Arab-Americans are more worried than ever about George Bush, and increasingly puzzled about what being an “Arab-American” means

AT THE end of last month, around 50 Arab-American leaders gathered in Dearborn, Michigan, to meet Jennifer Granholm, the Democratic candidate for governor. The meeting was meant to be a show of strength: there was plenty of talk about Arab-Americans being a crucial swing-group in the state. But this confidence was belied both by events (the previous day, a grand jury had indicted four alleged supporters of al-Qaeda in Detroit) and by the complaints about increased scrutiny from the government. One businessman referred to George Bush's attorney-general as “Ayatollah Ashcroft”.

With emotions ranging from anguish to fear, anger and ethnic pride, Arab-Americans are still reeling from last year's terrorist attacks. This tumult has been complicated by an identity crisis. To the extent that they have ever thought of themselves as “Arab-Americans”, most see themselves as middle-class Christians (most Muslims in America are black or Asian). But immigration is making the group poorer and more Muslim—thus bringing them a little closer to the stereotypes that many of them dislike.

Has there really been a backlash against Arab-Americans? In the days after September 11th, there were racial attacks, but these became less common once George Bush denounced them. In May, the Justice Department said it had investigated 350 hate crimes since September 11th. By most measures, Arab-Americans and Muslims are safer from racial attacks in America than they are in Europe.

Harassment by the government is a different matter. Arab-Americans think that John Ashcroft's Patriot Act, passed last October with overwhelming support from Congress, was aimed at them. So far, virtually all the people in America who have been investigated and detained under the act seem to have been Muslims.

Many think the idea that Mr Bush has “turned against” Arab-Americans is also born out by his foreign policy. They bitterly resent his “one-sided” support for Ariel Sharon's incursions into Palestinian territory. They are also unsympathetic to the idea of invading Iraq, not least because they fear that any setback for America could result in attacks on their own communities. “If the United States invades Iraq, I wouldn't want to be living in Dearborn,” says Terry Ahwal, a leading Palestinian Christian in the Detroit area.

Last October, a survey for the Arab-American Institute (AAI) found that 90% of Arab-Americans were reassured by the president's comments and actions. By May this year, that figure had fallen to 54%. The proportion who reported experiencing discrimination in the past because of their backgrounds remained unchanged at one-third. “I haven't seen anything more arrogant than Bush and his clan,” says Osama Siblani, publisher of the Arab-American News and a former Bush supporter. “I haven't seen anything less compassionate.”

Part of this may be political posturing: for instance, the Democrats are arguably more pro-Israel than the president. But the overall picture of a group that feels under pressure is clear. Ibrahim Kira, a psychologist who treats immigrants at the Arab Community Centre for Economic and Social Services (ACCESS) in Dearborn, points to many cases of severe regression among his patients, after the “double trauma” of September 11th and then the backlash.

A recurring theme among Arab-Americans is what Ms Ahwal calls an “eerie feeling” of being under scrutiny—from police officers, co-workers and neighbours. “If I went to New York and took a picture of the Statue of Liberty, would my neighbour misconstrue that?” asks Ms Ahwal. In Dearborn, Abdallah Boumediene, who works with Iraqi refugees at ACCESS, points out that many of them fled to America to escape persecution. “Now they're finding some of the same things here. Most of their anxiety relates to security matters. They just don't know how to deal with it.”

This scrutiny is all the less welcome because many think that they are being pigeonholed as members of a group that they had not identified with. The census lists 1.3m Arab-Americans in 2000 (roughly double the figure for 1980). John Zogby, whose firm conducted the AAI poll, says the true number is more than three times higher (see chart). He reaches this figure by including more new immigrants, and also by adding in more assimilated descendants of immigrants from as far back as the 1890s.

But has a Christian whose grandfather came from Lebanon really got that much in common with a Yemeni Muslim fleeing persecution? Before September 11th, people like Mr Zogby (whose brother James is president of the AAI) were pushing to create an Arab-American lobby. The hope was that by showing their numbers in states like Michigan, California and New York, Arab-Americans could get more influence over everything from foreign policy to their generally negative depiction in Hollywood films. Now, suddenly, Arab-Americans find themselves being bundled together, but for the wrong reasons.

Meanwhile, the group is definitely changing—as the western Detroit suburbs of Livonia and Dearborn show. Livonia is a decidedly middle-class place. The new dome of St Mary's Antiochian Orthodox Church soars over well-tended, ranch-style homes. The large and prosperous Arab-Christian parish, founded three decades ago by Father George Shalhoub, has members of Syrian, Lebanese, Palestinian, Jordanian and Iraqi descent. Almost all of them were born in America, and many are successful professional types. Mr Bush's energy secretary, Spencer Abraham, is an occasional worshipper.

Livonia and suburbs like it may still be the norm: about 70% of Arab-Americans are Christian. But immigration is changing that. In Dearborn, only a 15-minute drive from Livonia, there are plenty of “boaters” (as local Arab teens call recent immigrants). These are largely Muslims from Lebanon, Iraq and Yemen. Women wear headscarves in the halal meat markets, kebab shops, and Arabic bookstores along Warren Avenue.

The town is home to eight mosques, with another huge one under construction. There are also several Islamic schools, which stick to the Michigan state curriculum but also offer daily Muslim prayer and Arabic-language training. In 1970, only 15% of immigrants from the Middle East were Muslim; in 2000, the figure was 73%, according to a recent study by the Washington-based Centre for Immigration Studies.

Many of the new arrivals are in bad shape. A local paediatrician points to cerebral palsy and developmental delays in the children of Iraqi refugees who were exposed to toxins when Saddam Hussein set oilfields ablaze in their country.

So there are differences, but there are also similarities—not just with Livonia but with all America's other immigrants. The Muslims in Dearborn are no less industrious than the Christians in Livonia: property prices have risen steadily over the past decade as the new immigrants have built up businesses. Zahid Bukhari, a political scientist at Georgetown University, is optimistic, arguing that Muslims are merely following other groups, such as Catholics, Jews, Japanese and even women, in being targeted. As a result, he says, “we are more determined to work in American civic life, to become more open.”

For many Arab-Americans, this remains scant consolation. A group that imagined that it was growing out of a stereotype is now frightened and frustrated. In Livonia, Father George wrings his hands over his people's fate. “Someday, when I see God, I'm going to ask him why we need to be cursed this way,” he says. “I hope he'll have an answer for me.”