People often ask me about my background because I look somewhat racially ambiguous to the untrained eye. When I tell them I’m half Egyptian, I always get the same tired response:

“That’s so cool!”

Put yourself in my place for a minute and imagine how irritating it is to constantly have your personal identity declared “cool,” like it’s something to inquire about and be interested in. This sort of exoticism pervades American societal spaces, framing oppressive (predominantly white) groups as arbiters of cultures with which they have no firsthand experience. I refuse to simply absorb these racially-tinged microaggressions, especially coming from a tulip-sniffing wooden-shoed Dutchman like Marc Van de Mieroop.

Dr. Van de Mieroop is a Columbia history professor who “specializes” in the ancient Near East and teaches a course about Ancient Egypt. He has written dozens of articles and numerous books on the subject. He holds an master’s degree and doctorate from Yale University. He is also a Dutch white male. So frankly, he should not be speaking for the Ancient Egyptians—they can speak for themselves just fine. Columbia is supposed to be one of the most progressive academic spaces in the country. It is absurd that, in 2015, a class about one race is being taught by someone of a different race. It recalls the profound ugliness of the segregation era.

There are two types of knowledge. The first is the kind you get from a book, an experiment, an archaeological dig, peer-reviewed research, independently verified accounts, or a priori reasoning. That’s all Van de Mieroop has to draw from when he talks about Egypt. But that doesn’t even touch the value and integrity of the knowledge we gain from living our lives and occupying intersectional identificational spaces. What more objective account of the world can there possibly be than the one constructed from your (my, in this case) personal experience? Of course, personal experiences are not all equal, particularly those clouded by Dutch privilege.

When Dr. Van de Mieroop arrogantly proclaims in his book, A History of Ancient Egypt, that “The idea of detaching tomb from mortuary complex probably predated Hatshepsut,” one wonders where he got the authority to comment on Egyptian burial spaces without so much as a single Egyptian blood relative. When he pronounces, “The royal court resided at Itj-tawi for perhaps more than a century in the 13th dynasty and the country remained unified,” it is baffling that he presumes to grasp what unification truly means to an Egyptian. I was certainly never consulted, nor were any of my aunts and cousins in Egypt, whom I have visited over four times.

At the very most, Dr. Van de Mieroop can be a white ally in the search for new ceramic shards and mummified corpses. But—and this is important—he should leave the work itself to Egyptians. For many, unearthing a canopic jar or translating a series of hieroglyphs is an intensely personal experience that allies will simply never understand. Any attempt to understand it constitutes a hugely problematic form of voyeuristic racism. Why put my ancestors under a microscope of oppression when there are plenty of white people things for Van de Mieroop to excavate? Perhaps he can grab a spade, go to a trailer park, and dig up a copy of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo on DVD.

If Dr. Van de Mieroop’s intentions are truly good, he needs to take a moment to adjust his actions accordingly. Because his pedagogical appropriation of my history has so viscerally offended me (and by extension every Egyptian), it is therefore offensive and an apology would be a good first step toward closing my wounds. Secondly, “Ancient History of Egypt” (the harmful course in question) should be suspended indefinitely until the history department can find someone Egyptian enough to teach it. Thirdly, the C- I received in the course two years ago should be permanently expunged from my academic record in recognition of the pain I have endured.

Then, and only then, can the healing begin.

This piece is intended as satirical.

Ziyad Abdelfattah is a Columbia College senior majoring in political science and music. He is a former poet laureate of the CUMB. Ziyad’s Cry for Attention runs alternate Fridays.

To respond to this op-ed, or to submit an op-ed, contact opinion@columbiaspectator.com.