Laboring Towards Likeness

Every Friday, from 8:30 AM to 1:00 PM, I sweep the streets. 

All of the older male students at the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf are assigned manual labor chores on Fridays, and the male volunteers at the school are asked (which means required) to join in. I’m always a part of the sweeping crew, along with two or three students -- different students each week. We get to wear these lovely gray jumpsuits. Mine has the name “Rafael” written in black permanent marker on the left chest pocket.

Now, I’ve never been a fan of manual labor. Rumor has it that some people find it relaxing. This makes no sense to me. Nor does the notion that I’m supposed to feel a sense of inner satisfaction in a job well done and sweat well spent. Personally, I’m much more likely to feel satisfied by a job well evaded. 

I’d much rather work with my mind than with my body, much rather work with my mouth than with my back. 

So, when I learned that I would be sweeping the streets around the school every week, I was tempted to complain to myself: “I didn’t come here to be a garbage man! Anyone could do this filthy job. Don’t these people know that I’m smart?” 

It didn’t take long, however, for this temptation to pass. In all sincerity, I am grateful for the work that I do here on Friday mornings.

Here’s why. 

Every American who has spent significant time in a developing country knows that our citizenship endows us with power. The political and economic might of our home country somehow translates into social clout around the world: our problems are often solved faster, our grievances are often noticed earlier, our emergencies are often taken more seriously. We are often disliked and judged as well, it’s true...but even this is indicative of the power that we possess. 

Regarding American relations with the Arab world, this power is especially significant. The modern history of West-Middle East relations has been defined by the struggle for power -- more specifically (and, I admit, more cynically), by attempts of the West to seize power in the Middle East. For starters, check out what France and Great Britain were doing here in the early 20th century. Long story short: we won, and we’re still on top. Again, the hatred felt by some of them (and the fear felt by many of us) is indicative of this reality.

The predominant message that the West has communicated to the Arab world in modern history might be summarized thusly: “We’re stronger and better than you.” Of course, this hasn’t necessarily been the intention (though it has been at times); regardless, it is in fact a widespread interpretation -- an interpretation that our country’s recent and ongoing militancy in the region reinforces. 

...So, what does all of this mean for me and my life here? 

It means that whenever someone asks me “Min wayn?” (“Where are you from?”), and I respond, “Min Amreeka,” it is very possible that the word Amreeka reminds him or her of that message: “I’m stronger and better than you.” 

As a matter of fact, we Americans unwittingly communicate this message quite often when we travel, especially (and ironically) in our humanitarian work. Examples abound, but I’ll give just one: our willingness to serve in certain capacities, but not in others -- the grimy or the grueling. Or even the mundane. 

What does this unwillingness communicate? “This work is beneath me.” 

On whose level, then?

Translation: “We’re stronger and better than you.” 

Every Friday morning, I have the opportunity to communicate -- not with my mouth, but with my

 body -- a different message.

“Your work is not beneath me. You are not beneath me. No one is beneath anyone else, for we are all equal in the eyes of God. At the end of the day, all of us will be dirty, all of us will be tired. Really, we are all quite alike.” 

Alhamdulillah. Praise be to God.