JANUARY 2024

ESSAYS
My Missing Reflection
BY SOPHIA SNELL
The story of how my parents met, fell in love,
and got married is like the storyline of “My Big
Fat Greek Wedding.” My mom is Chaldean, the
daughter of two immigrants, and was taking classes
at Oakland University, at a time when people like her
were still in the minority at the college. It’s where she
met my dad, who is white and had parents who didn’t
know what hummus was and thought their people
invented baklava. (My dad took it to a cultural lunch
event when he was a kid. Needless to say, he misrepresented
his culture). They eventually fell in love, got
married with a very Chaldean wedding, (complete
with the band, the halhole, the works) and had me, a
Chaldean-American girl.
Growing up, my parents raised me in an American
way, but as I started to get older, my mom introduced
me to more and more parts of my culture, and I
embraced it whole-heartedly. I’m proud to call myself
Chaldean, and I hope that sentiment never changes.
But when we all sit down at the table together with
our plates filled with yellow rice, shawarma, and dolma,
there’s a missing spot on our plates. It creates a
hunger that can’t be quieted by home-cooked meals:
My people have been starving for representation.
When I stare into the pages of a book or the bright
TV screen, I don’t see my reflection staring back at
me. Whenever writers create stories about Arab-
Americans, they usually write about Muslims. What
I need to clarify is that that isn’t necessarily a bad
thing. It’s good that Muslim-Americans are getting
the representation that they’re starving for, but that
doesn’t leave anything on our plates for us.
After 9/11, writers have been trying their best to
extinguish the stereotype that all Arab-Americans
are terrorists, but they’ve unintentionally been fueling
the flames of a different stereotype: All Arabs are
Muslim. Until they realize the cultural harm they are
doing by only focusing on Muslim-American stories,
nobody in my beautiful culture will ever get to see
themselves reflected in books and TV shows.
To them, I ask: Where are our stories? Where are
the stories like those of my grandparents, who lived
in Iraq and had similar magical, innocent childhoods,
experienced similar immigration processes
and somehow met each other in this big and dreambuilding
country they now call home?
Where are the stories like that of my great grandma,
who taught herself English on her own by meticulously
reading through elementary school workbooks
day and night? Where are the stories like that of my
mom, who grew up mispronouncing words because
her parents didn’t understand certain English phrases
and who took it all in stride when her friends corrected
her, laughing at herself, owning her mistakes?
Where are stories like that of my own, a girl born
with lighter skin than most in her family, causing her
to not experience the worst of humanity because she
doesn’t look like what most people think of when
they think of an Arab-American girl, who’s just starving
for representation for herself and for her beautiful
culture that deserves to be put on a pedestal for all
to see? Where are those stories?
The truth is, I already know. They are hidden inside
every writer, buried under ignorance, either unintended
or not. All it takes is an essay like this, reaching
out, spreading the message far and wide like a wake-up
call, that gives them the inspiration they need, yet always
had deep down inside them. But until they hear
that wake-up call, I’m not going to wait. Page by page,
rewrite by rewrite, I’ll write my story, our story, for all of
us to see our reflections in.
Chaldean American Values
BY CHRISTINE SHARRAK
As I am writing this piece, I am simultaneously
sitting in my room watching my parents’
wedding video. It took weeks for me to
reach this moment. I spent a good chunk of the last
month attempting to convert AV to HDMI so that I
could experience these cherished moments that I
was, unfortunately, unable to live through. Throughout
my childhood, I watched this video at least once
a month.
I’ve always had a deep desire to revisit memories
from my early years and even those preceding my
birth. To me, these years encapsulate the essence of
what it meant to be a Chaldean in America. My parents
didn’t have a lot but they still managed to make
the most out of their wedding. Rather than driving
from his wedding in a limo, my father drove away in
his blue SUV, with a license plate that read “PicPac,”
which was the name of the first store he ever owned.
My mother was unable to see her parents on her
wedding day because they were still in Iraq. Nevertheless,
they are visibly enjoying their time despite
not having a lot of things or all the people they love
and cherish around them.
While I am certainly familiar with the stories behind
these photos and videos, I know for a fact that
even without this intimate knowledge I could discern,
with the utmost certainty, that the people in these
pictures and videos were Chaldean Americans—they
made the most out of what they had. When I delve
into these memories, it is almost bittersweet because
I always end up asking myself the same question: “If
the children of future generations were to look back
at what the Chaldean community is doing today,
would they think that we too encapsulate the essence
of what it means to be Chaldean American?”
This is the question I hope to answer today.
First and foremost, to answer this question, it is
necessary to ask another one: “What does it mean to
be Chaldean American?” At the end of the documentary
Chaldeans in America: Our Story, the narrator
says something that I feel captures what it means to
be a Chaldean American: “Hope. Faith. Work. Family.
This is the Chaldean community.”
While I firmly believe that these values are still
displayed throughout our community today, there is
no doubt that some of these values are diminishing
to a certain extent. It is important to identify what
is causing these values to diminish to ensure that
future generations can remember the principles of
those who came before them.
The first value I would like to focus on is that of
work. The Chaldean community was built on the entrepreneurial
spirit. From Mesopotamia to America,
Chaldeans have always been go-getters. Like many
other Chaldeans, my parents sacrificed a lot for me
to be where I am today. Because of their sacrifice and
the grace of God, I can attend university to become
whatever I desire to be, not what my parents want me
to be; which leads me to the main point of this paragraph.
As far back as I could remember my parents
always told me that I could be whatever I wanted to
be; If I told them I wanted to be an astronaut they
would simply tell me to reach for the stars. Of course,
there are times when I hear the phrase “You would
make a great attorney,” yet they have never stepped
on my toes and forced me into anything.
In our community today, the youth are pressured
by their parents to do great things, but the professions
they are pressured to take on are not even
something they are necessarily passionate about. If
this trend continues, we will see the hardworking
spirit of Chaldeans fade into a thing of the past. After
all, one cannot work hard if one is not passionate
about their work.
The older generation must encourage the younger
generation to do what they love. We have plenty of
Chaldean doctors, lawyers, and engineers; that is
great, but I hope that there will come a day when we
38 CHALDEAN NEWS JANUARY 2024