Loading ...How Can Arab American Mothers “Celebrate” Mother’s Day?
By: Lina AbiRafeh / Arab America Contributing Writer
Sunday, 11 May, is Mother’s Day. We buy flowers, maybe go to brunch, write cards thanking our mothers for being “the best mom ever.” Yeah, that’s great, but as anyone who has ever mothered (literal or figurative) would argue–EVERY day is Mother’s Day.
That aside, what’s the origin of the day? Anna Jarvis, inspired by her own mom and her activism, decided to establish a national holiday honoring mothers. The first official Mother’s Day celebration occurred on 10 May 1908 in a West Virginia church–it was Anna’s memorial for her mother. It became official in 1914, but historical precedents date even further back–for instance, ancient Greek and Roman festivals dedicated to mother goddesses.
Mother’s Day in most of the Arab world is celebrated on 21 March to mark the first day of spring. This day was first introduced in Egypt by journalist Mustafa Amin and was officially recognized in 1956. Caught somewhere in between are Arab American mothers who, ideally, should celebrate both days.
At the same time, who’s celebrating anything these days?! Not us.
Once again, we are caught between worlds where, on either side, celebrations ring hollow.
In the Arab region, mothers in places like Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen are fighting for survival. They are risking their lives every day simply to keep their children safe. And fed. And healthy. Every day presents new risks and no rewards. And no respite. These conflicts show no signs of abating.
On the other side, Arab American mothers are facing fears and anxieties due to the current socio-political climate. They came to the US expecting a better life–a safer life. Today, those benefits are not as clear.
How can either side “celebrate” Mother’s Day and feel that their children are safe?
Both sides are dedicated to their children’s well–being–and both sides live in fear.
Motherhood under Fire
By now–19 months into the genocide in Palestine–everyone knows what is happening to mothers and children. They are the greatest casualties, directly in the line of fire, facing bombings, shelling, and ground operations. None are spared, thanks to the brutal Israeli forces and their drive to ethnically cleanse the land of its people.
The immediate dangers are unimaginable, and the figures dramatically underestimate the reality. If I wrote the death toll today, it would have already fallen short by the time this article was published. But at the very least, we cannot say that we didn’t know, that we were not aware.
Palestinian mothers are also facing enormous displacement and loss. The trauma of forced displacement, losing homes, being separated from family members, and being torn from social safety nets–can we imagine what this is like? Can we imagine the psychological toll on mothers trying to protect their children amidst chaos?
And then there is the struggle to provide food, clean water, shelter, and medical care for their children in severely resource-constrained environments. And the lack of hygiene. And the spread of disease. And the collapse–no, deliberate targeting–of healthcare infrastructure. And the murder of babies in incubators. Even childbirth is a gamble–one that often costs Palestinian women their lives.
And then the profound and lasting psychological impact of witnessing violence and living in constant fear, both for the mothers and their children. There is no post-traumatic stress disorder in a land where there never is a “post-.”
Despite the unimaginable dangers, Palestinian mothers–and all mothers in war zones–exhibit incredible resilience and resourcefulness in protecting their children. I know–I’ve seen it. I’ve spent two decades in warzones around the world, bearing witness as mothers risk everything to find safety, to secure food, and to offer what little comfort they can in terrifying circumstances.
Motherhood in Fear
Transitioning to Arab mothers in America, what might they be saying to their children now? We’re living in a time of heightened danger, with Islamophobia and anti-Arab sentiment normalized, accepted, and endorsed–at the highest political levels. The current socio-political climate in the US is not safe for us–and even worse for Arab mothers. Their children are more vulnerable now than ever before. How can they ensure their children’s safety and well-being in the face of these rising animosities?
Yes, it is that bad. Let’s get granular. When we moved to the States 40 years ago (I was 10), I was bullied, discriminated against, and called a terrorist. And today, this is much worse. Arab American mothers fear that their children will face prejudice, bullying, or discrimination at school or in the wider community due to their heritage. And I fear this will only get worse.
There are also valid–and increasing–concerns about surveillance and scrutiny of our communities. We are being targeted. And this risk is magnified for young Arab American men in particular. The erosion of rights and civil liberties in this country is a danger to us all. And we live in fear of abuse, arrest, and deportation. We’re seeing this play out in real-time right now.
Travel and movement are now much harder. Can we go home? Can we see our families? Will we be let back in if we do? Do we have to wipe our phones? Young Arabs in the US who are separated from their parents are less likely to make the trip home because the risks are now too great.
And then there is the emotional burden Arab American mothers face in witnessing suffering in their homelands and struggling to explain these complex issues to their children–while somehow also maintaining hope.
And yet. And yet. And yet.
Arab and Arab American mamas are the most dedicated bunch of women I have ever seen. I am a daughter–not a mother–but I see my mother hold her breath when I post “too many political things.” I see my sister explain to her daughter–my amazing little niece–what it means to be “the only Arab kid” in her school. I see the mothers all around me–here and there–committed beyond belief to ensuring their children’s safety, education, and cultural identity in this environment.
Imagine the effort, the proactive steps, the masterful precision, the infinite patience, and the hidden fears as Arab moms educate their children about their heritage and foster a strong sense of identity to counter the negativity they face. Imagine their efforts in establishing and engaging with community support networks, in advocating for their children’s rights and safety. And respect. We deserve a space–we must not hide who we are or what we believe.
Imagine these mothers having to communicate candidly and courageously with their children about what is happening here and there and providing a safe space for them to discuss their experiences and fears. Our values are not compromised. We know who we are. And we convey that strong sense of cultural identity–and pride–onto our communities and our children. We are built from empathy and energy.
Go on, thank your mother. These women are our powerhouses, our superstars. Not just on days filled with cards and cliches–but every single day.
The resilience, strength, and unwavering love of our mothers transcends geographical boundaries and political divides. I wonder if American mothers know how similar we are? I wonder if they are able to show empathy–and even solidarity–with mothers facing hardship, whether in war zones or within their own communities? Mothers are the anchor–as caregivers and resources and pillars of strength, not just for their families but also for entire communities. Countries, even.
So, do Arab and Arab American mothers deserve to celebrate? Of course, they do. Forget flowers. I wish I could offer them peace. They embody our hope–their incredible strength and dedication should be honored. Emulated. They deserve so much more than they will get today.
In 2021, I wrote an article about Afghan mothers. It could have been about mothers anywhere. And it is especially true for Palestinian mothers today:
“The stakes vary, but ultimately, a mother in Afghanistan as the Taliban takes over wants what an American mother wants: For her children to be safe, to be healthy, to be happy. In the end, the risks are different, but our hopes–and our inalienable human rights–are the same.”
For more, head to www.LinaAbiRafeh.com, click on Join the Movement, and together let’s build a better world for women!
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