oops, your jahiliyya is showing: exposing the convert party girl

Heather Matthews, with daughters Ellah, 5, and Halle, 2 — via the Daily Mail.

There seems to be nothing more exciting for tabloids than publishing pictures of white women in hijab. Well, unless it’s publishing pictures of white women converts in their racy, hedonistic, pre-Islamic days.

Last month Amy Sall and Heather Matthews told their conversion stories to the tabloid press. And instead of using the stories to dispel myths about Muslims, educate the public about Islam, or even come up with something remotely newsworthy, both news sources emphasized their incredible transformation from “former party girls” to, well … plain old Muslim.

But with fabulously shocking headlines!

The Sun‘s “I’m a blue-eyed, blonde Brit but when I wear hijab in the street I get spat at and abused: Meet the party girl who became a Muslim convert,” focuses on the verbal abuse Amy Sall experiences whenever she wears hijab in public, and the cultural clash she feels exists between the more conservative members of her community and her practice of Islam:

“After all, I’m blonde, blue-eyed, love a drink and have tattoos — hardly your average Muslim woman… I’m still trying to understand the role of women in Muslim society, and I don’t know if I will ever properly fit in. It is like living between two worlds.”

Amy’s conversion story of meeting her current husband while dancing at a nightclub, as well as her new and sincere dedication to practicing Islam, is overwhelmingly overshadowed with anecdotes of her struggles with hijab and drinking alcohol. The article is paired up paired with images of Amy with and without hijab — and drunk, in a pre-Islam night out with her girlfriends.

Despite the fact that she fully admits to not being the best Muslim she could be, she does respect the religion, admires her husband’s piety and plans on raising their three children as Muslim. But the message readers are left with is that she just needs the occasional drink night out, to “reassure myself I am still me.”

Because, you know, this article isn’t really about her conversion, highlighting convert family struggles or celebrating a love story — but about emphasizing that scary, foreign Muslim men are converting white women to a religion that erases their sense of self.

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more on jellyfish fantasies

Last month I included a short, critical blurb on the image “An Emerging Mystery” as a part of my weekly roundup. But I felt there was more to be said about using the niqab-as-art — including pointing out truly positive and evocative examples — so I wrote up a longer piece for MMW.

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Like a horrific scene from a 1960s monster movie: unbeknownst to scientists on a fossil-hunting expedition along the mist-shrouded Arabian Gulf, a prehistoric creature of gargantuan proportions slowly emerges from the water to the piercing screams of… oh no, wait. It’s not the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or even the Loch Ness monster – it’s just a woman in niqab taking a dip off the cost of Dubai for a staged photoshoot.

“An Emerging Mystery” is the creation of Sebastian Farmborough, a budding photographer who spends his time learning new languages, traveling the Middle East and apparently sexualizing Muslim women when he’s not working on his photography skills. While this is a lovely photo, I can’t get past the photographer’s motivation for creating the piece, which he’s outlined clearly for the Express Tribune (with emphasis added):

“The image is based on one of my very first experiences in Saudi Arabia. With the naked beaches of Barcelona a not too distant memory, I headed down to the Arabian Gulf for a dip. There, I became mystified by something black and obscure out at sea. It looked like a huge jellyfish. Then, as it approached closer, I realised that it was in fact a woman.”

Well, I’m certainly glad he figured that one out before she stung him with her venomous tentacles, forcing him to run around the beach begging Saudis to pee on him.

Watching a woman swim fully covered was such an “intense experience” for Farmborough that he just had to “capture it” for himself. Now, I can understand that after the naked beaches of Barcelona, Saudi Arabia might be a little overwhelming, especially if you’re only evaluating women on the basis of their nakedness or lack thereof — but it’s a special gem that goes the extra step to sexualize a cultural and religious context experienced in one Muslim country, use it to represent all Muslim women, and call it art.

(more…)

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my dear Ramadan feminist dad

Recently, (mommy) blogger and activist extraordinaire Safiyyah, turned me on to a particularly condescending and patronizing post on Muslim Matters called “My Dear Ramadan Stay-at-Home Mom, I Salute You.”

No doubt there are moms who will find comfort in some of the suggestions this male author decided to make for women in his terrible attempt to understand what it means to be a mother during Ramadan. I however, really couldn’t connect with his assertions that I long for the days before my girls were born; attending the mosque is a responsibility for men only, so I just shouldn’t worry about it; every woman who stays at home makes it by choice; I use my mensus as an opportunity to slack off; and that it’s simply impossible for a woman with children to attend the mosque.

Newsflash: it’s not impossible, especially if fathers and husbands work with moms and wives to help make it happen. So here’s my response, written in a similar style.

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My dear Ramadan feminist dad,

I know how much pain it causes you to leave your wife behind at home, taking care of your children, while you and everybody else enjoys their taraweeh prayers at the mosque. I know how much you miss your family, and yearn for the day you can all grow in the deen together by enjoying the warmth and identity that comes with worshiping as a family in an inclusive mosque.

But I also know how embarrassing it is for you to bring your wife and children to the mosque, with the great hope that they will be welcomed — only to hear about the indignity they suffered after being forced to pray in a small, cramped room with other women and children. That while you enjoyed the gorgeous chandeliers, domed windows, and gold calligraphy in a large, air-conditioned room with other men, your wife had wet Cheerios flicked onto her hijab by an unruly 3-year-old, your young daughter sweated and cried for fresh air and your son ran around with other children screaming and disrupting any semblance of peace and tranquility that is always destroyed when women and children are hidden behind barriers and forgotten in basements.

I know how much you want your wife to enjoy just an hour of peaceful worship during this blessed month of Ramadan and that worship for her is crucial to her self-worth and identity as a Muslim, as well as her relationship with God.

For all the times you help her achieve this and more, my dear Ramadan feminist dad, I salute you, and may Allah reward you.

 

women’s voices are beautiful

Men teach that a woman’s entire body is a part of the definition of nakedness — and thus, “for the sake of the Muslim Ummah and for her own good,” she should cover her entire body. Even her voice should not be beautified, lest it attract the poor, unsuspecting, pious male into entering sin. (source)

And this is why we need more public recitation, supplication and chanting by women. Because they are indeed, beautiful.

 

Hat tip to Hijabman for finding this awesome piece.

 

Guest Post: Defining Muslims as unCanadian

Second up in our month of guest posts is long-time reader and astute commenter, Dandelion. I asked Dandelion to write for the blog not only to inspire him to start writing full time and share his enthusiasm for feminism but also because the dandelion is part of the natural diet of a wood turtle:

I am a white male who is atheist. I am also a feminist, university student and an avid traveler. I am a university student based out of Vancouver, and I love love love to cook. Particularly if things get stressful, a nicely prepared homecooked meal calms me down nicely. I also love eating, the inevitable result of cooking.

Please join me in welcoming Dandelion as he shares an analysis on positive prejudice, privilege and religiously-coded bodies in the Canadian citizenship landscape.

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I am a local Vancouverite, where all my stories originate. For those of you who haven’t glanced at my bio, I am neither Muslim nor female.

A couple of months ago I was giving a guest lecture to a local high school on architecture, describing the different styles that can be found in Seville’s Cathedral. The cathedral is an excellent example of gothic and renaissance architecture, and in the 15th century, was built on top of a grand mosque that existed there earlier (which in turn replaced an even older cathedral). Examples of Islamic architecture remains throughout the cathedral, as portions of the outer courtyard and foundations haven’t changed.

As I was explaining this to the students, one put up his hand and asked, “What’s Islam?” I was a little taken aback, but I responded with “The religion of Muslims.” I continued my lecture, but another hand went up, and this student asked, “What’s a Muslim?” I didn’t have an immediate response for the question, because it was so unexpected.

Then another student in the class answered with, “They’re the terrorists.”

 

reframing domestic murder as “honour killing”

What makes an “honour killing” an honour killing? When the people involved are Muslim? Sikh? Arab? South Asian? North African?

When does murder due to ego, male pride, jealousy, a violent response to a partner’s infidelity get compartmentalised as domestic homicide?

In the wake of the Shafia murder-trial verdict, with the Canadian Justice Minister saying honour killings are “barbaric with no place in Canada” — Gerald Caplan for the Globe and Mail questions the posturing of honour killings as only a “THEM” phenomena.

And brilliantly argues all domestic violence resulting in murder is an honour killing.

I’ve added emphasis and reproduced much of the article — but you should really read the whole thing.

For some reason, the term honour killings seems to be reserved for murders committed by male family members against daughters or sisters in South Asian or Middle Eastern communities. These unimaginable crimes have been receiving much high-profile notoriety in the Canadian media, as they surely deserve.[...]

But I’m confident that not one in a million is aware that in Ontario alone, from 2002 until only 2007 (the latest data), 212 women have been killed by their partners. That’s 42 every year, compared with 12 so-called honour killings in all of Canada in the past eight years. Women killed by partners are known as domestic homicides, and, unless especially gruesome, are barely worth a mention in the media. Maybe there’s just too many of them to be newsworthy.[...]

What accounts for the high profile of these relatively small number of murders in Canada? Why do we know little or nothing about the larger epidemic of women killed, almost routinely it sometimes seems, by boyfriends or husbands? Is it less terrible to be strangled to death or shot or have your throat slit by them than by family members? Is it just too commonplace to bother paying attention to? Do we still harbour that sneaking suspicion that women murdered by partners have somehow brought it on themselves?

Yet both kinds of murders have a common root. Both are honour killings, reflecting a twisted, pathological male sense of honour. Both are executed by men who feel they haven’t received their due deference, men who consider “their” women, whether daughter or partner, to be their chattel, to do with as they choose. Have we smug white Canadians forgotten that you don’t have to be a Muslim or South Asian to regard women this way? [...]

No nation, religion, class or ethnic group has the monopoly on misogyny. Honour killings should be seen not as uniquely evil but as the most extreme and perverse proof of this truth.

 

letters to strangers

Dear no sense of personal space,

Sure. Go ahead and touch my swollen belly without asking for permission. The baby you’re fawning over is actually situated below my belly button.

Hope you enjoyed fondling my “maternal stores” and large intestine.

Love,
~me.

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Dear gushing prejudice,

What exactly do you mean by saying Eryn “takes after her father?”

Now, I understand you “absolutely adore mixed children” — but I just wanted to take a moment to outline some pretty obvious things to those who really care about my family.

She has my hair and makes my facial expressions when feeling intelligent and self-assured. Those shrugging shoulders when she doesn’t know the answer? Yeah, that’s from me. And I’m pretty sure her shifty eyes when she’s up to something is from me too.

Her gorgeous cheek bones and eye shape look like they’ve come from her paternal grandmother. And her chin? That’s straight from her aunt. Her amazing eye colour is her own. It’s a bit too early to say whose feet, hands, legs or waist she’s growing into, so I’m not 100% sure what you mean by ‘takes after her father’…

Oh. Wait. You mean she has his skin colour.

Classy. So thrilled you see things in such stark, ignorant categories.

Love,
~me.

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Dear misdirected, Islamophobic mutterings,

I’m an only child and spent years preferring to walk behind my parents. It seemed like a wonderful space to be at peace with my thoughts and daydreams while knowing exactly where they were at all times. You see, I had an irrational fear of getting lost. The only other place I’d rather be when walking with my parents would be swinging between them.

But when I wanted solitude, I walked alone two feet behind them.

I did the same when walking with friends on sidewalks. I’d always triangulate behind so we could all walk together — but I could distance myself mentally from the conversation when I just wanted to window shop.

Suffice to say, I have a habit of walking behind people when I feel like it.

So when I’ve carried my child all.day.long. and my arms are burning and I’m suffering from round ligament pain with every step and I just want five bloody minutes to myself without blowing a snotty nose or singing my ABC’s YET AGAIN, yeah, I’m going to carry the bags so the Hubby can carry Eryn.

And YES, I’m going to walk two feet behind him BECAUSE I want a moment to breathe.

It is NOT because I’m a Muslim woman.

I am not THEM. I am ME.
We are from Toronto, not OVER THERE.
And my Hubby is NOT treating me like a pack horse. He’s FANTASTIC and I’m more than capable of carrying a diaper bag, some Christmas presents and opening doors my own bloody self.

kaythxbye,
~me

 

hijab: as seen on TV

Cross-posted at Womanist Musings.

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Introducing the Hijab 5000! Your life will be transformed within seconds of putting it on! Not only will it protect you from the untoward gaze of lustful and sexually uncontrollable men, but you’ll sure turn heads when everyone hears of your hijab’s scientific miracles. With just one application, the hijab will deep condition and protect your gorgeous locks from pollution; keep you warm by helping you retain 40-60% of your body heat; protect you from the sun’s harmful rays; promote healthy hygiene – no more stray hairs in your salad; boost your self-esteem; pave the way for marriage proposals; grant you protection from the evil-eye and cure your infertility!

I love it when the media sensationalises the hijab – othering, exotifying and generalising a personal religious symbol. But Muslims sensationalise the hijab too. While a few of the above “facts” are actually true, they’re often used to market the hijab beyond reasons of modesty, religious adherence or identity with Islam.

Hijab influencing one’s fertility is something I recently heard on TLC’s All-American Muslim. Now, I know the show is reality TV – the aim is to sensationalise and pick up on minuscule but shocking sound-bites just to blow them out of proportion. So I wasn’t that surprised when looking through their online clips I found one called, “Hijab’s Influence on Infertility.”

Though after watching the clips, reading reviews, and speaking to fans of the show, I would have simply called it: “Women wear or don’t wear the hijab for a million different reasons.”

(But wood turtle, it’s just a title – lighten up! I know, I know. But it reminded me of all the little, ubiquitous ways the media continues to perpetrate misunderstandings about hijab. So I’m going to take this opportunity to complain.)

 

why this Ramadan is important to me

In the late 1800s a woman named Nazla took a long ocean voyage from Beirut to America. Legend has it that she was from a moderately well-off family – that her father was a favourite of the Ottoman governor and raised camels as a livelihood.

She lost her voice due to some virus or trauma and had not spoken for months. When medical advice suggested that the climate in America would encourage her voice to return, it was decided that she would live with an uncle who had recently immigrated and settled somewhere in the mid-West. The voyage to America was a last resort. Doctors and specialists had already tried everything to cure her: from medications to burning her back with hot metal rods – trying to force her voice out with her screams.

Years later, her first-born daughter spent many nights rubbing the deep and painful scars with a soothing balm and listened intently as her mother spoke to her, trying to pass on a lesson she held tight to her breast: Take control of your own destiny.

 

the young con’s hip hop guide to muslims (satire)

I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you cuz you’re unfamiliar.
The ignorance is so bliss, it makes me wanna kill ya.

Discuss.