Muslim

Four Lions

beth — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 21:33:00 +0000

Four Lions, produced and directed by Chris Morris, satirizes terrorists and the response to terrorism in modern Britain. Every character is flawed and every person is spoofed. No one is spared; police, politicians, local working stiffs, neighborhood religious fanatics, and the floozie next door are lampooned with great one-liners and riotous insults. This may sound insensitive, but the humor does not obscure hard issues. Rather, it makes them approachable: you’ll likely want to talk about this funny and unexpectedly sad film after seeing it.

The film’s strength is in offering a point of view that for most is simply unthinkable and unsympathetic: the perspective of four British Muslims who attempt jihad and plot suicide bombings. Morris’s incompetent and conflicted would-be martyrs are mostly likable oafs, the gang that couldn’t shoot straight, as if Harold and Kumar waged jihad under the tutelage of Twitter’s Al Qaeda. This sympathetic perspective is most disturbing as each meets his violent end, sometimes regretfully. The humor makes discussion possible.

I was deeply curious to see this film because I wondered whether the balance of humor and serious issues could be applied to this topic. I’m not convinced that such satire would work with more nuanced matters than suicide bombers or topics that are not thoroughly polarized. Polarization made Citizen Ruth work, but the difficulties presented by more subtle issues may be the reason that humor is rarely used to promote discussion. It’s not easy to be funny or enlightening, and to do so at the same time seems near impossible when talking about something, well, serious.

While Four Lions is a great discussion tool, it is less successful as entertainment. It’s funny, and the characters are always engaging, but the story wanders a bit because it’s both satire and buddy movie, and these elements do not entirely work together. The film does not have universal appeal. That said, the biggest downside is that you may never get rid of the earworm “Dancing in the Moonlight” after the movie ends.

Written by: Melissa Ditmore, November 5th 2010

Velvet Jihad: Muslim Women’s Quiet Resistance to Islamic Fundamentalism

admin — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Faegheh Shirazi

University of Florida Press

Central to Islamic scripturalist assertion, or "Islamic fundamentalism" as it is often referred to, is the notion of the ideal Muslim woman, whose status, roles and functions are defined by rules and norms deriving from a narrow, restrictive and patriarchal reading of the Islamic scripturalist tradition. The ‘ideal’ Muslim woman in Islamic ‘fundamentalist’ discourse is defined as being submissive to male authority, while being modest and virtuous in a patriarchally-defined sense. She is to be carefully controlled and monitored, at all times, by patriarchal authority. The spread of Islamic ‘fundamentalism’ throughout Muslim communities has had seriously negative consequences for Muslim women’s rights and status. Not surprisingly, groups of Muslim women across the world have begun mobilizing against Islamic ‘fundamentalism’, some on a secular basis, using secular human rights arguments, others, working within a broadly-defined Islamic tradition, employing Islamic arguments for achieving gender equality and challenging patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam.

Velvet Jihad provides a fascinating general picture of the status and conditions of women in Muslim communities around the world faced with the challenge of Islamic scripturalist assertion. Shirazi admits that patriarchy is, of course, not a Muslim-specific phenomenon, but argues that the forms that it takes in Muslim communities and Muslim-majority countries makes it particularly problematic and difficult to oppose in that it is generally sought to be legitimised in the name of religion. Hence, challenging such patriarchy is a particularly arduous task as it is easily branded as a challenge to religion itself. The book catalogues a long list of hurdles and restrictions that millions of Muslim women across the world are subjected to in the name of Islam.

With abysmal levels of education, and being economically heavily dependent on their men folk, it is not surprising that vast numbers Muslim women simply have no choice but to accept their lot. Many, as Shirazi tells us, even accept this as mandated by Islam itself. Yet, Shirazi tells us there is what she colourfully calls a "velvet jihad" astir in across numerous Muslim communities spearheaded by bold Muslim women who are now vocally and stridently challenging all forms of oppression in the name of Islam. She likens it to the "velvet revolution," a peaceful movement of resistance that brought down communist dictatorships in eastern Europe in the late 1980s.

What, then, are the means that assertive Muslim women (and there are many, as Shirazi documents) are today adopting to fight patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam? They fall into two broad categories. Some Muslim women, who may be defined as "Muslim feminists," are seeking to oppose patriarchal laws, rules, and practices using modern human rights arguments, such as secularism, freedom, justice, and democracy, linking up with reformers, both men and women, both within their communities and countries and at the international level, to highlight the oppression of women in the name of Islam. Shirazi describes numerous such Muslim women’s groups across the world which are using this approach, with varying degrees of success. This strategy might not, however, have much resonance with religious-minded Muslims, who could easily be made to be believe that such arguments for women’s rights are not just "un-Islamic," but, rather, represent, as it is often put, an "anti-Islamic, Western conspiracy." Indeed, that precisely is what Islamic conservatives and radicals never tire of arguing.

A more culturally-rooted, and, therefore, for many practising Muslims, perhaps a more acceptable way of shaping demands for gender equality and of critiquing misogyny and patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi points out, is represented by the phenomenon often labeled as "Islamic feminism." Not all the women (and men) who are engaged in articulating an Islamic feminist discourse and politics might, however, identify with that label, given the political and ideological baggage associated with the term feminism. Be that as it may, Islamic feminism, Shirazi shows by drawing on empirical evidence from extensive fieldwork in Africa, Asia, Europe, and America as well as a massive corpus of literature available on the Internet, is today a growing challenge to the authoritarian, deeply-patriarchal versions of Islam zealously upheld both Islamic conservatives and ‘fundamentalists’, who, despite their differences, are almost unanimous on the "women’s question."

Citing the works—both literary as well as practical—of a vast number of Muslim women scholars and activists as they seek to counter patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi concludes that their valiant efforts, derided and fiercely opposed by powerful patriarchal forces, truly herald the arrival of a velvet jihad, one that can play a key role in not just championing Muslim women’s rights but also in fashioning more compassionate and just understandings of Islam while critiquing and standing up to violent, authoritarian, patriarchal mullahs and Islamists who claim to represent Islamic authenticity. That, in short, is what this inspiring book is all about.

A longer, more in-depth version of this review can be found at CounterCurrents

Written by: Yoginder Sikand, August 19th 2010

Veiled Voices

admin — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 00:34:00 +0000

Directed by Brigid Maher

Typecast Releasing

When people think of Muslim leaders they rarely envision women; however, many women are have made their mark as religious leaders in Islam. Veiled Voices presents the lives of three such women, allowing them to tell their own stories filled with struggle, triumph, and irony.

The film centers on Ghina Hammoud from Lebanon, Huda Al-Habash from Syria, and Dr. Su’ad Saleh from Egypt. Each woman is making waves in her country as she carves out milestones in faith and society. These women are teachers who get their messages of Islam and women’s strength across through lectures, television appearances, one-on-one lessons, and living their lives as examples to others.

The film begins with the women telling about their past, how they become religious leaders, and what they believe makes them who they are. Next, we get to see them in action as they talk to students and speak on television. The film concludes by looking at the next generation, the daughters of the women.

The interviews with the women's daughters and husbands were important because it shows how equality within the home is very valuable. All of the women demand the men in their lives support their passion and refuse to settle for anything less. This is evident in Ghina’s standing up to family and societal pressure to divorce an abusive husband. The decision and its outcomes weren't easy, but it is apparent that this was the right decision for her.

The film shows how institutional sexism prevents speedy social evolution. One example in the film is when Sheikh Tantawi, Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, says it would be fine for a woman to be appointed as a mufti, a Muslim scholar trained to interpret Islamic law, so long as she is qualified through education and practice. However, it is revealed that when Dr. Su’as Saleh submitted an application, she only received one vote from an all-male panel. It is wonderful to celebrate these strong women making a difference in the Islamic world, but there is much progress to be made and it is important that the film highlighted the outright sexism these women face.

There wasn’t much discussion in the film about these women's thoughts on oppression and violence done to women in the name of Islam and based on misogynist interpretations of Sharia. Many people see this as a human rights abuse, and I would have liked to hear what these women think about these interpretations and the outcries to stop these violent acts. The personal stories of these Muslim women are inspiring, and their determination to be positive role models is clear. Veiled Voices is a good start to a conversation by and about women in Islam to change misconceptions held about the role of women in the religion.

Written by: Andrea Hance, April 3rd 2010

My Name is Khan Soundtrack

admin — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Various Artists

Sony Music

My Name is Khan is a Bollywood movie that captures the post-9/11 journey of a Muslim immigrant who has been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. The movie and its soundtrack by Shankar Mahadevan, Ehsaan Noorani, Niranjan Iyengar, and Loy Mendonca has remained at the top of the charts since its release in January.

There are six original tracks on My Name is Khan. The first song, "Sajdaa," is sung by Richa Sharma Rahat Fateh Ali Khan and Shankar Mahadevan. "Sajdaa" is the hip, happy song of this album, and brings a spring to your feet. The tracks that follow are the melodius "Noor E-Khuda, sung by Adnan Sami, Shankar Mahadevan, and Shreya Ghoshal then "Tere Naina," whose lead vocals by Shaqat Amanat Ali are an absolute delight to ears. The song praises the “eyes of beloved” and transforms into more traditional qawwali toward the end.

“Allah Hi Reham” is a concoction of Sufism and spiritualism that includes a four-minute solo sung by Rashid Khan. It's lyrics are the best in that the song stays longest in your mind. The titular theme performed by The Bombay Film Orchestra is mildly pleasing, but it could have been better. The album ends with "Rang De," sung by Shankar Mahadevan with Suraj Jaggan on accompanying percussion, and is the perfect close for this wonderful musical experience, as it is an inspirational tune that conveys the virtue of goodness and honor.

The disc also has four bonus tracks that reference the filmic history the stars of this movie (Shahrukh Khan and Kajol) have together: “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai,” “Suraj Hua Maddham,” “Kal Ho Na Ho,” and “Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna.” The CD also features a video of the film's theatrical trailer. The album artwork is designed beautifully, like a manual. The pages have the storyline of the film, director’s notes, stills from movie, song lyrics translated into English, and a dedication to the people behind music.

All the songs on this soundtrack are a welcome change from your typical boisterous filmy pop. My Name is Khan takes a detour by embracing classical Hindustani music, and the elements from Sufism give the music a mystical touch. The lovely lyrics sung by soothing voices make these songs exemplary.

Written by: Sunitha Jayan, April 1st 2010

The Pistachio Seller

admin — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Reem Bassiouney, translated by Osman Nusairi

Syracuse University Press

“How does a woman fall in love?” The opening line of Reem Bassiouney’s The Pistachio Seller is dangerously full of clichéd melodrama and trite gender assumptions; however, Bassiouney avoids these pitfalls by presenting complicated characters who exhibit the complexity of religion, love, and belief.

Bassiouney explains the significance of the pistachio in an Author’s Note, which reveals the historical significance of the pistachio and ties the nut to a very real cultural context. Pistachios are the most expensive nuts in Egypt. Because they are usually exported from abroad, until the capitalist movement of the 1990s, the pistachio was banned. Setting the novel in contemporary Egypt, the pistachio represents indulgence, luxury, and the perceived weakness of the East for pleasures from the West. The Pistachio Seller opens with young Wafaa falling in love with her cousin, Ashraf. Educated in England, Ashraf feels a disdain for the poverty, tradition, and "backwardness" of Egypt, and offers pistachios to all as though he could offer a taste of a better life. Wafaa expresses her confusion of desire and pride: “Was is really vital for East Germany to taste bananas? Were bananas worth all this humiliation? So what if man has to live without bananas? We could live without pistachios and without bananas.”

A devout Muslim, Wafaa desires Ashraf, but hates herself for lusting. Her desire is driven by imagination, prejudice, and the unachievable. This is where the beauty of Bassiouney’s complex characters shines. No character is singularly blameless or nefarious. Do I love Wafaa for being honest and passionate, or hate her for being judgmental and dogmatic?

I’m conflicted about the novel’s conclusion and Wafaa’s character development. The Pistachio Seller takes an epistolary turn when Ashraf moves to the U.S. While Ashraf writes honest, often self-pitying letters, Wafaa’s love letters are erratic, revealing little of her life. While Wafaa’s rhetoric changes, it seems her impulses do not.

Bassiouney does not compromise the novel’s tone by romanticizing the U.S., or portraying it as a home for Ashraf in exile. As is true with many elements in The Pistachio Seller, the U.S. proves to be a conflicted indulgence, like pistachios, enticing one away from one's homeland and offering little in return but ephemeral pleasure. Wafaa says, “Luxury living was like a drug you could get addicted to: it would control the cells of your brain, and you could not will it away.”

The Pistachio Seller is Bassiouney’s fourth novel; however, the first three are not yet translated into English. I hope The Pistachio Seller holds the promise of more translated novels from Bassiouney in the future.

Written by: Claire Burrows, March 11th 2010

A Jihad For Love

admin — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Directed by Parvez Sharma

First Run Features

To ponder the relationship between Islam and homosexuality is to consider something that does not exist. Parvez Sharma’s groundbreaking documentary, A Jihad for Love, calls this frequently held assumption what it is: a lie. A Jihad for Love is a deep exploration of Islam and homosexuality gleaned through the eyes of several gays, lesbians, and trans-genders set across the Muslim world. Filmed in twelve countries and in nine languages, it is a collection of stories that alternate between poignancy and the heart-wrenching battle between the equally challenging loves of faith and of humanity. Sharma effectively demonstrates the nuances that exist within different Muslim nations that have complicated attitudes concerning homosexuality based on the nation’s history and the different branches of Islam defying easy and/or lazy generalizations.

In depicting the struggles of the Muslim LGBT community, A Jihad for Love, shows that there are myriad perspectives in within their faith community. It begins in a nation that has a growing reputation for acceptance of the community: South Africa (the nation became the first in Africa and only the fifth in the world to legalize same-sex marriage in 2006). We learn the story of Muhsin, a gay imam who in his early life married and had children but eventually recognized his sexuality and began a process toward reconciling his sexuality with the faith that he also loved. The subsequent journey is not just one of self-discovery but also one in which the community discovers its faith anew and where there is a mutual understanding of far greater depth.

Moving north, we find a less fortunate but no less redemptive story in the Egyptian student Mazen. He is imprisoned after his arrest under the nation’s “indecency laws” which make homosexuality illegal and is in jail for nearly a year before being sentenced to an additional three years. He escapes, and upon reviewing a video recording of the trial, his anger is still raw, palpable.

The story of the Turkish lesbian couple of Ferda and Kiymet was one that I found most poignant. In particular, when Ferda introduces Kiymet to her mother, as it was a beautiful experience that I immediately related to. Upon the conclusion of the meeting, Kiymet says something that I could imagine my lover saying after meeting my mother: “Perfect!” I was as elated for Kiymet as I was for my partner and myself after we went through that “parental meeting” stage of our relationship. Turkey is more tolerant of homosexuality and the film briefly explores the connection between this state of affairs and the branch of Islamic mysticism, Sufism.

The three stories mentioned above among others brought knowledge to bear on my own misconceptions concerning the Islamic faith and homosexuality. The unprecedented focus of A Jihad for Love should continue the much-needed discussion between LGBT Muslims who seek to love within this peaceful and beautiful faith and the Islamic umma at large and bring knowledge and compassion to bear within such dialogue so that those that feel forced to love in secret can one day know the immutable joys of freedom.

Written by: Brandon Copeland, February 5th 2010

Year of the Elephant: A Moroccan Woman’s Journey Toward Independence

admin — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Leila Abouzeid, Barbara Parmenter

University of Texas Press

A collection of one novella and a handful of short stories, Year in the Elephant is a translation from Arabic that does a great job of painting life in Morocco prior to and after independence from the French colonial power. The realization of independence is at times painful and disappointing, but Abouzeid’s characters are full of conviction and passion.

In the novella, "Year of the Elephant," the main character, Zahara, narrates the double-edged history that she has experienced; fighting for Moroccan freedom and finding herself alone after decades of marriage (to a man who leaves her after the revolution, simply because she isn’t “modern” enough).

As a Muslim woman, Zahara is well-balanced and strong. She represents women who courageously steps into the spiritual unknown. Like many other women, she begins to doubt Allah when her marriage is abruptly ended. Expectedly bitter, she repeatedly refers to how her ex throws a few months’ worth of money (as per divorce law) at her, just enough for nothing but a room she owns in her old family house.

Although she spends a few days in her hometown—to which she can’t return permanently because her heart belongs elsewhere. With the help of a holy man, she must decide whether to let her bitterness engulf her or put the past behind her and move on.

Along the journey, the writer gives us glimpses of the devastation colonialism had on Moroccan peoples, from men and women to children. Independence and change in class status turns her husband into a cold, materialistic man. Going from poverty to a manor is unnerving for Zahara; she becomes depressed as she is slowly traded in for a younger woman. Having a chauffeur doesn’t make up for it.

Similarly, the unrelated stand-alone short stories deal with issues such as poverty and the struggle for national independence. In “The Discontented,” two male cousins, one rich, another poor, have a visit. The wealthier one offers the other a job which will give him better housing and money. Ultimately, he turns him down, arguing that he doesn’t want his children’s education ruined by elitist superiority. The fight for freedom brought the people of Morocco together, but paradoxically, freedom divided them.

Written by: Nicolette Westfall, January 15th 2010

Skunk Girl

admin — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 12:49:00 +0000

By Sheba Karim

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Skunk Girl is Sheba Karim’s first novel. It is told from the point of view of sixteen-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.

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.”

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](http://feministreview.blogspot.com/2009/03/ten-things-i-hate-about-me.html). 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 Does My Head Look Big in This?. 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.” 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 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, Nina 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.”

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.”

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 and 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.”

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 Does My Head Look Big in This? 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.” 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.”

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.” 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 the Counsel on American-Islamic Relations 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.

Cross-posted from Muslimah Media Watch

Written by: Melinda, July 7th 2009

Desiring Arabs

admin — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 17:19:00 +0000

By Joseph A. Massad

University of Chicago Press

On September 24, 2007, President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran drew derisive laughter from a group at Columbia University when he announced, "In Iran we don’t have homosexuals like in your country. In Iran, we do not have this phenomenon." Joseph A. Massad, Associate Professor of Modern Arab Politics and Intellectual History at Columbia, was likely among the few who were not mocking this assertion. In Desiring Arabs, Massad rejects Western sexual epistemology, which he sees as the colonizing mission of "Gay International": "an academic literature 'describing' and 'explaining' what they call 'homosexuality' in Arab and Muslim history to the present; and journalistic accounts of the lives of so-called 'gays' and (much less so) 'lesbians' in the contemporary Arab and Muslim worlds."

He argues that the consequence, if this Western "progressive" epistemology takes hold, will be the suppression of same-sex desire and practices as they have been and remain a part of Arab and Muslim culture. The larger frame is the damage wrought by orientalist scholarship that framed much of Arab expression of desire as "deviant"—the "love of beardless boys" being a phenomenon that needs to be explained away and eradicated. There are no homosexuals (as there are no hetereosexuals) because those categories are ahistorical and culturally constructed and fail to account for the complexity and ambiguity of “Arab desire” as understood through a decolonized historical frame of reference.

As "an act of archiving," as Massad refers to his own study, this book is remarkable and will be required reading for those studying contemporary Middle Eastern culture. He draws on a wealth of historical texts, as well as a range of contemporary criticism, to stitch together a revised notion of Arab intellectual history and, particularly, the "problem" of its sexual "licentiousness." His work is not as stylish as Edward Said’s, nor is he the memorable phrasemaker his mentor was. But he is an accomplished intellectual historian, one to be reckoned with. As a polemic, however, the book is stunningly shallow and under-documented.

I write this review on the morning a Saudi Arabian court ordered forty lashes for a 75-year-old woman who was visited by two (unrelated) men, one for whom she had served as a nursemaid and had the audacity to bring her bread. I imagine the author’s chiding me for my sympathy for the "international human rights agenda," another one of those obnoxious Western colonizers accusing the Arab world of a cultural "retardation."

I find it laudable that Massad warn against the dangers of epistemological binaries. That he leads us towards different transhistorical methods of understanding sexual desire in the literature, from pre-Islamic poetry to contemporary fiction, is of great scholarly value. But his lack of sympathy for other groups struggling against oppression—or even those trying to reconstruct a sense of identity not based on someone’s notion of pathology—is troubling. In fact, his argument against the discourse of universalization leads, I think, to a new sort of binary: belief in the possibility of universal human liberation/colonization or cultural isolation and a militant defense against interference.

He is at his weakest when he departs from his role as archivist and critic of Arab cultural history and flails against international rights movements. He quickly smacks down the "white Western women’s movement, which has sought to universalize its issues through imposing its own colonial feminism on the women's movement in non-Western countries." He claims that the series of events including the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995 led only to major schism, and he footnotes a couple of one-sided, obviously biased accounts to support his claim. This is not only bias, but bad scholarship, and bad scholarship, even in a potentially important book, is troubling indeed.

Written by: Rick Taylor, March 28th 2009

Love in a Headscarf: Muslim Woman Seeks the One

admin — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 00:48:00 +0000

By Shelina Zahra Janmohamed

Aurum Press

Okay, I’ll admit it. When I first heard the title, my immediate reaction was to roll my eyes.

“Not again!” I thought. “Not another book with sad kohl-rimmed eyes peeping out from under a black niqab on the cover and which talks about a poor/downtrodden/oppressed (add your own adjectives) Muslim woman who is beaten/kidnapped/stoned (ditto).”

But boy, was I wrong.

I heard about Love in a Headscarf from its author, Shelina Zahra Janmohamed, owner of the fantabulous award-winning blog Spirit21. I met Shelina in the Muslim Leaders of Tomorrow conference last January, and when I found out who she was and what her new book was about, I immediately went online and ordered it from Amazon—where it was, less than two weeks after its Valentine’s Day release (ooh-er), already #319 on the bestsellers list and the #4 bestselling female biography. Go, Shelina!

(Here’s a great interview with her in The Guardian, a radio interview with the BBC, and a Q & A with The Asian Writer).

So what exactly is her book about? Basically, a very chick lit book, only it’s Islamic! And real. Hijab-wearing, London-born, and Oxford-educated Shelina is 'looking for the One’ (as we all are), only she wanted to do it the ‘traditional’ way, through (gasp/whisper) an arranged marriage. A little bit simplistic, but here’s how I once described it:

Family hears of a good guy through their friends or relatives. They ask about him, find out where he works, how much money he makes, where he went to college, and so on and so forth, down to his shoe size if necessary. He meets their criteria. Satisfied, they invite him and his family over for canapés, tea, and cake. Guy and girl sit together. Guy likes girl and girl likes guy. They get married, have babies, and they live happily ever after.

Arranged marriages. In our day and age, the term itself evokes shudders and sounds:

So old fashioned and 'unromantic'.
So barbaric: a.k.a. forced marriage.
Deeply unsophisticated, uncool, and something to be ashamed of.

But Shelina takes us on a marvelous, topsy-turvy ride, turns those preconceived notions upside down, and shares with us why she chose the route she did. She drags the arranged marriage elephant out into the open, and gives it a thorough airing, breaking it down for all of us. She is honest about the drawbacks of the process and the conflict between the unspoken dictates of culture (Buxom Aunties’ Rules: “Girl must be younger, shorter, less educated than the boy and pale, homely, and domesticated”) and what she believes her faith advises (look for piety and faith).

The book begins with a bang, placing us smack dab in Shelina’s kitchen as her mother prepares the samosas in preparation for the first Family-Blind-Date to Check Him Out. I actually laughed out loud here, fondly remembering my own First Time, and nodded vigorously several times when Shelina’s thoughts and feelings mirrored my own.

With a deft skill that I personally think is genius, Shelina then weaves a tale that manages to keep you hooked: you get her background, some more humorous tales of suitors, a breakdown of Islam in a way that is both subtle and interesting, some more about her life, back to the suitors, on to her 'spiritual growth' as a human, and so on and so forth. A very well-spun tale, indeed.

There aren’t a lot of stories out there about normal Muslims and the way we live our lives (the only thing that comes to mind right now is Does My Head Look Big in This?), and that’s why when you come across a book like this, it’s like a breath of fresh air–a book far away from the cliched horror stories and their “I have rejected Islam and am now ‘free’" counterparts. Bonus: It’s not fluffy fiction, but deep and humorous reality.

My favorite part of the whole book? When Shelina is talking about getting up to pray fajr (dawn prayer): "With the thought of having to get up for work again in less than three hours, I searched for a delicate balance between being awake enough to pray and not so awake that I couldn’t go to sleep again."

Just a simple sentence which had me cracking up. And no, I’m not an idiot; it just hit me how this is so, so, so me, and something no heroine in any chick lit book you’d ever read would be doing (ahem, not that I read any, of course, I only read heavy socio-political texts!). Here, on the contrary, is a heroine you can identify with, whether it’s with her difficulty in getting up for fajr and donning the hijab, or in dealing with ignorant people so set on labeling her they fail to hear what she has to say.

But this story is so much more than Shelina’s ‘dating’ chronicles (so to speak) and encounters with the frogs she had to (metaphorically) kiss before she found her prince—as hilarious and amusing as they are to read about. This is the story of a British Asian Muslim woman, and the journey she undertakes to find out who she really is and how she fits into the world we live in today.

This is “our” story—the story of every Muslim woman trying to negotiate between her faith and her culture, her upbringing and the world she lives in. It’s like Shelina has scanned our minds and shone a light into the dark corners of our hearts, finding our deepest hopes and fears and articulating them in a way to show that how, when you get right down to it, we are all wishing and praying for the same things.

It’s a story that is rarely heard, buried underneath the terrible stories about Muslim women the media immediately laps up. It doesn’t fit in with the stories we’re so used to hearing, and that is what makes it a must-read. This is not a Muslim version of Bridget Jones—it is so much more than that. I began reading expecting a easy read with humorous anecdotes of Shelina’s encounters with unsuitable suitors, and instead came out of it a lot more introspective, thinking about gender, community, integration, identity, spirituality, and Divine love.

It doesn’t hurt that the author is a brilliant writer and analyst, who deconstructs issues many of us are are on some level aware of but never really delve into. (Case in point: Why some Muslim men are not comfortable with hijab. Brilliant.) And although Shelina doesn’t, of course, represent all Muslim women—this is, after all, only her story—it is a story that every woman, Muslim or not, will identify with. And so will a lot of men; don’t get discouraged by the purple cover!

Kudos to her for a fantastic effort and in presenting a much needed voice to the world. I’m all inspired now. Off to write my own book.

Cross-posted from Muslimah Media Watch

Written by: Ethar El-Katatney, March 7th 2009

The Jewel of Medina

admin — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 11:07:00 +0000

By Sherry Jones

Beaufort Books

There was a lot of manufactured controversy over The Jewel of Medina. As a practicing Muslim, I fully expected to hate it based on the very idea that it is a fictionalized account of a revered woman: A’isha, wife of our Beloved Prophet. The media made a bit of noise about how it took a particular event in A’isha’s life and twisted it into a “sexier” story. Like most Muslims, I expected it to offend me. I admit I went into reading this novel with a bias. As it turns out, the book was not what I expected.

It was much, much worse.

For just a moment, let’s ignore the controversy surrounding the book. Allow me to be the “average” reader, a non-Muslim perhaps. The writing is of poor quality. Cliché runs rampant throughout the book. Characters are one-dimensional—simplistic, in fact. Although Jones claims to be inspired by A’isha and wanting to bring her story to the world, she does not succeed in making A’isha a likeable character. Nor does she manage to create even one other character that a reader can relate to or be similarly “inspired” by.

Something that may not be noticed by the average reader—but is problematic—is the claim that the book was researched extensively when, in fact, it is full of errors and historical inaccuracies. For example, Jones makes reference to henna designs that are common in India and Pakistan, but they are not designs used in Arabia in the past or present. She also speaks extensively of purdah as a normal cultural phenomenon, but it was not a concept that was normal to Arabia, nor to early Islam. (Purdah refers to complete seclusion of girls and women within the home, and as described in the book can mean being literally locked into one room. Purdah should not be confused with the concept of hijab, which refers to the dress of Muslim women and general segregation of unrelated men and women in public and private gatherings.) She intersperses non-English language, but misuses words, and even mixes in words from other languages that would not have been in usage in Arabia at that time.

With such shoddy research of the story of the birth of Islam, one of the most documented stories ever, why should the reader accept the remainder of the story? This of course brings up the question that many have wrestled with regarding revered figures of many religions: is it acceptable to turn the life of a sacred historical figure into soft-core porn for the enjoyment of the masses?

The Jewel of Medina has hyper-sexualized A’isha’s story, and while there may be concerns about other historical and revered figures being misrepresented, there is a significant difference in Jones’ portrayal of A’isha. Arguments claiming that Jesus may have married, for example, do not denigrate his character, but instead pose questions where historical data has left gaps that people have a desire to fill in understanding his life. Jones, however, did not need to fill in any gaps in A’isha’s life. Instead, she seems to be using the idea of fiction as an excuse to write something completely fabricated and ridiculous that seeks to deny the very virtues for which A’isha is revered. Ultimately, it is the tasteless, explicit sexual discussion in the book that further differentiates it from the way other spiritual figures have been written about.

Written by: Aaminah Hernández, March 7th 2009

Taken

admin — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 12:04:00 +0000

Directed by Pierre Morel

20th Century Fox

Reading this review will tell you all you need to know about Taken. If you haven't see the film, perhaps now is the time for you to cease reading, as spoilers abound. Then again, the film follows an overused and clichéd Hollywood format that makes spoilage an inevitability if you've a tendency for moviegoing, and my commentary on Taken might be more worth your while than viewing the ninety-minute film. The choice is yours to make.

Ever wonder what you'd get by mixing sexist stereotypes with ones about Muslims? Oh wait, I think that's happened before -- many, many times. Taken is just the most recent example of this ever-present phenomenon, and it has brought in $124 million to date. Apparently tired tropes sell.

Liam Neeson plays the estranged father, Bryan Mills, of Kim (Maggie Grace), a spoiled yet sweet seventeen-year-old girl who lives with her mother (Famke Janssen) and step-father in posh American splendor. Mills recently quit his job—which he describes as being a "preventer" for an unspecified special ops entity run by the US government—in order to build a relationship with his daughter. The conflict begins almost immediately, as Kim requires her father's legal permission to go on an adult-free, intercontinental vacation with a friend to follow U2's European Tour. (She initially tells her dad she'll be spending the summer in Paris). Dad tells Daughter that the world is a dangerous place. Mom tells dad he's being overprotective. Dad caves in hopes of engendering Daughter's love.

When Kim and her friend Amanda, a sexually permissive nineteen-year-old whose sole role in Taken is to put the two young women in danger by following her hormonal whims, arrive in Paris they are promptly snatched up by a group of men, but not before we learn that Kim is a virgin. We discover within minutes (thanks to Dad's "particular set of skills") that the girls have been taken by a group of Muslim Albanians that specialize in kidnapping of young, foreign girls who are traveling alone (read: without male protection) and are to be sold into sexual slavery. The star and crescent tattoo on the captor's hand somehow lets Dad know that he has ninety-six hours to save Daughter.

So how does Mills do it? By being hyper-masculine to the point of invincibility, of course. These Muslim men stole his property, after all, and he wants it back. (The kidnapping is to be read, in part, as the fault of overly permissive and naive Mom who used guilt to override Dad's "reason" to allow Daughter go to Paris, which included colluding in Daughter's lying to Dad and using ridiculous Dr. Phil-like platitudes about "not smothering" Daughter.) The mission of this now-enraged father will not be thwarted, and all tactics (including rampant killing and bodily torture) are at his disposal to save poor Kim while her purity is still in tact.

Being a virgin, and therefore highly valuable, Kim is singled out for sale to a wealthy businessman. Unfortunately, sluttish Amanda is not so fortunate and Mills finds her dead of a drug overdose, a punishment for failing to be sexually chaste. After looking in a number of seedy places, Mills works his way up the food chain to the elite meat market where he sees Kim sold—after being described as "certified pure"—for half a million dollars to an older Arab man. (Kim isn't the girl sold to this man. He has bought a veritable harem of virgins who are dolled up and dressed in white lace robes, which veil their young faces, before being bought to his bed chamber.)

I already told you that Mills saves Kim, and that's where the story neatly ends. We don't find out what happens to the rest of the girls or the traffickers that Mills encounters on his quest. And really, he makes it quite clear that he's not interested in their fate, which he sees as just a part of the business. Mills only cares about the fate of Kim because she is his daughter, and therefore, his quest was personal. (He tells this to one of the higher-ups, just before he kills him.)

Lest lascivious France escape unscathed, the French government benefits from human sexual slavery too, padding their pockets through the sale of female flesh. Interestingly, the system of trafficking itself is never scrutinized; it's simply accepted as the way things are. Except that what is shown in Taken is not really the way things are in the world of sex trafficking.

For starters, it is extremely uncommon for an American girl to be trafficked. Instead, the victims tend to be women who "originate from countries experiencing political and economic instability, internal displacement, militarism, civil unrest, internal armed conflict, and natural disasters." Women who are trafficked tend to be from Eastern Europe, Southeast Asia, and Latin America, not the United States—but reality doesn't serve Taken's cautionary, paternalistic, white supremacist tale. In order to effectively convey its fearmongering, Taken needs its victim to be a picture of feminine perfection: lily white, innocent, young, beautiful, and American. (Kim even dreams of being a singer instead of taking advantage of her family's economic privilege to pursue a more cerebrally engaging career.)

The use of anti-Muslim and anti-feminist fare in Hollywood blockbusters is certainly nothing new. (What is interesting, though, is how other reviews have ignored—or promoted—their use in Taken.) It is ironic that the makers of Taken actually reinforce the ideas that make sex trafficking possible. Advocating for social, political, and economic equality of marginalized populations is one method endorsed to curb the sale of women and build struggling economies through legal means. You see, viewing someone through a lens of humanity has the funny effect of making it more difficult to treat them as chattel or evildoers. I guess the makers of Taken didn't get that memo.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, February 12th 2009

InshAllah

admin — Thu, 24 May 2007 12:42:00 +0000

Directed by Malene Choi Jensen

Malene Choi Jensen’s InshAllah impresses with its muted visuals and quiet background score. Sabha Khan is a Danish Muslim girl, struggling to create an independent life. She is devoted to her family, has wonderfully supportive friends. She is obviously intelligent, but is unable to find work because of her religious identity and her decision to wear a head scarf.

Interspersed with interview footage are sequences depicting Sabha’s home and social lives. She reads to us the countless rejection letters from potential employers—all attempting to conceal their blatant racism and xenophobia. Jensen’s visual scheme is particularly effective, using a range of pastel pinks, oranges and purples, with scenes bathed in natural sunlight creating an almost dreamlike experience.

The film effectively manipulates time to create a flowing narrative. Sabha begins hopeful and driven, only to become more pessimistic and defeated by the film’s end. Her utter frustration speaks to a larger theoretical framework of institutional exclusion, in which those who continually seek more opportunity are inevitably constricted and confined by others’ intolerance. Given the current political climate in the United States (and abroad), Jensen’s work counts as a vital exploration of Muslim women’s identity and agency. It’s a quietly powerful film—one that deserves a wider audience and an even wider appreciation.

Written by: Ashvin Kini, May 24th 2007

The New Voices of Islam: Rethinking Politics and Modernity

admin — Thu, 17 May 2007 02:03:00 +0000

Edited by Mehran Kamrava

University of California Press

In The New Voices of Islam, Mehran Kamrava compiles a selection of writings from Muslim reformists whose voices have been silenced and marginalized for much too long. The reader introduces his audience to the intricate and complex concepts that revolve around religion, politics and public space in the Muslim world - revealing a rich yet limited ability to synchronize Islam and Modernity.

Through the compilation of works, the authors effectively answer the question on many post-9/11 minds: “Where are the reformist voices in Islam today?” From North Africa to Southeast Asia, Europe to America, The New Voices of Islam illustrates the gamut of sociopolitical thought brewing in our globally diverse world. The essays include a broad overviews of Islam's core principles; the complexities between Islam, democracy and civil rights; and three works by Muslim feminist intellectuals.

To much dismay, Westerners’ concern about Islamic fundamentalism is, for the most part, uninformed and remains uneducated about the Muslim intellectuals working toward positive change in the Middle East. This elite cohort lives both within the Islamic world and in Europe and America. Their struggle began before 9/11 and before The Constitutional Revolution in Iran (1907-1911). Due to many missed opportunities and marginalization, their collaboration has often gone unnoticed; their strength is in their message and endurance to continue the fight for democratic governance.

The words in Kamrava’s collection are not from Muslim governments or Islamist opposition. These are the dark horses, Muslim mavericks who are the voices that rise above the religious and political fray. Each of the authors in the reader is willing to critique, reassess and respond to the needs of their societies.

Written by: Mona Lisa Safai, May 16th 2007

Nazrah: A Muslim Woman's Perspective

admin — Thu, 01 Mar 2007 17:08:00 +0000

Directed by Farah Nousheen

Arab Film Distribution

Muslim women have received a lot of media attention recently: driver's license bureaus insisting they remove their head covering, fellow travelers regarding them suspiciously and with pity, and an enterprising Australian woman recently came out with a “burqini” that allows Muslim women to swim without violating their modesty standards. Rarely, though, do Westerners get to hear from Muslim women themselves.

Farah Nousheen is an activist based in Seattle, WA. Nazrah (Arabic for "perspective") is her first documentary, consisting of interviews she conducted with Muslim girls and women from the Pacific Northwest of the Uniteds States.

The film looks like it was recorded with a handheld camcorder, and sometimes the interviewee's face drops out of the frame completely. What is compelling is not the visuals, but the message and the variety of views. Nousheem interviewed a variety of women: though most are of Middle Eastern descent, several are African American and one is a white convert, whose acquaintance with Islam began when she saw a scroll in a museum. They are activists, housewives and law students. Their shared religion unites them much more strongly than I expected given the uneasy racial relations in the mostly-Christian U.S.

The documentary begins with a discussion of hijab. Most of the women did not seem to view it as a symbol of male oppression, but rather a sign of devotion to Allah. Some view it as another way to make themselves beautiful, albeit in a modest way. The sheer variety of scarves from market footage supports that idea. One woman chooses not to wear hijab because, in her eyes, a woman who wears hijab represents all Muslim women to Westerners – and she wants to be seen for herself.

Nousheen interviewed several girls from the Islamic School of Seattle. Even there the opinions ran a wide gamut. Some girls cover their hair, others do not. Some outspokenly object to being seated behind boys in classes, while others feel more comfortable in sex-segregated environments.

For a rather short (55 minutes) documentary, Nousheen touches on many topics, in some ways doing them a disservice for the lack of depth given to a given issue. Only a couple of women talked about sex; one focused on rape, saying that the blame should be divided between the victim and the attacker - one for being enticing, the other for succumbing to weakness. A lesbian woman recalled her initial fears of being "struck by lightning" despite a former lover telling her that being a Muslim and a lesbian are not mutually exclusive. Another area that deserves more in-depth focus is how these women reconcile being an American and being a Muslim. Few touched on it, one mentioning Western interference in Palestine and Americans' surprise at being hated by most Arabs.

The video ended with a voiceover by Nousheen speaking of her gratitude at being able to serve as the envoy for these women's stories in a culture of over consumption, an interesting dig.

Written by: Vita Foster, March 1st 2007