As I debarked my plane and walked to passport control at Newark Liberty International Airport, the first thing I noticed was the large American flag positioned above an otherwise featureless corridor and a large sign welcoming me and my fellow travelers to the United States of America. The sight momentarily took my breath away, and I slowed my pace to admire the aesthetic contrasts of the scene before me. The bold shapes and solid colors of the rectangular flag, the sharply chiseled corridor, and the unadorned, block-lettered sign embodied to me the contrasting stoicism, idealism and power of my country's symbolic guardians. I finally realized that I had left Egypt, and the terminal held the long-awaited arms of my home.
As I submerged myself in the corridor behind the flag, I played a game with myself, pretending to see everything through the eyes of my Egyptian friends. I was torn between two worlds. When I reached passport control, I still thought in Arabic.
"Egypt!" said the American control officer through his window after flipping through my documents. "So did you learn a lot of Arabic?"
Instinctively I wanted to say, Aiwa, kteer khalis, but I remembered myself and the words that came out were in English. "Yes, a lot," I replied. I could not even describe to him how much.
"Shwayyeh. You're supposed to say shwayyeh," he quickly corrected me in a loud voice. Shwayyeh means "a little" in Arabic.
This conversation, my first real conversation upon entering the States, left me in a state of temporary social paralysis. Egyptians never would have dreamed of so confidently contradicting me, a lady stranger, upon a first encounter in public. As my mind adjusted to what had just happened, the dim memory of similar exchanges resurfaced. I finally concluded that I was indeed in America.
I was unsure of which social language to speak to the man at the gate, and then once again unsure whether I should be offended by the man's comparative lack of etiquette. I realized that my newfound cultural duality revealed to me a systemic insensitivity to cultures among many Americans. Only recently have I discovered that only through a return to cultural etiquette can America make itself understood to our detractors in the world.
Usually when we speak of "learning about other cultures," we superficially focus on "foreign" mores and codes of etiquette. We follow these rules, but a silent understanding often passes among us that these conventions are silly, antiquated or unnecessary. We think we can even execute them half-heartedly - the "oh yeah, now I bow" phenomenon among Americans abroad. But there are no shortcuts to communicating true interest and concern. Etiquette is a ritual showing respect, not a mask for a lack of it. If we treat cultural codes of etiquette flippantly, our actions will rightly be seen as inauthentic. And this, in short, is one of our country's worst communication dilemmas.
America is a beautiful concept, a dream, whose communication to the rest of the world is central to our future security, economy and happiness. We can no longer project the image of America as a rugged land where politeness is a secondary thought. Getting rid of formalities was once a cultural asset, as it broke down barriers between people and did away with the concept of inherited respect. Ignoring etiquette is no longer beneficial; the pendulum has swung to the opposite extreme. As a country, we now appear willfully disrespectful. As funny and trivial as manners and etiquette may sound to us, their reintroduction into the social lexicon, both domestically and internationally, can go a long way to save our grace around the world.
Because of our reputation as the prototypical immigrant society sought out by the entire world, foreigners are hopeful to see that America has learned much from its many adoptions. I have witnessed firsthand the passionate enthusiasm shown by citizens of the world towards well-rounded Americans who display their sophistication, refinement and grace. The kind of politeness the world awaits from us does not resemble the vacant smiling and sweet butter talk of many high-society Americans. Instead, it reflects a cosmopolitan understanding and concern for others. Rather than placing the focus on ourselves and on our greatness, our new etiquette should emphasize the potential greatness of others and their value in our eyes.
This was supposed to be a column about my experience studying abroad in Egypt. It is apparent, however, that I am incapable of writing about such an experience without writing about America. For this reason, I wanted to present my story to you, the American reader, not as a description of a far-off land, but as a reintroduction to my own country. I hope that my America, a center to which so many aspirations are tied, will learn to show citizens of the world the same dignity it shows its own citizens.
Natalie Smolenski '07 is the new Miss Manners.
