do look alike. At least some of us do. Call the Hispanics in again(actually—keep them close by, we keep needing to use them). It’s true. I know that you have at least one Aswaad friend who looks exactly like your Arabic cousin. Right? You even catch yourself doing a double take every so often. You’re like, “Jamouli? Hey, Jamouli? Ahh damn! Jerome, sorry man, I thought you was Jamouli for a second, ya’ll two look exactly alike!”

Plus, we get even more confused now that the Aswaad are using common Arabic names more often these days. As a matter of fact, that’s really messing us up. “Yo’, Khalil, meet my cousin, Khalil.” … “Ahmed, Yo’! This is my friend Ahmed.”

We’re just the ones who are … well … profiled a lot

It kinda seems that people are interested in what we’re up to these days. They just want to know, you know, what we’re doing.

All the time.

And why we’re doing it. And with whom we’re doing it.

Around the clock.

It’s not a big deal, really.

The local and state authority’s focused on us. That’s true.

And the national authority’s, too. Yeah, you’re right, so what?

Okay, yeah, especially all the big government department agency heads. That’s fine. So, big deal.

Okay, I admit, most of the general population is and the border control guards as well. So what’s your point?

Okay! Okay! Wall Street, the Red Cross, the UN, the EU, the entire telecommunications industry, the entire transportation industry, etc.



There, I said it! Are you happy? Now leave me alone!

And let’s not forget the friendly skies…

The airlines arbitrarily call passengers up to check boarding passes—and rightfully so. It’s not a big deal. They call everyone up, randomly, you know, to verify confirmed seats and all.

“Will the following passengers please proceed to gate 17 …

Jones … Smith … Collins … Roberts … Abdullah … Mohammad … Mustafa …Yassir-Ibn-Abdul-Aziz … Sheik Ahmed-Hussein-Abdul (the third) … Hamdallahal-Hyatt-Ahmed … Ali-Rafi k-Moushtawai … Abdallah-Abdallah-Abdallah (the fourth) … Zaid Al-Ibn-Il-Halawee … Nasser-Ibn-Abdul-Halim-Hafez. …

Thank you. If you would kindly step right this way; this will just take a moment of your time.”

I’m not complaining. Oh no, I’m not. Not at all. Trust me. If there were nineteen highjackers from Asia, I’d be listening for names like Kim Hung Ho … Chan Li Sen… Hi Li Ho … Ho Chi Mihn … Kung Pow … General Tso … Beef Broccoli … Shrimp Fry Rice … Combination Special Number 1 and Number 2!!!


We both know how to represent

We’re always having fun … you know … when we’re not fighting or anything. Or when we’re not at war, or anything. Even our demonstrations are fun. Hell! They’re parties in and of themselves. I mean, I go to demonstrations just for the heck of it. I don’t always necessarily know what I’m protesting or anything. Sometimes, I don’t think they do, either. But, you know, sometimes you just gotta go to the town square, wave a flag, and stomp your feet a little. You just feel better afterwards.

Caucasian demonstrations are the worst! Ugh! Bor-ing! I’d rather watch paint dry. Sorry, to put it like that, but hey. No spunk, you know? Maybe a little jingle here and there but that’s it. Bor-ing! Orderly, too. BLAH! At least we have fervor. We go all out in our demonstrations. We represent! Yeah, baby! Thousands of people come out into the streets and chant. And our chants have a solid beat to them, too. It’s a slammin’ rhythm (that’s usually where the foot stomping comes in.) We gather in little circles, and we shoot off guns. Yup! Up in the air. Repeatedly. TAAT! TAAT! TAAT! TAAT!

I’m not condoning it … I’m just saying that we do it. Sometimes. Like when we’re really mad. Or sometimes when we’re really happy. Or sometimes during a funeral. And even sometimes during a wedding. It all just depends. And we make lots of zalghoutas. I’m telling you; it’s a big party!

The Aswaad? Well, they have interesting demonstrations, too, but, for some reason, they tend to be referred to as “riots.” Come to think of it, our demonstrations have a different name too; they tend to be referred to as “uprisings.” Hmmm… Interesting.But, the Aswaad represent! They sure do! And sometimes they shoot off guns too, but mostly when they get mad. Like when an entire city police department’s officers are acquitted after a video tape shows them beating the s**t out of an unarmed Black man. Those kinds of things, I don’t know, just sort of gets to them, I guess.


The above example is used to demonstrate a point, not to incite any tension or violence. The author recognizes that a**holes come in all shapes, sizes and colors. And that there are good cops and bad cops and good citizens and bad citizens.

But in the spirit of discrimination (just kidding!) In the spirit of good relations, let’s continue.

Read more here!

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