Yesterday evening I went grocery shopping. I wasn’t planning on getting that many items, so I opted for the shopping basket over the cart. Lo and behold, I began picking up more items than my basket could carry. So I did what I would’ve normally done. I did what I’ve normally done for the past two years here in Maryland. I started filling up my reusable bag and backpack with the remaining items, which didn’t fit into the basket. (D.C. initiated a 5 cent tax on plastic bags, which has promoted folks to use reusable bags much more ubiquitously. Maryland offers a 5 cent discount if you use your own bag.) So you’ll commonly find people putting items in their own bags.

Towards the middle of my shopping experience, I noticed two cops with bulletproof vests eyeing me for a good 10 minutes. The cops had no basket, and were clearly not there to shop. I didn’t think anything of it, simply because I was engulfed in my coupons, and calculating how much I could carry back go the apartment by myself.

As I headed towards the yogurt aisle, this elderly gentleman (who worked at the grocery store) proceeded to talk to me in Spanish. Given that I was born and raised in Texas, and took 6 years of Espanol, I felt perfectly comfortable conducting small talk. It was a typical conversation. He asked if I was from El Salvador. And inquired about how I knew Spanish if I myself was Pakistani. Then he spoke at super lightening speed. At this point, I had no idea what he was talking about. I placed a few sentences together, and gathered that the two cops thought I was stealing.

It all made sense. The cops were following me around because they thought I was thief. This would be the first time that someone has followed me around in a store. A terrorist, sure. But a thief? NEVER. Not in a million years. So of course, this situation got under my skin.

What upset me more was what took place after.

I come home, a bit peeved at what just took place. I tell my husband the story, and the conversation goes as such:

Me: blah, blah, blah.
W: Were you using your backpack?
Me: Yes, I was.
W: Well, that’s how most people steal. They put stuff in their carts, and then steal the rest of their items using their backpack.
Me: In my head I’m thinking, if they were actually paying some attention, they would have noticed that I was counting coupons! I don’t know about you, but to me, that’s not how I would characterize a thief.

So my husband thought the cops were just doing their job. (I’ve noticed that he has a tendency to side with the cops over people’s criticisms of them, but that’s a different blog for another day.) I on the other hand, felt that there was a certain level of prejudice to the predicament. There was preconceived bias against me. There’s no denying the fact that in the decade of wearing my scarf, or even in the two years that I’ve lived in Maryland, has anyone followed me around in such a manner. Is it all because I might have looked Hispanic, and was therefore a target?

Maybe I was a bit taken a back simply because I assumed that, by not wearing a scarf, I’d “blend in”. Not that I necessarily wanted to “blend in”. I have a huge sense of pride in my identity as a Muslim. But nevertheless, I falsely assumed that I wouldn’t be bothered. Oh, what an erroneous assumption that was. And perhaps naïve too.

So this leads me to wonder if anyone has done a comparative analysis of the average treatment of hijabi and a nonhijabi in various situations. It might look something like this:

This of course, is a humorous version of what I had in mind but I think it has real potential.

Now I always knew that racism exists for all people. Not just Muslims. But to experience it in multiple contexts is unfortunate to say the least. My only desire is to be left alone, but given that this might not happen anytime soon, I will continue documenting my experience, with eyes wide open.

It’s unfortunate that every blog post begins with “It’s been so long since my previous entry.” But such is life, entangled in the webs we weave. This entry might be more for me, and less for the public eye. It’s more to document my thought process and attach a narrative to this beautiful spiritual struggle I’ve been going through, than to actively seek out a mufti’s (Muslim legal expert’s) opinion. I imagine there will be some scrutiny, or some confusion, or a combination of mixed emotions too vast to list here. Either way, I appreciate and value the human experience and recognize that we each have our own human journey. So I hope that both the reader and I can come out of this more engaged and provoked to humbly seek answers to the questions we pose.

Curiosity kills the cat, they say. In this case, it might have X’ed the hijab. It would have been nine years this December. I remember that moment like it was yesterday. Winter break 2002. I was sophomore in college at the University of Texas. A wide-eyed youngin’ with a belly button ring and a tongue ring to match. I was attempting to carve an identity that represented my uniqueness. My desi-ness, my latino-ness, my Muslim-ness. In effect, my “hood”-ness.

So there I was. A black triangle scarf tied behind my neck to show off my utterly large, silver hoop earrings, driving to Austin in my 2002 Ford Econo-line Conversion Van. I was a protected “pearl.” For those who might not be familiar with this analogy, Muslim women have been described as precious gems. You find gold deep down in the ground, protected and covered. The same goes for diamond and pearls. And given that our bodies are far more precious than diamond and pearls; our bodies should be covered, too. And so my journey began as a jewel protected from harm and injury. A defined Muslim woman ready to take on the world.

At the time, I never believed that hijab was mandatory or fard for everyone. I never believed that it was a mandate, which if not followed would result in punishment. I simply felt that it was a mandatory requirement for who I was at the time, given that I was veering onto a mischievous path that might have truly induced punishment. As a wise friend once said, I had differentiated between personal ethics and community/societal obligations without even knowing it.

Flash forward. Cairo, Egypt, 2006.

Beautiful women covered from head to toe, wrapped in beautifully colored scarves. Each scarf crafted to replicate the most delicate of flowers. But each “pearl” was not protected. The hijab did not perform its main function. Sexually repressed men were harassing women left and right. Cat calls and intimidation are ubiquitous on the streets of Cairo. Public verbal insults, groping and even rape. But a majority of the women were covered, so why were they not protected? Could it be that I was misinformed about my own religion? Were there really differing interpretations? (A late bloomer, I know.) I’m just beginning to scratch the surface and delve into the nuances of religion and spirituality. And there’s not even a dent.

Post-graduate school, and two years shy of 30. I saw an article that shook me more than I could have imagined. It was at this moment that I began confronting questions that had no definitive answers. It was at this moment that I began acknowledging a past that simply did not sit well with me. This lead me to question the authenticity of hadith narrated by Bukhari and Muslim, and upon doing so, realized that if I questioned the legitimacy of certain hadith, it might lead me to question the accuracy or inaccuracy of all hadiths.

The covering became habitual. It didn’t inspire me to be any more or less God conscious. And for whatever reason, resentment simmered in my heart, which of course, negatively impacted an already vulnerable relationship with my Lord. Tension towards the scarf in particular trumped my desire to keep it on. It trumped my definition of modesty. Most importantly, it trumped my sense of identity. The hostility and friction trumped anything and everything. As a friend told me in retrospect, I was walking around with a sense of sadness in my life.

John Patrick Shanley summed it up nicely. In the preface to his Pulitzer Prize-winning play Doubt: A Parable, he stated that “It is doubt (so often experienced as weakness) that changes things. Doubt, too, that oddly requires more courage than conviction does, and more energy; because conviction is a resting place and doubt is infinite.” Doubt is, he says is, “A passionate exercise we have to undertake if we’re to test our beliefs and assess whether they might be misplaced.”

So here I am. Nine years later. Redefining my religion and identity. Free to ask questions. Free from internal conflict (at least for now). Free from resistance, and free to pursue God’s grace.

Time to save the world
Where in the world is all the time
So many things I still don’t know
So many times I’ve changed my mind
Guess I was born to make mistakes
But I ain’t scared to take the weight
So when I stumble off the path
I know my heart will guide me back

Erykah Badu - Didn’t Cha Know

Interestingly enough, an article entitled, “Lifting the Veil, Muslim Women Explain Their Choices” by Asma Khalid came out within a month or so of France’s decision to ban the niqab – a face veil.

I’ve definitely had an evolution of thought on this issue ranging from apathy to fury. Not sure why there’s such a wide continuum of emotions here– but maybe the variety is simply a reactionary reflex to other people’s comments and/or thoughts rather than my own opinion on the matter.

Initially, I had no strong outlook regarding France’s ban on the niqab. But after briefly reading online commentary, speaking with a few folks on the topic and watching this clip as Hebah Ahmed and Mona Elthaway, both Muslim women, debate France’s decision to ban niqabs in public spaces, I became much more grounded in my own stance.

As a hijabi, and a Muslim woman for that matter, I was actually torn between France’s decision, knowing full well that it was a product of racism and a political move to mobilize a frightened base of French citizens.

So what led to these internal points of contention, and what was I trying to reconcile? I felt that the ban was legitimized given my understanding of the following premises:

1)   That the niqab is not a mandatory requirement. According to the majority of scholars, the niqab is not an obligation or necessity upon a woman, and no sin is committed if it is not worn.

2)   Given that the niqab is not a necessity – and Muslims are generally obliged to abide by the laws of the land in which they reside as long as they are not forced to commit a sin—I felt that the law was justifiable.

I’ve revisited the statements above after watching Hebah’s talking points on the ban.

Freedom of expression, freedom of speech and the ability to freely follow one’s religion is the epitome of any democracy, and should be a foundational crux of ideals represented in the West- or anywhere for that matter. Along with the premise mentioned above, I also had pragmatic concerns. How will a niqabi appear in court, or take a drivers license picture, or generally be identified? These concerns were easily appeased after realizing that as long as niqabi women are able and willing to meet societal concerns of safety, for example, that they should be free to choose their religious method of practice. And the outcome of a ban such as the one in France will only marginalize its Muslim community members and cause deeper rifts within the nation.

Beyond the debate about whether or not this was a constructive decision- we as Muslims need to delve deeper into the issue of women in our society. As much as I desire for Hebah to be representative of all niqabi’s—I have a glaring suspicion that Muslim women worldwide are oppressed- and forced into situations where they are pushed to wear the niqab—or even hijab. One doesn’t need to read between the lines to see that it was indeed a pre-Islamic practice that isn’t currently carried out in all parts of the Muslim world.

Even IF the niqab is a form of enslavement- or perpetuates men to continue abusing their women- or facilitates hiding them from society—the prohibition will not tackle the underlying issue. Men who believe that it is a requirement will continue to influence their opinions through legislation and will in turn institutionalize the niqab.

If we follow suit on this ban, and allow freedom of religion to deteriorate, we are no better than the fanatic men who might believe that Muslim women only have the right to cover their face—and can experience no other freedoms.

Being exposed to cat calls, sexual harassment, angry taxi drivers who haggled us from dawn to dusk, degrading and/or racist comments against anyone who wasn’t the perfect skin color, indifference to one’s land, repulsive acts of injustice against women, extreme Islamic ideology that required women to wear socks prior to entering a mosque, and cultural norms which prevented men from getting married at a reasonable age or societal norms which compelled women to get reconstructive surgery of the hymen to a “near virginity” state all left me in a state of disbelief and distress. After living in Cairo for a year from ‘05-‘06 (during Mubarak’s “election”), I left the country in a state of mental and physical exhaustion- utterly frustrated and disappointed.

The only thing that kept my sanity was knowing that I had within my possession, a ticket back to the states. I wanted to leave this experience behind me. To never think about the apathetic nature that people had for their country. I wanted to forget about every tear that trickled down my face as I attempted to understand a country with so many unexplainable complexities.

But I was misled. And the cause of this deception was an oppressive regime dominated by “President” Hosni Mubarak. I saw it. I felt it. Every waking moment was saturated with hypocrisy, coercion and cruelty from the government and its people. Did I feel oppressed because I was a foreigner who was used to the better things in life? Was I a spoiled American who couldn’t comprehend the difficulties faced by the average Egyptian? I’m sure my life as an American exacerbated my sense of oppression and perpetuated the disconnect I experienced with both the Egyptian people and my religion. But Mubarak’s presence as a dictator and his continued subjugation echoed behind every gust of wind. I wasn’t just being a sensitive American. Humanity, dignity and freedom were missing from the equation, and many of the offensive acts that I mentioned above were manifestations of such oppression. The pieces are now coming together as I read “Pedagogy of the Oppressed” by Paulo Freire. He states,

“the oppressed feel an irresistible attraction towards the oppressor and his way of life. Sharing his way of life becomes an overpowering aspiration. In their alienation, the oppressed want at any cost to resemble the oppressor, to imitate him, to follow him…who yearn to be equal to the “eminent” men of the upper class.”

This is no longer the case, and Egyptians have found the courage to demand back their freedom.

And now, five years later, I understand. At least, better than I understood before. I’d like to thank the veracity, fortitude, resilience and courage of the Egyptian people for helping me to come closer to a deeper and more accurate understanding of what they went through over the past 30 years.

I mistakenly directed my anger and frustration at individual people. I began to despise a religion that I once thought to be pure and unadulterated. It was not the people that I should have directed my frustration towards, but rather the top down control that was governed by Mubarak.

It is beautiful to see the continued energy that Egyptians have as they’ve awakened from their slumber, and as they continue fighting for their liberation. Freire states,

“in order for the oppressed to be able to wage the struggle for their liberation, they must perceive the reality of oppression not as a closed world from which there is no exit, but as a limiting situation they can transform.”

“As long as the oppressed remain unaware of the causes of their condition, they fatalistically “accept” their exploitation.”

It is quite evident that the Egyptian people will no longer be objects to his subjugation. They will no longer be dehumanized. Their humanity that was stolen from under them will be returned to the rightful owners.

There is a grand and difficult task ahead of the Egyptian people, as they must liberate not only themselves, but the oppressors as well.

There is a great “humanistic and historical task of the oppressed: to liberate themselves and their oppressors. The oppressors, who oppress, exploit and rape by virtue of their power, cannot find in this power the strength to liberate either the oppressed or themselves.  Only power that springs from the weakness of the oppressed will be sufficiently strong to free both.”

The world stands side by side with you!  Freedom is just around the corner. And no tear drop or ounce of blood will be lost in vain.

Let’s begin with the author’s assumptions:

1) That hijab is a choice, and not a mandate.

The problem is, depending on who is the authorizing force is, a hijab could be a choice for a child and an obligation for an adult. OR it could be a choice for an adult (and through transitive property, a choice for a child) per his suggestion.

If it’s an obligation for an adult, then it could mean the child (close to the age of puberty) is preparing for what God has prescribed. (Such as prayer and fasting, as he mentioned in the article.)

2) He’s making the assumption that context is irrelevant, simply by his universal tone in describing the hijab. (ie, a hijab in Egypt does not have the same meaning or understanding as a hijab in the States or in the West.) As much as we attempt to amalgamate our experiences into one, there’s a clear distinction. (Albeit one that I can’t fully define quickly.)

He is utterly unclear about his audience. He uses Egypt as the foundation of all his examples, yet his target audience are British citizens. The connections between the two are weak and it really produces an inadequate narrative.  In Egypt, the hijab can be associated as more of a cultural garb, which might not be the case in the West. Therefore, the idea of force is entirely different. And it just may be that all the little girls are wearing their fashionable, multi-colored scarves with bows along the side—making it a fad above anything else, and thus innocuous.

He should clarify what his intentions are, and who he aims to speak with.

3) How erroneous it is to say that sexuality is restricted to a specific age group. The fact that young children are having sex, or engaging in sexual behavior is a fact which cannot be ignored. But by no means, do I suggest to the solution to promiscuity is a hijab.

Now on to the points that disturb me, in some shape or form:

• “Adult Muslim women are expected to dress modestly so that men outside the family cannot see their bodies.”

How is that men are left out of this conversation. From my very simplistic understanding, modesty is applicable to both genders. And we’ve once again, reduced hijab once again to sexuality, when in actuality, this “covering” encompasses so much more.

• “When I recently stepped into a Toys R Us store in Cairo, it was quite shocking to see a Fulla doll clad in a headscarf and a full length abaya…”

Here you have the author wanting freedom of choice; freedom for pre-pubescent girls to choose what to wear and not to wear, but he feels suffocated by the doll in an abaya. Maybe it’s not the most ideal of Barbie characters, but it’s another choice that a child can have between a blond, partially naked Barbie number 1, and a blond bikini-wearing Barbie number 2. Much research has been conducted on the psychology of young girls and dolls that resemble themselves… finding dolls “that represent some version of the reality of our tonal diversity.” It’s a critical component to a child’s upbringing and identity.

• “If they see that their sisters have to be covered up from a very early age to avoid being exposed in front of men, it is only natural that they grow up with the concept that women have to be covered, controlled and restricted.”

REALLY? Why is child-rearing not part of the equation? Boys will of course think like this if we allow such a mentality to perpetuate in our society. It becomes necessary upon our society to educate men and dismantle myths on sexuality and women.

I agree that a childhood should be left untouched, and depriving one of such a thing is repulsive. And I may have played devil’s advocate throughout my blog. I just feel blessed to have enough mental faculty to see that we need to step our game up (at least in the West) when it comes to hijab and the beard; and not diminish our understanding of religion and of piety to the two VERY surface level characteristics. Or maybe I’m just being a hater.

Also, food for thought: Oprah magazine: 9-year old girl asks to wear hijab, shocked mom’s reaction

It’s been so long that I almost forgot the password to my WordPress account. Constrained in this academic environment, I haven’t had this sense of release in so long, and it almost made me forget about the things that I enjoy. Hearing my conscious speak its mind as I type out my thoughts… is indescribable.

What comes to mind today is tourism. I had such an immense hatred for it while I lived in Cairo. That was probably my first real encounter with the industry. I lived in Houston, which wasn’t too much of a tourist town- and traveled to Pakistan on and off throughout my childhood. I might have been a foreigner in Karachi, but never really identified myself as a tourist.

In Cairo, it pained me to see the tourist industry at work. I saw the massive 50 feet charter buses roll through villages as carbon monoxide sprayed out of the exhaust. I saw Europeans wave their hands down at us as they slowly drove by. It hurt me to see the buses drive within the market. Food was  sold there; people prayed at the al- Hussein mosque nearby; folks simply wanted to enjoy the warm summer breeze- to simply live their lives. But it would go interrupted- night after night. A day wouldn’t go by where you didn’t get gawked at and admired, poked or laughed at because you were eating pigeon (hammam) for dinner instead of fried chicken.

But it’s been years since my time in Cairo. Four years to be exact, and my, how easily the mind forgets. I’m itching to leave this country. To go off into some distant land and see the masterpiece that this world is. A few friends, in a celebratory trip went to Puerto Rico. I saw the beautiful pictures, all which exuded the country’s rich history and culture. The stunning, clear water and delicious food. There’s such a romantic view- an exotisized view of the other. And we tend to forget the people and their struggle behind it all. I was swiftly reminded when I read a piece in the New York Times.

As the university system announced budget cuts, students demanded an alternative and a greater transparency for university finances. “We understand this is social marginalization and discrimination against the people with less resources,” said Fernando Espinal, a law school graduate and former president of the student council.

As I read the article, the quotes and listented to an interview by Amy Goodman about the strike [Student Strike at University of Puerto Rico Enters 28th Day], I felt more connected than I ever imagined I would… to a country I had never stepped foot in. And then I envisioned… not being a tourist…but a traveler. A seeker of knowledge. Recognizing that God is perfection, and the blueprint He’s created of this world is nothing but a representation of that perfection. I want to see and hear. I want to travel with my eyes and ears. An explorer that eats a homemade meal, that speaks with the taxi drivers about the realities of their lives, that attempts to learn the country’s past accounts and future aspirations. I want to humble myself as I see the majestic beauty compounded into each and every country.

Adventures that await…

So I was actually in the process of writing a new blog entry. Nothing with any real substance I’m sure. I just wanted to feel a mental release that comes from hearing the keys on the keyboard click away on my now dingy looking Mac laptop. Maybe the blog was going to be about the cold, harsh Chicago winters, or about people’s inability to truly keep their resolutions and break out of their habitual routines, or about my lackluster contribution to society. And how I desperately crave to do my part in “saving the world”. My dreams however, seem so distant from reality.

Then I do my daily round of Facebook stalking. I look up my “regulars”. My friend’s pages whom I miss to death, my family etc. And I stumble upon my husband’s page. There, I saw the following link: https://secure.unicefusa.org/site/Donation2?df_id=6680&6680.donation=form1

And a light bulb flashed before my eyes. It was seriously an exciting “ah-ha” moment. I perpetually sit around and complain about my inability to really do something for my community, for the South of Chicago… for the world at large. But here comes this easy opportunity to open my wallet, pull out that plastic debit card, and just give. How can saving the world be that simple?

I have no real desire to appeal to anyone’s ethos. Or make anyone feel guilty for not giving. The dire situation speaks for itself. An earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 and intense aftershocks… a city with crumbled buildings and a hospital in ruins. A destructed city that sits in darkness … as it calls upon on us, the privileged to ‘do tha dang thang.’

Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity – Buddha

Why are our eyes wide shut? Let’s drop our pre-existing baggage and view it with open hearts. It’s evident that there exists a high need to engage in such dialogue but it somehow gets halted from moving forward… reasons for which remain mysterious to me. I dare not approach this topic from the ubiquitous perspective of “needing to marry a non-Muslim man because great Muslim men just aren’t out there,” as it seems this conversation is thoroughly played out.

My thoughts on why we as Muslim women couldn’t marry non-Muslim men.

From a traditional standpoint:

• Point: Men, as they went off to war would never return home or be away for extended periods of time and therefore were allowed to marry women of the land where the war was taking place
  • Counterpoint: By the same token, I wonder about the women who are left behind. If this rule pertains to men, for what reasons could it not be applied vise versa? Moreover, women were left alone to be caretakers of their respective families. So why is an identical ruling not applied?

• Point: Men played a dominant role in a given family structure and therefore dictated much of what took place in the household, including religious and daily activities. They were accountable for educating their children on issues regarding this world and the hereafter. Women were uneducated and incapable of engaging in the family process or traditional “head of household”  responsibilities.
  • Counterpoint: If you take a look at any contemporary family structure, women have dominated and flourished in every capacity both domestically and professionally. At least from the “western” perspective, women have educated themselves in everything from religion to philosophy to medicine. We are the leaders, educators and healers of our respective communities.
  • The Prophet (saws) has stated that the woman is a caretaker in the home, ra’i– the same word you use for a ruler. How likely is it then, that women are strictly susceptible to the influences of her husband?
  • Women now play a leading part in educating their children in terms of religion.

God only knows. I pray that we can put our minds and hearts together to contextualize our own history. To come up with answers which align with God’s words.

Ameen.

“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.”- Galileo

Second grade. I had a crush on a Mexican kid with a chipped tooth. I guess we were all losing teeth back then. I wasn’t much about looks anyway. I would chase him around the playground. But he ran away. Far away. Sometimes it seemed like he’d disappear. Or maybe, it’s just my memory that fades.

Fifth grade. I tried having another crush. This time he was Asian. I think his name was Adrian. His best friend – Warren Lam. They were both in all the AP classes. Somehow it got around to his sister that I thought he was cute, and one day after school, she pointed me out to him. I imagine he was looking for a girlfriend and wanted to know who this “mysterious” chick was. The disgusted look on his face when he saw who it was—was priceless.

Sure I was a bit hefty at the time. But that look made me feel devastated. Never wanting such private information like that going out in public, I ran home crying. My first tears over a guy. Only to come home to my brother watching cartoons. I swayed back and forth in that rocking chair. My world had nearly ended. And I was only 11 years old.

High school. I think his name was Asif. I was shy back then. Around guys anyway. We spent about 2 years giving each other the eye. But nothing came of it. Ah—desi boys. Gotta love it. Then he began dating someone whom I can’t recall.

High school track: I started running. Somehow I needed to loose weight. Running 1 lap was hard. I pushed to get to the finish line. I prayed to God. I negotiated with God: “If you help me loose weight, I’ll start wearing a scarf.” Subhan’Allah. I bargained with God.

So I ran. And ran. Ate carrots, and ran some more. A Mexican guy on the sidelines called me a monkey as I attempted running my 12 minute mile. But soon enough, my mother’s friends started noticing. “How trim and nice she’s looking. What’s her secret”? Guys started noticing. Turnin’ heads.

So it seems that now the guys decide to start turning their heads. Too little too late. And thus, I began my almost life long grudge against men. I would roll my eyes, switch my hips and just walk by. Without even blinkin’ an eye.

How else could I have been a survivor?

TBC

I love listening to your heartbeat –a pulse which beats louder than the beats of an African drum
I love listening to your breath –in its very own enchanting rhythm.

I attempt to make out your face as I stare deep into the darkness
The moonlight shines through the blinds, illuminating your soul and I can’t help but feel blessed.

As you lay your head down to rest
How can I express the magnitude at which I’m awed by your innocent and delicate finesse
And so I say that the beauty you possess,
Is more beautiful than I would have ever guessed.

Time passes by, as night fades into day and the sun begins its morning quest
Time for me to humbly bow down and make my morning request
Turning right and then left, greeting the Angels from the south to the northwest
O Lord, let our love multiply, and be each others protectors–be each others life vest
Until our time comes for eternal rest.

Ameen.