I was a Fulbrighter in Damascus, Syria from September 2001 until December of 2002 and then I stayed on in Damascus for an additional half-year to coordinate an English Language Teacher Training program administered by the Cultural Affairs section of the US Embassy and to manage the English Language Club at UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees) in Damascus.

In both positions, the young Syrians and Palestinians that I met confronted me with questions about the United States. As one would expect, the students expressed concern about US political and military involvement in the Middle East. I was more surprised, however, to face so many questions about cultural issues: particularly questions about relations between American children and their parents. Many of the young students I came across were very concerned about deteriorating family relations in the United States and what they saw as a lack of respect on the part of American children toward their parents. When this subject came up, students asked me (on more than one occasion) why I had not divorced my parents yet. Many of the students I met were under the impression that the divorce of parents by their children was an everyday occurrence in the United States.

It has long been clear to me that Americans also have deep misconceptions about Arab culture. When I returned to the US in June of 2003, these misconceptions had strengthened and focused to the point (in the post-September 11th environment) that, to many Americans, anything connected to the Arab world had taken on sinister overtones. I often think of one anecdote in particular. When I returned to New York City and started a new job, I began my housing search. I found an affordable room in the house of a middle-aged woman and her young son in upper Manhattan. In the interview, she asked me the usual questions a landlord would ask a prospective tenant: she inquired about my background (including what kind of work I was involved in my last two years in Syria), my ability to pay the bill on time, my level of tidiness, etc. She also brought up how important her son was to her and that she was very careful about the kind of people she allowed in her house. Finally, she stated that she would not allow drinking nor overnight visitors. I agreed to all of her stipulations (I was broke and the rent was well-below market value), but she still seemed nervous. Near tears she told me once again, “my son is my life … you have to understand” and she mentioned she had one more question to ask: “You spoke of how much you enjoyed your two years in Damascus. Are you a member of Al-Quaida?”

I like to think of my Fulbright experience as one that allowed me to reach out to these two communities (Americans and Syrians/Palestinians) and shake up their stereotypes of each other. On the one hand, I spoke to the Syrians and Palestinians I lived with and worked among for almost two years in Damascus about aspects of American culture they knew little about: I told them how close the families were that I knew even if American children generally have a more independent role vis à vis their parents than Syrian children do. On the other hand, I related my positive experience in Syria to the Americans whom I came home to: I spoke of the warmth and hospitality I encountered in Syria and the tolerance (for religious and cultural differences) of the people I met there. Although the former role--reaching out to Syrians--was in some ways what the Fulbright experience is ostensibly all about, I find my most fulfilling role has been as an educator in the United States: sharing my experiences in the Middle East with Americans who have had not had the opportunity to travel there themselves.