I was in fourth grade. I was sitting in class, jittery with excitement, smile beaming from ear to ear. My grandmother had agreed to visit my class and talk to them about her migration from Egypt to America in 1969. With her, she brought small statues of pyramids, scrolls of papyrus filled with colorful pictures of pharaohs and hieroglyphics, and of course, her Bible and cross.
With some trepidation, she began to talk about her experience of being a Coptic Christian in Egypt. She spoke of the fear in just walking to school at times, the name calling (Kafir, كافر being the most common, defined as an unbeliever or an infidel), and the overall sense of feeling unsafe, marginalized, and less than.
Stories like my grandmother’s are not uncommon amongst Copts. I imagine you could ask any Coptic family about their experiences and hear countless stories of both small and large instances of discrimination. This is not new and has been going on for centuries. Literally. Copts, like any disparaged group of people, have been fighting to be seen, heard, and treated with equality.
It wasn’t until my grandmother came to the states did she know that life could be different
My area of interest here is: what happens psychologically when one lives and is raised in an environment of institutionalized discrimination?
How does this socialization affect their behavior, beliefs, and objectivity?
Let’s explore together.
In psychology, we learn that we are all a product of both our nature (genetic dispositions) and our environment (nurture). On a micro level, the environment is composed of our familial interactions, the quality of the attachments to our parents, for example, and the people closest to us. Our environment is our socioeconomic status and our access to resources. On a more macro level, our environment is the generation, location, and socio-political climate we live in.
All of these factors influence who we become and how we see and interact with the world. No one is therefore purely objective. We all see the world through our subjective lens based on the experiences we’ve had in life. Our experiences shape us, mold us into what we believe and how we interact with the people and world around us.
What people may not know is that growing up being discriminated against is actually considered trauma. When we think of trauma, most people think of an isolated event, like a really bad car accident, fighting at war, being sexually assaulted, etc. And while these experiences are undoubtedly traumatic, trauma can be expanded to include a series of events that are pervasive and psychologically damaging in nature. Being told that one is an “Other,” being treated as though one is less than, and being denied access to what the majority has access to affects the mind, affects the body, and can affect overall functioning.
In the United States, for instance, African Americans have been discriminated against since the very beginning. Studies have shown that discrimination experienced in and of itself significantly increases rates of mental disorders, suggesting that 1 in 10 Black Americans have been traumatized enough by racism to quality for PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). (Himle et al, 2009). My guess would be the rates are significantly higher, as there are multiple barriers to ethnic minorities seeking mental health treatment.
I did a quick literature search on Copts and PTSD, and while I couldn’t find any matches to indicate research and statistics, I would imagine that the rates would look very similar. I was actually pretty sad that I couldn’t find any research, which may just be a limitation of searching in English or indicate an actual need for more research.
Managing the oftentimes difficult and complex feelings that stem from trauma related to discrimination can feel daunting
The reality is that discrimination changes the brain. Microaggressions, which can be defined as “the everyday verbal, nonverbal, and environmental slights, snubs, or insults, whether intentional or unintentional, which communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to target persons based solely upon their marginalized group membership,” can oftentimes be even more damaging, as slights build up over time, and eventually affects the way one sees themselves and the world around them.
In the world of psychotherapy, we often say that emotional abuse is an area of abuse that one typically carries with them throughout their lives. Scars are not visible, not easily seen as abuse, and oftentimes becomes ingrained into one’s identity.
If I have been told that I am less than my entire life by significant others, whether those are the people closest to me or sentiments of the community at large, I will most likely develop this belief about myself, and may or may not be able to identify its origin. When I receive a client struggling with “self-esteem,” for example, and reports constant thoughts of feeling as though they are “stupid,” my first question of inquiry is where they first heard this belief. Who told them they are stupid? In what context did they believe they are stupid? And together we explore the ways in which this belief eventually internalized into a sense of identity.
Managing the oftentimes difficult and complex feelings that stem from trauma related to discrimination can feel daunting. We are naturally emotional creatures, and find it uncomfortable to feel difficult feelings, such as sadness or anger, without casting blame, whether that’s blame onto ourselves or blame projected onto the identified perpetrator. Being born in the U.S. by Egyptian immigrants, I often heard from family and family friends unkind language projected towards Muslims as a whole.
Both the faith and the people were looked down upon and even demonized at times. As an adult, I know to understand these sentiments as being leftover painful feelings from the discrimination experienced. Living in the U.S., a country where they now feel more protected, and free to express themselves openly, they are able to express their pain.
In another article, I wrote about the importance of therapy for seeking the truth. As I mentioned before, our experiences shape who we are and what we believe. So very often, the beliefs we develop from our experiences are false beliefs. In therapy, we learn to unravel these beliefs, to change our default lens into something clearer. Trauma, our wounds, restricts our lens, can lead to hate begetting more hate, and perpetuate unhealthy cycles.
In a recent trip to Egypt, I was completely taken aback by the Muslim call for prayer projected on loudspeakers five times a day. My husband’s family was confused about how startled I was, as this has been their way a life, the only life they’ve known, something they’ve only seen as normal. But it was not normal for me, and each and every time I heard the prayer, I was taken off guard. The only reason I had such a reaction was because I knew differently. And because I knew differently, I could begin to question, compare, and wonder.
It wasn’t until my grandmother came to the states did she know that life could be different. She knew that the discrimination she experienced was relative to where and how she grew up. Please do not misunderstand me. My attempt here isn’t to imply that the west is superior in our treatment of other people; it certainly is not. My point is that it is only until we experience something completely differently of what we are familiar with, do we begin to see our experience as less normal. We can begin to understand the ways in which we are affected by what we’ve absorbed.
Copts, like any other disparaged group of people, have been fighting to be seen, heard, and treated with equality
Trauma isn’t something one “gets over.” It requires work, diligence, and patience in understanding all of the layers that have affected us and shape who we become. It requires looking at the macro lens, the microlens, and if we are brave enough, enter into our own emotional worlds. The wonderful work about healing individual trauma is that it leads to the healing of future generational trauma. Because our wounds have healed, we no longer pass them onto our children. And the truth is the collective trauma of Copts is deep and intense, and the wounds have affected our own ability to practice as the Christians God intended us to be.
I wonder if the first step is to truly name this collective trauma, for Copts living in the diaspora, to say, this happened to me, and it’s affected me this way. (I say diaspora because I’m not sure it’s safe to do in Egypt). Then these wounds are taken to the community, to God, to the government for a change to occur, to the educational system for awareness to arise, to therapy, and any other resource that can channel the pain, and heal them so so slowly, for generations to come.
Jennifer Ghobreyal works as a licensed mental health therapist at the California State University, San Bernardino, where she also received her Master’s. She has passion for mental health and removing the stigma of psychological disorders. In her free time, she loves to read, cook, and spend time with her husband, family and friends.
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