Arab Detroit: From Margin to Mainstream

What's Not in a Name

What's Not in a Name Marilynn Rashid Arab American Although I am married, I call myself Marilynn Rashid, "to keep my own name," I say. But, of course, it's only my father's name, so this partly defeats the purpose—the patriarchy can't be broken this way. It's small solace, a partial solution, no solution. So I should add my mother's name, Philipson (son of Philip?). But, of course, that wasn't her mother's name either, just her father's. So I should use Manders, my grandmother's name. But I know that name carries the same halfweight . Marilynn Manders Philipson Rashid. What's in a name? A lot, but somehow not enough. These names hearken back to Lebanon, Ireland, Luxembourg , places of origin of people lost to me, places with which I have little or no connection, places that were distant shadows even for the ones who held the names and passed them on. I am a piece of the cultural entropy of the age, forever falling away from many centers. If we truly knew who we were, our names would not be such a problem. It is difficult to find one's way in a world divided not only by war and racism, but by freeways, television, and the technological projects of so-called progress. If we could, in fact, go back where we came from, as some would like us to do, we would still not find ourselves, for those places are changed or destroyed or occupied or part of the same industrial grid we find ourselves in here. And too, some of us, many of us, would have to cut ourselves in twos and threes and ship pieces all over the globe. And surely that wouldn't help our sense of fragmentation. An abbreviated version of this essay appeared in Food for Our Grandmothers (Boston: Southend Press, 1994), 197-203. 471 Life Journeys So we stay where we are, at least for now, and we know it as home. We stick with the names we've been given and we ask a lot of questions of the old people, if there are any left. And we listen carefully so that we can tell others. And we ask that others listen, too. The details are important. Names limit meaning and delete important details. Yet the naming often comes from a need to make links and find common ground, to facilitate communication. And this is how the term "Arab American" came into being. Yet I must admit that I have rarely called myself an Arab American. Such a weighty term speaks for large abstractions, and I am uneasy in its presence. When I think concretely of the word "Arab," I think ofArabic, the language that is, in my mind, one obvious thing that links most Arabs. Having studied English and several Romance languages, I know well the importance of language to a genuine understanding of a culture. But, except for a few wonderfully scatological and offcolor words my Uncle Frederick taught my sisters and brothers and me, except for the names of certain Arabicdishes and a few endearing terms my siti (grandmother) used with us, and except for the sayings my father forever repeated to us, regrettably, I do not speak the language of my father's family. And I feel somewhat awkward calling myself Arab or Arabic. Instead of Arab and American I'd rather deal with words of smaller places or regions you can see and smell, places you can imagine or actually get around in. Michigan, or Michigami, as the original inhabitants called it, the imprint of the hand of the Great Spirit; and Lebanon, the Lebanon, Marjayoun, J'daidit; and Detroit, the strait. We can see why these places were named the way they were. We know of the hills, the valley, and the mountain. We can see the river. I ammost comfortable, I suppose, defining myself as a Detroiter , since this is where I wasborn and where Yve spent most of my life. In spite of its many social problems, or perhaps even because of them, I am proud to have survived here, to have made real connections with others. I am proud to have, in small ways, spoken out against racism and ecological destruction and for community here. Place, after all, is crucial to our understanding of who we are, and I must acknowledge that this fractured urban landscape has had much to do with my...