Shaghayegh Hanson
Coming to Aamrika!
Having had the experience of being a newly minted immigrant myself, twice (England, then America), I have always been fascinated by other people’s immigration stories. The United States, being an immigrant nation, holds countless tales of those who arrived here to face an uncertain new world, whether by choice or some coercive force. Alas, many Americans seem to have a negative view of immigration, either having forgotten their own families’ immigrant roots, or believing their earlier arrival and decades of longevity entitle them to priority and superiority. It makes me incredibly sad to think the idea of immigration that once swelled in their forebears’ hearts with excitement and hope now engenders in them a fear of invasive “otherness” and, sometimes, hate. I truly believe that if they reconnected with their own immigrant story and summoned the will to listen to those of today’s immigrants, they would instantly, perhaps even intimately, recognize the people who they currently view as strangers to be feared.
And that brings me to my point, that immigrant stories are priceless; they are educational, inspirational, instructive, and life-affirming. They should, and must, be told, preserved, and retold. Many Americans’ beginnings in this country have to be pieced together from history or family hearsay, passed down with ever-increasing inaccuracy, from one generation to the next. But, as “new” immigrants, we are the beginning, our stories are first-hand, ready for the telling. Which is why Peyk has embarked on a project to promote and publish your stories of coming to “Aamrika.” There is no better place to start than with Reza Khabazian’s account on page 11. No matter who you are, your life will be a little richer after reading what he has to say.
. . . immigrant stories are priceless; they are educational, inspirational, instructive, and life-affirming. They should, and must, be told, preserved, and retold.
When I first heard Reza’s story, years ago, we were seated amongst friends who all shared their own tales of coming to Aamrika. We laughed and cried by turns, all of us enjoying a safe space where we could admit the ridiculous naiveté with which we first arrived and the burdens we carried. I was in stitches listening to how Reza, upon arriving at JFK airport, befriended an earnest phone operator who tried in vain to comply with his request, “Hello, can I talk to Hamid?” Another friend had an equally hilarious airport story about how he couldn’t run after someone who stole one of his suitcases because he had disabled himself by stuffing thousands of dollars in his socks, for safety. There were other, more sobering stories of loved ones left behind, never to be held again, and now long passed. Some of us who had left as young children, under a cloud of urgency, sought clarification of the political climate at the time, and the unbearable and dangerous conditions that had befallen the “old country.” All of us tempered our current problems in life with these reminders of how far we had come, and how things could be worse.
I have tried to retell Reza’s airport story myself, but it has always fallen flat for want of the original storyteller’s charm. So, I am delighted that Reza has put pen to paper to chronicle what no one else can recapture in the same way. I encourage you to do the same, whether you share your stories with us or keep them in the family. What you have to say is an important contribution to the annals of “Aamrika’s” history, for ourselves in the moment, for our descendants in the future, and for the soul and conscience of this land for all time.
