Objects Facilitating Identity Formation: the Keffiyeh and non-Palestinian Arabs

I met Hassan* a little over two years ago while bartending at a UofT reception at the former Munk Centre, now the Munk School of Global Affairs. The reception was in lieu of an event that had taken place earlier, a lecture and book launching for a distinguished expert on Middle Eastern affairs. Hassan, in his final year of undergraduate studies at the time, was in attendance and after the two hour lecture came to the bar to order, what seemed like, a much needed drink. While talking at the bar, we exchanged thoughts and perspectives on the controversial lecture and since then have remained very close friends. (*names have been changed and that picture is not Hassan)

I choose to begin my paper with this anecdote as a foreground for my discussion on the keffiyeh because it is through my friendship with Hassan that I have learned about Middle Eastern culture; a culture so different from my own. The keffiyeh, also known as kuffiyeh, kafiyah, kufiyah, ghutrah, hattah, mashadah, or shemagh has historically constituted a large part of Arab history and what it means to be an Arab. (Chameides 2008, Lindisfarne-Tapper 1997) This paper, written as a diasporic object study, attempts to contextualize the keffiyeh as it is worn by Arab men in the Middle East and as it is worn by diasporas of Arabs in the West, mainly the United States and Canada. Through literature research and first person interviews with Hassan as well as his father, I theorize that the keffiyeh facilitates identity formation among non-Palestinian Arabs along spatial/cultural and generational boundaries. In other words, the symbolic meaning attributed to the wearing of a keffiyeh depends on: 1) who wears the keffiyeh -- older generations of Arabs versus younger generations of Arabs; and 2) what spatial/cultural context the wearer bears the scarf – in the East versus in the West. Although the keffiyeh is and continues to be intimately associated with Palestinians and the Palestinian political struggle in the Middle East, this paper focuses on the meaning of the keffiyeh for non-Palestinian Arabs, the reasons for which will be discussed later.

Before the 1930s, the keffiyeh’s principle function was to shield Arabic farmers and the common Arab from the harsh sun and wind present in many North African and Middle Eastern climates. Arabic men in cities had little use for the keffiyeh until the mid 1930s when villagers and peasants in Mandate Palestine held a nationalist uprising –the Arab Revolt -- against British colonial rule and mass Jewish immigration. In solidarity with their fellow Palestinians and the class struggle against British colonialism, Palestinian city people and other Arabs began wearing the keffiyeh in order to make it difficult for the British to target the orchestrates of the rural uprising. At the time, the British army chief proposed jailing any Palestinian who wore the keffiyeh and it is in this political and historical framework that the keffiyeh was transformed into a symbol of Palestinian nationalism. (Swedenberg 1992)

Ironically, impressed by the practicality of the scarf, British soldiers stationed in the Middle East during World War II used the keffiyeh to keep out both the cold and the heat while on the battle field. The Western world took notice and soon the keffiyeh was being used by soldiers of varying national allegiances. (Swedenberg 1992)

It was in the 1960s when the keffiyeh became intimately associated with Palestinian nationalism and identity again. At the time, the keffiyeh was the favored headwear of Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat, chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), President of the Palestinian National Authority, and leader of the Fatah Political Party. Arafat believed in fighting against Israel in the name of Palestinian self-determination after Israel targeted Arafat and the Fatah Political Party in the 1978 and 1982 invasions of Palestine. (Yasser Arafat-Wikipedia) Arafat became a freedom fighter “revered by many Arabs”, especially Palestinians, who saw him as symbolizing their national aspirations. (Yasser Arafat- Wikipedia)
Yasser Arafat was rarely seen without a black and white patterned keffiyeh and it is in this historical framework that the keffiyeh continues to be intricately associated with Palestinian land rights struggles.

Echoing the notion which Shamberger (2008) posits in Living in a material world: object biography and transnational lives, the keffiyeh is an object that is neither stagnate nor fixed but rather encompasses an “object biography.” The keffiyeh, like the Australian bonnet, takes on meaning depending on context -- be it historical, social, or spatial context -- and in doing so emits agency and power. (Shamberger 2008) Analyzing the keffiyeh’s historical context, we see that the temporal milieu in which the scarf is worn has a direct impact on the symbolic meaning Arabs (and others) attribute to the object: today the keffiyeh is closely associated with Palestinian authority; before the 1930s, the keffiyeh was an object of practicality. However, even more important than the object’s historical context is the wearer himself and in what cultural and/or national framework he finds himself whilst wearing the keffiyeh. As will be argued, who wears the scarf and where they wear it is central to the keffiyeh’s “object biography.”

Whether at home or displaced abroad, the keffiyeh holds a rather analogous symbolic meaning to Palestinians. (Swedenberg 1992) Through its historical progression, the keffiyeh has become a national symbol of Palestine, its object biography illuminating a political struggle that may have remained silenced were it not for its symbolic transference to an object. (Shamberger 2008) Whether living in Palestine, in other parts of the Middle East, or in the Western world, Palestinians wear the keffiyeh with political nuance. (Swedenberg 1992) While in the Middle East each region has a standard keffiyeh design and color symbolizing region affiliations (as will be mentioned later), Palestine is different in that the choice of keffiyeh is a political statement, and as discussed, symbolic of a rich, political history. (Chameides 2008, Swedenburg 1992) Palestinians wear the black and white keffiyeh made famous by Arafat and the Fatah Political Party to symbolize their solidarity with the Palestinian nation no matter their geographic location. (Swedenberg 1992) For this reason I focus my diasporic object study on non-Palestinians’ relationship with the keffiyeh; a relationship that interestingly changes along spatial/cultural and generational boundaries.

Contrary to popular belief, not all Arabs who wear the keffiyeh do so because they are anti-Israel and are making a statement about the land rights of Palestine and the Palestinian political struggle. As Chameides (2008) argues, the keffiyeh is for many Arabs a symbol of identity originally used by Arabs and still used by Arabs to symbolize “Arab-ness”. In the Middle East, each region has a standard keffiyeh design and color to signify place affiliations. (Lindisfarne-Tapper 1997) A red and white design is worn by Syrians, Lebanese, and Jordanians. A white keffiyeh is often worn by members in the Gulf states, including Emiratis, Yemenites, Omanis, and Saudis. The black and white keffiyeh is the standard design for Palestine, although Palestinians do also wear the red and white checkered pattern. (Lindisfarne-Tapper 1997) Chameides (2008) finds that there is strong uniformity within each town in terms of how Arabs wear the design and which design is most prevalent. Chameides uses the term “homogenous traditionalism” to explain how wearing the keffiyeh marks Arabs’ belonging to a region or a standard culture of an area – a culture that is historically rooted in the place. “In globalization studies, place is distinct from space and is triply symbolic because it relates to identity, relationships, and history. Place is understood as an unmediated location of shared experience and commonality. The keffiyeh is a mediated symbol for that unmediated sharedness.” (Chameides 2008, Rantenen 2005) Especially for non-Palestinian Arabs who do not necessarily wear the keffiyeh with political motivation, the scarf is used to symbolize traditionalism and normalcy with a place. But for Palestinians and non-Palestinian Arabs who do wear the keffiyeh in part as a political statement, the keffiyeh still signifies a traditional, national identity to the land. (Chameides 2008) “In Palestine, claiming a traditional, national identity to the land is a political position in the face of a Zionist ideology founded in Europe that explicitly attacks (and sometimes denies the existence of) traditional, Arab culture.” (Chameides 20008) In this way, Chameides argues that even in the case of Palestinians and other Arabs wearing the scarf with political intentions, the keffiyeh still symbolizes a territorial and natural connection to the land. (Chameides 2008, Swedenburg 1992, Swedenburg 1990) However for non-Palestinian Arabs, the keffiyeh says “I am from this region and I am not from some other region” and may or may not have political implications. (Chameides 2008)

It is often for the older generation of non-Palestinian Arabs that the keffiyeh exclusively represents practicality and the image of the peasant Arab farmer and constructs an identity associated with regional membership, traditionalism, and “Arab-ness”. (Swedenberg 1990, 1992) After all, the keffiyeh was originally worn around the head and fastened in place by a band called an iqal by Arab farmers and peasants throughout the Middle East. Political associations aside, Rochelle Davis, an assistant professor of culture and society at Georgetown University’s Centre for Contemporary Arab studies notes, “Above all, it’s important to remember a keffiyeh is something to wear like a hat, to keep out the cold, keep out the sun.” (Kim 2007)

Hassan’s father, Ghassan* agrees. Ghassan is Yemeni by birth but lives in Saudi Arabia and teaches economics at a Saudi university as well as being a visiting professor to a number of elite universities in the States. He wears the all-white keffiyeh in Saudi Arabia not with political intention but rather as a symbolic marker of his regional identity. “This is our national dress. That is why we wear the keffiyeh aside from the fact that it keeps the heat away,” he says.

Similarly a Middle Eastern man quoted in an article for Middle East Online (2008) about the keffiyeh outgrowing its political connotations states, “I am 90 years old and I have been wearing a keffiyeh my entire life.”

Owing to its origins and practicality as an article of clothing, it seems that older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs in the Middle East continue to wear the keffiyeh as utilitarian headwear, nostalgically remembering images of the traditional, rural Arab farmer working in the fields. They do not wear the keffiyeh with any intention of making a political statement. (Augenbraun 2008)

Younger generations of non-Palestinian Arabs in the Middle East share sentiments with their elders regarding the wearing of the keffiyeh, what it symbolizes, and how it relates to identity. Hassan, like his father, was also born in Yemen but lived most of his life in Saudi Arabia until he came to the University of Toronto as an international student. In Saudi Arabia he wore the white keffiyeh but at times donned the red and white patterned version of the scarf. When asked why he chose to wear either keffiyehs in Saudi Arabia, he responded:

“It is mainly cultural reasons why I wore the keffiyeh in Saudi Arabia. I did it first of all, because my dad, most of my male relatives did and we didn’t wear the keffiyeh wrapped around our necks but rather, wore them in the traditional fashion placed on our heads and fastened with an iqal. You have to understand that Saudi Arabia is a very traditional place so that definitely had something to do with it. It is a kind of respect for one’s elders and the land you are living in, the land you come from. However, when I wore the red keffiyeh, either loosely draped around my neck or on my head, it was usually in a more casual setting.”

I asked Hassan if there was a difference between wearing the red and white checkered keffiyeh and wearing the white keffiyeh traditional in Gulf states.

“Sure. When I wore the red and white checkered keffiyeh it had a different meaning than when I wore the all white one, whether consciously or unconsciously… it was less of a statement about where I am from regionally and more of a statement suggesting my Arab-ness. I guess you could say that wearing the red and white keffiyeh had more of a political undertone. It’s a proud to be Arab, proud to be culturally different from the West kind of message I felt I was internalizing and displaying to the public. That being said though, even when I wore the white keffiyeh, which was often, I still felt the scarf symbolized these messages.”

For non-Palestinian Arabs, the keffiyeh, like it does for their ‘forefathers’, symbolizes regional connections, traditionalism, and respect for elders and preceding generations. (Chameides 2008, Swedenberg 1990) The keffiyeh also seems to construct identity for younger generations of Arabs by eliciting a romanticized, nostalgic notion of “Arab-ness” or what it means to be Arab. This romanticized ideal includes associations with elders, region and place, and traditionalism. However, unlike older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs, younger generations may also as subtly invoke political intentions while wearing the keffiyeh in the Middle East. As Hassan pointed out, when he wears the keffiyeh he is proud be Arab and proud to be different from the West.

“For many of my friends, wearing the keffiyeh is not just about signifying what region you’re from…while that is important, the keffiyeh [as much as it is about “Arab-ness”] is at the same time also symbolic of anti-Arab oppression and anti-Western hegemony,” Hassan explains.

We see here that contrary to older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs who wear the scarf almost exclusively as a regional marker, younger generations of Arabs may wear the keffiyeh with political intention.

The similarities and differences between generations of non-Palestinian Arabs wearing the keffiyeh in the Middle East speaks to a number of theoretical arguments about objects, but most importantly speaks to my argument that the keffiyeh facilitates identity formation along generational boundaries for non-Palestinian Arabs. The symbolic meaning Hassan attributes to wearing the keffiyeh is different from how his father and older generations of Arabs wear the scarf; how the keffiyeh shapes Hassan’s identity is different from how the keffiyeh shapes his father’s identity.

The issues raised by the notion of the keffiyeh as facilitating identity along differing generational contexts speaks to Latour’s (2007) arguments on actor-network theory and intentionality. What is the actor’s intent? What is the intent of non-Palestinian Arabs living in the Middle East, wearing the keffiyeh? Does it have to do with moral agency? Is there such a thing as free will? The issues raised by the keffiyeh and its various meanings and constructions of identity along generational precincts also draws on theories put forth by Tolia-Kelly (2004) and Zuran (2010) who make assertions about the importance of the collective memory of objects and objects as “facilitating environments.” This will be discussed in more detail below when I explore non-Palestinian Arabs wearing the keffiyeh in the West.

To reiterate and conclude this section, we see how the keffiyeh symbolizes and constructs meaning and identity differently for older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs and younger generations.

But what happens when the keffiyeh is moved across spatial and cultural boundaries, i.e. national borders? How do non-Palestinian Arabs of differing generations construct identity and attribute meaning to the scarf when interactions with the object occur in a completely different spatial/cultural context? Through my interviews with Hassan and Ghassan I find that the keffiyeh loses its prevalence among older generation wearers and loses part of its symbolic meaning among younger generation wearers. A number of factors are responsible, but I posit that the contemporary fixation with the keffiyeh in Western culture is the main answer.

For Ghassan who, as mentioned, is a professor of economics in Saudi Arabia and a visiting professor at a number of prestigious universities in the United States, he is quite frequently in the West. What is interesting is that Ghassan never wears his keffiyeh during his trips to the West, he never even bothers to pack the scarf with him in his luggage. This could be in part due to his professional and visiting status in the United States and Canada, but I asked him about it anyways.

Ghassan explains. “Well, the reason I don’t wear my keffiyeh when I come to visit the U.S. or Canada is simply because I don’t need to and it would be kind of odd to wear it…First of all, I’m a professor in economics and not Middle Eastern studies so I don’t feel I need to put on display my Arab-ness to anybody, especially not in the United States. Also you know, I see all these young people wearing it – young people who aren’t even Arab, never mind Palestinian, and I think why on Earth would I wear the keffiyeh because it would mean nothing here. It’s just not something to wear in the American culture for me.”

Ghassan’s response illustrates a number of ideas about how the keffiyeh changes symbolic meaning when placed in a different cultural and spatial context. Ghassan chooses not to wear the keffiyeh in the United States because he feels it would draw the wrong attention; he feels it would draw unnecessary negative attention on him. As Chameides notes (2008) and as anyone who has been to the United States post September 11 can attest to, being Arab has become the new Black. That is to say, Arabs have taken on the role as Other, a role once belonging to Blacks in the United States. (Jacobs-Huey 2002) Where there was once a War on Drugs, otherwise known as a war on inner city, poor black populations, there is now a War on Terror, and consequently, as some would put it, a war on Arabs and Muslims. (Jabaily 2005) Chameides explains how this racist inversion of which population becomes typified as the “Other” was clearly exemplified in the 2008 U.S. presidential campaign. “During Obama’s presidential election bid, he was accused of being Muslim, implying that Americans may be more afraid of a Muslim president than a Black president.” (Chameides 2008: par.20) The U.S. War on Terror and the Israeli War in Lebanon are the two most visible examples of the increased media scrutiny of Arabs and the transformation of Arabs in America into the deviant Other. (Chameides 2008, Jabaily 2005)

David Parkin (1999) in Mementoes as Transitional Objects in Human Displacement argues that body-mind can be regarded as embedded in social trails created by the movement of objects. Parkin makes the point that people are only able to recreate viable societies so long as they are allowed to do so. While Parkin’s article focuses on refugees and other displaced peoples and their connection to personal objects, we can apply Parkin’s argument adequately to Ghassan’s relationship with the keffiyeh once both are situated in the West. Issues of risk, vulnerability, and uncertainty (Parkin 1999) surround Ghassan and the keffiyeh once their spatial locations are shifted from the Middle East to America. As a result, Ghassan chooses not to wear the keffiyeh in the West.

However Ghassan’s response about wearing the keffiyeh in the West also speaks to the contemporary fixation with the scarf in Western culture. Ghassan chooses not to wear the keffiyeh in the U.S., in part, because he feels it would hold little meaning considering the popularity of the scarf in Western youth culture. While in the Middle East Ghassan wore the keffiyeh to symbolize proud regional, traditional, Arab heritage, here in the West Ghassan says the keffiyeh would transform into a completely meaningless object.

There is a vast array of literature, blog posts, news articles, and websites about the keffiyeh in Western culture, more so than there is any substantial information detailing the relationship Arabs’ have with the keffiyeh in the West. Whether this is because Arabs wearing the keffiyeh are lumped into the category of Westerners wearing the keffiyeh or whether Arabs are completely isolated from the discussion is unknown. Either way, in the West (for some) the keffiyeh has become a symbol of Palestinian solidarity, anti-war, anti-Israel, anti-U.S. war in Iraq, anti-Western exploitation of the Middle East, anti-Arab racism, solidarity with Third World national struggles, and probably any other anti-U.S. issue you can think of. (Chameides 2008, Hanley 2010, Swedenberg 1992, Weiner 2007) For Westerners wearing the keffiyeh as a symbol of resistance is a critique of Western colonialism and a statement against racism and imperialism. Wearing the keffiyeh means one is rejecting anti-Arab racism, especially the Arab racism that exists in America at the present time. (Chameides 2008, Hanley 2010, Swedenberg 1992, Weiner 2007) Similarly as it did in the 1930s when Palestinian and other Arab city people wore the scarf to confuse British colonial soldiers about who was responsible for the Arab revolt, Westerners have taken up use of the scarf to blur the lines of demarcation between who is Arab and who is not. (Chameides 2008, Swedenberg 1992)

While as much as the wearing of the keffiyeh is about Westerners demonstrating Arab solidarity and placing themselves outside the position of Western colonialism, the very fact that the keffiyeh has been commoditized and has become a Western appropriation for another culture is imperialism. (Chameides 2008) Today the keffiyeh is steeped with meanings of coolness, edginess, danger, and rebellion. (Chameides 2008, Swedenberg 1992, Weiner 2007) What’s worse is that many Westerners who wear the keffiyeh, fashionably draped around their necks, do not have the slightest clue of the political or cultural significance of the object. As Ghassan pointed out, the keffiyeh has lost its meaning in the West. As Chameides (2008) writes, the keffiyeh has been transformed into meaningless exotica.

For older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs in the West, the keffiyeh has clearly taken a backseat indefinitely. It has been put in the trunk, metaphorically speaking. Ghassan does not wear the keffiyeh in the West and when I ask him about other non-Palestinian Arabs living in the United States or in Canada who he knows and their relationship with the keffiyeh, he had this to say.

“First, it’s important to know that not every Arab from the Middle East wears a keffiyeh. It depends on what region you’re from, your personal choice…”

I quickly apologize for my mistake.

He continues. “That being said, I don’t see or know of many Arab men who are my age and older wearing the keffiyeh in America. They have serious professional jobs as engineers, doctors, some are my colleagues at the universities…you know, they are living the American life so to say and I just don’t see them wearing it…It is mainly the young men, our sons who continue to wear the keffiyeh here in America and Canada.”

It is here that Hassan interrupts and agrees, stating that part of this reason may be that the keffiyeh has been commodified and marketed exclusively for youth. When I ask Hassan how he, and other younger generations of non-Palestinian Arab international students wear the keffiyeh when in the West, whether it differentiates from how they wore the keffiyeh in the Middle East, he had this to say:

“A couple of my friends who are Palestinian feel very passionately about the cause, whether they are wearing the keffiyeh in the Middle East or here in Canada. For the rest of us though, the scarf is not as political, especially here in Canada. I just wear it because its part of my culture and it shows that I am Arab, I am proud to be Arab.”

For Hassan and other non-Palestinian Arabs, the keffiyeh, even when it changes spatial/cultural contexts moving from East to West, still symbolizes regional connections, traditionalism, and “Arab-ness”. (Chameides 2008, Middle East Online 2008) In the Western context, it seems the keffiyeh constructs identity for younger generations of Arabs by eliciting a nostalgic notion of the Middle East and eliciting proud membership to an Arab nation. However when the keffiyeh is interacted with in a Western spatial/cultural context, political intentions (for Hassan) are abolished. Remember Hassan pointed out that when he wears the keffiyeh in Saudi Arabia he denotes ‘proud to be Arab, proud to be different from the West’ meaning from the scarf; there is a subtle political motivation. Meanwhile here in Canada, the keffiyeh is worn by non-Palestinian Arab Hassan with exclusive associations to Arab identity. Political motivations are not mentioned. It is debatable whether the simple fact of the keffiyeh being associated with Arab identity is a political statement in and of itself. Hassan disagrees, and other non-Palestinians Arabs do too.

About two years ago a pair of seniors at Gateway High School in Monroeville, Pittsburgh were told they could no longer wear keffiyehs to class because it was disruptive. The students, Mohammad Al-Abbasi, 18, and Ahmad Al-Sadi, 17, were called into their principles office after students and parents complained to school authorities that the keffiyehs are symbols of hate and terrorism. However, Al-Abbasi and Al-Sadi stated in response that they have worn the red and white scarves around their necks for years as a sign of their Middle Eastern heritage and identity and not because of political or religious reasons. (Gurman 2009)

Said Al-Abbasi, “It’s my culture, my ancestors wore it, you know. It’s my roots. It’s not political. It doesn’t have any message.” Al-Sadi echoed these statements saying, “…it’s my identity.” (Gurman 2009)

For younger generations of non-Palestinian Arabs the keffiyeh, once positioned in a Western spatial/cultural framework takes on a less political meaning. Rather than subtly invoking anti-Western sentiments as it did in the Middle East for people like Hassan, in places like Canada and America the keffiyeh facilitates Arab identity. Once again, whether that identity is political is debatable but for non-Palestinian Arabs the keffiyeh when worn in the West is apolitical.

Zeynep Turan (2010) in Material Objects as Facilitating Environments: the Palestinian diaspora argues that objects are symbols of a person’s collective group and help with the creation of a sheltering and nurturing environment for diasporas abroad. Turan writes that for diasporas, objects have the ability to transmit memory and foster identity in a psychological manner that forms a collective identity. “Facilitating environments” are crucial to an individuals’ collective identity as it allows for freedom of expression. (Turan 2010) While Turan talks about Palestinians in the West and their cultural objects as forming a facilitating environment, this notion can be directly transferred to the non-Palestinian Arab diaspora in the West whose keffiyeh also facilitates collective identity. For the Middle Eastern diaspora in the West, the keffiyeh has created a facilitating environment for Arabs that allows them to feel comfortable enough to physically demarcate collective Arab identity.

The apolitical meaning the keffiyeh takes on for young generations of non-Palestinian Arabs in a Western spatial/cultural context also speaks to Tolia-Kelly’s (2004) work on collective memory. In Locating processes of identification: studying the precipitates of re-memory through artifacts in the British Asian home, Tolia-Kelly (2004) posits that re-memory helps us understand the notion of collective memory. Re-memory is usually thought of in romanticized terms but Tolia-Kelly argues that it is very important to understand re-memory as a constituting and valuable aspect of collective memory. The keffiyeh, like the souvenir key chains brought by East African Indians to the United Kingdom, are an enabler of collective memory and cultural transmission through the process of re-memory. Wearing the keffiyeh, people like Hassan and the two boys at the Pittsburgh high school, engage in a collective memory of home and shared identity rather than a political position.

When the keffiyeh moves across spatial/cultural boundaries it is evident that both younger and older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs engage in disassociation. For older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs this disassociation takes on a rather extreme form: the scarf is no longer worn. However, for younger generations of non-Palestinian Arabs the disassociation is from the political symbolism the keffiyeh has historically signified. We’ve seen that for older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs the disassociation with the keffiyeh occurs because of the scarf’s contemporary popularity in Western culture. But why then the political disassociation with the keffiyeh for younger generations of non-Palestinian Arabs once the scarf and person are positioned in a Western spatial/cultural context?

For Hassan, the answer echoes his father’s sentiments. “As an Arab, I feel I have more to lose than a white person if I wear the keffiyeh with deep political intentions and anti-U.S and anti-West sentiments here in Canada. After all, coming to Canada was my choice and I wanted to come here to study so it’s kind of like how dare I come to Canada and start bashing the West when I chose to come to the West. I think a lot of my friends from Saudi and other parts of the Middle East would agree with me. Sure we have our contentions with the West – everyone does – but we’re not about to use the keffiyeh to put those sentiments on display.” Hassan goes on to say that he feels the popularity the keffiyeh has taken on in Western culture has also made it difficult for him and other Arabs to wear the keffiyeh without feeling commoditized.

From Hassan and Ghassan’s narratives, it is found that the keffiyeh once placed in a Western spatial/cultural context changes and takes on less meaning. For Ghassan and other older generations of non-Palestinian Arabs, the keffiyeh loses all meaning or takes on too much political meaning and is thus not worn in the West. For Hassan and other younger generations of non-Palestinian Arabs, the keffiyeh becomes exclusively linked to Arab identity and the homeland once scarf and individual are positioned in the West and gets disassociated from any political aversions. Factors include the political climate for Arabs in the West, the West’s current obsession with the keffiyeh, and the fact that the keffiyeh, for non-Palestinian Arabs has always symbolized place and Arab membership.

This diasporic object study has attempted to conceptualize and contextualize the keffiyeh as it is worn by non-Palestinian Arab men in the Middle East and as it is worn by this diaspora in the West, mainly in the United States and Canada. Through literature research and first person interviews with Hassan and his father Ghassan, it is found that the keffiyeh facilitates identity formation among non-Palestinian Arabs along spatial/cultural and generational boundaries. The symbolic meaning attributed to the wearing of a keffiyeh depends on who wears the keffiyeh -- older generations of Arabs versus younger generations of Arabs – and in what spatial/cultural context the wearer bears the scarf – in the East versus in the West.

Analysis what the keffiyeh symbolizes to non-Palestinian Arabs in the West has illuminated diasporic and transnational processes of identity and what it means to be Arab around the world. Essentially, as Chameides (2008) eloquently argues, the keffiyeh is a symbol of identity originally used by Arabs and still used by Arabs to symbolize Arab identity and a strong territorial, natural connection to the land. This diasporic object study of the keffiyeh has also illuminated how objects connect people across time, and especially across space and vast distances as is the case for many diasporas of people far away from home. For non-Palestinian Arab youth especially, the keffiyeh mediates and allows them to collectively come to terms, understand, and discuss their identity and diasporic and transnational experience.

Arjun Appaduari (1986) theorizes objects similarly to Shamberger’s (2008) discussion of object biographies. Appadurai attempts to understand how we approach objects and writes that objects cannot be described outside the social context in which they exist. This diasporic object study of the keffiyeh has demonstrated that it is not only social context but also generational, spatial, cultural, historical, ethnic, and temporal contexts that need to be taken into account when exploring how objects connect people, across time and space and with their own historical selves and places. Objects are “things-in-motion” (Appadurai 1986) and an examination of the keffiyeh has given insight to the idea.

It will be interesting to see how the keffiyeh continues to become conceptualized by Arabs and Westerners, considering the current political climate of the Middle East and the attention this has been garnering in the global media.

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Research Question

Is the meaning Arabs and Palestinians in the Arab world attach to the keffiyeh different from the meaning Arabs and Palestinians here in the West (including the diaspora in Toronto) attach to the scarf? If so, what is that difference? If not, what is it about the keffiyeh that unites the Arab diaspora with their people back home?

How does the keffiyeh connect and reinforce relationships and identity among Arabs across transnational borders?

Object Historical and Social/Cultural Context

THE KEFFIYEH
Object’s Historical and Social/Cultural Context

The keffiyeh, like most objects, has an extremely rich and interesting history. As previously posted in my object description, the keffiyeh’s early common use for many decades was to shield Arabic men from the strong North African and Middle Eastern sun and winds. While I am sure it is still used for this purpose in Northern Africa and the Middle East today, the keffiyeh (over the last 100 years or so) and its purpose have transformed dramatically.

Before the 1930s, the keffiyeh’s only real use was to protect rural Arabic men in the fields from the harsh sun, winds, and sand. Men in the city had little use for the keffiyeh until 1936 when villagers and peasants in Mandate Palestine held a nationalist uprising -- the Arab Revolt -- against British colonial rule and mass Jewish immigration. The rural Arabic men’s use of the kefifeyh had easily distinguished them from the city people, so in solidarity with their fellow Palestinians men of the city began to wear the keffiyeh. This act of unity made it difficult for the British to target orchestrators of the rural uprising.

Following this event, the Western world began to take notice of the keffiyeh during WWII when British soldiers began being stationed in the Middle East. Impressed by the practicality of the cloth, World War II soldiers used the keffiyeh for their own purposes.

It was in the 1960s when the keffiyeh would begin to be associated with Palestine and Palestinian identity. Palestian leader Yasser Arafat was rarely seen without his keffiyeh, neither was Leila Khaled – a female member of the armed wing of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Khaled often wore the keffiyeh in the style a Muslim woman would wear her hijab. This is interesting because the keffiyeh is commonly associated with Arab masculinity and so many saw this as a fashion statement put forth by Khaled denoting her equality with men and the Palestinian struggle. With other Palestinian leaders, activists, and supporters donning the keffiyeh, the garment rapidly became a symbol of Palestinian nationalism.

At the same time, the Jordanian red and white version of the keffiyeh came into popular consciousness with Palestinian Marxists wanting to differentiate themselves from the wider nationalist movement.

In today’s society the keffiyeh is still worn by rural Arabic men in the traditional fashion – as a headpiece with a small rope like accessory (aqal ring) keeping it in place. Some say that the keffiyeh is less widely worn by Palestinian youth today because of recent links being made between the garment and terrorism. The common appearance of the keffiyeh in suicide bomber videos has no doubt made the association, in part, possible.

Still, the connection made between 50 years ago between the keffiyeh and anti-war and Palestinian nationalism in the 1960s is so strong that it cannot be forgotten. The keffiyeh continues to carry an activist-chic connotation for anti-war protestors and supporters of the Palestinian cause.

On the other hand, the keffiyeh has also most recently and unfortunately (or could there be a hidden positive to this?) taken on the simplistic role of fashion accessory – that is, a fashion scarf dyed dozens of colors and worn loosely around the neck. There is so much that could be said about the transformation of the keffiyeh from what it was once was to what it is today. But interesting points to note about the social/cultural context of the keffiyeh in today’s Western world (keeping the historical context of the garment in mind):

--> economic function – it’s a retailer’s dream! We now have a scarf that can be sold in the summer!

--> with this “keffiyeh craze”, the keffiyeh has lost its ability to be seen as an ideological expression of Palestinian solidarity; many keffiyeh wearers have no clue about the garment’s history

--> at the same time, the West has problematized the keffiyeh and the message it sends; in May 2010, Dunkin Donuts pulled one of its ads because of the image of a keffiyeh in it

Clearly the keffiyeh has gone serious transformations -- historically as well as socially and culturally. Once an item of utility and practicality, it has turned into a symbol of Palestinian resistance to an incredibly mass produced fashion accessory worn by Arabs and non-Arabs alike in almost every corner of the globe. What does this mean to the Arabic diaspora? What does this mean for the Palestinian diaspora?

Sources

http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:UmX7gvjfe4wJ:ziomania.com/articles2008/Keffiyah.htm+history+of+the+keffiyeh&cd=2&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us&source=www.google.com
http://www.liveinthelead.com/2010/10/a-history-of-the-keffiyeh/

http://www.vancouverobserver.com/blogs/artsbeat/2008/02/13/west-bank-west-end-keffiyeh-travels

Keffiyeh: From Resistance Symbol to Retail Item? Hanley, Delinda C. The Washington Report on Middle East Affairs [Washington], vol.29, no.5, pp.63-64, 2010

Stitch in time. Anonymous. New Statesman [London], vol.139, no.5003, pp.26, 2010

Object Description

Object Description: THE KEFFIYEH
Denise Hansen

The object I am choosing to analyze for the DTS403 object study assignment is the keffiyeh, also known as a ghutrah, hattah, mashadah, shemagh, or chafiye. The keffiyeh is a square, usually cotton (sometimes wool), scarf and is the traditional headdress worn typically by Arab and Kurdish men. Its practical purpose is to provide protection from direct sun exposure in arid, dry regions of the world – notably, states in the Middle East and Africa – and to protect the mouth and eyes from sand and dust blown about in such conditions.

Keffiyehs come in a number of varieties and variations. Almost always they are made of white cotton cloth, but many keffiyehs have a checkered pattern of red or black stitched into them. The scarf and its accompanying stitching originates back to ancient Mesopotamia, with the stitching being said to be a representation of either fishing nets or ears of grain. The black and white keffiyeh is a symbol of Palestinian heritage, while the red and white keffiyeh, while also worn throughout Palestine as well as places like Somalia, is most closely associated with Jordan. The Jordanian keffiyeh usually also has cotton or wool tassels on the side. The tasseled red and white keffiyeh worn in Jordan and Palestine is, additionally, also much thicker than the red and white keffiyehs worn in other Gulf countries (these keffiyehs also don’t have tassels). In Yemen it is used extensively in both red-white and black-white patterns.

The all white versions of the scarf – also known as ghutrahs, shemaghs, or hattahs – are most popularly worn by Saudis, Emiratis, people of Oman, Qatar, Yemen, Kuwait and Bahrain.

Keffiyehs are worn in a number of styles, but usually the scarf is worn by folding it in half, folding it across the forehead, and securing it with a piece of rope. Some wearers wear the keffiyeh as a turban, others wear it lossely draped around their back, shoulders, or neck. Keffiyehs are made with sewing machines.

Today, the keffiyeh is most closley associated with Palestine and Palestinian solidarity even though men of many nations wear the scarf (as discussed above). Why the close association with Palestine? During the Arab Revolt in the 1930s, the keffiyah became a symbol of Palestinian nationalism and in the 1980s Yasser Arafat made the keffiyah a globally recognized symbol of the Palestinian struggle.

Where once Palestinians dominated the production of keffiyehs, the Chinese have now taken reign – the keffiyeh is today largely imported from China around the world. This is because the scarf’s popularity sky-rocketed during the 2000s (keffiyehs became a MASS fashion trend) and so Chinese manufacturers, eager to get in on profits, entered the market, driving Palestinians who had traditionally been the only ones involved in the manufacturing of the product, out of the business. China produces at a cost of 40% less. As one magazine put it “Ironically, global support for Palestinian-statehood-as-fashion-accessory has put yet another nail in the coffin of the Occupied Territories' beleaguered economy…”

* In my object study I will not be discussing the keffiyeh as a fashion trend but rather what the keffiyeh means to people of Arabic, especially Palestinian heritage, who wear the scarf with genuine meaning.

Sources:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/02/business/worldbusiness/02iht-trade.4.11625509.html?_r=2&scp=1&sq=keffiyehs&st=cse

http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article1461

Lindisfarne-Tapper, Nancy; Ingham, Bruce (1997). "Approaches to the Study of Dress in the Middle East". In Lindisfarne-Tapper, Nancy; Ingham, Bruce. Languages of Dress in the Middle East. Surrey UK: Curzon Press. p. 8.

http://motherjones.com/riff/2009/06/your-intifada-made-china