A Hairy Situation by Hosni Mubarak

Allow me to summarize America's diversity into an apparently embracing phrase; the melting pot. This phrase defines the vast cultural diversity which America boasts. Each race, religion and nationality are thrown into this huge kettle of boiling hot water and mingled with one another to produce the "greatest nation of the world". The concept is obviously figurative. Our nation can be alluded to as a nation of immigrants, survivors, journeyman, or aspiring businessman. etc. America is the vehicle that the persecuted minorities of Europe employed to extricate themselves from systematic subjugation. These are all the splendid attributes that America has offered to us in the past and the present, and will continue to do so in the future. If we venture to survey the situation up north in Canada, the perspective is different. Canada is defined as an ethnic mosaic; a collage of the myriad of cultures, untempered, unblemished and unperturbed. I mean, what's the difference? Is there a difference?

If one were to take a more prudent look, there is an immense disparity between the two concepts. Canada's ethnic composition is varied, different, and accepted in all it's forms. Ethnic groups are not impelled to alter their identity, they are all included and accepted in this social infrastructure as they are. In America's melting pot, you can retain certain characteristics of your old culture, but you have to seemingly repudiate most of it, at least if you want to be accepted in the social scheme of things. This is not a direct admonition or commandment, it's a purported assertion. In other words, it's implied. You want a professional job? Corn rows on your head will discourage employers. You want to mingle with society? Alcohol consumption is a necessary trait which you might have to adopt, otherwise your "friends" will have misgivings about you. I can go on forever with this, but my contention has a resonance.

Being raised in America for most of my life did have some repercussions. I constantly make inquiries to myself about my identity. What is my identity? I am from Bangladesh (this is a small country east of India, which hosts a population of 150 million), but the Bangladeshis who have recently arrived in this country have a different and alien culture which I cannot personally relate to. I have endeavored to acquaint myself with assimilated Desi's (a desi is an American whose family has orginated from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Guyana or Trinidad), but that has been a frivolous exercise because I am not as "Americanized" as them. In the midst of all this, I am expected to conform to this professional standard of conduct and appearance if I desire to land a high profile job in JP Morgan, Lehman Brothers, or Goldman Sachs. To top it off, I attend Baruch College, where the majority of the student admissions tend to imitate mechanized robots, incapable of exuding any sense of human emotion. I observe the vain boasts of certain students, about impressive resumes, about the career path into which they are treading into, and I unwittingly smile inside. The irony is, at least to me, the majority of them aren't experiencing life, they are mortgaging their present by feigning to be corporate elites and solidifying their image to obsequious student-protege's who fervently idolize them. I positively believe that certain freshmans and sophmores have statues of some of the seniors they admire and aspire to be like.

But on a closer look, am I really that different from them? I was image conscious. I am admired by some of the underclassmen at our university. I am the Vice President of a revered
Honor Society. In the midst of this public reverence, I lost myself. I lost the steady, calm, rebelliousness which I so desperately cherished in the past. My most valued asset, at least to me, is my eccentricity, my idiosyncratic impulses and my lust for spontaneity. These three terms are synonymous, but they are what I cherished about myself. But a high profile position within Sigma Alpha Delta coerced me to question and re-evaluate myself. Certain elements within the College were clamoring for my removal, because they felt I was being haughty, or condescending, or simply not giving them the attention which they felt was due to them. This deeply disturbed me. What disturbed me more was that I actually cared for the opinions others have of me. Not everyone is going to like you, nor accept you, and most of the time, it will be for the most trivial reasons. The most difficult dilemma for any person is when he/she is forced to re-examine his/her character. It's an arduous voyage.

I stopped being tense and image conscious. I stopped shaving. I'm well aware of the responses I received about my beard. Surprisingly, the majority of the reviews were positive, but I was indifferent to public opinion. The beard was symbolic for me. It marked my transformation, my ascendency to maturity (at least on a heightened level) and my indifference to public opinion. Some thought I was trying to look older, some believed I was masquerading as an Al Qaeda operative, but those opinions merely served a form of amusement. The beard was my figurative finger to the standards set forth by our great melting pot. I do not need to conform. I am gladly going to proceed as I am and "do me". Even when the beard outgrew appropriate levels, I kept it. It was a mark of defiance. A protest noted by everyone who was intelligent to comprehend what I was doing. Not once did I hesitate to alter my appearance when I heard others imploring me to shave it. I was going to shave my beard when I felt it was necessary. Was I routinely harassed by law enforcement in my local train station due to my conspicuous facial hair? Absolutely? Did it deter me? Nope, it emboldened me. It liberated me. I made witty comments when I was being "randomly" searched, but nothing offensive, just playful banter.

To summarize, my entire message with this article is simple. Be yourself. Do not let others define you. Do not allow the concept of a "melting pot" to question you about yourself. Yielding positive opinions from society is beautiful, but do not sacrifice or compromise yourself to achieve those results. The long term effects of self-identity crisis, depression, and self-disgust far outweigh the short term rewards of public approval.