by Angelina Girgis
I am the daughter of two Egyptian immigrants. Just like many others, my parents came to America for the promise of a better life, an existence free of religious persecution, and opportunities for their future children. While I may arguably be living the American Dream to some, the truth is much more complicated.
I come from a Coptic Orthodox Christian background: an ancient, resilient faith that has withstood linguistic and cultural transitions for centuries. Born and raised in the United States, I struggled with having such a multifaceted identity. People like me navigate the spaces in which we exist with unease, unsure of what exactly to label ourselves: as American, as Egyptian, as Christian, or a combination of these three identities. By now you might be wondering…
Who are the Copts?
The Coptic Orthodox Church was founded by St. Mark the Evangelist in 42 A.D. It is a little-known fact that it has played a central role in the Christian faith by contributing to Christian theology and the founding of Christian monasticism. [1] An ethnoreligious group indigenous to Egypt, Copts currently comprise [about] 10% of Egypt’s Muslim-majority population. As a result of an increasingly tense religious climate, Copts have immigrated to places such as Australia, Europe, and the United States. As a Copt, religion and ethnicity are inextricably intertwined. The Coptic identity has undergone constant reinvention, reinterpretation, and erasure, yet Copts have strived to maintain the core of their identity — including iconography, Coptic language in liturgy, and most importantly, their religious doctrine.
The following collection of poems is inspired by my personal experience as an American Coptic Christian. I will use the term “first-generation” to define Copts who emigrated from Egypt to the United States as adults, and “second-generation” to define their American-born children, or those who emigrated from Egypt very young. The second-generation Coptic diaspora face internal conflicts as well as conflicts within their community concerning the importance of language, religion, and culture.
References
Encyclopedia Coptica: The Christian Coptic Orthodox Church of Egypt. (2011). Retrieved 19 August 2019.
Horouf*
Language
Although bilingualism in Egypt existed after the Greek occupation by Alexander the Great in 332 B.C., the Coptic language, originally derived from hieroglyphs, adopted the Greek alphabet during Roman rule as a means of self-preservation. The Coptic community underwent another linguistic transition after the Arab conquest of Egypt in 641 A.D. [2] By the 10th century, Coptic was no longer understood. However, today it is preserved as an “associated language” with deep ties to the Coptic heritage. [3] Nowadays, Arabic is at risk of being lost as a language among the Coptic diaspora, with much code-switching between Arabic and English taking place in the United States among first-generation Copts. As a result, many U.S. born second-generation Copts are not well acquainted with their parents’ mother tongue, an unfortunate loss of language.
References
[2] Moawad, S. (2016). Some features of Coptic identity. Ancient Near Eastern Studies, 53, 243–274.
[3] Klempner, L. (2016). Blessed is Egypt my People: Recontextualizing Coptic Identity outside of Egypt. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam.
*Hourof means “letters” in Arabic.
ʾalif, bāʾ, tāʾ, thāʾ I hear myself repeat
in a grainy video from 2003
shot on a camcorder tape.
jīm, ḥāʾ, khāʾ, dāl
Shatra, kamely ba’a “Good job, keep going,”
my dad said off-camera.
dhāl, rāʾ, zayn, sīn Five-year-old me was
starry-eyed upon hearing
Baba’s approval.
shīn, ṣād, ḍād, ṭāʾ 20-year-old me watches
on in a mixture
of regret and nostalgia.
ẓāʾ, ‘ayn, ghayn, fāʾ I scrawled out the letters
with my tiny hand
in tinier handwriting.
qāf, kāf, lām, mīm, I pronounce the “qāf”
with the utmost confidence
that little me could muster.
nūn, hāʾ, wāw, yāʾ “Bravo,” Dad says,
your Arabic is really good!”
Well, it used to be.
Church
Religion
The migrant church has proven to be a strong transnational link between the Coptic diaspora and the Egyptian Copts, providing a sense of community and home for first-generation Coptic immigrants and a place for the second generation to form its identity as both Coptic and local. However, the church can prove to be a source of frustration for US-born Copts who have trouble reconciling their culture of origin with their culture of residence.
"I don't want to be a sheep,"
I thought indignantly.
But as I looked around, I saw myself
as very much a part of
the flock of white lace shawls,
draped over heads waiting
solemnly, some impatiently,
all looking towards the East.
Eyes were fixated upon a
modern, sleek TV screen
bearing the words of our
ancient, sacred Liturgy
mounted next to the icon of
St. Thomas (the Unbeliever),
his owl-like pupils boring
right back into ours,
a juxtaposition of
the past and present.
Today there was a procession
for a newly baptized baby.
Deacons of young and old
noisily chanted while
winding around the pews.
Three of the oldest deacons
were attempting to outperform
each other as they moved past.
Then followed the mother,
all aglow in a silk blouse,
carrying her baby in a white dress
adorned with the blood of Christ
in the form of red ribbon,
her husband trailing closely behind,
camera in one hand and
the tiny arm of his fussy son in the other.
A girl in front of me watched amusedly
as she had a baby hoisted on her hip.
She didn't know it, but she
was already practicing to be
that figure donned in silk.
I, the silent observer,
pondered these
things in my heart
and kept them.
defect
Culture
Many Copts, especially within the diasporic community, feel that they are the “original” Egyptians since they are descendants of the ancient Egyptians, according to tradition. Copts are seen as a “minority” population, a term that implies that this group experiences disempowerment within unequal power structures in their country of origin and countries of current residence. While first-generation Copts seek to preserve an untainted original identity, most U.S.-born second-generation Copts face the dilemma of choosing between “being American” or “being Egyptian,” feeling incomplete with either identity.
Since I was born I was
made to believe that
that my Egyptian hair
was a genetic abnormality.
After all, it grew “up,”
not down.
After bullies at school
complained that my hair
blocked their view,
my curls were suffocated
with gel and hair spray
as part of my morning routine.
“Why can’t your hair
stay like that? It looks
nice when it’s wet,”
my friend’s mother told me.
But for some, it still
wasn't enough.
“You know,” my
9th grade English teacher
said one day, “you should
look into straightening it.
It’ll do you wonders.”
Soon after, I woke up
every morning before the sun
to burn my hair into shape.
The crackling heat behind my ears
and the smell of my curls nearly
turning to ash eventually replaced
the shaking of aerosol cans and
the squeezing of gel bottles.
“Look,” one kid said to his friends,
“the wind from her magic carpet
blew her hair out!” That one got
an explosive laugh from the entire hallway.
It wasn’t until my hair started
falling out in handfuls in the shower
that the girls who used to ridicule me
said it was beautiful.
“Perfect,” I thought.
Now, all I needed to do
was buy bright blue contacts
and dye my hair a gleaming
shade of blonde.
diaspora
Conclusion
With this dilemma of identity comes emotional baggage. Some diaspora Copts experience loneliness, over- romanticizing memories of the homeland, the guilt of deserting extended family, and the search for community in a society where they feel like they don’t quite belong. [4] These experiences are present among first- and second-generation Copts alike.
references
[4] Doorn-Harder, N. (2017). Copts in context: negotiating identity, tradition, and modernity. Columbia, South Carolina: University of South Carolina Press.
They carry cumbersome luggage in their hearts.
The same ocean waves that separate them
from their continent of origin
toss and turn in their minds:
Am I from here? Am I from there?
The compasses they've been given point to different directions all at once.
All they have to connect themselves to
people they never met and
places they've never set foot upon
are hazy photographs,
winking gold trinkets,
dusty statuettes.
They are ravenous,
looking for anything to satiate
their hunger for belonging.
They seek comfort in others
who are just like them;
they too are hesitant to call their house
their home.
about the author
Angelina Girgis is a senior at USC studying Human Biology and minoring in Spanish and Middle East Studies. She was born and raised on the east coast but currently lives in Texas with her parents and three younger siblings. She hopes to pursue a Master’s in Stem Cell and Regenerative Medicine before she applies to medical school. In her spare time, she enjoys writing, singing, occasionally binge-watching TV shows, origami and other creative pursuits. She can be reached at agirgis@usc.edu.