Permission in the Margins - Letter Three
Permission in the Margins - Letter Three
A letter exchange with Sally Jane Hurst that discusses who has the right to draw from the well of local cultural heritage
This is part 3 in a 6-part correspondence between Amman-based American food writer (and chef obviously),
, and me, Farrah Berrou. I’ll be writing parts 1, 3, and 5 here and Sally will respond in parts 2, 4, and 6 on her Substack, Chef Sally Jane.Links will be added as the letters get published: letter 1, letter 2, letter 3, letter 4, letter 5, and letter 6. A final recap post will be shared on October 4th.
Hi Sally,
This will either be a scatterbrained and overstructured response to your letter as my concentration has gone to shit.
Who knew so much would happen between my first letter and this one? It’s only been a week and yet almost each day has featured some form of extreme U.S.-funded Israeli terrorism, from exploding pagers (Tuesday), to exploding walkie talkies (Wednesday), to sonic booms so loud I was crying in my hallway (Thursday), to intense airstrikes all across the South (Thursday night, but also all the time?), to flattened residential buildings on one of the most crowded streets in Dahiyeh (Friday). So many injuries, so many killed.
Yesterday, I stuffed my desktop computer’s UPS battery in a totebag because it’s a dud and I need to swap it out. I put it in the trunk of my car because I figured that’s slightly better in case it explodes? Separately, there’s a bookshop and a camera place in Dahiyeh I’ve been meaning to visit but now I’m afraid of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is their goal, to make us scared of each other, to make us think twice about dumb errands, to make us terrified to resist just by virtue of living our silly, insignificant lives.
My muscles are in knots but my body feels pudgy, like how your fingers inflate on a walk when dehydrated. Every attack has come after 3pm local time which also happens to be 8am in Washington, DC. That feels like a significant correlation. In fact, I waited till after 3pm to finish typing this out on Saturday for fear that there would be more to include in the above retelling. A reconnaissance drone buzzed overhead for a couple hours and then they began lighting up the South and the Bekaa like never before. I decided to wait until the morning to hit publish but now I don’t know what’s to come.
For months, I’ve stopped looking at how mainstream media covers the mutilation of our bodies. But, the outrage of others still reaches me. When I’m doomscrolling for news of what just happened, I see familiar names dishing out hot takes during our devastating moments, squeezing more cash juice out of their so-called expertise of the region. Locals watch and take note of those who were once based here. Who feels the need to interject and capitalize off of our blood? Are they just doing their job? Are they doing a just job? In these moments, I remind myself that not everyone who spends some time here will use it to their advantage in a gross way later.
To me, “based” means the place you work from or live but aren’t necessarily from so more factual in nature, not detracting from the person in question. Maybe the restaurant’s use of “visiting chef” is similar in that you’re visiting/temporary at the establishment, not Jordan as a whole. I think knowing your personal story makes a difference in how people receive your work. A big reason I wanted to have this exchange with you is because I feel you’re a unique example of an American, which in itself shows how large certain stereotypes loom. That, and I think your background is what makes you skilled at assimilating but still standing out. When you started sharing longer chapters of your life in Instagram posts, it made sense why you had such a nuanced approach to being a “cultural sponge.” It’s important for your audience to know this - which is why I’m glad you explained a lot in the last letter - but I don’t expect you to walk around Amman handing out autobiographical pamphlets. Like any relationship, they will get to know you and the trust will be earned.
Like I said before, locals and diaspora can do more damage than any foreign national when it comes to work for the culture. We can be our own worst enemy, like the pushback you experienced when advocating for local-first ingredients. In the same way that the crises forced a dependence on local produce, the collapse got more Lebanese wines into more points-of-sale than ever before as well. Previously, they weren’t prioritized over the sea of imported (& more affordable) bottles. Now, people can access a huge selection of Lebanese wines easily but little effort has been made to win the public’s loyalty or cultivate an appetite for wine beyond what color it is. There have been a few resto/bars who’ve tried to differentiate by stocking only natural wines but they’re not the centerpiece on the table. They’re just sorta there. Plus, Lebanon is ironically late to the natural trend and that tide is already turning.
Now that the country is in the news cycle again, I’m expecting that major wine publications will remember Lebanese wine exists. The reason for our reappearance (Israel) will be sideswept with vague phrases like, “as Lebanon faces turmoil once again.” Unfortunately, we’re so desperate for press and the external validation (and thus, dollars) it provides that no one rejects these so-called opportunities.
You asked, perhaps rhetorically, Is it in fact the international “dialog” Lebanon has had throughout its history that has made it the desirable, culturally open, diverse place it is in spite of its many challenges?
There are parts of that description that feel true and parts that don’t. I feel like Lebanon is all those things but it can also be a homogeneous and racist, discriminatory place for some. It’s a port country given its western half is all Mediterranean coast so it has been an eastern gateway to Asia for the northwest. I don’t think it’s always as kind to visitors from the south and further east though.
You asked, Is there, can there be appropriation of American culture?
First, we need to define American culture because it’s such an amalgamation of other cultures. Second, let’s say we assume it means American ideals: democracy, industrialization, careerist ambition, individualism, freedom of expression. Those, plus U.S. focused media and optimized cuisine - do they not make up the dominant culture that’s seeping into the rest of the world’s psyche through globalization and capitalism? I don’t think it’s appropriation when it’s pushing itself into our supply chains, phones, and markets. How would you define American culture and do you feel protective of it?
You asked, When you were living in Los Angeles do you consider yourself as American as you do Lebanese when you’re in Beirut? And why or why not??
The recent two years I spent in Los Angeles were more deconstructive than my previous visits and childhood years there. I was there because I needed a mental reset and it was the easiest option available to me. I wasn’t excited about being in the heart of white suburbia, what could be considered a version of The American Dream. It was all so alien, like I had left a tiny shattered city and moved to sprawling Stepford where it was easy to disengage from anything happening outside the green-grassed biodome. Los Angeles gives you that distance, whether you like it or not.
However, going to America after Beirut’s 2019-2020 run and just as COVID vaccines were coming out, I wasn’t the same kid who used to fly in for a couple weeks of respite and bounce. A few weeks after I got there mid-2021, Israel had launched an 11-day offensive on Gaza during Eid el Fitr and I quickly realized that events like that wouldn’t register with anyone around me. It was an isolating welcome.
Being there on a more permanent basis, I interacted with other Americans through a people-facing service job. My origin was questioned when I correctly pronounced my name instead of using the Farrah Fawcett variation. My perfect English accent and my knowledge of American pop culture was puzzling but my Arabness was also questionable. “You don’t look Lebanese”, they’d tell me, whatever that means. My appearance seemed to be a lie to those around me, even other Arabs. By having a white American mom, my Lebanese identity was dismissed and my disdain for America was tolerated but not taken seriously (because how could someone who lived in Beirut complain about the U.S.?). Both reactions made me double-down on my Lebaneseness. It became my whole personality because it was the compass in my pocket.
In the Valley, I didn’t trust my surroundings and I felt alone a lot. I went there knowing I didn’t want to stay but nothing swayed me from the feeling that I don’t fit in here and I don’t want to.
That’s a lot of waffling just to say that no, I didn’t consider myself American while there, but having the citizenship emboldened me to criticize it as a country.
Oddly, here or there, I’ve never been accused of being too American unless you count my ridiculous obsession with all things Halloween. When in Beirut, I forget that I’m half American, that I was born there, that I spent the first third of my life there. I’ve rejected my Americanness because I’m so ashamed of what it came to represent shortly after moving here in late 2000. You wrote, “Whereas before there was always an acknowledgement that the American people and its government were different (like when we invaded Iraq), this time I don’t find people I encounter are making quite that same distinction.” Even though I logically know not to generalize, America’s track record since the invasion of Iraq has been…not great. The U.S. pretends it’s a democracy so it’s hard not to blame its people for their leaders. Honestly, especially after experiencing their healthcare system, I wonder why Americans aren’t protesting every damn day. Instead, I see alllllllll the support being thrown behind VP Harris as she repeats the same useless statement about Palestine. It feels like we’re being told that our communities will be sacrificed for the comfort of Americans and we’re supposed to accept it quietly for the greater good because Trump is a buffoon.
To me, the U.S. isn’t home. I’m not sure if it was when I was a kid either, it was merely the only place I knew or so I thought. How has it changed in your eyes after living in so many other places?
Love & olives,
Farrah
I am really loving these exchanges. So sorry that Farrah is having to endure the madness that is unfolding. That cartoon says it all.