A Different Kind of Brown: Arabs and Middle Easterners as Anti-American Muslims

Participants

Those who participated in interviews include 30 Muslims, 20 Coptic Orthodox Christians, 1 Protestant Christian, and 2 atheists; 28 men and 25 women; 18 1st generation, 5 1.5th generation, 18 2nd generation; and 12 in the United States on work or student visas (Table 1). My sample is highly educated, with more than 80 percent having earned a master’s degree or higher, and the majority are employed in professional occupations, including dentists, doctors, university professors, and engineers.

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Table 1.

Gender	Religion	Generation	Ethnicity
Male = 28	Muslim = 30	1st = 18	Arab = 30
Female = 25	Coptic Christian = 20	1.5th = 5	Non-Arab = 23
	Protestant = 1	2nd = 18
	Atheist = 2	Visa = 12

Data Analysis

Data analysis of interview transcripts included systematic elements of open coding, focused coding, and selective coding as prescribed by Emerson, Fretz and Shaw (1995), Rubin and Rubin (2005), and Lofland (2006). Coding data was an ongoing process and was used to inform subsequent data collection as well as the first round of open coding. Initial coding resulted in procedural, analytical, and theoretical memos in which I identified primary themes used to guide focused coding. For example, the concept of “brown” as a particular kind of racialization and racial category emerged early in the interview process, and subsequent interviews intentionally asked about this theme if the interviewees did not spontaneously mention it.

An initial round of coding yielded 17 major codes around race, racial identity, and racialization experiences. Among this first round of coding, I found that Egyptians describe others as racializing them as brown, foreign, immigrants, un-American, anti-American, Muslim, and terrorists. A second round of coding focused on identifying how Egyptians articulate their racialization through skin color, phenotype, national origin, name, religious appearance, and language. A final round of coding analyzed how brown racialization resulted in experiences of racial discrimination and racial profiling. Overall, the analysis of their racial narratives revealed that religion, and to some extent national origin, resulted in their racialization as anti-American through an association of Islam with terrorism.

Brown Racialization

Although Arab, Middle Eastern, and Muslim racialization “does not rely on phenotype alone” (Jamal 2008b:318), Egyptians emphasize skin color, and other phenotypic characteristics, in the construction of a broad brown ethnoracial other. Sabrina says, “I think maybe sometimes there is a large brown racial category in the United States which is that in-between.” Inez says, “There are brown people in the world. I’m Egyptian. I say brown because it’s like the other. It’s the not black and the not white.” As neither white nor black, brown serves as a color-based language Egyptians use to situate themselves within hegemonic conceptualizations of race as skin color.

Many Egyptians evoked definitions of race that combined skin color and/or ancestry in complex ways. For example, Matthew says, “When I think of race . . . it marks, I don’t know your skin color.” Yet later in the interview, Matthew rationalizes racially identifying as white, saying, “When I think of race, like your descent . . . I feel that our descent is white.” Like Matthew, many Egyptians use a combination of skin color and ancestry in conceptualizing race. Yet not all came to the same conclusion that they are white. In fact, most do not see themselves as white but use other terms, such as Caucasian, Arab, Middle Eastern, or brown, to describe their race. Some even use the term Caucasian to distinguish themselves from white. Michael says,

I always think that white is Caucasian a little bit. I don’t know, it’s a bit darker than white, at least in my definition. I might be wrong [but] Caucasian is more similar to my [skin] color other than white.

This idea that Egyptians might be Caucasian, but not white, is similarly echoed by Matra, who recalls his father telling him that Middle Easterners are Caucasian, but not white, because “colorwise we’re not white.” Additionally, other Egyptians, like Saamir, conceptualize race in terms of skin color and culture, rather than biology, saying,

I understand what they mean by white is Western white. . . . I am not European background and I am not American, but my color is white. . . . So I am not saying I am not white like my color is not white. I am white, but I am not Western white.

The notion that Egyptians are not white, even if they are lighter skinned, is highlighted by Kaarim’s experience with coworkers. Like Matthew above, Kaarim self-identifies as white, yet through various interactions has found that others do not see him as white.

So, I actually do see myself as white. . . . I had this discussion with a few of my colleagues and then I was like “so what do you think I am?” . . . They were like, “Middle Eastern.” Well why not white? Then they were like, “look at the skin color you are not white, you are like kind of bronze color.” So I see myself [as] white, among Egyptians at least I am in the lighter color, so I thought that I’m white you know. A little bit darker than a typical American but I felt I am white, but then it looks like they see me as bronze rather than white.

Despite his relatively light skin color, Kaarim, like Saamir, is not perceived to be white in part because of his Egyptian heritage locates him outside the traditional boundaries of whiteness.

Although some Egyptians see themselves as white in part because they have lighter skin tones than other Egyptians, most describe their skin color as brown, tan, or in between. Mahmoud describes his skin color as abyad (the color of wheat), while Sarah says Egyptians have “dark skin color, [but] not dark dark skin.” Molly, who describes her own skin color as brown, refers to Hispanics as sharing similar skin color, saying,

I am not white and not dark, that’s why I kinda say brown. You could say there are some Latinos or Hispanics that have that same. . . . skin color. When I say brown, it’s a skin color thing. There’s other people that have not a white skin or dark black skin, I guess they are brown.

Many other Egyptians recognize that having brown, rather than white, skin tone means they share a phenotypic characteristic with Latinos/Hispanics and South Asians. Although most Egyptians are identified as either Arab or Middle Eastern, having brown skin means they are sometimes mistaken for other ethnoracial groups. Jacob explains,

I think the average American person, like when they look at you, I guess there’s sort of this whole brown category. I get mistaken for Hispanic, I get mistaken for Indian, these are the people who are neither black nor white. … It’s just what people recognize. It’s a visual thing more than anything else.

I found that Egyptians, especially men with light to medium skin tone, are often mistaken for Latina/o or Hispanic. John says that “8 out of 10 times [people] thought maybe I was Mexican or Spanish or something.” Matthew who often makes people guess where he is from, says, “They would always think I’m Puerto Rican, or some Hispanic descent, or something.” Even Egyptian women, especially those who are Christian, recall experiences where people speak to them in Spanish. Lizabeth remembers an interaction with an elderly woman at a grocery store in which she was accused of not knowing her “mother tongue” because she could not speak or understand Spanish.

Unlike Egyptian men, Egyptian Muslim women who are not immediately identified as Arab or Middle Eastern are often mistaken for South Asian, especially if they are wearing hijab. Samantha, who wears hijab, says, “Because of my skin tone, I’ve gotten Indian, Pakistani before. I usually get Pakistani or Indian for some reason.” Maya, who has both worn and not worn hijab, reveals this, saying,

Before I covered my hair, I was always mistaken for Greek, Italian, Mexican, Puerto Rican. After I started covering my hair, I was always mistaken for Indian. I mean, of course people who are Arab, were a little bit better, but . . . Americans, they’ll always think I’m Indian.

Their narratives demonstrate the powerful role that religion plays in differentiating brown-skinned ethnoracial groups. Egyptian Muslim women whose outward appearance marks them as Muslim are much more likely than Egyptian men to be mistaken for South Asian because of the assumption that Arabs/Middle Easterners and South Asians are Muslim (see Joshi 2006).

Despite recognizing the existence of a broader brown ethnoracial category, many Egyptians challenge the homogenization of these groups. Unlike O’Brien (2008), who found Latina/os and Asians often identified with other members of the racial middle, few Egyptians identified with Latina/os or South Asians, often differentiating themselves on the basis of cultural, ancestral, and religious grounds. Many Egyptians viewed their racialization as unique resulting in a particular kind of brown defined by pervasive perceptions of Islam as radical, violent, and associated with terrorism. For example, Inez explains,

I think there’s a brown look, but there’s also a Middle Eastern look. . . . I think that when they think of a Middle Eastern person they think of a man with a beard, someone who looks like bin Laden. I think they think Middle Eastern people have big eyes, almond eyes, dark hair, so there’s definitely a look that people think.

Inez emphasizes that Egyptians, as Middle Eastern, are not simply brown, but are distinguishable by different phenotypical features. Yet by invoking Osama bin Laden, the terrorist most associated with 9/11, she highlights how “certain phenotypical features associated with a group and attached to a race in popular discourse become associated with a particular religion or religions” (Joshi 2006:11).

Similarly, other Egyptians question the utility of the brown ethnoracial category by evoking differences in ethnonational background. Jacob suggests,

Brown [is] not a good category ’cause it’s like totally different groups. Hispanics, Indians, and Egyptians, you’re talking about across the globe different cultures. They just happen to share a shade of color that’s similar enough. . . . So I don’t think the brown category makes much sense.

Although Inez and Jacob’s comments challenge the homogenization of brown-skinned ethnoracial groups as a singular category, the narratives above attest to its superficial existence. Their comments indicate racialization is a process, rather than a product, in which race, ethnicity, national origin, and religion interact in intricate ways. This layering of race, ethnicity, national origin, and religion suggests that brown represents not a singular but rather a multifaceted racial formation in which different kinds of brown ethnoracial groups exist. The following section examines how Egyptians articulate a brown racialization that defines them as neither citizen nor American.

Foreign Racialization

Egyptians recognize that they are often viewed as foreigners in the United States. For many, the combination of brown skin and ethnic signifiers such as national origin or language marks them as neither citizen, nor American regardless of their citizenship status or nation of birth. Maya, a second-generation Muslim, says, “We’re not white, we’re not black, we’re brown people. I think we are a different other that’s kind of an immigrant other. Whereas white and black is usually something [American], brown refers to other and from somewhere else.” Maya’s comment reflects a form of “foreigner racialization” (Ancheta 2006) that conflates race with nationality and citizenship. Their narratives below reveal how brown-skinned ethnoracial groups often face nativism and xenophobia driven by twin logics of “cultural racism” and “nation-based racism” that defines Latina/os, Asians, and Arab/Middle Easterners as both foreign and non-American (Naber 2008b).

Because they do not fit the “typical white American” mold, Egyptians consistently face questions about where they are from. Echoing Maya’s statement above, Megan says, “I think because of the color of our skin . . . people will automatically assume you’re not your typical white American.” Because brown-skin tone cues nativism and xenophobia, questions like “what are you” and “where are you from” often represent attempts to validate those concerns. For example, Lizabeth, who was born in the United States, says,

I’m not your typical white-skinned person. I just think . . . that’s why I think when people meet me, the first question they ask is, “Where are you from?” I think a lot of times when you meet your typical white-skinned person, you don’t necessarily jump to the where-are-you-from-question because they don’t look like they’re necessarily from anywhere, you know? For me, because I’m darker, I think the automatic assumption is that I come from somewhere else.

Beyond skin color and phenotype, ethnonational ancestry, as indicated by national origin and/or linguistic cues, provides an additional layer of racialization confronting Egyptians. For some Egyptians, like Matta, this means hiding their Egyptian background in an attempt to avoid being seen as foreign:

Although Matta avoids mentioning his Egyptian ancestry, others take a more proactive approach when trying to dispel notions that they are foreigners. Samantha often leads with her identification as American, rather than Egyptian, to emphasize her American identity. When asked where she is from, she says,

I usually say my family is from Egypt, because I don’t want people to misunderstand and think that I was born and raised [in Egypt] and I don’t know anything but Egypt. I want, first and foremost, [people to know] I am American.

Beyond divulging that they are from Egypt, some Egyptians mention that others may use linguistic cues to racialize them as foreign. Kaarim says, “I mean from the moment I speak my accent just pops out, ‘Where are you from?’ Well, I’m from Egypt.” Similarly, Abdul says,

If I am with someone and we speak in Arabic . . . if I am with an Egyptian on the bus I’m not going to speak in English, so I’ll speak in Arabic. So sometimes some people ask like “what language is this?” I don’t know if they ask because they are curious like they are worried you know what I mean. Cause like when you speak Arabic people can recognize it from the movies [with] terrorists. Like people avoid you because you are dark, or because you are Arab, or because you are Muslim. You know people still have this kind of racism.

Because non-English languages and non-American accents lead others to assume they are foreign, Egyptians often have to account for where they are from. Abdul’s comment, like Inez’s comment earlier, demonstrates what Bloodsworth-Lugo and Lugo-Lugo (2008) described as the “browning of terror.” By invoking an association between Arabic language, religion, and race, Abdul’s comments articulate a particular kind of brown racialization faced by many Egyptians. The following section examines how Egyptians, along with other Arabs and Middle Easterners, are racialized as anti-American Muslim terrorists.

Anti-American Muslim Racialization

Many Egyptians reveal that their allegiance to America is not simply questioned, but often summarily rejected by others who assume that because they are Muslim they cannot also be American. Ismaael is a citizen and has lived in the United States for more than 20 years:

Although both Latina/os and Asians also have their Americanness challenged, Ismaael distinguishes Arabs and Middle Easterners from these groups, saying, “Having brown skin and being from the Middle East is different.” Similarly, Maya believes her Americanness is questioned because of her ethnic and religious background. Maya, who was born and raised in the United States, says, “Your Americanness might be different than [mine]. I am also American, born here. It’s just that no one has a problem with [yours] because you don’t have a contentious section part. Obviously now for Muslims and Arabs we do.” What is questionable about both Ismaael’s and Maya’s Americanness is their Arab or Middle Eastern ancestry. Maya’s comment also highlights her Muslim identity as well. Their comments reflect what Selod (2015) described as “de-Americanization,” a process by which one’s loyalty to the United States is revoked primarily because of negative associations between Arab culture and Islam. Whereas Latina/os are viewed as illegal immigrants, and Asians as foreigners, Arabs and Muslims are increasingly seen as anti-American in ways that challenge the legitimacy of their presence in the United States. No longer simply brown, Egyptians become what Jacob calls “brown Arab” as the conflation of race, ethnicity, and national origin with religion further distinguishes them from other brown-skinned ethnoracial groups.

The racialization of Islam as violent, radical, and connected to terrorism is driven by a rhetoric of fear. Sabrina, a second-generation Muslim, eloquently describes this, saying,

I think a lot of it is very, very deep rooted in political history and a lot of people in the United States just understand that all those Muslims, Middle Easterners, they hate American. . . . I think it is rooted in fear. I don’t really blame anyone with fear . . . people are a product of their surrounding and where they are from. If that’s all you see and hear and the only time you ever really interact with somebody who is Muslim or you see something about Muslims [is] on TV when they are . . . blowing up buildings somewhere. If I were born here and I didn’t know anything about Muslims I would probably be afraid of them too.

Such fear of Arabs and Muslims is not new. Polls have consistently shown that Americans hold prejudicial attitudes toward Arabs and Muslims, seeing them as untrustworthy, violent, and threatening (Cainkar 2016; Panagopoulous 2006). Immediately after 9/11, public opinion polls showed “widespread support for special treatment of Arabs” and “a majority of Americans favored profiling Arabs” (Cainkar 2002:23). Oswald (2005) found that “perceptions of threat” alone are often enough to activate “anti-Arab reactions” (p. 1792), and Jamal (2008a) found that Americans increasingly supported policies that infringed upon the civil liberties of Arab, Middle Eastern, and Muslim communities.

The idea that Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims represent a potential threat is echoed throughout Egyptian narratives. Ismaael recalls that after 9/11, there was “a period everyone was a suspect unless you were proven otherwise.” Similarly, Fareed recalls the emergence of an atmosphere of anxiety after 9/11. He says,

I felt a change of attitudes after September 11. I felt that people who didn’t think about it before are now a little bit more sensitized to the fact that you’re dealing with people who might be related to Arabs or Muslims. . . . So, yeah, I did feel a bit of an attitude change. That edge is still there.

Similarly, Salwa says that after 9/11, hate, racism, and bigotry “got amped up hardcore to the point where it was really frightening.” She felt as if she had “zero rights” and everyone “considered [her] to be an alien and a danger.” When asked how she came to be defined as a danger, Salwa points to the media in constructing Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims as terrorists. The idea these groups are associated with terrorism in the media was repeated by many Egyptians, especially Muslims, who found it difficult to watch their communities being vilified. For example, Ermina says, “When they talk about terrorism, they have to say Islamic. . . . When there is an incident that has terror in it, and the perpetrator is not Muslim, they don’t mention his religion.” Similarly, Maya says the media portrays Arabs and Muslims as “a very violent culture” and religion. This association of Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims with terrorism frames not just Muslims, but also those who “look Muslim” (Elver 2012) or have an Arab/Middle Eastern ethnic background.

The conflation of Arab ethnicity with Islam, and thus terrorism, reveals a convergence of race, ethnicity, national origin, and religion that many Egyptians recognize as problematic, especially Coptic Christians, who, because of their skin color, nationality, and/or Arabic-sounding names, are often mistaken for Muslim. Jacob says that Americans “think coming from the Middle East automatically makes you Muslim.” Mariam states that for “a lot of people, their first assumption when you say Egyptian [is] that you’re Muslim.” For all too many Copts, like Catherine, being mistaken for Muslim “happens all the time.” Thus, Coptic Christians often seek out opportunities to dispel these mistaken assumptions. Sofia says that “when people ask me where I am from I say I’m Coptic. . . . You want to distinguish that you know you are Christian.” She goes on to explain that by saying she is Coptic Christian she hopes to avoid being associated with Islam. The association of Islam with terrorism means that the stakes of being identified as Muslim, whether correct or incorrect, is high for Egyptians.

The atmosphere of fear and mistrust cuts both directions as many Egyptians, especially women, describe their anxiety about becoming targets of racial profiling because of their hijab. For example, Daphne says,

I mean there were some times that are more difficult than others. Like 9/11 that was a very difficult time. Although I did not experience any, um [discrimination] . . . it was a very difficult time and I can tell you every time something happens, the Muslim community is always fearful that there would be retaliation or consequences. Yes, I feel that I could be targeted or I could be profiled.

Daphne’s fear of being profiled, akin to what Naber (2006) called an “interment of the psyche,” is justified by the history of racial profiling and hate crimes experienced by Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims (Cainkar 2009; Henderson et al. 2006; Santoro and Azab 2015). On July 20, 2016, a Muslim man, Mohamed Ahmed, was singled out by an American Airlines flight attendant who announced his seat number and said “I’ll be watching you” and was eventually removed from the plane (Revesz 2016). Events such as these happen frequently enough that Egyptians who fit the Arab/Middle Eastern/Muslim racial archetype feel the ever present danger of racial profiling, especially when flying.

Their narratives reflect what Chon and Arzt (2005) described as “terror profiling . . . the selectively negative treatment by both government and private entities of individuals and groups thought to be associated with terrorist activity, based on race, ethnicity, national origin, and/or religion” (p. 238). They argued that the incorporation of religion and religious appearance brings the practice of racial profiling in line with the war on terror. According to Schildkraut (2009), support for “counterterrorism profiling” is higher than traditional forms of racial profiling. Although relatively few Egyptians experienced terror profiling, many described it as an ever present threat that loomed over their experiences at airports. Phrases “flying while brown” (Chandrasekhar 2003), “flying while Arab” (Baker 2002), and “flying while Muslim” (Blackwood, Hopkins, and Reicher 2015) have entered common lexicon in the same way as “driving while black” (Baker 2002).

Egyptians recognize that observable cues, especially brown skin coupled with ethnic or religious signifiers, often identify them as Arab, Middle Eastern, and/or Muslim and therefore potential targets of profiling. For example, Sabrina says, “I mean a lot of them know ok these are Middle Eastern features and they know what Arabs look like, but here there’s also a very clear image of what Muslims look like.” Ismaael says, “I think as a religious group we look different, we act different, we dress differently.” Similarly, Tia expresses that profiling is more likely if you look Muslim. She describes conservative dress, hijab, and dark skin as signs of “being Arab or Muslim.” Daphne, who personally does not wear hijab, says, “If I walk down the street I don’t think someone would point me out necessarily.” Yet she describes the following experience saying, “A friend of mine who does wear a scarf . . . she wasn’t welcomed at certain stores and people would treat her differently . . . Although she carriers herself in a decent way, there was that sense of unwelcoming of her.” Similarly, Inez, who is Coptic Christian, recalls the following experience she had with an African American Muslim friend:

I did an experiment with my black friend. We decided I was going to put a scarf on my head to look like hijab to see what would happen. What was interesting was that no one was really worried or scared of her. They were looking at her and talking to her normally, but they were afraid of me. . . . I just looked, yeah, normally when I’m walking down the street I don’t stand out. OK, I look like a brown person . . . but that definitely made a big difference. I will never forget . . . the guy at the Blockbuster would not look me in the eye. He would talk to her and not look me in the eye.

Although not wearing a hijab, Inez recalls that she, more so than her friend, was treated with suspicion. Her experiment suggests that the combination of skin color, perceived ethnic background, and religious dress influenced how she was racialized. Unlike her friend, who was likely perceived to be African American, Inez’s brown skin interacts with perceived religious dress (scarf) by racializing her as Arab Muslim and therefore threatening. The above comments suggest the importance of religious signifiers in identifying Egyptians as Arab, Middle Eastern, and/or Muslim.

Beyond skin color and religious dress, ethnoreligious cues such as name and nationality also contribute to the terror profiling of Egyptians. Lizabeth says,

Ever since 9/11, I think if you have facial hair, you know any of those characterizing features, or [if] they’re dressed in a different way than someone else people look at them. I travel a lot for work and I’ll see people looking at people at the airport. Just because they look different. . . . I know that with everything that happened after 9/11, I think people do kind of look at you—you’re dark skinned, you have a funny last name, I think after all that there’s a lot of sensitivity around that.

Like Lizabeth, Tia remembers her father being singled out for extra security checks, saying, “Every single time it would be my father because his name is Mohammed.” Salwa recalls being harassed several times at airports. Despite her proclamation that she does not “look like a terrorist,” she recalls having been pulled off airplanes, forced to sit in the back away from the cockpit, and randomly selected for searches all because of her last name. She says, “I don’t wear hijab, people don’t know what I am, but it was my name. My last name is [Awad].” Lizabeth, Tia, and Salwa’s comments illustrate that having an Arabic- or Muslim-sounding name may be enough to become victims of terror profiling.

In addition to one’s name, national origin background can contribute to Egyptians’ being associated with terrorism. Catherine was once introduced as “my Egyptian legal clerk” and recalls the interaction that followed:

And this man, I’ll never forget, says, “Are you going to be flying anytime soon?” And I had no idea what he was talking about. I was just confused. Then it took me a couple of hours . . . then I was like, what did he just ask me!? Really! Like, I didn’t, it’s not like it was happening all the time so I wasn’t aware all the time. But when it would happen, [I] just was like, “Wow, Why?!”

The above narratives illustrate what scholars have found concerning how observable traits, such as skin color, name, national origin, and religious appearance can be used to identify Arabs, Middle Easterners, and/or Muslims as potential threats (Elver 2012; Love 2009; Naber 2008b; Rana 2011). For example, Ramirez, Hoopes, and Quinlan (2003) argued that “Arab-Americans, and those with Arab appearances, increasingly [are] singled out for questioning and security checks based on their skin color, clothing, name, or religious beliefs” (p. 1195). This conflation of race, ethnicity, national origin, and religion demonstrate racialization as a layered process in which their skin color and phenotype, ethnicity, national origin, and religion come to define Arabs and Middle Easterners as a different kind of brown: anti-American Muslim terrorists.

Although Orientalist stereotypes racializing Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims as foreign and un-American are certainly damaging, the discourse associating these groups with terrorism is even more so. The association of Arabs and Middle Easterners with terrorism has existed at least since the 1970s and was codified in Ronald Reagan’s 1980s foreign policy (Semati 2010), yet 9/11 solidified the conflation of Arabs/Middle Easterners with Islam (Garner and Selod 2015; Joshi 2006; Rana 2011; Selod and Embrick 2013). In particular, Joshi (2006:212) argued that the racialization of Islam has reduced Muslims to a “homogeneous, undifferentiated” community associated with terrorism. Similarly, Bayoumi (2006) argued that the war on terror has “reinscribed, through a legal mechanism, the cultural assumption that a terrorist is foreign-born, an alien in the United States, and a Muslim” (p. 275). This progression from “friendly foreigner” to “enemy race” (Tehranian 2009:64) and anti-American Muslim terrorist continues to be facilitated by a rhetoric of fear that portrays Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims as the preeminent threat to national security.