Irrespective of the language we speak, the accent that we speak it in, or the place we live in, no one person is better than another, and certainly no one person is purer than the next.

by Meeraf Taddesse.  Posted:  Thursday, August 12, 2010


Recently, I received a comment on a recent article of mine—“The Rules of Habesha Dating: Habesha Edition 1”—which has affected me in a great way. One particular reader, named “Abesha,” left a comment mentioning his opinion on the “‘real’ abesha” versus “pure Americans” that only look Habesha but clearly are not so in his eyes. I have to say that his comments really upset me. I was ready to quit writing articles altogether at one point because of his negative comments, but decided to push ahead.  However, as I was writing another completely different article, I just could not get his comments out of my head.  I decided to shelve that article and to, instead, write this article in response to his comment, which has hurt me so deeply.  People in my life have known me as a very strong person. I am sure that they would be extremely surprised that one comment from a person, of whom I cannot even state a real name for, could hurt me so much. But, the truth is that it has.

More times than I can count in my life, I have to some degree been treated differently because my name sounded different or made fun of because of my family origins (my mother is Ethiopian and my father is Eritrean). I had many struggles that did not fit that of a typical American. I don’t know how many “’pure’ Americans” have been called an “African Bootyscratcher” or been called McGruff the Crime Dog because they did not see the beauty in my given name or even dismissed learning how to pronounce my name properly because they did not deem that I was worthy of such a courtesy. But, understand that the one place I would expect to be treated as an equal without any question as to what I should be labeled as or called would be within my own community.

Upon further reflection on Abesha’s comments, it occurred to me that there are others that may feel the same way as he does and that I, and others like me, may be viewed the same way. Having that thought cross my mind made me feel even more injured—knowing that the pain of somehow being labeled not “pure” is a burden that is shared by many. If I were to think the same way as Abesha, I would look down on every one of my family members and others who have emigrated from Ethiopia or Eritrea as being separate and, in some way, lesser than me.  I choose to see things differently. I view them as my family and an integral part of my life. They are the people that I can learn from and share experiences with. I do not treat them differently because of where their birth certificates state they were born. I treat people a certain way based upon their actions. That is the way that I would hope everyone else would strive to treat me.

Yet, it seems that there are those among my own people that would deem my American accent as sufficient reasoning for me to, somehow, be perceived as less than they are. I have to say that such a notion has made me contemplate that maybe I am not the person that I have seen myself as my whole life. With a few sentences, this person that I don’t even know had temporarily destroyed my belief that I am who I say I am. My whole life, when people have asked me who or what I am, I have replied “Ethiopian.” Maybe that is not who I am, after all? Maybe I am just an American and nothing more? Perhaps, my entire family tree should begin at my birth date, thereby negating every single person who has ever had a hand in producing me, simply because I am perceived as a “pure American”, negating my ancestry and my family history.

I have studied a lot about my past and learned a lot about my family in the process.   I have learned of my ancestral heritage linking me to Emperor Fasil on my maternal side, recognizing that I am the sum of many parts. In this way, I am no different than you. We all have relatives who have intriguing stories about their experiences with the Derg regime, fleeing in hopes of establishing a better life for their families, and their journey to Western countries, while encountering prejudicial and racial obstacles. These are the parts of me that are at the core of who I am and cannot be separated or dismissed, simply because one person, or a thousand people, say so.

I have always found our culture unique in that we, as a collective, have always been so accepting of Europeans who were willing to learn our languages and cultures. We accept them as one of us without question and take them in without insult or injury. Take a look at Alexander Pushkin, the Eritrean-Russian poet who is one-eighth Eritrean or Sir E. A. Wallis Budge of Great Britain, who was honored by Emperor Menelik for his Ethiopic History of Alexander. There are others that I could cite but it only confounds me further.  Why does it look as if we are more accepting of those who are not from our community or have a very indirect lineage to Ethiopia or Eritrea more than we accept those who are one of us? Why are we more critical of our own? Why are we so hung up on ethnic identification of those that resemble us in so many ways, yet embrace those who are from entirely different continents?   Why do we criticize those who are born of Ethiopian and Eritrean parents, simply because they were born in the country that their parents chose to immigrate to?  It seems to be almost hypocritical of one to do so, especially when I see such comments coming from those who have chosen to immigrate to other countries themselves. What does it mean to be pure? Is it based on the way one pronounces a word, the religion one may practice, or the way one dances to certain music? Is there some purity test that I am not aware of?

Attitudes such as these have lead to prejudice against people when applying for jobs, the establishment of Jim Crow laws within the United States, and, at its extreme influence, the organized attempt at the eradication of a group of people because one group of people deemed the other as being unworthy. Beliefs such as the purity of a person are not only hurtful but they are cancerous. Considering such ideas can lead to so many actions that are not only deemed as inappropriate but can traumatize and be divisive. People live and die for beliefs, and in some cases, they even kill for them. These are reasons for people to reconsider such statements, especially when they are stated as quips. I say this because someone somewhere else just may take that person’s remark, not as some simple, witty, or clever response, but as a brick among the foundation of their beliefs.

I cannot change any one person’s mind and I cannot make a person put himself or herself in my position. I cannot make them feel the hurt and pain that such statements inflict upon others like me. I cannot even force them to remember how it may feel when others judge them upon superficial aspects of their being, such as a possible accent or even something as simple as where they were born. All I can do is make sure that no one’s definition of me supersedes my own definition of who I am, when someone chooses to put me in a box and label me as if I were not a person but some insignificant thing all because my parents chose to immigrate to another country to give me a better life.