Semesters at Marquette have never been this interesting and as I write my last column this year, I've realized that I have never learned so much. In fact, the last thing I learned was Sunday when I realized it would have been a good idea to provide you with a formal introduction, so at least you have a glimpse of where I must be coming from. As I bombarded you with complaints about American foreign policy, Ambassador Ross' class or the lack of diversity at Marquette, you must have been wondering who I am. If anything has spoken to you these past couple months, it's probably that I'm Arab, Muslim and for some reason really angry or frustrated, however you would like to put it. Believe me, I'm not the only one.

As for myself, I identify with the American society of which I've been been a part since the Gulf War and at the same time, I am a product of the Arab culture and traditions of my family. In the America we live in today, it's difficult to combine the two and remain rationally attached to one or the other, when neither is accepting of its counterpart.

The more years I spend at Marquette searching for the evidence that may reclaim for me a bit of dignity for the Arab people — which I myself cannot reconcile inside my mind — the more disappointed I have become at reality. I guess that's the price paid by the political. The more time I work wholeheartedly to dismantle stereotypes of Arab society, the worse the accusations become of my loyalty to this pluralistic identity.

Hence I search for my identity among the contradictions of Egyptian society, the rubbles of Palestinian history and the apathy of American life. I've poured long hours this semester into Marquette's Arab Heritage Celebration where we've attempted in our own ways to provide an alternative to the incessent myths that have surrounded our own political history and as I sit at the Tribune reading and editing Viewpoints every day, I've found that the attempts we have made to change this reality have not resonated among most students. Yet, I still have hope that you've listened, even if reluctantly, and perhaps you have realized that we too have a voice to be heard. If you haven't heard the message yet, at least you've seen us calling.

I quote Mahmoud Darwish's 'State of Siege:' "Here, where the hills slope before the sunset and the chasm of time / near gardens whose shades have been cast aside / we do what prisoners do / we do what the jobless do / we sow hope."

This viewpoint appeared in The Marquette Tribune on April 26 2005.