I expanded my Arabic vocabulary this year.
I backpacked across six European countries by myself.
I confirmed my belief that Muslims are, indeed, just people who believe in God.*
I watched the sunset from the tallest mountain in the United Arab Emirates (UAE) desert with a man whose nationality I’ve only ever associated with terrorism.
I sat with two female friends in the middle of a remote Omani town for ten minutes before realizing we were the only women in public.
I partied with the Prince of Zimbabwe at his mansion.
When my uncle or classmate or boss asks me about Dubai, what I learned, how I spent my time, these are the things I will say. Of course, these are not lies. I did all of these things and truly had the absolute time of my life living a life so incredibly foreign to the one I know in Ewing. And parts of me wish these were the extent of my experiences and acquired knowledge. Would I have had a more enjoyable time if I traveled, had some exotic experiences, partied with exotic people, and came home? Probably, yes. The fact is, however, I am a Bonner Scholar; and as a Bonner Scholar, I have instilled in me a curious and critical mind that does not turn off simply because I am outside of U.S. airspace. As such, when I think back to this past year, the memories that come rushing in first are not necessarily the ones that people want to hear about.
For example, in the fifteen countries I visited this year, I was the racial minority in about half: Egypt, India, the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, and Indonesia.** I had given thought to white privilege prior to my trip; I accepted it, understood its working definition, and urged others to examine their own privilege. Even so, I can’t say I fully accepted the impact of that privilege until a few months ago. On a flight from Dubai to Doha, I believe I was the only white person out of about two hundred other passengers. Despite sitting in the middle of the plane, I was given my meal first. The air host assisted me while others were left to find a space for themselves. This experience is still remarkably clear to me because I remember thinking, “I am the minority… but am still being treated with special treatment.” And that’s the thing: I had thought, as many people with white privilege do, that putting yourself in a situation wherein you are the minority shakes you of your privilege. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it more apparent than ever.
Now, that flight was not a lone experience; there were many other situations that proved white privilege to not be some far off, liberal concept. However, there is another variable that could have been present, one I had never before considered, and that is national privilege. Holding my shiny blue passport under my arm, my nationality was on display for all to see. It’s an interesting theory to consider— that I would be given special treatment based on my birth status alone- but one that is not all that hard to fathom. After all, most Americans grow up hearing about our country being the “world leader,” and “the land of the free.” I’m not an overtly patriotic person- I love my country but remain skeptical towards many of its policies and practices- so when I heard these things, I would usually dismiss it as conservative rhetoric. But in a place like the UAE, a country that employs a pay scale based on nationality (let me be clear: an American will legally get paid more than, say, an Indian for doing the exact same work) it became apparent that rhetoric has translated itself quite clearly into law (or has law translated into rhetoric? I cannot be sure). With an American passport, there are positive assumptions made about my character, my intelligence- even my innocence. Once, I arrived back to the UAE airport at about midnight to hour-long immigration lines and knowledge that the passport computer system was down; customs were a mess, and at a time of such global instability, especially in the region, immigration officers were at a loss. The line remained stagnant; that is, until an officer walked past me, saw my passport and told me to go ahead to the front of the line, where my passport was immediately stamped, sans any questions or computer verification about my recent whereabouts. The Filipino woman I had flown in with told me later that she had to wait three hours for the computer system to be rebooted before she was able to clear immigration.
In both the former situation, I believe I was dealing with white privilege. In the latter, I believe it was what I will coin to be passport privilege. In reality, the two are probably heavily confounded; I do not know if I would receive the same treatment as Black American, or as, say, a white South African. The power of white skin and and a blue passport together paved a much easier path for me in travels- that much is undeniable. Maybe my ability to realize this in and of itself is because I am a Bonner Scholar, but what truly makes me realize the impact that being a Bonner has had on how I think about and experience my travels is that a mere realization is not enough.
It is not enough for me to travel 8,000 miles around the world and simply acknowledge I have a deeper degree of privilege than originally assumed.
It is not enough for me to say it broke my heart to see expat workers building grandiose hotels in Dubai’s 120 degree heat only to return home to a crowded 8×10 hut.
It is not enough for me to be frustrated that I could do nothing about this due to lack of political activism in the country. It is not enough for me to speak of exotic memories and reduce my trip into that of a year-long Arabian vacation. It wasn’t.
I don’t yet know the specific course of action that will make the miles and money worth it, and, to be frank, that is incredibly frustrating. But what I do know, for now, is this: I see the world differently as a Bonner. Not necessarily lighter, and not especially darker, but clearer, sharper, and with a distinct sense of hope. This, combined with a commitment to put all I have come to know to good use, is enough.
*Part of me feels like I should be expanding on my studies surrounding Islam while in the region in order to combat the stereotypes that plague the minds of many. While I certainly did come to a deeper understanding of the religion and its nuances, I did not go to Dubai believing the narrative that Islam is violent, or that its followers are dangerous. Therefore, I am not coming out with a new perspective. I felt safer in the UAE due to the country’s restriction on guns, and more respected as a woman than I ever have in the US, the latter of which probably has a lot to do with Islam’s high regard for females.
**I identify as biracial (Caucasian and Asian) but for the sake of this article, I am focusing on my white identity because I am speaking on white privilege. Arabs are categorized as white. However, in many of the countries I listed, the local people are no longer the majority. For example, Emirati citizens make up less than thirty percent of 30% of the country’s population; Indians are the biggest national group. Similar figures would be found in Gulf Cooperation Council countries.
By Priyanka Navani, 3rd year Bonner Community Scholar