Regardless of who exactly the conversation was framed around (to a point: we could be comparing Chinese to Japanese or Tanzanian to Kenyan and it would be the same argument), his fundamental point was that two people raised in the same culture have more in common and more shared values than two people raised in two different cultures possibly can.

I disagree.

First of all, if we’re pigeonholing people into race/religion/nationality, we’re forgetting the other fundamental pieces that build core values in a person: family, generation, social class, and milieu, to name just a few.  And as someone who has had more than one serious relationship – and many, many friendships – with people from different countries or vastly different cultures, I’ve taken away this:

1. Religion is often harder to overcome than anything else, especially in a relationship.  Two atheists from different cultures can often overcome more superficial differences (class, skin color), but just as a nonbeliever cannot often transcend their significant other’s devotion, neither can a pious Muslim or Christian get over their paramour’s lack of belief in God.

2. Family and social class often turn out to be more important than anything else.  More specifically, the way a person was raised (strictly, openly, by parents who fought, or who were happy) and the circumstances under which they were raised (if there was money, if there wasn’t, if there was conflict) often has a greater influence on their values than outside forces.  Two people from different places but who had very similar upbringings often see the world in the same way.

3. Age can be – but doesn’t have to be – a huge factor, and in fact, skipping a generation is almost always possible.  I have a number of solid friendships with Baby Boomers (mostly of the hippie variety), but very few mid-Gen Xer friends (being on the cusp of Gens X and Y as they’re commonly split, I think someone got the dates wrong).

4. And for a no-brainer…Common interest is vital – I can talk to just about anyone who’s super-Internet-savvy, regardless of where they’re from or how old they are, or whether or not they believe in God – but truth be told, often find myself bored to death by people who’ve never heard of e-mail (does such a person actually exist?)

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In discussing identity, I think of my favorite authors – Kundera, Benjelloun, Rushdie, Updike – all of whose themes touch on identity so eloquently, and often delve into the subject of identity in a second or third culture and the foibles presented by integration.  Each one of them from a different culture themselves, yet discussing such a universal theme, and often reaching the same conclusions.  Makes you think.

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My generation, those of us born in the late 1970s and early 1980s – those of us who grew up with computers but not on them, are perhaps unique.  More than any generation before, we have contact with people from other countries, cultures, and yes, ethnicities and races.  More than any generation before, we were taught that everyone is the same – even if we didn’t always believe it or society or our families didn’t always back it up.  We are bound, then, to have experienced a paradigm shift – where the other is no longer, but rather, a piece of the patchwork.

Do I sound like a total hippie?  Perhaps.  But even if we’re only one micro-step closer to that reality, there is no denying that the world is growing smaller and smaller for many.  While the headlines in every paper aim to draw us apart (“Obama’s top secret meetings with Muslims – his secret pact with the enemy!”), the reality for many of us is quite different.  And while we may still be very different, the discussions I hear and see in bars, on Twitter, and in classes lead me to believe that we’re similar than we once thought.

The Moroccan civil registry recently rejected 13 Berber names after receiving a list from the Ministry of Interior with specific Berber names considered in violation of law 99-37 that determines names fit for males and females.

Now, realistically, it’s a much smaller percentage of Moroccans who would choose to do so, but the fact of the matter is, Amazigh people are the true Moroccan natives. They are spread throughout the country and beyond. They are urban and rural. And the Moroccan government is trying to tell them that, by naming their child an Amazigh name, they are giving them a name which is “contrary to Moroccan identity.”

What exactly, then, is Moroccan identity? Is it Arab identity? The official language of Morocco certainly is Arabic (although it could be argued that what is actually spoken on the streets is only a distant cousin). Still, it is estimated that 23 of Morocco’s 30+ million people speak one of three Amazigh dialects. And according to sociologist and writer Mohammed Chafik, up to 80% of Moroccans are of Amazigh ethnicity.

The flag of the Amazigh people

In neighboring Algeria, where the number of people speaking a Berber dialect is significantly lower (at about 29%), Berber is actually considered a “national language” (though not an official one). Now, I’m not 100% sure, but it seems that in Algeria, there is more naming freedom; either Amazigh names are on the “approved” list, or the law has been done away with entirely. In Morocco, however, you must select a name from a list of (entirely Muslim) names which reflect “Moroccan identity.”

Oddly enough, in the past few years, trendy new names have been cropping up in Morocco; names popular in the Levant, such as “Rime,” or popular in Iran, such as “Nasreen,” have made their way into the Moroccan identity. But try to name your daughter Numidia, and all hell breaks loose.

When will Morocco realize that Amazigh are part of their national identity? Once the languages have died off (another contentious issue is the teaching of Tashelheit, Tamazight, and Tarifit)? Once there are no more Tanasts, Shadens, or Numidias? Once all Amazigh political parties have been banned for good? Or will the history of the Amazigh simply be erased?