To Be or Not To Be -- Week 11

I am not of an underprivileged background. I have never had to worry about money becoming a hindrance to in my life and educational growth. We’ve had enough to maintain a relatively comfortable life. Given that I had the opportunity to immigrate to the U.S even further places me into an exclusively privileged stratum. But I have never lived in an elitist bubble. I was not blind to those who washed cars’ windshields at traffic lights, those who sold candies on the street, and those whose parents were martyrs of war or victims of political activism. I was definitely sympathetic to class disparities, but held no regards for the elitist discourse of behavior which further separated the low class from the rest of society. My father, Ebrahim, was a man loved by people of all walks of life. His funeral was a rare example of pluralism which had brought together engineers and farmers, doctors and clerics, architects and gardeners, and writers and street vendors all under one roof. Every time he entered any house, he’d go directly to the kitchen to greet the cooks and maids. He had no respect and regards for the lines society had drawn between people of different classes. He was bold and genuine, and sadly for us, he lost his life over it.

I see fundamental problems with the world’s economic structure and class disparities and the tangible effects it has had and continues to have on people’s lives. In Iran, I mingled with those who were doomed because their last name was not quite “elitist,” or their background was not filled with college-educated, politically active, and independent business owners. In the U.S, I observed how a certain race has monopoly over social resources and political outlets. And here I am in Mexico working for a school exclusive to the upper class. When I came to Queretaro for my interview, I had such a Marxist irk upon seeing workers opening car doors for students that I didn’t want to return. Now, I work for an “International” school funded by a body of parents that much prefer to see a white, blue-eyed American teach English than an Iranian with an Islamic background. Therefore the administrative staff conveniently forgot to mention where I grew up for 18 years in the letter of introduction that they sent to parents.  

Discrimination is wrong, be it targeted at the poor (as is always) or the rich. I don’t intend to discriminate against the upper class, question their wealth, or call on their money to be distributed amongst the poor. I call on them to practice what they preach. They send their students to an “International” school for them to learn how gorgeous and historical Paris, Madrid and London are. I call on them to equally familiarize themselves with the beauty and history of Herat, Shiraz, and Cairo. They send their kids to a school that teaches their kids to embrace all perspectives and ethnicities. I call on them to be justice-minded, and open their car doors themselves, open doors, many doors, doors to understanding a people that they push farther and farther into a corner, open doors, infinite doors into understanding that every man who has risen to change the world has been of a middle or upper class because philosophizing is the luxury of the privileged; “To be or Not to Be” maybe an intellectual dilemma for the rich, but it’s a question of actual survival for the poor.

I know that the elitist life style of these parents is not the totality of this marvelous country. I know there are people, far more international, living in ghettos and neglected indigenous communities. I know they are people who have global perspectives but dip their dry bread into water for dinner. It’s ironic, but I need the money of the elite to explore the “other” side of Mexico. I will use this experience to get closer to the underprivileged working in the school, hear their story, shake their hands, and open my door to them.

Peace from Queretaro,

Aria