On Being Kurdish

I know several Kurds in Turkey. One was my model 11 years ago; she’s a high school art teacher now. Another is a student who is trying to do masters work in Paris; I helped him with his resume and letters of reference. His work in my class, political for Turkey, was portraits of Kurdish villagers. I pushed him for more and he produced a very strong installation, raw cow tongues impaled on large nails hanging from the ceiling. The viewer was forced to walk under this dangerous looking mobile. The metaphor was that Kurds were forbidden to speak their own language (this is not the cast now).
I just found out by accident that another friend is half Kurdish; this person keeps this fact hidden out of fear of prejudice and gossip. My friend’s family did not teach the children the Kurdish language. I feel sad about this, because part of my friend’s life and identity is missing.
(image above is from a Documenta video by Halil Altindere, Dengbejs, “you will marry in pain and as a widow…”)
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One of the things I love about SoCal is the diversity here. Today at Costco, the great suburban equalizer, I watched a parade of Latinos, Asians (mostly Filipino), whites, African-Americans, Pacific-Islanders (mostly Hawaiian), and even some Arabs parade by with huge bags of chips, multiple bottles of ketchup, and flats of coke. I also saw several handicapped people shopping with their families. Needless to say, almost every adult was overweight...