By Sandra Ibrahim '20
On the inside of my wrist, seemingly “hidden” from people, is a small tattoo. Most people don't notice it at first, and if they do, they just think I drew it on myself with a pen. When I eventually do explain to people that it’s actually a tattoo, needles and everything, they look at me in shock and disbelief. Once they realize that I'm not joking, they give me a strange look and usually immediately ask “Do your parents know?” My parents definitely know I have the tattoo. In fact, my dad was the one who brought and paid our tattoo artist.
I remember the day I got the tattoo like it was yesterday. It was 2012, and I was 10 years old. My entire family was gathered at my grandmother's house in Egypt to bid us goodbye hours before our flight back to America. I was sitting with all of my cousins; we ranged from the ages seven to seventeen years old. Unannounced, my dad walked in with a man trailing right behind him. The man was carrying something at his side. My dad explained that the man was a tattoo artist and was willing to do our tattoos. I had been waiting for this day as long as I can remember. Most of my cousins hadn't gotten around to getting the tattoo since it was totally optional. But when the opportunity presented itself all my guy cousins naturally shot out of their seats and said they wanted to be the first to get it. Of course, I quickly followed and said I'd get it too.
We all gathered in the sitting room to watch each person get the tattoo. The guys had a nonchalant look the entire time like the whole thing didn't hurt at all. They were obviously trying to act cool in front of their audience but I realized that a little too late. I volunteered as the third person to go since the first two acted like it was a walk in the park.
I remember the man holding on to my wrist and a machine full of needles. In the beginning I too tried to act like it was nothing but once all the needles were going into my wrist at full speed I whined and begged the man to stop. He obviously didn't. The whole thing probably took like three minutes, but I'm proud to say I didn't shed a single tear. Afterwards looking down at my wrist, all I felt was an intense sense of pride.
This tattoo I talk about is the Coptic cross. The word 'Copt' comes from the Greek word 'Aigyptos', meaning Egyptian. It was originally used to refer to all the natives of Egypt, but after the Arab Invasion (639-42 AD) it became a term used strictly to refer to the Eastern Orthodox Christians of Egypt. I asked Angana Saha ‘20 if she knew anything about the Coptic community, and she said “I know that they’re not treated well in Egypt because they’re a religious minority.” The Coptic Church is one of the oldest churches in the world; it dates itself back to the Apostle Mark in 42 AD. Before the Arab Invasion, Egypt was a predominantly Christian country. But now Copts make up only 10-15% of the Egyptian population. This is due to relentless religious persecution that dates back to the Roman Era of Egypt (30 BC - 640 AD). Copts were hanged, burned, and crucified under the belief that they were heretics. This intensified under the Arabs who gave the Egyptians three choices: convert to Islam, pay a tax to remain Christian, or die. The majority who were unable to afford the tax converted to Islam. Many others were slaughtered and the small minority who paid the taxes remained.
Keep in mind that the persecution of the Coptic community continues today. In fact Egypt is ranked as number 17 in the world for being one of the most dangerous countries to be Christian. Radical Islamist groups constantly target the religious minority. Bombings and massacres have become the mundane reality for Copts in Egypt. Kidnappings of Coptic women and children were also significantly high during Morsi's reign from 2012 to 2013.
Every January seventh the Copts celebrate their most sacred holiday, Christmas, by going to a midnight mass. On the Christmas of 2010 in Naga Hammadi gunmen waited outside the local churches and opened fire as people exited the church. This came to be known as the Naga Hammadi massacre, where seven Copts were murdered as well as a Muslim bystander. This massacre is only one in many, but it's personal because it happened in my hometown. At the age of eight instead of celebrating Christmas I had to watch my parents call their relatives to make sure they were still alive. My uncle told my mom how he ran and hid behind a building once they opened fire. My cousin told me how she dodged a bullet while attempting to lock up the window in my grandmother’s house. They locked themselves up for days after the attack, for fear of dying if they went outside. I too could have been a victim if I hadn't come to America.
Due to our prevailing history of persecution, the Coptic cross tattoo is now worn in pride as a symbol of our faith and identity. “The tradition started during the Roman Times to Celebrate the Martyrs to the Roman cruelty and Indicate resilience and upholding of faith against torture and prosecution…Later it evolved during Arab conquest as a marker to differentiate between the conquerors and the native Christians and has resonated with people as a proud display of Christian Coptic identity.” (A.M Hafez Cairo University) It's similar to how the Jews were forced to wear the star of David under the Nazi regime, although the Coptic tattoo is optional and a symbol of survival and pride. Julia Pepper ‘20 offered her opinion on the subject saying, “To me it’s really unknown, and I didn’t know any of the history. It’s cool that people found a way to unify themselves through the tattoo.”
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