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Smell of Success: a Review of Skunk Girl June 30, 2009

Posted by Melinda in : Books/Magazines , comments closed

Skunk Girl is Sheba Karim’s first novel. It is told from the point of view of 16-year-old Nina Khan, self-described as “a Pakistani Muslim girl” and from a small white town in upstate New York. Although published in 2009, the story is set in approximately 1993.

Skunk Girl's cover. Image via Macmillan Publishing.

Skunk Girl's cover. Image via Macmillan Publishing.

In a fast-paced, entertaining read, Nina narrates her life and drama as the only Pakistani and Muslim girl in her high school. She deals with worries about school and boys, as well body hair and strict parents.

Karim keeps a light-hearted tone throughout the novel, balancing Nina’s self-deprecation with her humorous critique of others around her.

When a male friend asks Nina what her father would do if he ran outside and started kissing her in front of him, one of her best friends says, “Nina’s dad would kill her if you did that.”

“He wouldn’t kill me,” she responds.

In the narration, Nina explains:

“I must defend my father. He may be conservative, but he’s no murderer like those nutty Islamic fanatics they show on TV movies who marry unsuspecting white women, then kidnap their daughters and take them to some unnamed Middle Eastern country. He wouldn’t kill me, just yell and maybe cry and only ever let me out of the house for school.” (57-8)

Karim takes on stereotypes in a less heavy-handed manner than, say, Randa Abdel-Fattah of Does My Head Look Big in This? and Ten Things I Hate About Me. She uses humor to poke fun at, and thus challenge, popular portrayals of Muslim men.

At the same time, Karim doesn’t go the other route, of painting Nina’s parents as permissive and progressive to challenge the image of Muslim parents as strict and conservative. Nina’s parents are in many ways much more conservative than Amal’s parents in DMHLBT. When Nina goes to the movies with her female friends and their boyfriends, she can’t let her father see that there are boys in the group, lest he “kill” her as discussed above. Neither Nina nor her sister has ever been to a school dance, and her parents get “worked up about the lack of morality in Western culture” (138). When they see one of Nina’s best friends having dinner with a boy, they grow concerned that Nina will want to have a boyfriend too, and they try to limit the amount of time Nina spends with her best friends, so that she doesn’t become influenced to do “things that are wrong for you,” in the words of her mother.

Nina finds it hard to be the only girl in her school with such restrictions. She feels left out when classmate Serena holds a big party and she doesn’t even get an invitation, because, as Serena tells her, “you’re not allowed to go to parties and I don’t want to waste any [invitations].”

But even while Nina bemoans her plight as the only high schooler at home on a Friday night, she never takes herself too seriously, which is refreshing.

Spending her Friday nights at home watching crime shows with her parents, she decides, “Maybe there are only two types of people who spend their Friday nights in high school at home—Pakistani Muslim girls and future serial killers. Though I suppose Indian and maybe even some Asian parents might be as strict with their kids.” She remembers hearing that there’s an Indian girl in the middle school: “Maybe I should become friends with her. I bet we’d be allowed to spend our Friday nights together, memorizing vocabulary words or something.” (28)

In some ways, Nina’s parents are archetypes of strict, conservative parents. When Nina asks her father what would be so wrong with having friends who are boys, he replies, “If you lose sight of what is wrong and right, and start behaving like Americans, you’ll end up on the streets, on drugs, and a prostitute.” Nina comments on her father’s warning: “It is so preposterous that you can’t even argue with it” (36).

Despite their strictness, Nina’s parents fail to become stereotypes. Karim’s description of Nina’s father, who tells jokes, even though they’re not always funny, loves and sings along with qawwali music, and tries to have heart-to-hearts with his daughter make him into a multidimensional, believable character. Nina’s mother, too, breaks out of the stereotype she could otherwise become. When Nina wails to her mother about the plight of being a “hairy Pakistani Muslim girl,” her mother says, “It’s not such a big deal,” and hands her a box of bleach, telling her stories of mixing her own ammonia/hydrogen peroxide concoction when she was in college in Pakistan.

It makes sense that Karim would write Nina’s parents as believable, multidimensional characters, since her whole cast of characters is complex and engaging. Some characters, who start out as archetypes, such as Nina’s sister, Sonia, the “nerd girl,” and classmate Serena, popular mean girl, develop through the novel as Nina gets to know them better.

While Nina’s parents are strict about certain rules, they are less conservative about other issues. Nina explains that her mother is the only one who prays regularly, and that the family only ever prays together to keep up appearances whenever her mother’s sister, the very Pakistani, very Muslim Nasreen Khan, comes to visit.

Karim depicts Muslims more conservative than Nina’s parents. Nina tells the story of the Qur’an teacher she had when she was young, Brother Hassan. When he sees her mother’s favorite painting hanging on the wall, of two Mexican women holding bright flowers, he instructs Nina to tell her mother to take it down: “It is haram to depict human figures,” he tells her. Instead, it is her teacher who Nina never sees again. She learns to read Qur’an instead from her mother, “under the watchful eyes of the Mexican women.” (81-2)

With stories like this, Karim establishes a diversity of belief amongst Muslims. Nina’s mother, presented as the most religious member of her family, has a different understanding of Islam than Nina’s Qur’an teacher and is willing to stand up for it. That Nina’s mother does not discard the painting per Brother Hassan’s advice is not presented as a failure on her part to live by the rules of Islam but as a way Nina’s mother rejects a more conservative interpretation of Islam and affirms her own values.

Nina, who admits to be less religious than her mother, does not live up to the archetype of a conservative Muslim girl either. Enamored by her crush, Asher Richelli, she doesn’t hold the same resistance to him that very consciously religious Amal of DMHLBT had for her crush. When Nina and her sister Sonia are left alone for a few days, when their parents fly to Pakistan early, Nina takes the opportunity to attend her first high school party, has her first beer — and proceeds to get drunk. Later, she asks her sister what makes a good Muslim.

Sonia replies,

“Whose definition are you applying to that? In every religion people pick and choose what they want to follow. Look at Ma and Dad’s own friends—a few of the aunties cover their hair, and a few of the aunties drink, some fast during during Ramadan, some don’t. You can’t spend your life worrying about what other people will think. If you live decently and help others, is Allah going to condemn you simply because you had a beer? I don’t think so, but others might. In the end, you have to do what you believe is right.”

Sonia’s advice of self-determination seems to the message of the book. She tells her sister, “When it comes to religion and orthodoxy and culture and self-actualization, there is no magic box [with] easy answers” (208). And indeed, Nina’s dilemma of what to do about her crush, Asher, is not presented as a test from God of resisting temptation but as a religious, cultural, and family issue with which she must struggle and not necessarily find any easy option. While Nina’s parents are quick to deplore what they see as immorality around them (and Nina’s potential fall to a drug-addicted prostitute), Nina does not judge. When best friend Bridget announces her decision to have sex with her boyfriend, Nina thinks about how surreal the idea is, and asks Bridget sincerely, “How are you feeling about it?”

But religious and familial drama is not the only issue facing Nina. Small New York town Deer Hook lacks in racial diversity, which worsens Nina’s feeling of isolation. Nina recalls an incident from her childhood. In the car, she asks her sister, “When you take over the world, can you make me white?” Her mother, driving, slams on the brakes and asks, “Why would you want that?”

Nina narrates:

“Because it sucks being one of the only brown kids in school, I thought. But I didn’t say this because even then I knew my mother wouldn’t understand.” (9)

Nina describes the self-segregation by race during lunch: the few black and Latino students sit on one side of the lawn, while Nina, an Asian freshman, and couple other minorities sit on the “white side.” Even though she sits with the white students and her best friends are white, Nina can’t completely fit in, and sometimes wishes to be white.

Nina feels some affinity to Bridget’s boyfriend, Anthony, who is black and from the island of Grenada — one of the few non-white students at Deer Hook besides Nina. “Do you ever wish you were white?” she asks him, explaining that she would take the chance to live her life again as a “cute blonde” in a heartbeat. He suggests perhaps being white wouldn’t make her happier, considering everything she’d have to sacrifice for it: her family, her food, her pride. There are no incidents of overt racism that Nina and Anthony face, but Karim shows the difficulty of being one of the few non-white students in the school, especially when all their friends are white.

Nina challenges her parents’ racism when they find out Bridget is not just dating —horror! — but dating “a black boy,” as well as the preference for light skin within their Pakistani circles. These are probably the most overt discussions of racism in the book.

One of Nina’s biggest concerns is not just being a “Pakistani Muslim girl” but being a “hairy Pakistani Muslim girl.” She explains that one day, “I fell asleep a human, and woke up a gorilla” (21). It is worse when she realizes that she has a stripe of dark hair down her neck to the center of her back. Describing her dilemma as being a “skunk girl,” from which the novel derives its title, Nina feels like a freak.

She stands out in other ways. In hot weather, Nina sweats in jeans while others wear shorts. She wears jeans because that’s what Pakistani Muslim girls do, she says. But I wonder why she can’t wear a long skirt or looser, lighter pants at least.

Skunk Girl paints a picture of a believable Muslim teenager–not necessarily one CAIR would send out to represent Muslim youth, but a girl with struggles and desires beyond fulfilling her mother’s image of the perfect Pakistani Muslim girl. It was refreshing that neither the title nor cover art revolved around Nina’s Muslim-ness. Books with a Muslim protagonist have been known to feature hijab-less characters in hijab to emphasize their faith. Not so for Skunk Girl — The book jacket shows a white stripe of fur against black, reflecting the book’s title.

Karim’s first novel is a fast and enjoyable read. I read it in one sitting. At 231 pages, in a comfortable font size and spacing, the book goes quickly. Karim maintains the pace with short chapters, an engaging plot, and an entertaining and likable narrator.

Nina’s story is compelling, touching on issues many young people face, whether or not they are Pakistani Muslim girls. But even when she takes on serious issues, Karim keeps the novel optimistic and funny. The message, in the end, is one of self-acceptance. Skunk Girl does not strive to be great literature. It makes a breezy, but thoughtful, summer read. I look forward to seeing what else Karim will bring to young adult fiction.

Sarkozy to the Rescue! France, Burqas, and the Question of "Choice" June 29, 2009

Posted by Krista in : Culture/Society, News, Politics , comments closed
Nicholas Sarkozy. Image via BBC.

Nicholas Sarkozy. Image via BBC.

As I’m sure many of you have seen already, French President Nicolas Sarkozy said last week that he supports a commission to consider banning the wearing of burqas in public places.  Here are some excerpts of his speech, quoted from this article:

“We cannot accept to have in our country women who are prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social life, deprived of identity,” Mr. Sarkozy told a special session of parliament in Versailles.

“That is not the idea that the French republic has of women’s dignity.”

“The burka is not a sign of religion, it is a sign of subservience. It will not be welcome on the territory of the French republic,” the French president said.

But he stressed that France “must not fight the wrong battle”, saying that “the Muslim religion must be respected as much as other religions” in the country.

If this conversation sounds familiar, it’s because we keep having it.  It has come up recently in debates about whether the niqab should be allowed in courtrooms, and whether feminist organisations in Quebec should support a ban on headscarves for public employees.  There’s pretty much a set script: Western leader (usually white and male, nearly always non-Muslim) decides that Muslim women who dress in certain ways are a threat to Western culture, and under threat from the big bad extremist Muslim men in their communities.  Burqas (or niqabs, or headscarves) are portrayed as completely incompatible with Western societies, and their wearers assumed to be entirely outside of Western cultures until the offending clothing can be removed.  Patronising conversations about oppression and choice follow, and the tiny percentage of people in the area being discussed who actually wear the item of clothing being debated all suddenly find themselves as pawns in discussions about principles of liberation, secularism, fundamentalism, and symbols of the demise of the world as we know it.

We’ve been through all of this before, and I’m not going to write another post re-hashing why this latest incarnation of the clothing-ban debate is problematic.  Jill at Feministe and Wendi at Racialicious have also looked at this particular issue in detail (although some of the comments on the Feministe article are pretty horrendous; the commenters should all go read this piece.  As should the rest of you, because it’s funny.)

Moving on…  I want to focus in on one particular element of the debate, which is the idea of choice.  It comes up a lot, and often gets talked about in a very superficial way, by both sides.  Conversations about whether certain articles of clothing should be permitted often go like this:

A: The [hijab/niqab/burqa] should be banned, because it’s oppressive!

B: No, it’s not.  Some Muslim women choose to wear those things.

A: Yeah, but is it really a choice?  Their husbands will probably kill them if they don’t.  Or they probably feel like they have to wear it to live up to cultural expectations.  Or they are misguided and believe this is a religious obligation, even if it isn’t.

B: But we can’t just assume that all women are forced to wear it…  Some women really do choose it.

And so on.  The thing is, the whole idea of any “choice” being completely free of any social constraints is a bit of a myth.  I think we need to complicate this issue of “choice,” for two reasons.

First, choice is always socially contextual.  Even if I might “choose” what I want to wear every day (and for me personally, that choice has yet to include a burqa), there’s a reason I don’t walk around outside in my pyjamas, or attend classes wearing fancy dresses.  We don’t ever make choices that are entirely independent of social expectations.  So when I see people express the idea that women are oppressed by their crazy Muslim communities that make them believe that they want to wear a burqa, and that because this “choice” is made in order to conform to social expectations, we should ignore it, because it’s not a free choice, it just makes me wonder: what choice is ever independent of the expectations that are imposed on us by our societies?  And how can we decide which “choices” are legitimate and free, and worthy of being respected?

Second, the assumption made by many people is that the “choice” is being made between either wearing the burqa or living a life that’s completely free of sexual oppression.  The problems that are supposedly inherent to the burqa are assumed not to exist once the burqa is removed.

So when Sarkozy talks about women in burqas as “prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social life, deprived of identity,” and about the burqas themselves as markers of “subservience,” he’s implying that it’s the burqa, and the burqa alone, that holds women captive (and that it, apparently, deprives them of identity, a claim that might say more about the way that Sarkozy conceptualises identity than it does about the women he’s attempting to rescue.)

It’s a narrow-minded perspective, because it ignores all of the other ways that sexism acts upon women, both within Muslim communities and within non-Muslim communities in the west.  After all, there are all sorts of ways that non-burqa-wearing women may be objectified (and thus deprived of identity in a different way), or made to be subservient. It also misses the many other systems of oppression – for example, those based on race or economic class, both of which also affect many Muslim women in France, that imprison and marginalise (or “cut off”) women.  So, when these women make the “choice” to wear the burqa, they are not necessarily choosing between imprisonment and freedom, or between subservience and empowerment; they may be making this choice between multiple forms of imprisonment (symbolic or otherwise), or multiple options that still place them in subservient positions, or they may even be making this choice in a context where the burqa represents the positive side of those dichotomies.  The point is that the arguments about “choice” simplify the discussion, and ignores the ways that women may claim agency even in situations where their possible “choices” might be restricted.

(As a side note, Saba Mahmood, in her book Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject, has some very interesting things to say about religious identity and practice in relation to women’s agency.  Go read it.)

What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think that “choice” is really the best framework for the conversations that we are trying to have.  Of course, I believe that we should work to create conditions so that all people can wear the clothing that makes them feel comfortable.  But I also think that it’s hard to have these conversations if we focus primarily on ideas of “choice,” which often ignore the complexity of the contexts in which all of our choices take place, and the many competing systems and structures in which we attempt to act.

Friday Links — June 26, 2009 June 26, 2009

Posted by Fatemeh in : Links , comments closed

There Will be Blood: Neda Agha Soltan's Post-Mortem Image in the Media June 25, 2009

Posted by Fatemeh in : News, Politics , comments closed

Neda Agha-Soltani was fatally shot during a protest in Iran on Saturday, June 20, 2009. May God give her peace and justice.

Neda Agha Soltani. Image from Caspian Makan, via Daily Mail.

Neda Agha Soltani. Image from Caspian Makan, via Daily Mail.

Several news outlets have reported on her death, and several opinion-makers have heralded her tragic end as a martyrdom for Iran’s opposition movement. In Iran, this may be true: Neda’s death may garner more support and energy for the opposition movement that has been somewhat floundering for the last few days. While I understand that every movement needs its martyr (this is Shi’a Iran we’re talking about–Time explains it for those of you not familiar with the importance of martyrdom in the Shi’a sect), I don’t understand the necessity for the image of her last moments to be splashed across Western news outlets. Why reprint the image of her corpse, instead of the picture above right?

Her last moments were filled with shock and drama, as onlookers attempted to stop the bleeding from the fatal gunshot wound in her chest. They realized they could not help as she began to hemorrhage, and blood ran from her nose, ears, and mouth.

But she is dead now.

And instead of being put to rest, her final, bloody image is being strewn across blogs and Twitter.

Image via weareallneda.com

Image via weareallneda.com

Where were all of these interested parties when the dormitories in Iranian universities were raided last week? There were plenty of pictures that were just as jarring and horrific. Neda is not the first person to die in this. She’s not the first person whose death has been captured on video camera, either.  But she was young, slender, and pretty, and so Western media images are obsessed with watching her die over and over.

Tami has written about brown bodies, death, and media, and her latest title says it all: “Must brown people be martyred for Americans to be motivated?”

Tami points out:

“To show brutal images of the dead is generally seen as unseemly and disrespectful. Consider the uproar when some newspapers published images of a dead American soldier being dragged through the streets of Mogadishu in the early 90s. But deaths like Neda’s we feel we must see, need to see. What does it say when we feel squeamish and protective about the deaths of some, but not others?…”

“I think Americans are fetishizing video of Neda Soltani’s death in a way they would not if she were a young, blonde, American college student shot down on an American street. We do not need to see the lifeless bodies of those women in order to care for them. But people like Neda owe access to their deaths so Americans can access their own humanity.”

This helps explain the fact that Neda is represented as a corpse just as often as she is represented the way any murdered American woman would be: alive and smiling, usually in a picture given to the media by her family or friends (see above right).

Aside from the talk that she is a martyr for Iran’s opposition movement, many in the West are using her death to educate themselves about Iran’s current crisis, viewing Iran through a lens of violence and cruelty, which many add to their current knowledge of the country as repressive, backward, and unsafe for Americans. Neda’s death may help Iranians band closer together and become stronger in their fight for a government that treats them with respect, but here in the West, her lifeless body is little more than another reminder of the instability and danger of “over there”.

What difference has her death made here in the West? As far as I can tell, the only Western response to her death (aside from the gruesome fact that her last moments are a now common fixture on blogs and news sites) has been a website, weareallneda.com, where mourners can leave messages to a Neda who cannot read them. Below the site’s banner is a stylized rendering of her lifeless face amid a river of blood, shown above left.

The cruelty and horror of Neda’s death may be a call to action, but her death mask shouldn’t.

The Burkha Rapper: Sophie Ashraf June 24, 2009

Posted by Sobia in : Culture/Society, Music/Radio, Web , comments closed
Sophie Ashraf performing. Image via BlindBoys.

Sophie Ashraf performing. Image via BlindBoys.

Sophie Ashraf, also known as The Burkha Rapper, is an Indian Muslim female rapper for whom Muslim identity seems central to her art. This comes across clearly in her following statement on the Blind Boys website:

Its like when you really like a band, you wear T-shirts of that band, Well we really, really like Islam, so we wear the burkha. I rap because I cant sing. But I love music, so it had to be rap. Soon, the burkha and the rap formed an identity of itself, and people started recognizing me as the burkha rapper. The Justice Rocks Concert was the first platform where I felt the setting and the timing was right to talk about Islam. The Mumbai attack had just happened and everyone was waiting for a proactive Muslim to come out and say what Islam was about. I was just blown away by the response. There are those who are not convinced about the burkha, sure. Now that we wear it, we feel empty without it, naked. There is a line in the quran that says, “To you, your religion, and to me mine”. And so they are letting me express myself the way I want to. People tend to think that someone who tries to be different and someone who breaks the rules are the same. I work within the rules, but I find those little loopholes that allow me to do my thing. There is this cool anime (Japenese animation) called The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya in which the entire world is made just to amuse her, the main character. Sometimes i feel the world is created just to amuse me. Because things, mashaallah always go right.

The story is accompanied by pictures.

Deconstructing Ashraf’s words makes it obvious that the burqa is central to her work and image.

I have to admit though that my first reaction to the pictures was, “That’s not a burqa!” This looks nothing like the burqa I would form out of my mother’s dupattas as a child while playing “grown up.” Nor does it look like the burqa Muslim heroines in Bollywood films would wear. Nor does it look like the net burqa native to the NWFP of Pakistan.  What we see Ashraf wearing in the pictures looks nothing like traditional South Asian burqas do. I suspect one of two possible things happening here.

The first could be an appropriation of the West’s inaccurate and generic notion of the burqa.  It is almost as if, rather than challenge the inaccuracy in views of the burqa, this inaccurate view has been accepted and perpetuated. The second possibility is the further Arabization of South Asian culture. What we actually see Ashraf wearing is the Middle Eastern hijab and abaya, a recent import into South Asia, not something native to the region.  As abaya is a foreign term, and burqa a native one, what seems to have happened is foreign attire has been given a familiar name, thus making it more palatable to locals. Think of that what you will.

However, speculation aside, the purposeful use of this “burqa” is not hidden in Ashraf’s quote.

Well we really, really like Islam, so we wear the burkha.

Here we see Islam being positioned as a superstar of sorts worthy of having worshiping fans. The donning of the “burkha” by Ashraf, and those like her, has been for the purposes to support her religion, to demonstrate an allegiance, admiration, respect, and desire to emulate Islam. The analogy is young and fun and would be one that would easily attract a younger Muslim population.

Image via BlindBoys.

Image via BlindBoys.

…the burkha and the rap formed an identity of itself, and people started recognizing me as the burkha rapper.

Ashraf’s music and words come from her Muslim identity. From this quote, it is clear that for her the “burkha”, which is a symbol in for Islam itself, and her rapping have become one and cannot be separated. Her art is inevitably shaped by her religion and her religion, perhaps, by her art.

The burqa has also become a platform via which Ashraf has had the opportunity to speak about Islam.

The Mumbai attack had just happened and everyone was waiting for a proactive Muslim to come out and say what Islam was about.

Ashraf’s donning of the “burkha” while rapping has brought her religion to the forefront, which consequently has placed her in a position to represent Islam. And this position is considered to be an active one by Ashraf, as demonstrated by her use of the word “proactive.” As Ashraf has made Islam central to her work, her proactivity as a Muslim has been established.

There are those who are not convinced about the burkha, sure. Now that we wear it, we feel empty without it, naked. There is a line in the quran that says, “To you, your religion, and to me mine”. And so they are letting me express myself the way I want to.

Ashraf recognizes an opposition to the “burkha”–however, no force or compulsion is stated, either for or against wearing it. In fact, a level of comfort permeates through this comment – a physical comfort wearing the “burkha” but also an expressive comfort – a comfort Ashraf feels in being able to express her Muslim-ness and an acceptance she experiences from those around her.

Finally, this final comment demonstrates an intelligent and active engagement with Islam.

People tend to think that someone who tries to be different and someone who breaks the rules are the same. I work within the rules, but I find those little loopholes that allow me to do my thing.

Ashraf shows a comfort with Islam and her knowledge of what she does and does not feel she can follow. This comment demonstrates that Ashraf is actively negotiating with Islam, trying to decipher for herself what Islam means to her, all the while keeping Islam as central to her work.

Overall, Ashraf comes across as a confident, self-aware and active Muslim woman, who uses Islam to shape her life and work and places Islam in a central position in her life. Her desire to defend Islam and present it in a  manner true to her beliefs is apparent. It seems she may be a force to reckon with.

A Journalist Remembers Kamala Suraiyya June 23, 2009

Posted by Krista in : Culture/Society , comments closed

I wrote last week about a positive portrayal of a Muslim woman who had recently been voted president of a mosque.  I’m going to stick with the positive stuff for at least another week (although, considering the state of global media portrayals of Muslim women, this probably won’t last too much longer) and talk about a recent Toronto Star article about Kamala Suraiyya, a Muslim poet and writer from southern India, who has recently passed away.

Cleo Paskal, the journalist, who knew Kamala Suraiyya as a family friend, remembers her as

an award-winning writer and poet who was famous for unflinchingly, and controversially, writing about every aspect of being human, including love, sex and religion.

Her honesty, beautifully packaged in elegant turns of phrase, combined with her social activism to make her an icon.

Paskal describes Suraiyya as a popular and gracious figure who was constantly receiving visitors:

They came from all over the world: editors from New York wanting to include her poems in their anthologies, village women wanting to talk about their hardships, TV producers wanting to serialize her short stories, politicians wanting endorsements, believers wanting blessings.

They were all looking for something. And what they found was Kamala. I watched as she gave and gave and gave. Time, bangles, tears, laughter, advice, admonitions, poems. She held court in the grandest tradition, welcoming each and every one with honour and respect.

Kamala Das. Via Jaihoon.com.

Kamala Das. Via Jaihoon.com.

By this point, when I was reading the article, I had assumed that Suraiyya was not Muslim, so I was surprised to get to the part where Paskal mentioned that Suraiyya had in fact become Muslim in 1999, at the age of 65.  I had to ask myself, why had I been so quick to assume that she was non-Muslim, especially because the whole reason that I was reading the article was that my Google News search had indicated that the word “Muslim” appeared in the article?

I think one of the reasons I was surprised is that Muslim women are so often talked about as if the “Muslim” part overtakes all other facets of our identities.  To go more than half an article before specifying that its main subject is Muslim seems pretty unusual.  Granted, the article was written by a friend of Suraiyya’s who knew her before she was Muslim, so it makes sense that the focus was on other things (and that the journalist obviously saw her as more than just “a Muslim woman.”)  However, given how rare it is for “Muslim” to be represented as only one facet of a person’s identity, instead of the overarching label that dominates the portrait, it was good to see this description emphasize the multiple identities that any Muslim woman may happen to have.  Even the fact that she had embraced Islam after coming from a Hindu family isn’t made into a big deal.

Suraiyya passed away on May 31 of this year, and Paskal’s description of the multi-faith memorials for her is especially powerful:

The burial was at Palayam Mosque in the state capital, Thiruvananthapuram. It is one of the most conservative in Kerala and was chosen in part because it shares a wall with a temple, and is close to a church – symbolizing Kamala’s universal importance.

In keeping with the spirit of Kamala, the Islamic community made sure that all were welcome.

I was privileged to be there, and it was remarkable. Women, including non-Muslims, were allowed to participate in preparing the body for burial. Hindu and Christian leaders, and one of the city’s oldest Jewish families attended. It was accepting, emotive and powerful. Like Kamala. Already the unprecedented coming together of so many faiths on the welcoming grounds of the mosque is having a resounding, rebounding, positive effect.

Mosques throughout the world held prayers for Kamala, and prayers were said for her in churches and temples.

This description provides a welcome contrast to images of Islam and Muslims as intolerant of other religions and incapable of existing peacefully with followers of other faiths.  This isn’t even portrayed as something out of the ordinary, but as a normal way that one woman related to the members of her community.

I am not at all familiar with Kamala Suraiyya’s work, so I can’t comment on her as a writer; however, the positive and loving portrayal in this article shows that Muslim women fall into many different categories besides “Muslim” – writers, activists, mentors – and that it is possible for Muslims to exist in close and respectful relationships to people of all different religions.  It is, perhaps, sad that we should have to celebrate this fact (since this image may seem obvious to many of us), but considering all the representations out there of Muslims as inherently violent and intolerant, descriptions such as this one, of alternate possibilities, are always nice to see.

This House Stands Alone on Muslim Women's Marriages June 22, 2009

Posted by Yusra in : Culture/Society, Events , comments closed

The Doha Debates take place in Doha, Qatar, eight times a year. The most recent debate, broadcasted by BBC World News on June 6 and 7, was titled, “This House Believes That Muslim Women Should be Free to Marry Anyone they Choose”.

Based on the title, one gets the immediate impression that Muslim women have absolutely no say in whom they can and cannot marry. Using the words “free” and “Muslim women” in the same sentence about marriage makes it seem like we are all handcuffed and locked away until our prince arrives with the key. Moreover, phrasing the topic so broadly makes any succeeding argument dependent on ambiguous interpretation of its generality, which in my opinion limits the the dialogue. Yassir Qadhi, a debate panelist, describes how challenging it was to form his argument, given his reservations with the way the topic was phrased.

Asra Nomani , Bombay-born American author and journalist, and Dr. Muhammad Habash, a Syrian MP and Muslim cleric, spoke in support of the motion.  Qadhi, a Muslim American cleric, took the opposing stance, along with Dr. Thuraya Al Arrayed, a female Saudi writer, columnist and member of the advisory board of the Arab Thought Foundation. Both panelists argued Islamic Law prohibits Muslim woman from marrying a non-Muslim man.  Qadhi started out string by framing his argument with the notion that one gives up certain freedoms when adhering to religion. Since a “Muslim” submits to the laws of Islam, there is no such thing as absolute freedom.  I agree with him.

There is already a consensus amongst Islamic scholars that makes this debate illegitimate based on the Qur’an and the Sunnah, therefore the debate rather futile unless you can undoubtedly prove that it is not Islamically illegitimate–something neither the proponents or opponents did. It seemed the debaters were more concerned with showing their own opinion, rather than the opinion of Islam. Non-scholarly opinions have no place in a debate with consequences as far-reaching as the identity of future Muslim generations.

This was made particularly obvious on the opposing side, when Al Araayed, (met by serious criticism from the audience) said “women are too immature to know what’s best for them.” Moreover, on the opposing side, Habbash changed his stance on the entire topic, initially saying he believed a Jewish or Christian man must affirm the Prophet Muhammad in order to marry a Muslim women, and then modifying his answer to say the man must only respect the Prophet Muhammad. Holy smokes! A Syrian MP is saying he would indeed allow a Muslim woman to marry a Jewish or Christian man if he respected the Prophet Muhammad! Ha! Political upholstery at its finest: “I’m a religious politician but I can be liberal and change my position when it contradicts with the mainstream point of view.” As Qadhi effectively pointed out, his statement is in effect mute; Jews and Christians do not believe in Muhammad as a prophet, therefore they cannot truly respect him.

To further prove my point that this debate is ineffective, Asra Nomani injected an absolutely secular point of view in an absolutely religious topic, charging anyone who dared prohibit Muslim woman from marrying non-Muslim men as adhering to their personal interpretation of Islam. She also said she believed Muslim women should have the right to marry each other. As I pointed out earlier in support of Qadhi’s stance, you simply can’t argue for absolute freedom in religion. Unfortunately, I cannot take her argument seriously, as she cited no theological evidence in support of it.

Fortunately, I am not alone. In an opinion poll of Arabs across the Middle East, 89 percent of women strongly object to the proposition, citing the Qur’an as their justification.

Non-Muslim feminists take note: Based on this poll, it is clear that Muslim women believe their freedom lies within the teachings of Islam.

MMW Message June 19, 2009

Posted by Fatemeh in : Uncategorized , comments closed

Salam waleykum, readers!

I’ve been so buried under things this week that I haven’t had any time to put together a Friday Links list. But I’ve put up a wonderful post for you about the Iranian election coverage and Iranian women.

Stay tuned! The Friday Links will be back next week.

You Say You Want a Revolution (in a Loose Headscarf) June 19, 2009

Posted by Guest Contributor in : News, Politics , comments closed

This was written by Mimi and originally published at threadbared.

Because this is a fashion plus politics blog, I want to post some very brief thoughts about the protests rocking Iran after what some observers are calling a fraudulent election, reinstalling President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad against his main opposition, moderate reformer Mir Hossein Mousavi. (For news about the election and protests, The New York Times’ The Lede News Blog is frequently updated. For more analysis, check out Juan Cole.)

A glance at the Western media coverage from before and after the election reveals an overwhelming visual trope — the color photograph of a young and often beautiful Iranian woman wearing a loose, colorful headscarf, usually pinned far back from her forehead to frame a sweep of dark hair. Such an arresting image condenses a wealth of historical references, political struggles, and aesthetic judgments, because the hijab does. As Minoo Moallem argues in her book Between Warrior Brother and Veiled Sister: Islamic Fundamentalism and the Politics of Patriarchy in Iran, both pre- and postrevolutionary discourses commemorate specific bodies –whose clothing practices play a large part— to create forms and norms of gendered citizenship, both national and transnational. What Moallem calls the civic body becomes the site of political performances in the particular contexts of modern nationalist and fundamentalist movements.


Source: Huffington Post

This particular image being disseminated throughout the Western press right now is no exception — we are meant to understand the looseness of the scarf, the amount of hair she shows, as political acts, manifesting a desire for Western-style democracy. But this shorthand is too simplistic, too easy. As Moallem argues, Islamic nationalism and fundamentalism are not premodern remnants but themselves “by-products of modernity.” As such, the image of the Iranian woman in her loose headscarf is not a straightforward arrow from Islamic backwardness to liberal progress, but a nuanced and multi-dimensional map of political discourse and struggle.

In her book, Moallem writes, “while I am interested in the production of the civic body, I want to show its instability over time in Iran.” We can see this instability in the histories of forced unveiling and forced veiling that mark particular historical and political moments in Iran. Very briefly, and no doubt simplistically, the pro-Western Reza Shah banned the veil in 1936 in a broad modernization effort, authorizing police to forcibly unveil women in the street. Women donned the veil during the lead-up to the revolution as a visible act of defiance against the Shah’s corrupt and brutal rule. After 1979, the broad coalition that had briefly united against the Shah was destroyed by the conservative Shia cleric Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, resulting in a fundamentalist regime that, among other things, enforced veiling for women. As such, Moallem argues, forced unveiling and forced veiling are not dissimilar disciplinary practices that regulate the feminine body as a civic body subjected to the order of the visible. Moallem observes, “My grandmother’s body –like my own later– was marked by corporeal inscriptions of citizenship. Both of us shared an incorporated traumatic memory of citizenship in the modern nation-state. She was forced to unveil; I was forced to veil. Living in different times, we were obliged by our fellow countrymen respectively to reject and adopt veiling. Our bodies were othered by civic necessity.” (Between Warrior Brother and Veiled Sister, 69)

This is the barest intimation of the complicated history of the civic body we are seeing in photographs from Tehran now — in which the young woman with the scarf tied loosely, the lock of hair curling against her cheek or forehead, is made to stand for both this history and also for so much more. What is often lost in translation here is that unveiling does not always signal freedom, democracy, modernity, women’s rights, whatever — even if it might gesture toward these things in this particular moment. And it’s important to situate this moment, in which we must recognize how both forced veiling and forced unveiling operated as disciplinary state edicts –often enacted violently on female bodies by male soldiers or police– at discrete political times. As such I would issue two cautions. The first, we cannot necessarily know from how a woman ties her headscarf what the shape of her politics might be, even though clothing clearly does matter politically. And second, we might commit further violence (refusing her complex personhood, for instance) in assuming that we can.

Because the hijab is so often made to stand as a visual shorthand for Islamic oppression in the West, I wanted to reference its specificity as a political performance of a particular feminine civic body in Iran (which would be different than its history in, say, Turkey, where some female Muslim university students are demanding their rights to education against the state ban on headscarves in public schools and government buildings) in order to render these photographs that much more complex, and the emerging political situation that much more nuanced, in this moment.

An Iranian woman shows the ink on her finger after voting at a polling station in Tehran on June 12, 2009. Hundreds of voters were standing outside one of the biggest polling stations in uptown Tehran, an indication of a high voter turnout in the early hours of the presidential election in Iran. AFP PHOTO/ATTA KENARE (Photo credit should read ATTA KENARE/AFP/Getty Images)

Authority, the Media, and Muslim Women June 18, 2009

Posted by Faith in : Books/Magazines, Television, Web , comments closed

I have begun to read Khaled Abou El-Fadl’s Speaking in God’s Name: Islamic Law, Authority and Women again. My first attempt was about two years ago while I was still finishing my Bachelor’s. The book is not easy to get through and the first time out proved to be a massive failure. This time is proving to be better, since I have more time to read it (although it is still proving to be difficult yet enjoyable to read). As we can tell from the title, a huge part of the book is dedicated to authority, as in who has authority to speak for what Islamic law says about a variety of issues, women included. A good portion of the book also deals with sources of authority and the types of authority that exist when it comes to Islamic law.

Reading Fatemeh’s post on Asra Nomani’s documentary that aired on PBS Monday evening as well Alicia’s post on the Sisters in Islam opposition and the struggles of Islamic feminists in Malaysia made me think once more authority in Islam. I believe that rethinking and challenging authority is at the heart of the recent wave of Islamic feminism that we have seen around the world. Muslim women the world over are challenging forms of authority that have often had a male face and used a patriarchal reading of Islamic texts (Qur’an and hadith literature) to justify gender oppression.  They also using traditional forms of authority, such as Islamic texts, to overcome gender oppression, bring about gender equality and create a feminism that has Islam as its heartbeat.

One of the most important tools in discussing, rethinking and challenging authority as it relates to Muslim women is the media (in this post, media will refer to the mainstream media as well as various forms of non-traditional media). As much as I have been critical of the mainstream media’s coverage of Muslim women in general, I cannot deny that it has allowed traditional authorities in the Muslim community (‘ulamah, imams, mosque boards composed mostly or entirely by men, etc.) to be challenged on their interpretation of women’s rights. The ummah has been forced to grapple with issues ranging from masjid accommodations for women and mixed gender salat to domestic violence and the texts traditionally used to justify it because the mainstream media has covered these issues.

When the media covers an event like Amina Wadud leading a mixed gender prayer, it does have the effect of making Muslims discuss women’s place in mosques. I remember when that event occurred and hearing so many Muslims say things like “Even if I don’t think women should lead salat, I wonder what the conditions are in masjids that would make her do that?” or “I don’t think women should lead salat but the accommodations for women in masajid leave a lot to be desired.”

Additionally, it did make a lot of scholars look at the place of women in masjids. While most may not have taken the position that women can lead the prayer, it did make a lot of them reaffirm women’s right to even be in a masjid and women’s to have equal access to masjids, something that was and still is sorely lacking in masjids around the world, the U.S. included. Watching Asra Nomani’s documentary on Monday evening, I admit that I was thoroughly disgusted with her tactics and confrontational style, but I also had to admit that in some way, her constant use of the media for her cause (which was vague, I admit) did make Muslims in her community think about their leadership and the role of women in the masjid in Morgantown.

This is just one example of the use of the mainstream media in challenging and reshaping authority. Non-traditional media has allowed Muslims to challenge authoritative views of women in Islam. From websites dedicated to moderate and progressive views to blogs like MMW, non-traditional media has provided a platform for Muslims to discuss traditionally authoritative views about Muslim women and to challenge them. Non-traditional media has made it easier for Muslims to discuss what Islamic texts say about women, whether we even want to accept certain texts that have traditionally been held as authoritative and more importantly, who has the authority to interpret those texts and who should have the authority to interpret those texts. We can now discuss issues like hadith literature typically used to oppress women, question them and even reject them on a much more massive scale. Non-traditional media has, for better or for worse, made it much easier for lay Muslim to challenge and even reject authority

The media will continue to play a vital role in the fight for Muslim women’s rights. One of the most important ways the media will achieve this is by encouraging Muslims to look at Islamic texts as well as those who interpret them. It will make those who interpret the texts and who do hold authority more beholden to lay Muslims; that is a good thing.