Cross Tattoos: To Get Inked or Not To Get Inked

What’s in a tattoo? That which we call a cross by any other name would still be ink penetrated in the skin.

Cross tattoos come in all sizes; they can be as elaborative or as simple as the person wants them to be; and they can be placed anywhere on the body. Like what this man did, for example. Tattooed on the entirety of his back, using black and brown ink, is a crucifix. It shows every notch and splinters of the cross as well as the Christ; created with the realism and detail of a DaVinci painting. It is also the most expensive one that I've seen—costing at least a thousand dollars.

This picture shows a rosary wrapped around a girl’s ankle with the cross hanging off of it and laying on the top of her foot. Clearly, it is a simpler and more delicate representation then the man's, but if you look closely you can find details in the shading of the beads and the outline of the cross. We can also guess that the girl is Catholic, since the rosary is used mainly in Catholicism.

On the left, we have an Ethiopian Orthodox Christian—a sister sect to the Coptic Orthodox Christians—with a cross tattoo on her forehead. Hers is the simplest of the group: a blob of ink in the shape of a Coptic cross with its three points on each side. Unlike her two counterparts, she did not get it in a tattoo parlor; she got it in a monastery. And although her cross is neither as precise nor as symmetrical as the other two, she is taking on the greater challenge of placing it on an area of the body where she cannot hide it. The man and the other woman can cover their art whenever they want—the man can put on a shirt and the girl can wear thick hosiery, such as tights, or can wear athletic shoes. This Ethiopian girl, however, will forever be a consensual “slave of God” to all that see her.

You may be thinking, what does all this have to do with Coptic Orthodoxy? One of the simplest ways to identify a Coptic Christian from the rest of the crowd is to look at the inside of their wrists. If they have a cross tattoo on their right wrist, like this person here, they are a Copt. If they don’t, they either haven’t gotten it yet or you have just embarrassed yourself by grabbing a random stranger’s arm.

I still remember vividly the first time someone had grabbed my arm to look at my cross. I went to Georgetown a week after my eighteenth birthday and got an outline of a Coptic cross on my wrist. A week after that, I was handing an essay to my English teacher after school. My sleeves were rolled up so it wouldn’t rub against and aggravate my healing wrist. He grabbed my arm and asked me if I was joking. I gave him a questionable look and he pointed to my cross. “This isn’t real, right?”

“Of course it is,” I told him.

He then proceeded to lace his thumb with saliva from his tongue and rub out what he thought was a fake tattoo. My cross was still raw and the idea of having my teacher’s saliva on my wrist made me yank my arm away. He was completely shocked that one of his quietest and most studious kids would have the audacity to get a tattoo—and in an area that was hard to cover up. It was then that I had to explain to him that it wasn’t a moment of rebellion, but a type of religious/ethnic tradition.

For centuries upon centuries, Coptic Christians as young as toddlers have permanently identified themselves as followers of Christ by allowing monks to tattoo their wrist with a small bluish-green cross. Although there is nothing in Church dogma that requires this act, it has become a tradition through the historical persecution Copts had to endure.

As stated before in this blog, when the Arab Muslims invaded Egypt in 641AD, they gave the Copts three options: convert, remain Christian and pay the Jizya, or death. Those who remained Christian not only had to pay the Jizya tax, but they also went through various methods of identification initiated by the Arabs—like how Jews were required to wear the Star of David on their apparel during World War II. Most notably, Christians were required to wear a large iron cross around there neck. It was said to be so heavy that Christians walked hunchback and, because of the pressure it caused against the neck, their lower cervical bone turned blue.

When it was finally decided to identify themselves through tattoos, the Copts had them placed on the inside of their right wrist in bluish-green ink—as homage to the previous generations’ blue-boned neck.

According to Jennifer A. Johnson’s article entitled “Tattoos of the Cross” in ChristianHistory.net, she states: “During these long periods of maltreatment, the Coptic practice of tattooing arose. In the fourth century A.D., the Montanists, a Christian sect relying heavily on the Book of Revelation, began tattooing themselves as “slaves of God” (Rev. 7:2-3). The earliest evidence of Coptic tattooing goes back to the eighth-century, when Egyptian monks began to brand their hands with Christian symbols. Some scholars believe they learned the practice from Ethiopian Christians, who branded crosses on their foreheads, temples, and wrists.”

An example of the Ethiopians’ style of tattooing can be found in this picture. This girl has simple crosses on her temples and chin. On her forehead is a circle with the four points of the cross. In essences, placing these crosses on the four corners of her face symbolizes the four corners of a cross as well as the “sign of the cross”—the way Orthodox Christians begin and end their prayers. When we say “In the name of the Father,” we take our right hand, placing the thumb, index, and middle finger together—representing the Holy Trinity—and placing our ring and middle finger to our palm—representing the divine and human nature of Christ—and tap our forehead. Then when we say “and the Son,” we tap our stomach; “and the Holy Spirit,” we tap our left shoulder; “one God,” we tap our right shoulder; “Amen,” we take the three fingers representing the Holy Trinity and we kiss it. In the case of the girl, she has a minimized representation of making the sign of the cross to her face alone.

Copts look at their tattoos as a sign of pride and not just a sign of religious distinction. As “the Church of the Martyrs” and “the Mother Church of Africa” there is a plethora of reasons to be proud of our Coptic heritage. Johnson goes on to quote Coptic scholar Otto Meinardus: “In times of persecution, the tattoo of the cross has given strength to the faithful and has made it impossible for them to deny their faith.”

Now fast-forward to the present day. According to a 2006 Pew Research Poll, over a third of Americans between eighteen and forty have at least one tattoo. These tattoos vary from portrayals of religious beliefs to honoring the death of a loved one to following trends like the tramp stamp and tribal bands. With a culture that has made getting inked as easy as covering the cash to pay for the artist’s labor, I wonder about the motivation of the Diaspora Copts in America. Do we still tattoo crosses for the sake of religious and ethnical pride? Or are we simply following the fade of getting a tattoo and justifying the act by getting a cross? After all, we see celebrities like Justin Timberlake, Christopher Meloni, and Angelina Jolie all sporting cross tattoos, but they aren’t the correct representation of God-fearing, church-going Christians.

To quench my curiosity, I took a poll at St. Mark’s Coptic Orthodox Church of Washington, DC and asked why they got their cross, and to those who didn’t sport a tattoo if they would ever get one and why. Here are just a few of the responses I received:

· “[I got my cross tattoo on my wrist] to proudly represent my orthodox roots, to distinguish and separate me from everyone else and to always remind me that even if I fall out of touch with God (continue to fall into sin), I will ALWAYS be his little girl.” ~ Nora Awad, college student at George Mason. She received her cross when she was 19 at Samaan el Kharas Monastery in Egypt.

· “I always did want one, but not just on my wrist. I would want them on my palms down to a little bit below my wrist. That way, whenever I would do anything: eat, play sports, give a talk, teach a lesson etc. I could physically see the cross that gives me power.” ~Pat Youssef.

· “It’s the greatest image in the world!” Eddie Fam, who got his cross at 27 in America.

· “I had always wanted one, drawing it on notebooks all throughout high school, and fondly remembering my grandmother’s that she got in Jerusalem when she was a young girl. I wanted to have a constant visual reminder of what Christ did for me, use it as a tool for witnessing my faith, and to join in solidarity with Copts worldwide.” ~ Mariam Mitry, who was 19 when she got her cross on her wrist in America.

· “I got it as my way of not only identifying who I was (and will always be, even if I want to change my mind in the future), but also for people to ask questions. If people saw something tattooed on another person, they’d know it was serious and meaningful, so they want to know what and why.” Samatha Elbouez, who was 19 when she got her tattoo in America.

· “No, [I don’t have one]. But I want one to be a reminder of who I am especially when I’m out doing missions.” Marina Guirguis, high school student at Freedom High School.

· “I was too young [when I got the one on my wrist]. I have another one right on my forehand that I got when I was twelve.” A.J. Meunier, who got both tattoos in Egypt.

As you can see, although some have tattooed more elaborate and creative crosses on our arms, the majority who do have the cross or will get in the future are still following the same reasons for it from the eighth century—religious distinction and a reminder of Christ’s love for us.

But not everyone feels the same way about the cross tattoos. Amira Khair graduate of American University, states: “I definitely understand the purpose of it as a reminder of Jesus, faith, etc. I’m just not a fan of tattoos in general,” while Maro Youssef, a graduate student at George Washington University says, “No, [I do not plan on getting a cross tattoo] because it’ll prevent me from getting certain jobs.” Although these two women, and others who think alike, do not wish to tattoo themselves, it does not make them any less of a Coptic Orthodox Christian. Remember, the tattoos were a response to the persecution Copts endured in Egypt centuries ago. It is a tradition, not a commandment from God. And because of that, they can find other ways to represent their beliefs, such as wearing a cross or crucifix pendant.

However, the most important way to show our beliefs is through actions. “Talking the talk” would be counterproductive if you don’t “walk the walk.” The same idea applies to us Copts: if we behave in a way that misrepresents our belief system—such as being sexually promiscuous when the Bible tells us to wait until marriage—then we are doing a disservice to our faith and ethnicity—especially if we are wearing a cross tattoo. The tattoo, a sign of faith, ethnicity, and pride, also makes us into ambassadors for Christ. We are held to a higher standard because we are openly saying that we are Coptic Christians; so when we act inappropriately, it not only makes us look like hypocrites, but the entire Coptic community.

So to enlighten other Copts who are asking themselves whether to get inked or not to get inked, I believe it depends on how ready and willing they are to be in the spotlight. If you are defiant against the major viewpoints of the Church, then it would behoove you to delay getting inked until you actually believe what the cross represents. If you honestly try to follow the Church’s teachings and are ready for the magnitude that comes with permanently identifying yourselves as a Coptic Christian, then I encourage you to get it.

Being Coptic in America means we need to behave circumspectly. Yes we all struggle and yes we all have bad days, but we also need to realize that we may be the only exposure to others—co-workers, classmates, random Janes and Joes on the street—of what is a Coptic Christian.

I'm Never Going to Dance Again...

Actually, that’s a lie. And I know that the next line to that George Michael song is “guilty feet have got no rhythm,” but that too, would be a lie. I love dancing. It’s in my blood. You see, Egyptians are some of the most gracefully rhythmic people; we are known to be the best belly dancers among the Middle East. No one can pop, shake, shimmy, or sway the way Egyptians can. I know I’m a little biased, but I can’t help my observations.

At almost every Egyptian wedding I’ve attended, the main attraction other than the happy couple is the dance floor and the occupants of it. It’s nothing like the high school prom where teenagers are “bumping-and-grinding” or getting their “freak on.” Arabic music and tubla (a Middle Eastern drum) solos doesn’t allot a harmony for that. What can be expected are groups beautiful women dressed to the nines in perfect hair and makeup, some with their shawls wrapped around their hips, dancing among their group of friends.

Other times, the majority of the dancers will create a circle around the newlyweds, or a couple of exceptional dancers (both boys and girls), dancing in the middle. The circle of people clap, cheer, and sway their hips along with the music as they watch the amateur dancers perform for the crowd. Sometimes they are humorous, prancing around with a crooked smile on their faces to get a laugh. Sometimes they are seductive, showing off how every inch of their bodies can flow and interpret the music booming out of the stereo system. But one thing that holds a commonality between the differences of the dancers: joy. They are unceasingly joyous.

However, not all Egyptians feel the same way about dancing as I do. There are always a few wallflowers ranging from young to old. Those from Upper Egypt—the Sa’idis—tend to be more conservative and find belly dancing to be too seductive for a proper lady to be a part of. Others who are especially religious might also find that type of dancing improper for a good Christian, just in case you tempt someone into thinking sexual thoughts about you.

In an email chain entitled, “You Know You’re Egyptian When…” also discusses these juxtaposing views of dancing. It states: “your dad thinks belly dancing’s an art form, while your grandmother thinks it’s live pornography.”

Although I have been to a ton of engagements and weddings, I can assure you that you’ll find more sexually suggestive dancing chaperoning at a high school prom or going out clubbing with your friends.



We’re no Samia Gamal or Tahia Carioca—infamous dancers in the video above from the Golden Era of belly dancing in Egypt. We do not expose our mid-drifts or wear sequence bras. We're not there to seduce or tempt. We are in normal evening gowns, ready to enjoy and celebrate the night away.