My Father the Arab Feminist

Just now on the radio (Fresh Air with Terry Gross) I heard a snippet of an American woman's story about her custody battle with her Arab ex-husband.

I'm certain that there is more to Deborah Kanafani's memoir than "I unveil the terrible way Arab men treat women" but boy, that's sure what I heard driving down the road. Maybe it's all true - for her.

But I wonder if my own story, about my feminist Arab father, would ever get a book deal or air time on NPR. It's not about scary Arab men oppressing their women and children, you see. There's no conflict, no villain, and it doesn't fit the story that sells books in America.

My father was a feminist before he came to America. He was strongly influenced by the new ideas roiling the Arab world in the nineteen-fifties: nationalism, yes, and socialism, and democracy, and the rights of women. He was determined to modernize his country, his people, and he believed that making women equal members of society was part of that. In his personal life, he tried to get his parents to keep his youngest sister in school. Later, he paid for his orphaned niece to go to a very good private school, giving her English skills which helped her support her family during the upheavals of the civil war.

When he went to America for graduate school and met my American mother, Dad found that some of his ideas were too forward for the USA in 1959. He didn't think women had to get married before having sex, for instance. My mother disagreed. Since he respected her - and all women - he didn't force his ideas upon her.

When they married, he encouraged her to start graduate school right away. She did, but decided she really wanted to have babies. So she had me, and very soon after began teaching part time. Fine with Dad. Mom always taught and did other work throughout my childhood. Then after my younger brother and I began school, she went back to grad school for her masters degree and then Ph.D.

This was the 1960s. Some of my readers don't know what America was like in the 1960s. It wasn't all hippies and Gloria Steinem. The college professors in my parents' circle (all men, with wives who mostly stayed at home and didn't work) were rather traditional fellows. My dad ruffled a lot of feathers among his colleagues, because he insisted on doing laundry, caring for us kids, and cooking meals. One of his friends got very offended when my dad bragged too much about washing his socks, and how he (Dad) washed his socks by hand and made them last a really long time. (My dad was eccentric about being thrifty) The friend told my dad that he was causing problems in the friend's marriage, because HIS wife was wondering why she had to do all the laundry?

When my mother got her Ph.D. my dad completely supported her in her career goals. We were always clear in our house that my parents made all decisions together, that they each earned money and contributed to the family finances, and that they were autonomous people who worked together in partnership as well.

Much later, in the 1990s, my mother got a teaching position at the American University of Beirut, and my dad retired from his job earlier than he had planned. He went to Beirut with her and basically kept house so she could do a very demanding job. He cooked and dealt with the daily details of life. His egalitarianism persisted - they were living in an apartment hotel, with daily maid service, but my father insisted on doing the dishes himself, before the maids could come in. He didn't want the maids cleaning after him.

As a young girl growing up, I was told that I should study and go to college and have a good career. In fact, when I did badly in algebra in 8th grade, my father got upset, because he said girls in Lebanon didn't have the same chances I did. He helped me with my homework, natch, but he also let me know that it was really important to him that I do well. He tried to be supportive of me, even when I careened about being a slacker American bohemian. Later in life, when I settled down and began putting together a more normal, grown-up career, my father encouraged me. He was so happy when I went to grad school (at age 42). He believed everybody deserves a second chance - and a third chance too.

Oh yes, and when my cousin N, a girl, wanted to come to America to study, even though she wasn't married or even engaged, my father welcomed her. N's father, my beloved, departed uncle Adib, was also enlightened, and sent N to us to get her college education. Most other fathers in our village would not do the same. The war in Lebanon had made it too dangerous for her to commute to Beirut to university, so he took the risk of sending her across the world. N became a successful computer engineer, and later married a great guy. Now her daughter is a recent college graduate with a terrific job in corporate America, climbing the ladder. This is normal now, but thirty years ago it was new, for Americans as well as Lebanese. We have to give credit to men like my Dad, who adapted with the times, and encouraged their wives and daughters to succeed.

There are more stories I could tell, but they're all positive, about what a mensch Dad was, how much women loved him, how he loved women, how he was a big hit in the lesbian community in North Carolina where they lived for years, how he loved and respected my mother. Oh yes, and how he told all the Lebanese male immigrants why they ought to help their wives with the housework, and support them in developing their own careers. It got through, to some of them, more or less.

That's it. That was my dad, the Arab feminist. The picture shows him on my 44th birthday, just after he received the diagnosis of the lung cancer which killed him two months later; he stands behind the tabbouli he insisted on making to celebrate my day.

Do you think Terry Gross will put me on Fresh Air with a story like that? Probably not. There's no story there, the editors would say. Just some guy doing the right thing by his women, a little ahead of his time. Plus he's an Arab. Who wants to know about feminist Arab men? Doesn't sell papers.

Comments

[Alison Chaiken]

>Do you think Terry Gross will put me on Fresh Air with a >story like that?

I think she might if you were on a book tour, like 99% of "Fresh Air" guests.

Have you ever considered writing a biography of your dad that would be of general appeal because it considered wider questions raised by his life?

[Ericka]

I would very much read that memoir of yours. I think others would too.

(I think you could even call it "My Dad, the Arab Feminist" -- that's a great title -- though I think the book would be about MORE than just your dad -- maybe "Dove's Eye View" with the "my Dad" part as a section...)

And I DO think that it could get a book deal. Your story would be perceived as a unique story, it's timely, it's important, and not only do you have the story to tell, you have the chops to write it beautifully. (And his tabbouli is making me hungry.)

[Leila Abu-Saba]

One of you I can say no to, but two of my most literary readers? Alison of the Ph.D. in Physics, with the high-octane reading group, and Ericka the coolest writer Mama around? (and teacher and writing coach).

OK, Ok, I will think about this one. Never occurred to me.

[Alison Chaiken]

You have already written at length and beautifully about your Dad. To create the memoir that Ericka refers to, you would need to organize the material so that you theme emerges from the bits in a natural way. I don't pretend that this would be easy, but you're passionate about the topic and have lots of great anecdotes to include.

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Make that three, Leila. Not that I'm literary or anything.

[John Ballard]

Yep, me, too.
Go for it!
(I'm so pleased to see a comment from Jonathan Edelstein! If HE's reading your blog you can be sure you'r cut from the right fabric.)

[Judy]

Go for it Leila! Someone needs to tell the story!

[abraham]

Leila,

The first thing I noticed in the picture (after your parents of course) was that big glorious bowl of teboulleh, followed by that immaculate bowl of olives. YUM! (Points substracted unfortunately for the store-bought hummus :)

I, too, heard the Fresh Air segment with Deborah Kanafani. I wasn't able to catch it in its entirety (I was in the middle of working) but thought the title of her book was pretty pretentious since I don't think she was required to wear a veil.

Anyway, speaking of, here's a funny (short) video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsW0faMq1i4

I look forward to reading your book, and hearing your subsequent interview on Fresh Air.

[L]

I agree with the other commenters. A biography or other nonfiction memoir around this topic could be excellent. I really related to what you wrote because my husband is Lebanese and progressive this way, and so is his father. Politely challenging people's assumptions about my husband's family and our relationship gets kind of lonely, and I would love to have your book as support and backup.

[Leila]

Thank you everybody...

Abraham, I noticed the store-bought hummus, too. That party was five days after my father got the news that he had lung cancer and it was really bad. The fact that he wanted to make me tabbouli under the circumstances just blew me away. In fact I'd been planning to go out to dinner, but my mother said my dad insisted that I must eat with them and he would make tabbouli. Mom bought the hummus. Dire circumstances.

I don't do store-bought, so I know where you're coming from. And my father didn't either. But he died 7 weeks later... God rest his soul.

[abraham]

Hi Leila.

I was mostly joking about the hummus :)

Your dad seems like he was a terrific guy. My mysogynistic Syrian dad could've learned a few things from him, but my mom manages to keep him in his place for the most part ;)