The Pressure of a Collectivist Culture: A Personal Narrative

I remember very early on being told no for very harmless asks like going to an art gallery with a male friend of mine and his mother, or on a camping trip with my Highschool’s girls' cross country team or even just going to the swimming pool with my father and his friends, or that time when I was a girls scouts member and was invited to go on a camping trip with the group. The explanation I usually received for the unrelenting declines wasn’t much of a real explanation at all rather than an unreasonable compliance to an overarching culture that denied such innocent endeavors.

“He’s a boy.” My mom replied to the art gallery plan. “You really expect me to let you get in a car with him to go somewhere?” “His mom’ll be with us,” I responded. “Why is it such a crime?” I desperately inquired. “Our culture doesn’t allow it, Fatima, when will you understand that?” “I can't simply go to an art gallery with a friend just because he has a penis?” Stating the truth of the matter definitely did not sit well with my mother because soon after that she completely flew off the handle. Due to the frequency of such exchanges regarding such plans of the like, I came to resent this culture that seemed to limit potential life experiences I could've had. “Because our culture doesn’t allow it” wasn't nearly sufficient enough of an explanation for the denial of my desideratums nor did it make much sense to me. To think of the entire male species as potential sexual predators or that simple outings with them somehow makes me a cheap or slutty woman is taking caution to the realm of the extreme which is doing more harm than good in this case, and not to mention that its a sexist ideology in regards to both sexes.

I would ultimately look at American families and wonder why I wasn’t born into one. This isn’t to say that I despised my parents as opposed to saying I despised the constraints I was put upon as a result of the culture I found myself in. Realistically, I don’t even place the blame on my parents, I knew they were bound by what they were taught growing up and their deep rooted belief in what they were taught. They weren’t necessarily exposed to two different cultures growing as I was. I’d go out and see a different culture then the one I came home to, and that sort of exposure is most likely the reason why I am the way I am today.

I was exposed to two different ways of thinking and living and through that exposure, I made a choice of what seemed to more closely align with my values and morals as an individual, which undoubtedly came at the expense of my parent’s approval. Living and thinking the way I wanted was perceived as a rejection of them and their love for me as their child as well as a rejection of my place in an unproven existence of a heaven that they so fondly sought after. After living in the United States for a while and learning more and more about American culture, I came to the conclusion that their approach to life seemed a great deal more logical to me. There was a sense of individuality that the children of American parents had that I in a way didn’t have growing up. The household I grew up in adhered to a strict culture that went hand in hand with a religion that everyone was supposed to follow and believe in. I blindly followed at first being an inexperienced child that mimicked their parents but overtime as I began to grow older and experience life more, I began to question the validity of such a culture which inevitably led to such skepticism seeping into my thoughts about the religion. Alongside my negative feelings of the religion, the accompanying culture also facilitates my issues with the normalized imposed restrictions on individual freedom.

I resented my parent’s overprotectiveness and near helicopter parenting more than anything. I understand that that was their way of showing that they cared about me and my safety but in the process, they failed to see how such overprotectiveness was impeding on my development and growth as a person. With every dismissal of my wishes and subsequent missed opportunity as a result, the resentment I harbored in me grew. I began to deviate from anything that was associated with the religion and culture I once so blindly followed for the sake of my parent’s approval. I began to think about the kind of life I wanted to live and what made sense to me despite the consequences I knew it would bring about. Was I going to live under the insufferable shadow of my parent’s expectations or was I going to live the way that would make me the happiest? I grappled with that life defining question. My personal identity was at stake as was my happiness. Eventually I realized that my parents weren’t going to live my life for me, I was, and their approval of me wasn’t worth the life long struggle of cognitive dissonance that I would suffer living under their expectations. I have one life to live, and I would be doing myself a tremendous injustice if I lived in contrast to my values as an individual. It was a choice that was going to separate me ideologically and behaviorally from the rest of my family and the eldest child was going to become the black sheep or rather no longer a sheep, in my opinion. The ostracization I was going to bring upon myself was worth it if it meant the life I was going to live reflected what I believe in as a person, and my values are exactly what I represent today despite the tension that arose between my parents and I as a result. This is why I believe one should adhere to their own chosen path in life regardless of outside influence whether that be the path of individualism vs collectivism, one of religious faith or secularity, liberalism or conservatism. The choice is yours to make.