An Infidel Thanksgiving

For Thanksgiving this year, my entire maternal family in the US came over to my house. Despite our history of bickering, there was pretty much zero drama. My mother had recently returned from Bangladesh, fulfilling the sense of duty among the America-dwelling siblings to look after their parents. This duty, often a challenge because my grandparents generally reside on the other side of the world and when they visit, everyone has to share the responsibility of hosting them, is often the polarizing factor among my aunts and uncles.

At the beginning of break, before seeing most of my family, I'd seen the movie Infidel. In the movie, a pretty typical second generation Muslim man, Solly, finds out he is anything but and was only adopted by Muslim parents, though born to Jewish ones. Solly becomes obsessed with meeting his birth father, who is dying in a Jewish rest home, guarded by an Orthodox Rabbi who believes seeing his Muslim son will be too taxing on the father. The movie mainly deals with the casual anti-Semitic attitude of a lot of immigrant Muslims who did not grow up in environments conducive to learning how to be tolerant of people of vastly different backgrounds, never mind live harmoniously with them. By the way, this movie is a comedy and I highly recommend it.

The various nuclear families in my extended family and even the individuals within them vary in terms of religious observance. I was happy to see this aspect of Muslim life portrayed in Infidel, too. The imam in the movie is even portrayed as supportive of LGBTQ Muslims. Yet, the main character has very stereotypical views towards Jews.

The attitude of many Muslims towards Jews comes from narrow-minded or overly simplistic interpretations of the Quran, which mentions Jews both in the context of the history of Abrahamic faiths and in the context of the Prophet's interaction with them. Perhaps because they are foreign, though they play neutral, benevolent, and malicious roles in the Quran, the worst roles and actions are ususlly the ones that become most popular in retellings.

On Thanksgiving, among my cousins, we try to uphold the tradition of naming what we are most thankful for before eating. The first person to go was my 9 year old cousin. He said, "I am thankful that I'm a Muslim." Normally, we would have been happy to hear that, even though some of us are a little estranged from Islam and the feeling of thankfulness toward the faith that is an essential aspect of it. However, we had earlier heard of the younger kids say something along the lines of Muslims being better than all other people. Though we had not reprimanded whoever said it at the time, we, perhaps partly in our guilt of our own lack of thankfulness but mostly due to our anxiety about growing up Muslim in America with immigrant parents, brought it up now and failed to be supportive of our little cousin.


When you are not confident of your personal grasp of something, it is difficult to be supportive of someone to the extent that you can constructively disagree about that thing. The same goes for interfaith relations. However, within groups, there exists differences, creating instability in its group identity. In majority groups, this is usually not a point of insecurity and may not translate to normative measures.

However, in minority groups, who are often pushed to present a monolithic image of themselves to outsiders, this instability can either cause conflict within the group or cause conflict with another group as a way of identifying the group through the negation of the other. The latter is portrayed, I believe, in Infidel and is prevalent in my little cousin's experience with parents and Sunday school teachers who are immigrants with limited understanding or investment in American society, without which, there is very little imperative to understand and appreciate the common threads between many religions and people from many walks of life. The movie suggests that such a mentality can persist if people do not learn tolerance. The former-- the effect of tolerance of outside groups among the members of a minority group that is internally diverse, was probably the source of our failure to be supportive older cousins.

Still, we shouldn't let this stuff get to us. The base assumption of either option is that we have to present a monolithic image of our group. The assumption is that people would t understand and would believe us all to be radicals if our cousin were to express his beliefs around non-Muslims or non-immigrant Muslims. They might. But we also assume non-Muslims and people who are different from our family as our default audience in the performance of out identities, even within the safety of our home. Sure, the environment of post-9/11 America, particularly the existence of policies such as The Patriot Act, have set us up to perform this way. And sure, our lives might be easier in some aspects if we perform for those in power. But repeated and perpetual performance, like the Muslim prayer performed 5 times daily or the Sufi performance of dhikr, transforms the performer into a servant. If we practiced the perspective of our faith more often, we would be assured there is always a higher power and that we need not bow to or feel threstened by anyone lesser than God.

Apologetics in Religious Dialogue and Development

This post is a follow-up to my previous post, Dreaming of Potato Chips During Ramadan. A reader pointed out that my explanation of what Ramadan means to me was somewhat of an exercise in apologetics.  First of all, I am thankful to have this pointed out because I have never examined or really acknowledged that it's something I do. Next, we were agreed on our primary motivations behind religious action, that being "the admission that you do it primarily because you were required to, and you submit to that requirement." However, I do think there is a place for apologetics in religious dialogue.

Looking back, I grew up in a culture of Islamic apologetics. I was okay with that when I was a teenager. Back then, I did need to rationalize/defend my religion. This was for two reasons, both of which go back to my immigrant experience. First, I was constantly surrounded by people who thought I was a complete weirdo with my brown skin and head scarf and the second is, because people thought my way of life was weird, I was all too aware that mine was not the only way of life and that the religion I practiced was not something I had chosen but, like my skin color, something I had inherited. I was taught, via the American dream, that being American means you are not tied to the inheritance you receive from you parents. In fact, even if that inheritance is great, you are expected to make your own name. So, to convince the people around me (and myself, because it's hard to live in America and never find yourself believing in the American dream) that I hadn't just inherited my religion, I took up an apologetic stance .

I admire my reader's irritation with having to defend a religious choice. However, I am still defensive. Yes, 9/11 and the Arab Spring have happened but the vast majority of people I interact with on a daily basis know very little about being a Muslim and/or a minority. In my post, I acknowledge that I am trying to address both Muslims and non-Muslims and I think the second group still brings out my self-justification. I am also trying to address Muslims who are, like me, defensive. I think that religious rationalization has a place in society and in the religious development of a person. After all, in the Quran God provides rationale, too, and also urges people to seek knowledge. Not everyone can easily concede to doing something simply because they are told to, perhaps especially not anyone raised in America on a steady diet of questioning authority. For many people, rationalization serves the purpose of relating the lives they live with the abstract idea of God and pulls them toward faith.

For the record, I got sick of apologetics pretty early on in college. A lot of the time, an argument is only as good as its argumentation. Anyway, I have always been Muslim by default, which I tried not to take for granted, but I needed to experience unconditional love before feeling like I chose Islam. Having experienced it, I bear witness that it's not easy to find. Other people probably have other things that pull them toward God and/or religion. I don't think that's wrong. I think there is also a guiding sense besides whatever brings you to religion. Those times when you just know something is the good thing to do in a situation and submit to it without thought or hesitation. Just like there's nothing wrong with starting with a rational, social, political, etc reason to act on a religious command and working your way up to this guiding sense with practice, there's nothing wrong having this guiding sense already and then gaining knowledge about how/why God's creation works the way it does.

Harem Pants: Yes or No?

I am conflicted about harem pants.

On one hand, I've owned "harem pants" for as long as I've lived. Only, I call them salwars and always wear them with a long tunic called a kameez in a traditional South Asian outfit. As modestly flattering and comfortable as I think they are, I only ever wore them that way as pajamas and thought of bedtime as Hammertime. According to Wikipedia, even Hammer pants take inspiration from "harem pants." Had it been socially acceptable for me to wear salwars without invoking images of genies, belly dancers, and MC Hammer (we'll talk some other time about why Hammer was rocking them) to white people and looking like I was fresh off the boat to brown people (dude, what's wrong with being new here?), I would have totally rocked them. Now that harem pants are trendy, I can do that without worry, right?

Wrong. The thing is, it's socially acceptable for fashionistas and hipsters so everywhere outside of a big city, I will still invoke those same images, especially since I don't want to come off as either a fashionista or a hipster. I regret not wearing salwars in high school, where I knew practically everyone. I don't think it would've come off as a failure to assimilate, as I was afraid it would, but, given my honors class taking bookworm reputation, as an experiment of a quirky, budding intellectual (I flatter myself). These days, people will initially perceive a fashion zombie tendency and/or a failure to assimilate, giving them options to choose from for steering clear of me. Eventually, if they still decide to give me a chance, the quirky (still budding) intellectual will shine through.

But then there's the fact that I think the social acceptability of harem pants is a racist turn of culture, which is sadly often the case when it comes to the appropriation of subaltern peoples' culture. The term invokes a cultural monolith, spanning from the Middle East out to South Asia. The harem, a Turkish social construction, did not exist in India, where the style originates. Therefore, the term implies that the entire region that was once the Islamic empire had a homogenous culture, which was untrue then and remains as greatly untrue today. Even sadder still, people consume racist culture without even realizing it's racist.

By the way, America, please don't wear harem pants if you protest against the lack of women's rights in the Middle East. I know you just want to look worldly and exotic despite your overwhelming whiteness, which means you already look ignorant, but it also looks like you're rubbing your supposed freedom from the harem in the faces of people you fancy being stuck in them.


So, if I, a brown girl who is often a hijabi these days, wears "harem pants," will it challenge or confirm the rampant stereotypes? First of all, I would call them salwars and correct anyone who referred to them otherwise. Maybe I just need a pair with "SALWAR" stamped on the ass. Yes.

Information Marxism

One of my interests is branding. Products are often sold with fine print that threatens to contractually bind us into expressing certain personalities, attitudes, or traits. This is why you can answer the question: what's the difference between someone who owns a Mac and someone who owns a PC?

The truth is, there doesn't have to be any difference. It's like asking what the difference is between someone who owns cows and someone who owns goats. Maybe somewhere there's stereotype, but it hasn't been used to sell anything, at least not successfully, so most of us can't answer this question. But the real answer is the same: there doesn't necessarily have to be a difference.

When materialism was synonymous with shopohilism, caring about brands made you a shallow person. These days, if you don't care about brands, you aren't socially conscious. However, caring is no longer superficial but requires a lot of research. In the information age, a lack of social consciousness makes you information impoverished, lazy, inept, inconsiderate, and/or awkward. Still, honestly, social consciousness is a "brand" itself, and I have mixed feelings about branding.

First, how much of our identity is created through what we purchase? Everything you buy says something about you because everything you buy is a vote and an investment in the retailer, company, and product and how you vote and invest reflects upon you. Beyond bare necessities, your choices reflect your values or the values a brand convinces you you should have. That last part is pivotal. Do your choices reflect your values or the values advertising convinces you to have?

This came into perspective for me as a minority. The values my parents have are not the same as those held by the larger society I live in. Furthermore, my parents are rather religious and have only become more so over the course of my life. Though their cultural values are still pretty deeply held, religion gives them a more canonized and therefore more accessible way to examine their values against a standard they trust. Their cultural values tend to be more arbitrary but because religion plays such a large cultural role in my family, I have overall adapted a stance of re-examination of values.

It's not just the private sector that perpetuates branding. Schools, which are government regulated, perpetuate the American brand. Or what officials have decided is the American brand. It could be said that's politics in general.

When I was writing graduate school applications, one of the best questions I came across about information access is Randy Stoecker's concern over whether internet access gives underprivileged, dispossessed people a superficial or false sense of belonging to larger culture. Implied in this criticism is a distrust for larger culture, which is created through assertive branding and seeks to profit only the business owners.

The best answer to this question, I believe, comes from Hans Enzensberger, on whom I haven't done enough research but first encountered here. I have been interested in "new media" since I encountered Amir Ahmad's Islam in the Age of New Media project. Basically, the idea is the mass, radical manipulation of media. Branding is created through media but everyone has access to the creation of media, it gives everyone access, if they wish, to branding as well. Rather than only consuming pre-packaged brand values, people are given the chance to package and perpetuate the values they choose. This is also, in my opinion, one of the best uses of the internet. Already, the internet is being limited by big brands. That can't be allowed to happen. Branding, especially in the realm of the internet, needs to be put into the hands of socially conscious community leaders. Maybe that sounds like tribalism but if we are to be united, it has to be on fair terms.

Meditation on Sharhnush Parsipur's Touba

Today, I have been mentally disconnected from the world around me, wandering in the book, Touba and the Meaning of Night. I finished it last night and I need to move on because I have plenty of reading I plan on getting done in the next few weeks. But in my usual approach to finishing a really good book, I want to dwell on it. I can't read anything else while I'm at work so here I am. To do this constructively, and because the themes of this book a very relevant to this blog, here's a quick analysis.
The book is pretty out there. Employing what critics are calling magical realism,which I love, the book is a blend Islamic mysticism and a critique of history and gender politics. At times I felt that the author was heavy handed by offering definitions yet her definitions were so good, I can't say I minded. I felt like I was being told a story by an elder, wisdom emanating from the actions of every character.

Alert: spoilers ahead. If you dare, keep reading.

Let's start with the Islamic mysticism. The main first ambition expressed by Touba, the main character, is her desire to find god and bear a messiah. She is inspired after her father teaches her the Quran, who is inspired to do so when the thought that the earth is round makes him realize that women are capable of thinking. Throughout the novel, when there is a change in the path of Touba's life, she recalls this ambition and wonders how her marriages, her children, her society, her property prevent her from following it. In the end, however, it is Layla, the embodiment of femininity, who enlightens Touba and unites her with the Touba Tree, the Sufi symbol for spiritual perfection, unity with God, and death.

The society that had successfully prevented her was itself in political and cultural upheaval. The political upheaval, despite Touba's marriage into the Qajar dynasty, always seemed distant in the book. The absence of politically people involved are not felt except in the case of Mr. Khiabani and Ismael, Touba's and her daughter Moone's prime male interests. These interests, through no fault of their own, turn Touba and her daughter towards mysticism. Nonetheless, the book begins with a story of a European man whipping Touba's father in the face for wandering, deep in mystic thought, into the path of his horse. The idea of historical progress, which is implemented by those in power, at first embarrass Touba, but in due course become irrelevant after she also questions, admires, and rejects them on the basis of disconnected principles. Touba's greatest difficulty is in dealing with modernization and, for which she consults her spiritual leader, fluctuating social norms.

On Touba's first visit to her spiritual leader, he sends her home because her mind is preoccupied with those she must care for: her family, including four young children and a mentally disturbed aunt. Her family soon doubles after they get home and Touba is asked to take in refugees from Azerbaijan and only to be broken when her husband takes a second wife. Two false images of gender equality are presented: the sexual agency of the court women, allowed them due to wealth and power, and the financial agency of Touba's daughter, afforded her through modernization. Both are false in giving neither woman what she wants, though the second, unlike the first, is less harmful in its falsehood. But what Touba wants most is to be united with God and each duty in her life seems to be an obstacle. After yet another generation of adopted family finally finds their own direction in life, Touba finals turns within herself and asks herself why she has never achieved her only goal.

That's as far as I can spoil it for you. Now I'll give you my conclusion: This is a work of dharmic feminism, a journey in search of the divine feminine. I don't know Farsi, but in Bengali, the word for religion doesn't translate to "faith." This is something I first glimpsed in a lecture by Ingrid Matteson, a professor on the Spirituality of Muslim Women at Hartford Seminary. I just put two and two together. The word for religion, dharmo, is very close the Hindu concept of "duty." Sufism is, in fact, highly influenced by the dharmic religions. Because Touba's end goal is to raise herself to union with God, and because her duties include contending with the social and political forces around her, she expresses embedded feminism.

I heavily related to this book because, even in different social and political environments, this is the Islam I grew up with. Persian culture is appreciated by many Bengalis, as is Buddhist and Hindu culture.. Though my family is Sunni and Iran is largely Shi'a, there are also members of my family who are Sufis, like Touba. My maternal grandfather, despite his Arabian influenced Islam, read palms, which I can't see jibing with Wahabism. My parents, in deference to my grandfather's dated reference, seek Arabian influence and these days that results in pretty straight-laced views. How has Wahabism developed over the span of my grandfathers' lives, my mother's life, my life? Could it have been less influential when my grandfather developed his religious views?  These are relevant questions I wouldn't have thought to ask without having read this book.**

Of course, in America, Islam is something still different. Sufism is/should be different. I am an immigrant but I doubt I will instill in my children half the dharmic values I have and I don't have that many compared to my parents (though there are some I want to cultivate). At times, in America, you need something else. Are there Puritan, Protestant, Catholic, Jewish values that can be expressed in Islam? Considering the common root of the religions, that answer should be easy! But has it emerged? Eboo Patel says there is a cornerstone in the value of service and I agree. Mohja Kahf points out American Islam's roots in slavery and the Civil Rights movement and the American value of egalitarian love and that has to be a part of it, too. Also, it has to seriously engage in feminism. What else? I think there's more. I believe this is my generation's duty.

Now, time to get my laundry and clean my room.



**I have vague answers because I know a rough religio-political history of Islam,  via Reza Aslan's No God But God and G. Willow Wilson's Butterfly Mosque.

Against Eltahawy's Criticism of Religious Sublimation

This video can use some more circulation in the Muslim feminist blogosphere.

My favorite part of this video is towards the end, when Leila Ahmed criticizes Mona Eltahawy's interpretation of Alifa Rifaat's story, "Distant View of a Minaret." There are several reasons its my favorite part. First, it got me to read the story for myself, which wasn't hard because it is also linked in the Foreign Policy article, for myself. Second, in my first post about this article, my strongest criticism of it was Eltahawy's criticism of religious sublimation, which is what is happening in her reading of the story, by "claiming to have God firmly on their side."

Before I tell you my final reason for liking Ahmed's criticism, I have to tell you me second favorite part of this video. My second part of this video is how much respect these two women have for each other and that the Melissa Harris-Perry show did nothing to play that down. This makes me feel like I don't have to worry about Eltahawy burning bridges for those who want to follow in her footsteps. I loved that both she and Ahmed met and talked to Alifa Rifaat. I love this network of Muslim feminist thinkers and the exchange of feminist thought. Beautifully done. And I love that Mona made a splash and brought these pieces together for anyone who is willing to see beyond the Islamophobic and anti-Islamophobia static.

Now, my final reason for liking Ahmed's criticism, brought on by Eltahawy's bringing this issue to the forefront, is that this is the part of the discussion I want to take part in.

Reminiscent of Marxist, "opium of the masses" idea, that religion allows us an escapist option in the face of oppression or that it can be turned to instead of reform is a common criticism of religion itself, not society, which the umbrella under which gender criticism usually falls. I don't like Eltahawy's blurring of the line between religion and society but the truth is, Islam has been used to justify and normalize misogyny. Yet, for the women who marry the men under oppressive regimes and are, in turn, oppressed themselves, is religious sublimation so bad? It saves a woman from a life of finding meaning only through her duty to her uncaring husband. Isn't that feminism? Alternatives, which should be available, include divorce, marrying out of the culture or not marrying, all of which value the self over the society and can both free a woman of the pitfalls of misogyny and introduce a whole set of new problems (that will likely include a foreign version of misogyny) or not marrying men

And then there's the idea that God is a patriarchal man. I don't believe that to be true. But there are probably many religious women that do believe that and by believing that there's a good model for a patriarchal man, continue to believe in patriarchy. While feminists tear down patriarchy for its flaw, these women seem to believe in a higher standard for it. What's wrong with that? Where that higher standard (which should be considered a moderate from of feminism) is left unexpressed is where my only criticism of what Eltahawy blankets over can be found. If that seems un-feminist of me, I think you need to expand your definition of the term.

Iconoclasm vs. A Muslim American Brand

Earlier today, while leafing through a fashion magazine at work, I entertained a complex fantasy involving Jay Z and Beyonce endorsing public libraries and whether or not I would wear a hijab to the ceremony/celebrations (to which I would obviously be invited) they would have in honor of their endorsement. Thursdays are slow days.

Reflected in that fantasy are 3 things I've been thinking about recently:

1. Icons. Pop icons, public figures, product campaigns/packaging, idols, art.

2. Family/community vs. individualism.

3. The meaning of hijab and the circumstances, yes circumstances, under which it's better to wear one than not wear one. 

The first is because, in The Butterfly Mosque G. Willow Wilson mentions the Islamic recommendation against and in some cases even prohibition of icons. This comes from a long history of refusing to worship idols, through which the worshiper may associate partners with god or earthly manifestations of god and divide god's oneness. Wilson, though, is a graphic novelist whose work depicts human and animal figures which, though not forbidden to Muslims as is the depiction of the Prophet, is certainly not recommended. Islamic art, rather than being iconic, is meant to be decorative and using a graphic novel as decoration is tantamount to using any other book as such. Wilson goes on to say that American culture, by contrast, is icon centric.

Wilson also mentions the Egyptian distaste for living alone in the ground of it being waste of resources. Economies of scale aside, the Times article, "The Freedom and Perils of Living Alone," , implies living alone diminishes the ability to anticipate the needs of others, working in direct contrast with the values of collective society (and, I would argue, representative democracy) such as the society heavily family centric, borderline tribal society of Egypt.

Hijab is another post...kind of.

Anyway, I am going into library science because I'm interested in community building and, as I've witnessed by working the circulation desk at the busiest public library in RCLS (a library partnership/conglomeration covering Orange, Rockland, Ulster, and Sullivan counties), public libraries have a lot of potential as a major community hubs. I am going into it with the awareness that the computer/internet access provided by most libraries has been criticized for merely providing the underprivileged communities with the feeling of belonging in larger society without providing them the skills necessary to contribute to and create that society.

I believe that no one should be preyed upon as consumers under the guise of inclusion. They should also be able to create and contribute to the creation of their own/chosen brands, like what Jay Z is to black culture.They should be able to make and choose their own icons, aesthetics, etc and feel their participation in the brand benefits someone they trust.

While a brand may anticipate the needs of it's consumers, it also sells what is ultimately its own conception of society's needs to society and makes a profit that society does not necessarily benefit from. Jay Z says, "I'm not a businessman, I'm a business, man." As a public figure, he sells himself as a brand. In consumer culture, if hip-hop is the religion, Jay Z is god. If not forever, at least until the next god. Jay Z doesn't define himself by participating in consumer culture like normal people do. He defines himself as culture to be consumed. Anything he does becomes a part of his brand. However, creating a brand that saves your people the degradation of investing in brand values that may directly contradict their own (ie: Tommy Hilfiger's racism) is definitely community empowerment.



So, as a 21st century Muslim, I have to ask: can Muslims have a public figure like Jay Z? Is it Islamic to create a Muslim brand that neither exoticizes, stereotypes, nor exploits Islam or Muslims (or anyone or anything else) while uplifting Muslims Americans? Since brands, rather than tribal communities (more easily maintained in more homogeneous societies), are the American vehicles of unification and identity, not to mention that of globalization, can they take the place of the family/community as something that empowers Muslims? Is the identifier "muslim american" one that truly brings people together as both Muslims and Americans without a brand? Or are culture generating brands too akin to idol worship? Would it be okay if the brand didn't center around a celebrity?

The easy answer is that Islam IS a brand, so to speak, and under all circumstances should be the main principle of unification and identity for all Muslims. The easy answer is not necessarily a wrong answer.

But what I'm more concerned with and what we lose by going with the easy answer are the cultural aspects-- things found in magazines, things like recipes, family traditions, the finer aspects of grooming, beauty standards, relationship advice, interior design, etc.  I would like to see something providing Muslim Americans (many of whom are immigrants) a connection/consciousness with the tribulations of their parents while simultaneously imagining their future as Americans (like hip-hop that samples jazz and blues). While we're at it, immigrant Muslims also sorely need to connect with black Muslims and converts need to understand the difference between cultural and religious practice. 

I believe that the admonition concerning icons exist to make brand awareness necessary rather than to prohibit the making of icons altogether. I know there are magazines out there for Muslim Americans and there are Muslim American brands but I want to see more that are self aware yet vigorous enough to gain recognition from mainstream America, especially in the wake of the flop that was TLC's reality TV show or the impending, Colbert "threat down" bearing "The Shahs of Sunset" disaster.

Yale's "Call the NYPD" Protest and the role of the MSA in the American University

I haven't posted in a very long time! I've been pretty busy corralling application forms and figuring out the next step for myself. Which is close to being figured out, by the way. I'll explain some more in my next post because, in the interest of aforementioned corralling and figuring, this post will have to be a short one.

Side note: That title sounds like a paper title. Maybe I do miss being in school.

So, getting to the meat of today's topic. Recently, my sister's college MSO hosted a lecture by Ingrid Mattson, former president of ICNA. After a girl, claiming she was a photography student, asked to take a picture of my father, my sister brought up the recently publicized NYPD investigation of Muslim college student organization that, shockingly, pervaded the east coast much further than NYPD jurisdiction does.

While I am disappointed, and slightly confused since Bloomburg openly supported the Park51 Mosque, I would prefer to call attention to Yale's response because the way we respond to what gets thrown at us is what defines us and the way Yale students have responded is highly respectable.

To protest racial profiling, Yale students are posting pictures captions "Call the NYPD" of people on campus holding signs declaring "I'm a Muslim," "I'm a feminist," "I'm just trying to help," "We used to be Muslim," or simply, "I'm against racial profiling." The wide range of photos posted and wildly varying signs proclaiming personal identity effectively condones racial profiling.

Further, I believe that this act reflects the desire in the American Muslim community to be addressed as an individual. Though Muslim culture is generally collective, American Muslims have a tendency to either flout or walk the line between individualism and collectivism. I first noticed this after reading a ton of Sherman Alexie last summer, particularly his novel Reservation Blues, because I believe it's an experience shared by most minorities strongly associated with enduring stereotypes.

I was never an MSA member myself, though my school's chapter was the largest organization on campus. Most members were fairly conservative Muslims. There weren't any non-Muslims as far as I remember and being a female, semi-practicing Muslim who was grew up pretty American, I didn't feel like I fit in. I don't think the MSA was intentionally exclusive but I think the Yale protest certainly hints at a need for more diverse involvement within similar organizations across America.

Afterall, the MSA is not the campus mosque/masjid. Though it can certainly function as that as well, in the end, it is a campus organization and has to address the needs of the campus as well the Muslim community at the school. It has the opportunity to serve as a platform of discussion between Muslims and non-Muslims an intermediary is sorely needed there. Though mosques can do this as well, as a campus organization rather than a house of worship, this is a responsibility of the campus MSA.

Finally, I don't think the response from the Yale community at large can be dissociated from the character of the Yale MSA. The Yale MSA has a reputation for what some would call "liberalism." But this is a place where Americans Muslims walk a similar line as that between individualism and collectivism and should not be mistaken, though it often is, as counter to good religious practice. Islam, like other religions, historically adopted the culture of the land and mixed religious expression with cultural expression. I don't think that men and women praying side by side on a college campus, though it contradicts Islamic orthodoxy, can so easily be condemned as the religiously conservative are wont to do.

All in all, in my book: Yale 1, NYPD 0.

My New Year's Resolutions

I don't normally make New Year's Resolutions because they are such flimsy creatures. However, this is a pivotal stage of my life and I don't see how using the turning of the calender as another excuse to think through my decisions could hurt. I know you're thinking I've already wasted a whole day of this year or that I'm lazy, and though  you'd be right on both accounts, you should also know I'm leaning on some old revisionist tendencies of mine today so bear with me.

To improve the custom of New Year's resolution making, I propose that after the first day of the New Year has passed and you've had time to rethink your resolutions, there should be a tradition to be honest with yourself about your ambitions. Why are you trying to lose ten pounds? Do you really need to reconnect with you flaky friends? Why should stop cracking your knuckles? If you don't have a good answer today, that resolution isn't gonna stick.

I work with wonderful people at the library. I like almost all of my co-workers who I've gotten to know, which is generally how it goes with me and people. However, I have a lot of trouble conveying that I like them solely due to the fact that I am a pretty awkward conversationalist these days. I'm okay with small talk but after the acceptable number of exchanges, people tend to think you're talking to them about the weather because you're just making conversation to be polite and don't really like them all that much or even find their existence interesting. But I love talking about the weather! What other people say about the weather tells me a million things about them! And I love learning things about people!**

Naturally, I would like to resolve to become witty and eloquent. I've been so before. But I think I have now achieved the social awkwardness I worked tirelessly to avoid since like, second grade. It takes a lot of effort to be socially competent and I am really lazy and have found better things to invest my energy in.

Ah, but there's another twist! One of the things, if not The Thing that I've chosen to invest my energy in is the building of good communities. Co-workers, ideally, form a community around their shared workplace and common work experiences. When they don't, they create an uncomfortable environment for everyone involved. This is the reason that there are so many pop-management books.

So, how do you create community even though you are socially awkward because when you said you didn't have cable, your co-worker thought TV was against your religion and not because you don't have that kinda cash? Well, for now I figure if I stick around long enough, they'll eventually get it. Keep your enemies close and you'll probably stop calling them enemies. Except, of course, in jest.

So, my revised resolution is to refuse to allow my awkwardness to dissuade me from communicating with my co-workers. Or people in general. Because sometimes the awkwardness is their fault and there's no reason I should have to do the work of smoothing things over. I don't have to make them feel okay about their preconceived notions of Muslim Americans or Muslim American women. But it wouldn't be fair of me to not provide them with opportunities to learn/do better. And to be fair, I also resolve to be more sensitive to realizing when the awkwardness is actually my fault and then, and ONLY then, breaking out some wit and/or eloquence.



**Disclaimer: I really don't like gossip, though. I don't stop people from telling me gossip but I will try my best not to repeat it and usually resent the gossiper for now creating the possibility of the awkward situation in which I have to make my knowledge of their gossip known. I should try to use gossip I hear for good from now on. Is that another resolution? Let's save that one for another time.

The Pecular Case of The Western Muslimah

In light of the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to three Yemeni ladies, a feat that has been heralded as one which defies "assumptions on both sides of the East-West divide by defying the Eastern stereotype that women are weak and unsuitable for leadership and the Western belief that Muslim women are oppressed by Islam, I'd like to look at what effect this might have on women who live where the East and West overlap. 

The idea that Muslim women are oppressed by Islam puts Muslims living in western countries in a difficult position. If the Muslim woman is part of a family/culture in which men believe they are Islamically endowed power over women because women are somehow inferior, or worse, if she lives in an abusive relationship, it becomes even more difficult for her to speak out. This is especially the case if she sees herself as a devout Muslim. Even if she believes that she deserves better and has made up her mind that her culture or family values are not in her best interest, she cannot reach out for help for fear of making Islam "look bad" and confirming the reigning stereotype about her religion.

In order to escape her plight, she would have to feel disconnected from Islam in addition to confronting her family. If she did not want to risk her religion, she would endure her circumstances quietly.

However, with a recognition of global standard for strong Muslim women, the Western Muslimah can identify with them for both her faith and her sense of dignity and agency. For this reason alone, I am glad for the work of the Yemeni Peace Prize winners.

Don't Ask Me About 9/11.

"Islam is the religion of peace," has been the slogan on the lips of every Muslim American confronted by non-Muslims over the subject of Islam, terrorism, and 9/11. I know everyone is tired of talking about 9/11 but I have an important point to make, so hear me out. The utility of the saying is in its implication that those employing violence are not Muslim. Yes, the word Islam means "peaceful surrender" but does that make Islam the religion of peace, theoretically or otherwise? While Islam does not preach violence in the name of Islam, it also does not preach non-violence thereof. In fact, though judiciousness is a prerequisite, violence is commanded as a means of self preservation. In this context, saying, "Islam is a religion of peace," is just an inadequate defense to an unjust, racist accusation.

The intended audience of 9/11, was, in fact, supposed to include American Muslims for the same reason that Muslims feel compelled to disavow violence. It was a message to all Muslims, especially young Muslims, encouraging them out of lives of "humiliation" and into violent jihad against The West. Long story short, al-Qaeda protests the feeling that Muslims need to say, "Islam is a religion of peace," and would rather have us blow everyone, including ourselves, to pieces. However, the purveyors of al-Qaeda's message and those who openly received it, are just as oppressive as the circumstances they reject, if not more so, and towards their own people. This makes sense, since there is no hope, positivity, or compassion in their message, not to mention that it injudiciously condones violence. Summarily, though it took about ten years, al-Qaeda's message has been definitively rejected by Muslims around the world. Surprisingly, American (read: George Bush's) anti-Islam and European anti-multiculturalism's (which are really the same thing) "you're either with us or against us" sentiment has been much closer to al-Qaeda's message than anything any God fearing, sanity appreciating Muslim believes. (1)

In America, how do us American Muslims reconcile al-Qaeda's message and the American anti-Islam sentiment, both of which draw a black and white picture of east and west, specifically Islam and the west with our undeniably Muslim and irrefutably American lives? To do so by retreating into either Islam or western life styles would only prove the distinction correct, not to mention prove that we are cowards. But what happens when people say things like, "Islam is the religion of peace," which is nearly as misleading as saying it is the religion of violence, to answer the question, "Are you with us or against us?"

To that question, which is rarely asked directly, I see no way to choose either option. The gut response from me comes in the form of more questions. Questions like: Who are you and what army is "us"? Do you know how many Muslims there are in America? How many died in WTC? Did you know there were Muslims in America before 9/11 brought it to your attention? Did you know there were Muslims at all before 9/11? Do you have any Muslim friends? Were you with or against Timothy McVeigh? Did your ancestors own slaves? Did your ancestors drive Native Americans off their land? Do you believe in witches? What the HELL do you think gives YOU the right to ask ME that question?

Maybe that's a little passive-aggressive. It would probably be best to simply say, "You have no right to ask me that question." Either that or just walk away.

It's not a matter of making sure your hands are clean before you point your finger, it's just the fact that you are pointing a finger. I have no qualms with honest questions about Islam. If you want to talk about religion, I'd be more than happy to participate. Muslim Americans, myself included, have chosen to take up the responsibility of creating forums for people who want to know more about Islam. But if you approach me randomly and it has anything to do with violence (or patriarchy) I don't have sit around and have you patronize me.

Back when no one knew why 9/11 happened, it would have been perfectly acceptable for a Muslim to say, "Listen, I have no idea what's happening either and honestly, I'm pretty scared, too. All I know is that this has nothing to do with my faith," and answer any questions about Islam with anything other than, "Islam is a religion of peace," said to absolve the guilt put there by the accuser/"questioner." But now that everyone with any modicum of responsibility should know better, it is absolutely unacceptable to demean a Muslim American and make them feel guilty or responsible about anything 9/11 related by even asking them about it. If you do, al-Qaeda's message could be seen as reasonable and the world we live in is a terrible place.

Finally, though I know she might never see this, I'd like to thank my co-worker Christina for the solidarity today. I really appreciated that.


(1) Aslan, Reza. "The Fire This Time: The Long Term Effects of 9/11." Los Angeles Review of Books, September 9, 2011. http://lareviewofbooks.org/post/9988565795/the-fire-this-time

The Miseducation of Me

Yesterday, I started working as a clerk at the public library. In a library, organization is very important. Things are classified a certain way and need to be kept accordingly so they can easily be located when needed. When something slips through the cracks of the obsessive structure of order, due to human error or subterfuge, it is tracked down and the situation is cleanly rectified.

Having studied post-colonial and vernacular English Literature, Gender Studies, and Philosophy in college, I am not trained to put things in a preordained order. I'm trained to question order. I'm trained to analyze, deconstruct, and reassess as exhaustively as possible and I am trained to defend as innovative a reassessment as I possibly can.

I wasn't really made for that sort of training. I'm a South Asian immigrant, I am a Muslim, I am a woman, and I am poor. College was a training that mostly sees the world for its disorder and dissonance. Despite the questioning of order, believe it or not, it is hard to avoid Western, patriarchal*, elitist values, since they are the values that get an American college its credibility. I at least attended a Catholic University that wore its Christian values on its sleeve and did not worship secularism.

While college helped me see my place in society, which I had previously felt I was lacking and that I needed to work hard and be creative to earn, it is a place in society where I increasingly feel like I am trespassing, a place I cannot earn no matter how hard I work. But it's a place that is rightfully mine. My college degree mostly made me painfully aware of the possibility that I struggle in futility. This is not something I am willing to easily accept.

Questioning order is infinitely constructive for the privileged, for people that order benefits. But of course they are the least likely to do so. That leaves it for those who order has forsaken. But after a certain point, for those that order has forsaken and has left to question it, all order becomes an enemy, life becomes meaningless and their questions become a threat to no one but themselves. This becomes a sort of order itself, created and supported by human error and subterfuge. It is unsettling to realize that you are not of the former group, though you've been a confident, straight "A" student your whole life, when you are in the middle of college.

I have to believe that order can be good. I have to see it. When a library patron is scanning a shelf that I ensured was organized, when someone comes in for something and I know exactly where it is, when I can learn from my mistakes rather than feel like everything I do is a mistake, it helps me feel that I can earn my place as a positive aspect of a constructive order.

Obviously, I don't think the objective way that libraries are ordered is a way that people can be ordered because people are not objects and what is just for objects is not just for subjects. Order should contain justice because a belief in order requires a belief in justice. This belief in justice is apparent in religion, and so religion has been called "The opium of the masses," and "slave mentality," Marx and Nietzsche respectively, for it's support of unjust order through a belief in cosmic justice. But that's what's called "blaming the victim," in my book, and it's ridiculous to blame disenfranchised people who can empower themselves by believing in any greater order.

So as it turns out, not all minimum wage jobs are soul-crushing.



*You can be a patriarchal feminist. You probably are one if you think matriarchal societies and lesbians are all feminists. Chew on that now.

Park 51, Muslim America and my purpose in life

 Park 51, also known derogatorily as the Ground Zero Mosque, recently asked its Twitter followers, myself included, to email their website's editor if they were interested in blogging for them. I decided I might as well shoot them an email. My email, which was perhaps inappropriately long, described my own relationship with Ground Zero, how it was similar to that of Park51's, how it was formative to my identity as an American Muslim and how all this might be pertinent to Muslim Americans and Americans at large.

Writing that letter reminded me of the way I felt when I was in seventh grade, the way I felt when I was in high school and my intensively formative relationship with 9/11-- a relationship I'd unknowingly and unwillingly grown out of. I don't think my parents understood the impact of 9/11 on a young Muslim hijabi just finding her place in the world, considering their protests to my interests. I know I could have tried to persevere in my interests regardless--and I kind of did, but I really had no idea what to do or any system of support to guide me. It was not an abandoned interest, it was a dream deferred. And you know what happens to those.

Whether I am given the chance to blog for Park51 or not. writing that letter to them revived my dream and reminded me of what I believe to be my purpose in this life. Whether I had known it as exactly as I know it now, I'm not sure, so maybe articulating my blog ideas actually made me realize my purpose. Derailed from my purpose, I had no motivation.

In my letter, I said,

Whether we like it or not, 9/11 and it’s enduring aftermath are an integral part of the American Muslim identity. However, the historical evocation of our entrance into the general American consciousness is still in our hands to mold and this is an opportunity that must not elude us.

I may have less options for how to approach this than I might have had if I had pursued this in college. However, I do well with making do with what little I have. Thank you, Park51.

Guess who's back?

A broken home

This summer I've been in Chicago and, though it's the seventh day of Ramadan, I have yet to visit a mosque. When I first went to college, I realized I had unsettling apprehensions about visiting a mosque to which my parents do not belong. I realized I didn't know how to belong to Islam or the Islamic community as an individual dissociated from my family. I was afraid, for awhile, that I wanted so badly to dissociate from my family that unconsciously, I was attempting to dissociate from everything I associated with my family. For a long time after leaving home, I designated my religious practice to times and spaces I shared with my family.

The weird thing is, I have long been disillusioned by the Islamic community to which my family belonged. I say belong in the past tense because that community has become so fractured that it's hard to say if it exists anymore to the point that my family, being Bengali, can belong to it. What broke my heart about that community was the very racist/nationalist sentiments within it that turned Muslim brothers and sisters against one another. What broke my heart about that community is that it treated its members like they did not belong.

At first, I didn't understand why the people of my community could not look past their differences and realize their common ideal was one of peaceful surrender. Their conflicts tended to flare up over the appointment of the Board of directors and that of the Imam, the religious leader of the mosque. The race of the Imam, the language in which he should give Khutba and the power he should have in the community were all viciously argued over, at times resulting in physical confrontations between grown men.

Where was this thirst for power, a thirst so maddening that it involved petty racism and blind hatred-- where was is coming from? Many of the members of my mosque were distinguished members of local society outside the mosque. They are doctors, lawyers, engineers, pharmacists, city-council members, hospital board members, volunteers, soccer moms, interfaith leaders, and hardworking, exemplary citizens. Some of them are the downtrodden, clinging to Islam and Allah for some serenity in this life. All of them, outside of the mosque community, as respectable people.

Despite that, as Muslims and minorities, they are of a disempowered group. They work so hard to show to outsiders that they are okay and that they belong here, that they care about America as much as they care about their own well-being, that they are optimistic and level-headed. However, a part of them knows that outsiders do not perceive them as such. A part of them knows that it is impossible to overcome the racial casting endowed them by the majority culture and it is enough to be utterly disempowering.

This is a narrative of domestic violence where the domicile is the mosque and the members of the family are the people who worship in that community. Unlike in domestic violence narratives, it is apparantly easier to begin a new and separate mosque than it is to begin a new home without the abusing members of your family. But I believe, to a certain extent, the emotional scar of a fractured family is the same in both cases. It always hurts to know you cannot trust those with whom you have a deep bond-- those people that you supposedly should be able to trust unquestionably.

Many of the families in the community, like my family, are also fractured. The parts reflect the whole on every level. The American Muslim is a fractured identity, broken from inside and out. What I didn't understand at the beginning of college was that, this American Muslim identity is mine.

Knowing the larger social context, knowing that like Indigenous America, immigrant America, gay America, Black America, female America, rural America, urban America, conservative America, liberal America-- Muslim America is fractured by the America part, the part that includes all of these people fighting to belong to one America-- one huge dysfunctional family, finally makes me feel at home, sometimes, in my own skin. We are each a kaleidoscope, reflecting every color, though in a different way. We are each a mother, father, brother, and sister all in one. And this is the American identity that is mine. 

I have finally begun to feel comfortable with my religious beliefs and have even begun, though slowly, to practice them in my own right.