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Visiting home

Here I am, sitting in Gloria Jeans Coffee, not far from Liberty Market, in the Gulberg area, where I spent much of my life in Lahore, Pakistan.

On the neighboring table sits Svend, the tall white American, working on his Dell. We are surrounded by Pakistanis, both hip and not. When I glance up, I see sights so familiar they don’t even require thought. The old houses with their white metal gates and boundary walls, the big red-brick water tower rising behind it all. A great deal has changed. There are a lot of billboards, a lot more elite hotspots, a whole lot more traffic.

But the mango leaves are still dusty in the late afternoon sun, and there is still a lot of idling on the street. There is still all that color, all that unpredictable humor, all those lively spontaneous smiles - all that loud living.

Hanging out is a major pastime, and Svend and Raihana both struggle with it more than I do. Both want to go somewhere, do something, see some sights. “Why?” my parents ask. “Why leave the comfort of home?” Let’s just hang out, they seem to say. Hang out non-stop for a month. I understand. I was raised on a lifetime of hanging out. Svend and Raihana are Americans.

Not that I haven’t lost a lot of Pakistani along the way. I see it in the gaze of locals when they glance – no, stare – at me. I didn’t have enough clothes when I traveled this time. 2 pairs of black pants, 2 pairs of black tops, a black cardigan and a gray hoodie – a very Washington, DC outfit. It’s gotten really cold, and local shalwar kameezes don’t help protect me against the cold. Exposed to the wind in a rickshaw ride from Lahore Gymkhana Club, I caught a cold the other day. So I wear knit pants often. It isn’t that unusual in Lahore anymore.

The family house is colder than the outdoors. We tried the gas heater in our room the other day: I ended up sick from leaked gas. We’re still playing indigestion musical chairs. Last time Raihana brought home an unidentifiable bug that stayed with her for a month after her return. We’re eating almost nothing outside the home – which is torture because the food here is amazing.

And after all this, you say, so I won’t be visiting again soon, will I?

It will be hard. We had a nightmarish travel agent, and ended up paying almost double the price of a return ticket. Fares are worse than ever. A terrible itinerary (blame our travel agent again) meant a 48 hour trip to Lahore – with a toddler.

But of course I will return. I’m in the arms of the motherland. No matter how much it might get on my nerves, I know its every vein and fiber. It knows me. Its streets know me. It’s etched in my mind and heart. Hours – whether of happiness or boredom, it doesn’t matter – still live in my soul. I relive them when I return to the US.

The geography of Liberty, the chaos of the Mall, the promise of Ferozesons – they are all childhood dreams that I still seek out hungrily, like air and water. In the afternoon, when we walk along the tree-lined residential streets my parents’ neighborhood, the smell of rice cooked in chicken stock wafts over us. The sound of rickshaws deafens and yet comforts me.

I know you so well. I love you so well. I can’t stand you. Your sun blinds me. Your dirt and poverty horrifies me. Your food alone can send me into transports of delight, as no cheesecake can. Your qawwali music can drive me out of my rational mind. Your passionate embrace suffocates and brings me back to life. You, my country, my home, are like a troubled beloved. Can’t live with you, can’t live without you. I have been so many different people here. Along this same Main Boulevard I’ve been a naive child of 7, a careless adolescent, an intensely spiritual teenager, a thoughtful young woman struggling to figure out where she belonged. I’ve drank in with my eyes the sight of the weeping willows along the Canal as many different individuals. I’ve lived a number of lives here. How can I forget them all?

And I don’t expect others to understand. I wonder even if my child will get it. As of now, she is a bit upset with this place that doesn’t have her beloved public library with its children’s corner. There is no bookstore with a train table for children to play at. Even the nearby playground we walked over to had a broken slide and unsafe swings – no bucket swings or safety belts here.  She enjoys her cousins, but what she loves most is catching up with Dora the Explorer. But we have so many power outages that it’s hard to entertain her with TV too often. So she mopes a great deal, especially now that she has diarrhea (again).

These days we have a huge fuel shortage. Long queues of cars snaked out on the road, waiting for CNG or petrol. Yesterday my father drove for a while before he found petrol. One weekend, we found ourselves wondering if we should take Raihana out for a spin or not – because we might run out of gas.

Life is difficult, and living in the US makes it harder to get used to difficulties. I’m from here, so I can make do for a while. Raihana doesn’t seem to see why she should.

It looks like it’s going to get harder to raise a child in my culture. Will the diasporic centers of culture in the US have to do what trips back home may not?

May you all have a blessed new year.

Immigrant ramblings

Scene: a graduate class. Students poring over papers. I’m sitting by, alert to signals from anyone.

Suddenly, I’m in Lahore, in Pakistan, and I see my mother’s hands. Her frail, busy hands are laboring on something as usual. And as I sit there, in a clean, institutional space on an American university campus, I’m suddenly lost. Where is the dust? The noise? The family? The chaos? The smells and sights?

Suddenly, my classroom, my space, my work and my persona are unreal. I need to reach out and touch what was real to me for so many years of childhood and adult life. How is one to move out of one real into another, and stay there?

We talk incessantly about how “people are people” and “life is the same,” but the concrete realities of life are dreadfully different between the U.S. and Lahore. I am shaken by this again. It just takes a moment of reflection, and I am transported.

The next moment, when I am called on with a “Dr Mir, I have a question -” I have to return.

Something about the chaos, the dust, the sights and smells is too real. When I go back for visits, its realness stuns me almost to the point of immobility. I can barely function in it. And yet I yearn to go back and touch it again, so that I may feel real again.

A minaret against a cloudy sky. The sound of adhan in a quiet evening. The sound of a donkey braying, a child laughing, a peddlar calling out, all at the same time. It is too much, when I go back. It overwhelms me, the routineness of it, the gray-dusty-normalcy of it. The clean, angular lines of life here sometimes feel like they are synthetically designed. They are predictable. The phones will work. Traffic will be bad on game day.

Home is noplace in particular. Home is in hot chaos. Home is in cold routine.

A productive citizen

As one of my long-time blog readers, Adnan, commented, the shadow of silence stretches long upon this blog. The truth is, teaching qualitative research methods to graduate students in an intensive course leaves me very little time. Any little extra pockets of time must be claimed by my daughter, who is becoming acutely aware of her mother’s absences.

The list of friends and relatives who wonder why I don’t call is becoming long. The list of errands and absolutely-must-do’s is also lengthening daily. The list of “wish-I-coulds” rots in the back room. THAT list now includes a day dream: merely sitting in the sun and dozing. The bigger daydreams - vacations, road trips, beaches and bed-and-breakfast getaways - are a laughing matter. What used to be necessities - 3 full meals, good sleep, and occasional naps - are now becoming irregular events.

But an income is a good thing. It is good to know, when the bills roll in, that they will be paid, inshaallah. It’s good to know when you’re hungry, that you don’t have to think too much about grabbing a meal on the go (you can’t make a habit of it though). And as many of my readers know, it is nice to have health coverage. It’s nice to have transportation. And yet I am always aware of having been the person who could not count on all these things so blithely. I am aware, too, of the vagaries of the job market, and of the uncertainty of the economy. Times have changed. Futures are much more uncertain. We work hard, and we remain on edge.

Sometimes it seems as if our incomes pay to enable us to do our jobs and pay our taxes, and not too much else. As the mother of a young child, as a daughter and a sibling and a friend, I find that I don’t have the freedom or the time to connect adequately with the things in life that - well, give me life. Such as chatting with loved ones, visiting friends, playing with the toddler, and, - breathing freely and reflectively. I work, I remain dissatisfied with my efforts, there is always more I should have done, and there is always more to do YESTERDAY.

Imam Warith Deen Muhammad returned to his Creator on September 9, 2008. May Allah bless his soul and reward him for his untiring work for God and humanity.

From plunderer to president

I am in mourning over the travesty that is Asif Ali Zardari’s appointment as President of Pakistan. Tariq Ali expresses my feelings - as well as of most Pakistanis - over this tragic event.

I just got this sad parody of the Pakistani national anthem (video) in my inbox.

Zardari ki zamin shad bad
Bijli aay 8 ghantay baad
Tu nishanay corruption aalishan

Arz e zardaristan, shaad baad … [I censored this bit because it fosters inter-province animosity]

Zardari ki zamin ka nizam
Aaatay, gas, bijli ka bohran
Quam mulk sub-gharak Nawaz, wakil paainda bad
Bainazir dunya say faraar
Parchamay sitara-o-Hilal
Khoon main ranga sara saal

Bhool apna maazi shan-e-haal, jaan ne istaqbal
Saya-e-Amrika sar pe sawaar

Translation:

Long live (Asif) Zardari’s land
Where power outages last eight hours straight.
Thou art a great symbol of glorious corruption
Land of Zardari live forever

The order of Zardari’s land is such -
perpetual shortages of flour, gas, power.
The nation, country all destroyed - Nawaz (Sharif) live on forever.
Benazir escaped from the world.

The flag of the crescent and the star
coloured red with blood year round.
Forget your past, present, future -

Crushed beneath the shadow of America.

I confess that I am a closeted lover of home-schooling. Though my own circumstances seem to make it an impossible option for me, I would dearly love to home-school my 2-year old. So far she has only tasted daycares, and that alone has caused me to revolt against the idea of institutionalized education for children - in general. This song, an edited version of “I will survive” struck a chord.

I’d like to make a prediction, and then hedge my claim with conditional statements.

Today I was working on course prep in a cafe. A pile of boring-looking books on the chair beside me, my laptop, a cup of coffee in front of me (I have recently graduated to medium cups, which says something about my new work schedule). Next to me, two women chatted about their children for a couple of hours. Their voices were modulated to a low pitch, so it didn’t disturb me much. Then, as I was approaching the third hour of work and my strength was flagging, a man entered with a laptop. He settled on the couch, opened the laptop, and then started making a phone call to an obviously dear friend, because he talked for about an hour. A second man entered, sat down on the couch closer to me, and took out his cellphone too.

I predict that the market for cafes will become more specific soon. Cafes will divide into nerdy and sociable. When friends need to meet, they will meet in the sociable cafes. When grad students need to hunker down over the footnotes, they’ll scurry over to the nerdy cafes.

This will happen because unless it does, we’re going to have some cafe rage soon.

But what of the messy interstices between the types?

What of the young student who THINKS she belongs in the nerdy cafe because she SHOULD be working on her midterms, but she is too popular to turn off her cellphone - ever? What of the self-employed businessman who thinks he belongs in the nerdy cafe simply because he is “working,” but work means making endless calls in a loud, reassuring booming voice as he goes down a list in Excel? What of the non-nerdy individual who just wants to relax over a cup of herbal tea and can’t relax because of the chatter? What of the tutor who meets up with his middle school tutees in a nerdy cafe and explains the ins and outs of the SATS in his strong baritone (this is from real life)?

Confusion between the types is not the only reason for this prediction to be proved false. The other reason is desire for the other.

Maybe the mixed cafe exists because nerdy people want to approximate social butterflies. They are not social butterflies, they cannot be them, they have no life to speak of perhaps - but they want to bask in their space. It’s the reason why people who are not young and beautiful like to watch beautiful young people. It’s the reason why the unknown like to watch the famous. We yearn. It’s not quite aspiring. Just yearning and watching.

And what of the social butterflies? Surely they have thoughts in their heads too? While it is difficult for me to empathize with social butterflies, I would venture that they too wish to share space with nerds. The sight of
bespectacled nerds tapping away at keyboards makes them feel productive and busy. And smart. Since they are in the same space, they consume some of their aura.

And so, this post ends with a prediction that cafes will not divide into types, but that the nerdy will continue to wish that they could own their cafes. They will scurry into the cafe, glare at the mommies occupying THEIR seat and table NEXT TO THE OUTLET, and pile their laptop, backpack, notebook and books onto the table next to the amorous couple with the frothy beverage, and inwardly wish they could kick everyone out that wasn’t sitting ALONE, interacting with nothing but a keyboard.

We just moved, and the previous tenants’ family magazine was waiting on the counter for them. Yesterday I happened to be browsing the magazine to see what was cool and what was hot. And I came upon an image that caused me some amusement. A young White woman walking through a green meadow, in hip summer clothing, with a brown tote bag on her shoulder. The tote bag bore the caption that informed the reader that this particular commodity was $50, and was produced by “H’Oat Couture.”

The fabric bag itself had a third-world produced basic picture of a girl blowing a trumpet, and in Persian it said Baranj Royale (Royal Rice).

At this very moment, I HAVE that bag of rice in my kitchen. I could make a cool $50 out of a FREE sack once I use up the rice. As long as I have hip, wealthy young folks who would be willing to shell out the money. Instead, of course, they could emptying the rice bag in the kitchen, put their cellphone in it, and runn out the door. I suspect that without the H’Oat Couture label, and the signs of having paid retail for the empty rice-bag, a mere bag from the trash would probably not be found in the cool streets.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with wearing an empty rice-bag on your shoulder. It’s coarse-grain fabric, so frankly it would irritate my skin. It’s also a narrow bag that would not be very useful for a practical woman with a toddler by her side. But what is it about this bag that allows a company to charge $50 once they have attached a handle to it?

It’s nice to be wealthy. But it is not so very cool anymore. Being wealthy is (yawn). Being wealthy is not cutting edge. It’s too safe. It doesn’t taste of grit and grime.

But we don’t really need grit and grime, so we won’t be fishing our rice-bag out of the trash. We’ll pay for it once it’s sitting on retail shelves.

The wealthy want to remain wealthy, but they do not want to be *stuck* in that corner. Don’t label them wealthy. They’ll try out other labels, H’Oat labels, and third world products acquired during tourist ventures, in order to acquire a little zap for their image. They’ll do the Dior when they want to, and then they’ll do the rice-bag. They’re exciting.

Consuming poverty and grit makes them acquire some of its danger and some of its reality. (”Cannibal Tours” comes to mind.) Wealthy lifestyles are, the wealthy may be aware, unreal. Removed. Artificially constructed. So in order to bring them down to earth, they buy some earth, labeled RealEarth perhaps (is there a patent out there). Earth from the yard will not do. And they put it on their mantelpiece.

Retail is essential to remove the connotations of TRUE poverty. It is play-acting poverty. It is costume poverty. We know it is cool because it is unreal. Yet it is there, a joke, because we all KNOW they wouldn’t *have* to grab a rice-bag for a purse. You grab a $50 ricebag because your face cream costs $300. The rice-bag itself is a testament to wealth. Wealth *allows* them to fake poverty. The poor are too busy buying fake Luis Vuitton bags on the corner. We live lives of play-acting. Goffman would love it.

The following is the complete article on which “It’s not raining eligible Muslim men” is based. It is rather long, which is probably why Religion Dispatches blog cut it to a more reasonable length. But if you’re a sucker for punishment, enjoy. For further discussion on the subject, please see my friend Javed’s post on the subject.
In traditional faith communities, single women are usually looked upon with fear and desire. They are objects of desire because they hold out the promise of a traditional religious home complete with traditional wife and progeny to perpetuate the lineage and community. The unfulfilled promise they seem to hold out is ripe for the plucking. But they are also feared, and as objects of fear, they inspire often intense monitoring behaviors. In traditional communities, single women are watched and judged far more intensely than are single men. Single women’s main marketable commodity – virginity – is guarded and desired - and feared because it is capable of being spent – and with this spending, the honor of the collective may also be metaphorically dissipated. Men’s honor does not have far-reaching implications for the community; men are the community and the arbiters of its honor. Women’s honor is guarded and watched as well as cherished and honored.
When single women become numerous in a faith community, leaders and gatekeepers worry. Or should worry. First, because single women, unlike men, may not seek sexual fulfillment (legitimately) outside of wedlock. Second, because they, in fact, can.

Muslims in the diaspora often claim, as does this article that Islam does not allow dating or even that “Muslims don’t date.” This is an interesting claim, and one that merits extensive scholarly examination. Briefly and simplistically, from the perspective of the hadith that discourages one-on-one encounters between men and women because the third of the two is satan, this indeed seems to be the case. In many ways, intimate social engagement between men and women is pregnant, if I may put it thus, with sexual potential. As even popular culture puts it, they’re never really “just friends.”

Many liberal Muslims would argue that the case is not so simple, and they may cite cases from the Prophet’s life and his Companions. Or they may argue that times have changed; that marriage, divorce and indeed gender are no longer what they were, and that it is the spirit of the law rather than the letter in its entirety that must be fervently preserved. Well then, return the conservatives, what is that spirit if it is not include the practice of chastity? And how may chastity be preserved if the floodgates are opened to the Muslim masses by putting single men and women in continuous, risky contact with each other?

And then there are the Muslims who are in-between, neither absolutely conservative nor very liberal. The writer occurs somewhere in that mid-way space. I am committed to the ideal of religious chastity. I am also very aware of the human condition, and the Muslim diasporic condition.

Many traditional, conservative Muslims (I use both so you can take your pick, really) seek arranged and semi-arranged marriages. Community leaders, parents, relatives, friends and acquaintances set them up with potential mates after the desired characteristics have been explained in full. The couple then meets: this may be anything from a glance at a social event (my brother married an amazing woman in this way, and hit gold), to a meeting between the two while Mom watches over them. At times, the couple may even meet at a restaurant and chat at length, as long as they’re not in a private booth. The purpose in all these arrangements is to prevent the nature of courtship from becoming unduly sexualized. All that  comes after marriage.

But not all Muslims marry in this way. Many acidly argue that they don’t have access to the networks that would help set them up with the right person. (And that’s not just converts, by the way, though converts suffer this situation the most). Many would sneer at the past attempts at being set up, and steer away from them. Many, really, do date-date. All the way.

What dating means for individual couples varies a great deal. For some, they may socialize one-on-one extensively, hang out for long periods, and watch movies. Some may even engage in some physical contact without going too far. And of course, some will have sex. And yes, some sleep around. But because the meaning of the term can vary contextually, many Muslims say, to keep it safe and simple, as does the article cited above, “Muslims don’t date.”

The Quran forbids fornication and adultery and describes it as lewdness and a bad path to take. This does not mean that Muslims do not commit fornication, whether in the diaspora or in the Muslim homelands. But from observation, I would argue that, whether because of their recent immigrant origins, their cultural characteristics, global religio-political trends or, as some would claim, something about Islam itself, Muslim women in the US are *relatively* less likely, *overall,” than indigenous faith groups, to have premarital or extramarital sex.

As I have watched the community over the past decade, I feel that while religiosity is on the rise, so is something else.

When, in New York, Daisy Khan arranged a Valentine’s Day event for Muslim singles, 15 men and 63 women showed up. The “surplus” of single women in the community is being identified as an issue. Many Muslim women would say, sarcastically, that the surplus is more specific - of smart, mature, beautiful, professional women and no one to match them up with.

For years now, I have agonized, along with my friends, about the disproportionately large numbers of such women and the much lower numbers of truly eligible Muslim men. Many friends have questioned if “he” is out there at all. Many friends have asked me if I can introduce them to someone, and friends have asked me if I can introduce their  friends to someone. I pull out my pockets helplessly. Few that I’d introduce to them with confidence, I say. The “good ones” are married, engaged, or, mysteriously, perpetually single. In a community that is dispersed heavily over a geographically extensive area, there are so many single American Muslim women that the mind boggles at the future that awaits the community.

When I was single in my 30s, my parents and community were horrified at the future that awaited me. What would I do? Would I lose my mind? Would I lose my virginity? Would I fall into penury? What does a single woman do when she lives on her own? There were few precedents to guide their wonderment about my future.

Marriage is important to Muslims. Chastity is important. Celibacy is frowned upon. Marriage is the Prophet’s way. It is “half of your religion.” It’s not mandatory, but it’s pretty close.

But a strongly recommended religious practice – one that requires a whole other individual for the practice to be performed - can change, under the pressure of circumstance, from “strongly recommended” to “challenging,” and even optional. Sociologically, religious practice is contained within and shaped by the vessel of culture and cultural change. That which today appears to be of momentous consequence to one’s faith may not always have been so.

So what is a woman to do if she can’t find someone to marry? In the ‘80s and ‘90s – that’s how long I was single! - I could be bullied to hurry up and “marry someone” (read “anyone”). Precedence could be cited: all of my peers were married and most of them had teenage children by the time I got married. Many of those peers had married not Mr Right but Anyone, and had thereby made good time.

Today, a 30-year old woman, if harassed by community elders, can turn around and ask exactly whom she is supposed to marry. She can wait longer for the right person. She can also argue that a large number of her peers are still single. Numbers cannot be used against her. And numbers - “everyone’s doing it” - is a nest of immense security.

Traditional Muslims hold that Muslim women may not marry outside the faith and that Muslim men may marry Muslims, Christians or Jews, but there the choices end. So is there a smaller pool of Muslim men available for Muslim women because some of them are marrying non-Muslims? There is little by way of lifestyle-related statistics for American Muslims, so it is hard to tell whether there are just more Muslim women than men, whether Muslim men’s marriages outside the faith impacts numbers significantly, or because some men do marry abroad, traveling abroad to their parents’ birthplaces to enter arranged marriages. The last-mentioned is neither here nor there because some Muslim women also marry abroad. However, since cultural patterns of gender norms affect women intimately, Muslim women are often heard loudly protesting against the idea of marrying a man from the motherland. For many Muslim men, on the other hand, marrying a woman from the motherland means marrying a momma-replica who looks pretty and is “sweet.” (The reality may or may not be so).

What we do know is that there are large numbers of single American Muslim women today – in their 40s, 30s, and 20s, and that the community will have to deal with the consequences of this phenomenon. These women aren’t your spinster Aunties who spent their autumn years tending to their brothers’ families. Many of them are bright, independent, extremely articulate, professionally successful, and quite unlikely to take the single status lying down, so to speak. They will not suffer in silence, as the community pities their single plight. They will see that certain norms and practices render their lives difficult, and they will speak out.

In the Muslim homelands, Muslim women were usually “protected” (in good ways and bad) within the homes of fathers, brothers, husbands, in-laws, and sons. Single women who remained independent were not unknown, but were not large in number and remained an anomaly. The protection of a man was essential to a woman’s fulfillment. Wealthy and middle class or educated single women could hold their own, but most single women had to rely on the largesse of relatives. Economic dependence was part of the ugliness of spinsterhood. In the diaspora, a single American woman still has much to fear when by herself in an apartment or on the street, but independent single women, living and flourishing outside of a traditional Muslim context, will inevitably change the face of the community. Traditional, conservative Muslims may have much to fear from these changes.

For instance, growing numbers of Muslim women are marrying outside the faith. Until now, they could be disowned by their families, unless the families came to terms with the situation. Or their husbands could fake conversions and no one would ask him too many questions. Now, as Muslim women marry Jews, Christians, Hindus, atheists and beyond, it will be interesting to see how their children are raised, and how this will affect their children’s identities. It will be interesting to see how this changes the face of the American Muslim community.

For the record, I do not feel that marriage outside the faith is an ideal solution for most religious individuals. In my humble belief and limited experience, faith is a discipline and tradition that requires total living and immersion and not a cafeteria that allows one to wander in and out as one pleases. Marriage is also a discipline and a process that requires the totality of one’s engagement. In other words, neither is a picnic. At least in my observation, I have not encountered many cases of successful service to the two masters of God and marriage. Then there is the issue of raising children. Intensely ecumenical couples have raised children in two or more faiths, but I do not feel that this does justice to any one faith - or even to faith, period.

At the same time, I have also observed that there is a genuine lack of eligible men, and I am no believer in subjection to prolonged suffering. The single life is difficult and lonely, especially for religious people who practice chastity.

The dearth of eligible men is not the only reason for marriage outside the faith. Part of the problem is what I discussed earlier in this article, modes of courtship or the lack thereof. Traditional Muslim organizations and contexts have often insisted on forms of gender segregation that sometimes make it extremely difficult to meet and identify spouses. Under the motto “God will provide,” conservative Muslims have frowned upon single men and women talking to each other. Much “talking,” I found in my research on college campuses, therefore takes place on the internet and the phone, because it is less visible and, in fact, not really happening.

“Courting” is rejected by the more traditional circles, though many have come to realize that they have to give way. But this grudging “look-away” acceptance will have to develop into something more concrete and theorized if Muslim men and women are to find mates within the community.

Svend once spoke of an Islamic Society of North America convention matrimonial event that took place about a decade ago. Single men and women were chatting with each other, under the eye of organizers. Suddenly an elderly gentleman entered, observed, and reprimanded them, “Brothers, this is not permissible. You should not be doing this.” Svend says, “I wanted to tell him, ‘Uncle, you should be grateful they’re here, and not at the bar across the street from the convention center.’” Because the bar is indeed there, and if Uncle doesn’t go there, many of the kids do.

Many uncles, who had no clue that young people had such choices, have helped young people to silently and without protest drift away from the mosque and the community center. Feeling detached from community contexts, these young people will often behave with perfect reserve from the opposite sex when in Muslim settings (ironically, the safest contexts for courtship to take place), and moved on to dominant majority spaces where they meet and date non-Muslim women.

Inevitably, single status will also change some Muslim women’s approaches toward chastity and sexuality. Boys have always been boys, but American Muslim women have been relatively sexually chaste, if anecdotal evidence and observation is to count. (I am not claiming that “Muslim women don’t sleep around.” I’m making a claim, on the strength of qualitative and not quantitative research, about relative levels of sexual promiscuity.) Recently I have heard of a Muslim group I will not name that has permitted single women to sleep with men (under the category of dire sexual need). My friends have been shocked by the phenomenon.
Like the organization I mentioned, I predict that others will smell the coffee brewing under their noses (responding in perhaps less dramatic ways). Notions of religiosity, chastity, gender, and identity in the Muslim community will change under pressure of these circumstances. Notions of difference, notions of self and notions of the other will also change. Muslims, when they socialize with Muslims in mosques and Islamic centers, watched over by aunties and uncles from the homeland, may advance claims about what Muslims are and what Muslims do. When more and more Muslims in mixed marriages socialize with mixed-faith/culture groups and raise mixed-faith children, it becomes harder to claim that “Muslims don’t date/drink” or “Muslims eat biryani” or “Muslims don’t sleep around like White folks do.”

I predict that American Muslim identity under such pressures will probably become a much more fluid notion. I do not say this with eagerness. The coziness of a discrete and – well, even slightly insular, contained cultural-religious identity is a comforting thing to come home to. These are the ways in which minoritized and marginalized groups preserve identities that are precious to them, in the midst of pressures to assimilate. Homogamy is one of the main means of maintaining communities and identities. Exogamy is one of the main means that minority faith and cultural groups in the US have dissolved a little (or a lot). And while it’s not all going away, I think it will be a little less possible to bank on it in the future. For this, if nothing else, we will all have to think hard about our futures and our options.

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