Tarlo's book. Image via Amazon.com

In her book, Tarlo shows a snapshot of the way in which the veil has manifested itself within the Muslim population of Britain. In focusing on the way that different Muslim women struggle to find common ground between various identities, and the reactions of those around them, Tarlo looks at the veil as a part of the changing dynamics of members of a newer community, rather than an exposé that aims to penetrate the “secret world of Muslim women.”

Within the book, Tarlo moves from discussing high-profile Muslim women, to fashion, the hijab as a part of politics, and the fluid relationship between culture and religion. She does not gloss over the difficulties in finding a bridge between identities. When I saw the words “fashion” and “veil” together, I was worried that I would be confronted with a piece that would merely wax poetic about the intricate embroidery of hijab and the wonderful colors and trends that are starting to rival the Western fashion industry. Instead, Tarlo does depict changing fashions for Muslim women, but rather as a part of personal journeys. Furthermore, she analyzes the discourse surrounding the emerging market for “modest fashion.”

The most hard-hitting theme of the book was that of integration. In writing about some of the challenges faced by Muslim women within British communities, I could definitely relate. While Tarlo introduced a great deal of personal narratives from a wide range of women, she also brought into play some of the debate surrounding the hijab within the Muslim community itself. Finding a sense of identity and purpose is a concept which most people–not just Muslims–can relate to. What was refreshing was that she did not glorify or vilify groups that were more “modern” than others, but simply left the reader to try to understand the realities of grasping for a sense of identity.  In showing this theme of integration as a part of juggling different identities, rather than a poisonous and foreign part of society, it forced me to really reflect on how difficult it is for anyone to try to fit in on any level. Rather than trying to promote an “acceptable” level of integration, Tarlo merely provides a picture of the realities of the Muslim community in Britain. This is significant because she does not depict it as a threat, but rather as important debate that shows that the face of Islam is changing and growing, as with many immigrant communities.

What I felt was monumentally missing from Tarlo’s work was the voice of Muslim women who have either been forced to veil or took it off. While she did a great job in showing the diversity of religious views and coming to the veil, I think that in analyzing the world of hijab, it is important to understand why women may reject it entirely. Also, I felt that she could have analyzed the role of socioeconomic status a bit more within the book. While the role of fashion is very significant in trying to understand the identities of Muslim women, I felt that fashion may have a different place and even the hijab itself may play a different role for someone that may not be able to afford the diversity in dress.

Despite being left with these questions, overall, I was impressed with the book’s fluid style, beautiful pictures, and honest stories. Furthermore, I enjoyed Tarlo’s dedication to trying to capture not only a snapshot of the Muslim community within Britain, but also in trying to introduce the difficulties within the Islamic community itself. She does not glorify the hijab or Islam, but rather highlights the realities faced by Muslim women.

• A Jordanian court sentenced a 19-year-old man to 10 years in jail for stabbing his sister to death. May Allah give her peace and justice.

• Hijab Style interviews the founders of Vela.

• Sheema Khan asks for a Canadian approach to the burqa.

• Speaking of burqas, a cleric in India says that it is permissible for women to have identification pictures taken without a face veil.

• Nadya Khalife writes about Dubai’s shameful record on rape. More from the Los Angeles Times.

• A Small Magazine interviews Muna Abu Sulayman.

• In Turkey, a conference discussed the impact that women have had on the country’s politics.

• Something’s not right: A 12-year-old girl has dropped her request for a divorce just one day before a court hearing to annul the marriage.

• Iranian director Rakhshan Bani-Etemad dedicated a recent award to “Iran’s mourning mothers.”

• Lebanon’s Cabinet approved the adoption of a women’s 20% quota for the municipal elections.
  

• Rabia Chaudry explains why Americans will never have security in the current political climate.

• Aafia Siddiqui has been convicted of attempted murder. More from The New York Times, Al Jazeera, and GOATMILK.

• Sign a petition to stop domestic violence in Lebanon.

• A father who murdered his daughter six years ago was given six years in prison, while her brother (who also participated in the murder) was set free. May Allah give her peace and justice.

• Bloomberg believes it sees a demographic shift in Arab women and their careers. More from Forbes.

• The Media Line reports that Saudi Arabia is considering a women-only bus system. As is Egypt.

• The majority of the U.A.E.’s first Ph.D. candidates are women.

• A conference in Nigeria urges Muslim women to gain knowledge.

• Some girls’ schools have reopened in Afghanistan’s Helmand province.

• A Malaysian court overturned a government ban on a book written by Sisters in Islam that was deemed “a misinterpretation of Islam.” Reactions to the un-banning here.

• RAWA reports the disturbing reality that women are for sale in Afghanistan.

• The National highlights a martial arts class for women in Dubai.

• Iranian actress Golshifteh Farahani says she’s afraid of repercussions if she returns to Iran.

• elan magazine profiles female Omani equestrians.

• A Saudi Arabian woman whose brothers divorced her from her husband has been reunited with her family after a Saudi court overturned the divorce ruling.

• A female surveillance officer for the Paris police who was suspended for wearing a headscarf on duty will face a disciplinary committee. Via Islam in Europe.

• Saudi Arabia has drafted a relaxed marriage law that may allow Saudi men to marry non-Saudi women more easily. Predictably, the “relaxed” rules are not as liberal for Saudi women.

• The Christian Science Monitor profiles Egypt’s Divorcee Radio.

• Afghanistan does not have a future without women at the table.

• On the lack of choice Saudi women have in regard to driving.

• CNN interviews the Emirates’ first female film producer.

• The BBC reports that many Muslim women in the U.K. are in Islamic marriages not recognized by British law, which may leave them legally vulnerable.

• The Sharjah Art Museum is hosting an exhibit entitled “Women & Art.”

• Many women in Yemen are unaware of regulations against sexual harassment.

• Iran hosted the first International Conference of Women Scientists from the Islamic World.

• Egypt works to prevent underage marriages.

• How the internet has shaped Saudi women’s lives positively.

Like always, if we’ve forgotten any important news about Muslim women, feel free to post it in the comments!

One theme that I’ve noticed lately is the tendency for people opposed to the ban to contextualize their opposition with a comment along the lines of “I really don’t like the burqa/niqab/veil, but I don’t agree that it should be banned.”  One Canadian blog describes it as “unsettling because it is often a symbol of feminine oppression,” and quotes a Member of Parliament, who says that “As a woman, clearly it makes me a little uncomfortable.”  A Globe and Mail journalist writes that “many Canadians feel uncomfortable seeing the face-veil here. It represents a physical barrier, which has no precedent in our culture.”  An opinion piece in the France-based Presseurop describes the burqa as “a barbarous piece of clothing.”  And yet, all of the quotes listed here come from people (of vastly differing political leanings) who all strongly disagree with a legal ban on wearing burqas.

This makes me wonder: what exactly is the function of expressing one’s personal discomfort when arguing against the ban?

It is true that such claims can be useful in establishing that one’s argument is coming from a certain social or political framework, based in ideas about rights or rule of law, rather than a personal love for the niqab (although such claims can also be made clearly without the use of words such as “barbarous.”)  The point that many of these writers are trying to make is that disliking something is not a very good reason to outlaw it, and that certainly has some value.

And yet, I find myself squirming a bit every time I see comments like these, because despite the ways they might be useful to the argument, they still stigmatize those who cover their faces in France, Canada, and other Western countries.  Even if women who wear niqab or burqas are shown to have legal belonging, their belonging within the Western societies where they live is shown as questionable at best, and negative feelings towards them are validated.  (Of course, that is exactly what some of the writers I quoted are likely trying to do; most of these aren’t exactly anti-racist sources.  That said, I’ve seen similar sentiments even in feminist arenas, where I think writers need to be more careful.)  These comments mark niqab-wearing women as legitimate sources of discomfort for those of “us” who come across them.  Ironically, such comments can even end up backfiring, by feeding the sentiment that leads people to desire a ban on face covering (which, in the long run, is probably a bigger problem than the ban itself.)

The comments also assume that there is only ever one meaning for the niqab, and that it is intrinsically oppressive, and only ever a negative experience.  In the bitterly, painfully cold Toronto winter cold snap we had last week, I found myself thinking that a piece of fabric designed to cover the face could actually be a great idea.  In saying that, I don’t mean to trivialize the issue, but instead to say that covering one’s face, as with many experiences, can have multiple meanings, and might even be to one’s advantage at certain times.

As Sheema Khan writes, in the Globe and Mail article quoted above,

the intentions of these women are diverse. For some, it is an act of faith to get closer to God. Some incur the disapproval of family, friends and community for taking this step; others are forced to do so by family members. Youthful defiance may play a role.

For those who are truly made uncomfortable by the niqab because they see it as a sign of oppression or sexism, let’s re-focus the targets of this comments away from the fabric, and away from the women who may or may not be wearing it because of coercion.  Instead, what should make us uncomfortable is domestic violence, it’s people who force women to wear things they don’t want to, and it’s the idea that human value (as a woman, as a religious person, as a person deserving of respect) has anything to do with what that person does or does not wear.  This will get us a whole lot further than a narrow focus that judges only the clothes and the people who wear them.

*Although not exactly accurate, I’ve used the words “burqa” and “niqab” somewhat interchangeably throughout this post; “burqa” is the word that is in the news most often with regards to this issue, but I think “niqab” is a more accurate reflection of what the proposed law would actually ban.  The lack of precision in the language used around this case could be a whole other blog post.

Image via Amazon.com

Children of Dust, prominent writer Ali Eteraz’s recently published memoir, provides an excellent example of a Pakistani-American Muslim in search of his own self-identity.  Eteraz’s prose is a delight to read—I randomly started reading a segment from the middle of the book upon its arrival and proceeded to read a good chunk before realizing that I should start reading it from the beginning.  I found his descriptions of cultural experiences as an immigrant growing up in the United States to be reminiscent of my own cultural and religious experiences as a second-generation immigrant.  In the prologue to his memoir, Eteraz explains:

This book is about a thoroughly Islamic childhood and about a boy’s attempt not merely to know his identity, but to assert his sovereignty.  (Some parts of it are about the girls he met along the way).

While the book’s emphasis is on Eteraz’s own personal upbringing and understanding of himself, I was intrigued by his relationships with girls and women throughout the course of the memoir.  In Children of Dust, girls and women serve as mere sexual interests for Eteraz—he is unable to form long-lasting relationships with women without sexual motives.  Even with sexual motives, he is unable to form any kind of healthy relationship with women.

Eteraz describes his first sexual experience when he is seven years old living in Pakistan: “I learned of sin from a girl named Sina.”  He has Sina undress and exposes himself to her.  Eteraz does not elaborate on a prior, non-sexual relationship with her (or with any other girl, for that matter).  His mother admonishes him: “Good boys don’t play games with girls” (19).  The disturbing episode during his childhood foreshadows his subsequent relationships with women: they merely serve a sexual purpose in Eteraz’s relationships.

While a university student, Eteraz describes several other sexual experiences with Muslim women he encounters.  Eteraz, rather intriguingly, mentions his interest in “targeting” Muslim women:

Muslim girls were my immediate “target,” because there were certain in-built advantages I could exploit.  First, my aura as a “pious brother” was still intact.  That reputation allowed me to…initiate conversations with girls without having them think that I was hitting on them. (240)

Eteraz finds his exploitation of Muslimahs a thrilling endeavor, as he assumes an entirely noble personality when meeting women—Eteraz relishes his power to potentially deflower women who appeared to be sexually unavailable.

He later comes to realize, however, that:

Persuading girls to abandon the strictures of Islam…was not ultimately satisfying.  I couldn’t boast or gloat about it to anyone.  I couldn’t celebrate my success.  The secrecy ruined it.  What was the point of having power over another human being if it couldn’t be publicized?  (246)

For Eteraz, sexual behavior is the way in which he is able to “have power over another human being”—a power he realizes he is unable to portray freely due to his religious restraints.  Forming a healthy relationship with another human being would require a lack of power, which Eteraz is unable to display until the end of the book (where he, as an expat in the Middle East, forms his first true friendship).

While I enjoyed reading Eteraz’s prose and his journey towards his “sovereignty,”  I found his relationships with Muslim women were disappointingly abysmal—Muslim women merely serve a sexual purpose as an unattainable ideal and a way to feel “power over another human being.”  Why is this still happening?

Granted, the experience represented here is Eteraz’s own and not necessarily reflective of a larger group.  All in all, Children of Dust was an excellent, albeit frustrating read for this Muslimah.

Stay tuned for Part II next week!

Sura al Shawk. Image via Zoe Jobin.

Last summer, a young Swiss Muslimah from Luzern, Surah al Shawk (pictured left), attracted the attention of the Northeastern Swtizerland Basketball Association, ProBasket, when she started playing in second division games in Luzern. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her amazing skills on the court that grabbed their attention–it was her headscarf. Her veil had never caused any problems at the community level, before her talent led her to the big leagues. Probasket stated that according to International Basketball Federation (FIBA) rules, headscarves cannot be worn during games, both in the need for sporting events to be “religiously neutral” and also in case of injury. ProBasket’s position was later confirmed by FIBA. Her appeal to ProBasket was based on the grounds of breach of personality, which the district court ruled against this week.

She now can appeal to the Swiss Supreme Court…or just take off her veil on the court. At the time, Ms. al Shawk’s case made headlines in the German part of Switzerland, including full page spreads in the Basler Zeitung and the Tages Anzeiger, as well as in Geneva’s French language daily Le Temps. At the time, most of the major parties, with the exception of the UDC (the party behind the “minaret” vote), questioned whether even the extra-parliamentary Federal Commission Against Racism cited ProBasket for its unequal treatment of the athlete when the affair first broke in June.

Now as the verdict has fallen in “post-minaret” Switzerland, the question of religious freedom for Muslims has the potential to make headlines again. Luckily, the positions taken in June by the various actors cited previously appear to stand. With the notable exception of FIBA, who has dropped the religious symbol argument in favor of simply mentioning that head coverings are not part of the official uniform. As another French-language article, this time in December from 24 Heures pointed out, first and foremost, FIBA rules ban head coverings. According to the president of Swiss Basketball, François Stempfel, “Nowhere do the FIBA regulations refer to religious symbols,” noting that the the FIBA rules on head coverings apply simply to uniform regulations. He goes on to say that, after last fall’s anti-minaret vote, Swiss Basketball regrets that the “the emotional context [of Ms. al Shawk’s case] no longer allows for a calm debate.”

For an interview on Friday in French-language daily Le Matin, Ms. Al Shawk, answered a few questions, including a few regarding the recent minaret vote:

Do you feel integrated in Switzerland?

Yes, I am integrated. I go to school. I try to do the best possible in my studies. I only have two Muslim friends. The others are all Swiss or from other backgrounds. They accept me as I am. And I accept them as they are.

Do you have other problems with this veil? At school, the pool or in restaurants?

Yes, the pool, it was very complicated. But this is not a very important activity for me, so I just don’t do it. It [the pool] is the only problem that I encounter. Looking for a job will probably also be complicated. But I have a friend who does not wear a veil and the job hunt is complicated for her as well. And then, the question is a non-issue at this time. I want to go to university in economics or international relations.

Do you find Switzerland intolerant?

Ten years ago, when I arrived in Switzerland, I do not think so. I was convinced that religious freedom was guaranteed. But now I realize that many Swiss are pretending to be tolerant. I’d say it’s 50-50. Half the population is liberal and the other half is conservative.

What did you think of the anti-minaret vote?

Many people did not understand what they were voting for. They were already visualizing minarets that make the call to prayer five times a day … People voted out of fear.

A part-time hijabi myself, I still understand Sura al Shawk’s position of not wanting to take hers off. When dealing with people who like to dictate what women should where and when, the more time you spend with your headscarf off, the more time you waste explaining to people when it is on (”Well, if you take it off at the pool, surely you can take it off for Great Uncle Elmo’s barbecue on Sunday!”).

And while I don’t claim to be an expert in sports injuries or FIBA rules, most of the press pictures show her in a tight wrap. I don’t buy the “potential cause of injury argument” which could hold water if she was trying to defend a center or dribble between her legs in a jilbab. Although FIBA and ProBasket have backpedaled due to the pending litigation, I also don’t buy the “religious symbols” argument when you think about the fact that tattoos are allowed by FIBA, and I can count on two hands and two feet the number of tatted-up crosses I have seen on NBA players allowed to play for national teams under FIBA rules.

I don’t have an a priori for or against headscarves or crosses, I just don’t get the double standard. Is this about FIBA uniform rules or Muslims?

Are you on Facebook under your real name? This is the question that continues to haunt a large number of Saudi Arabian women, despite the fact that internet social networking sites rely primarily on factual personal information. However, a recent study carried out in Saudi Arabia shows that 68% of Saudi girls prefer to withhold their family name due to the sensitivity of this information, in comparison to just 32% of girls who appear on Facebook under their own full names. The study revealed that 16% of girls polled were members of Facebook under aliases or false identities. As for the Saudi Arabian boys who use Facebook, the study showed that 60% of those questioned were members of Facebook under their own full name, with just 4% appearing under an alias or a false name.

This information was disclosed as part of a study entitled, “The Methodology of Saudi Youth When Utilizing Social Networking Sites,” which was carried out by a group of students at the School of Computer Science at the King Saud University in Riyadh. The group of students surveyed a number of Saudi students, half of whom were studying at the King Saud University, while the other half were studying at secondary schools in Riyadh.

Ahoud al-Shaheel, a Professor of Communication at King Saud University, told Asharq Al-Awsat that the latest statistics on the Facebook phenomenon indicate that membership of the site is experiencing an annual growth of 9% amongst the youth. According to these statistics, there is one Saudi female for every 5 Saudi males registered on Facebook as of the end of 2009.

Al-Shaheel confirmed that she wanted to shed light on the methods which the Saudi youth were utilizing social networking sites, as a response to these sites gaining popularity, and more people spending more time on them.

The study highlighted how young men and women in Saudi Arabia are utilizing the social networking website Facebook. The study revealed that of the university student polled, 60% of male students uploaded a real picture of themselves, in comparison to just 5% of female students. While 10% of male students used an image of a famous person, 10% of female students use an image of somebody from their family, their father, brother, or another family member, with the remaining 8% utilizing an “ineligible image” (such as a drawing or cartoon or close-up of an eye, etc).

As for secondary school students, the study revealed that around 30% of boys and 60% of girls did not upload a picture whatsoever, while 10% of boys and 24% of girls uploaded a picture of a famous person. Sixteen percent of girls in secondary school utilized a picture of a family member.

With regards to uploading pictures and allowing others to view these, the students who conducted the study wrote, “it is difficult to judge the character of a young Saudi Arabian through images, and the majority of Saudi Arabians [on Facebook] only allow their friends to view their pictures. We [also] discovered that 40% of [Saudi] Facebook members only upload their pictures in order to allow their friends to post comments on them.”

On the nature of the comments posted on Facebook by university students, the study revealed that 10% of male students posted inappropriate comments, while the majority of other comments – estimated to be around 80% – were posts contributing to discussions or cultural topics. As for the language that these comments are posted in, the study revealed that 45% of posts are in English, 40% are in Arabic, with around 12% being posted in Anglicized Arabic (i.e. Arabic language written in English letters).

As for the secondary school students, the study revealed that 70% of male students post responses that vary between positive and negative comments, while 15% posted inappropriate comments. As for the language that these posts are made in, the proportion of comments posted in English [in comparison to the university students polled] increased to 54%, in comparison to 40% who posted in Anglicized Arabic, with a minority of just 6% who posted comments in Arabic.

As for the concerns of the youth utilizing the Facebook social networking site, the study showed that university students were more interested in cultural issues, with the male students focusing on sports and music, while the female students were more interested in shopping, fashion, music, and movies. Seventy percent of the university students who were involved in the study said they were interested in “general” issues, while 56% said that their interests were limited to their studies and personal hobbies.

In comparison, a small proportion of the Saudi Arabian secondary school students who took part in the study said that were interested in cultural or educational issues. The majority of these students said they were interested in general issues, with 60% said they utilized Facebook for making friends, with just 20% using Facebook with regards to their personal hobbies.

For his part, Dr. Saud Katib, a new media and internet specialist, told Asharq Al-Awsat that internet social networking sites have attracted young people [in the Middle East] and freed them from certain restrictions, allowing them the opportunity to express themselves and communicate with others. He said “social networking sites have narrowed the gap between real society and the desired society that we are searching for and trying to bring about.”

Dr. Katib said that social networking sites attract a portion of Saudi youth as a form of escapism, saying “Some girls in reality are fully covered up however in the virtual community they upload their personal pictures or albums.” When asked to give his opinion for the reason of this contradiction, Katib told Asharq Al-Awsat that “this is an attempt to overcome many of the customs present in real life.” He also clarified that the behavior of the youth in real life is different from their behavior in this virtual community, and he described this virtual community as “the community that they desire.”

Dr. Saud al-Katib analyzed the findings of this study, and said that a proportion of Saudi female students do not use their true names, or upload pictures of themselves, but instead upload anonymous picture of themselves such as a close-up of an eye, hair, etc. He said that the majority of Facebook pictures (uploaded by female students) focus on personal property with sentimental value or holiday pictures. The study described this as part of “a desire to boast and brag.”

It is worth mentioning that the most recent study carried out by the Saudi Communications and Information Technology Commission revealed that internet access in Saudi Arabia had increased to 36% of Saudi society as of the end of 2008, which represented an increase of around 6% from the previous year. The Ash-Sharqiyah province of Saudi Arabia has the highest proportion with regards to internet access, with 39% of the total population, followed by Riyadh with 37%.

Salam waleykum, readers!

I’m traveling this week, and haven’t had much access to internet (you’ve probably noticed if you’ve tried to submit a comment…), so I haven’t been able to put together a Friday Links this week.

But instead, I’ll leave you with a new face at MMW to get to know! Until next week, friends! – Fatemeh

Raised outside of New Orleans, I started learning French at an early age and used my language skills as my ticket out of town, first stopping in Quebec when I was 17 before moving on to France and Belgium. I came back to the U.S. and in between trips around the world found a way to get a BA in International Studies from the Croft Institute at the University of Mississippi. During one of my extended stays abroad, I met a Franco-Algerian in Paris who I eventually married and with whom I moved to Switzerland where I have spent the past five years, first in Zurich and now in Lausanne. 2010 is a year of big change for me!

I converted to Islam in 2000. I’m still the same girl I always was, your typical free-spirit American convert, and I won’t preach at you. We’re all just wayfarers, so I try to cut people as much slack as I would like in return. Few of us in our time are specialists in religion, yet increasingly we are called to represent Islam even when we have little knowledge. As such, I firmly believe three things about my religion: 1. You use it to check yourself; once you have that on lock, 2. you make other Muslims happy to be Muslim and happy to know you; and finally, 3. You make people who aren’t Muslim at worst think “gee, that kooky Muslim chick is kinda cool” and at best “wow, being Muslim is awesome.”

I have several years blogging under a pseudonym and guest/group blogging in French and English, most recently in 2009 at the Lausanne Bondy Blog. As a blogger, my interests span from makeup to European politics, from Islam to social media, from Switzerland to SEC college football. At Muslimah Media Watch, I hope to focus on media issues affecting Muslim women in Switzerland and Europe although I may raise some Algerian or technology issues relating to Muslim women where I feel my input is appropriate.

In real life, I work in the legal field. Where my professional and personal lives collide is that I also have a particular interest in IP and general legal issues in the digital age. I am part of the small Swiss tech/social media community and as such participate as a blogger in local and European events such as LeWeb 09. Blogs, and social media in general, offer people like me- strangers in a strange land- the opportunity to find a place to “fit in.” I am very excited to be blogging in English again at Muslimah Media Watch!

While the analysis and interviews are interesting (you can go read that for yourself), the piece seems to rest on some rather fuzzy definitions of the very terms that the writer wants to discuss.

Image via Gulf News.

For example, the “Arab world.”  Spanning a wide geographical area with a couple dozen countries and a population of over 300 million, the “Arab world” contains within it a range of diverse histories, religions, and cultures, even despite whatever similarities lead to it being lumped together under one label.  I’m not saying that the label is totally useless, but to talk about “Arab feminism” or whether there is a “place for Westernized feminism in the Arab world” is a conversation that might have very different responses throughout the region.  When every person interviewed for the article is based in the United Arab Emirates, the potential for such diverse responses is severely limited.  (The focus on the U.A.E. makes sense, of course, in that the news source that published the article is based in Dubai; however, if the writer wanted to focus on local encounters with feminism, she would probably have been better off talking about Emirati feminism instead of attempting to speak for Arabs as a whole.)

Moreover, the “Arab world” is repeatedly assumed to be a Muslim world as well; while it it is true that the vast majority of Arabs are Muslim, non-Muslim Arabs are excluded from the discussion.  This, as well as the assumed homogeneity of both the “Arab world” and the “Western” feminism being (potentially) introduced, can end up reinforcing the idea of the “West” and the “Arab world” (and/or “Islam”) as categorically different from one another, and overlooking the diversity that exists within them.

The concept of “feminism” is also not very clearly defined.  This is perhaps not all that surprising, considering that even many self-identified feminists have a hard time explaining it, and that the whole point of the article is to discuss the varying opinions on the nature and role of feminism within Arab societies, so the lack of a clear definition here actually serves to prove the point of the article, and isn’t really a weakness.  That said, I was struck by the question in the subtitle of the article about whether “the region” is “ready to embrace” feminism, implying that feminism is an inevitability that the region must get “ready” for.  Moreover, “Western” feminism is talked about as if it refers to one clear set of beliefs, and as if all Western women face the same struggles.

In fact, the article fails, in many ways, to define the term “women” as well.  By that, I’m not referring to a biological or even social definition of women (although those discussions wouldn’t be irrelevant either), but rather a definition that specifies which women the writer is discussing.  Early in the article, a professor is quoted to say that some women are attempting to gain greater rights by acting like a “superwoman,” juggling “home duties” as well as a career.  One student interviewed for the article apparently feels that, of all of the Arab countries she has lived in, the U.A.E. is “the most respectful of women’s rights to education and work.”  While these may certainly represent major struggles for a lot of women (in the “Arab world” and elsewhere), they also convey a certain level of class privilege; after all, many working-class women have always had to work outside their own homes (including, often, domestic work in someone else’s home.)

For that matter, does the category of “women in the Arab world” also encompass the foreign women living and working in Arab countries, many as domestic workers?  The assumptions about the race and class of the “women” described in this article need to be questioned, and the answers to these questions can have important implications for how the “Arab world” is understood, and whose interests this “feminism” is meant to serve.  Ironically, the exclusion of certain women from the category of “women” whose interests are considered within discussions of feminist movements is actually a pretty significant point of similarity between the “Arab” and “Western” versions of feminism discussed in this article.

The role of feminism (or of women’s movements, if the word “feminism” is too loaded) within Arab countries is an interesting topic, and one that appears to be generating discussion in various Arab countries.  The conversations will be improved, however, if those who write about them can strive for a clearer picture of what – and who – they are talking about.

Taslima. Image via BBC website.

Muslim Driving School is billed as being about British Muslim women, but from the introduction onward, a narrower focus is introduced–a focus on mostly Asian Muslim women, from what are described as “traditional” Muslim communities, living in northern mill towns such as Bradford and Burnley. The publicity describes the show as an “intimate and revelatory insight” into the lives of the women featured. Throughout the show there is an unambiguous depiction of the women and their lives from the standpoint of an outsider, represented for the consumption of other outsiders. The minor details of their lives are held up as revelation, while a distanced appraisal of an ostensibly alien culture is supposedly intimacy.

The terms “Asian” and “Muslim” are used interchangeably throughout the program. Asian women’s husbands make choices for them, Muslim women do not speak to men who are not part of their mahram – generalizations are used to paint the group as a whole in broad brushstrokes, while a series of exceptions to the rule are presented. At one point an imam is brought in to tell us that he thinks that Muslim women should have the right to drive and the right to work, as though these are revolutionary concepts for Muslim women or there aren’t any number of religious scholars, both today and throughout history, who haven’t agreed with these concepts. These particular women are shown as being part of a vanguard of change, a change catalyzed by the influence of British society.

Driving is explicitly presented as being about more than pleasure or transportation, as the narration gushes about the “revving engines” of “revolution” sounding across the country. In relation to Muslim women, it seems, driving should be perceived differently – not a “pleasure pursuit,” but a route to social and economic independence, something that is shown as being rare or absent in the past.Driving is seen to be not only a freedom, but a symbol of and a model for wider freedoms being attained by Muslim women, a particular generation of Muslim women, and a particular generation of immigrants.

Taslima (pictured above left), a 58-year-old grandmother who came to Britain from Pakistan to be married at 13 is learning to drive in order to be able to provide transportation for her ill husband–after he had previously told her that there was no need for her to learn to drive when he was able. Zaida, a driving instructor who runs a school with her husband, pushed past her family’s objections and learned to drive as teenager, turning her passion into a career, specializing in teaching women to drive, but she explains her student Taslima’s lack of confidence on the road as being a sympton of a wider lack of assertiveness and inability to make firm decisions, not only in Taslima herself, but in Asian women as a whole. She insists that her children will have the ability to make choices she wasn’t able to.

Aysha.

Samia is an effusive eighteen-year-old who has recently gotten out of a failed arranged marriage in Pakistan and now wishes to have her own car. Aysha (nee Stacey, pictured right) stands alone as an example of British culture being affected by (a) Muslim culture. She’s moved from a life of “drink and drugs” to embracing religion and becoming a part of the family of Korsa, her driving instructor. The show is markedly ambivalent to Aysha’s choices, in comparison to the overwhelmingly positive portrayal of the other women who are shown to be becoming more anglicized, at one point asking if she wears the niqab in order to crush “Stacey,” her previous self, and highlighting her estrangement from her mother.

Subsequently, Muslim Driving School represents a narrative of Muslim women gaining forward momentum–the evolution of a feminist sensibility shaped by the admixture of an intrinsically “traditional” Muslim culture and an apparently liberal British culture. But ultimately, the focus on driving as a mechanism for change is a stretch.

Muslim Driving School is available to watch for U.K. residents on the BBC iPlayer here and here. The third episode will be airing on BBC 2 at 22.00 on Tuesday.

Since the media pathologizes Muslims on a daily basis, who is Alibhai-Brown to go against that trend? Her articles are often about what is wrong with Muslims today–the answer to which is usually not being enough like Alibhai-Brown.

In her piece for the London Evening Standard, the reader does not even escape the second paragraph without being told of “Muslim minds and lives worldwide being closed down by fanatics.” Already the tone is set: Muslim are bad and dangerous, except for our intrepid writer, who presumably, is not a fanatic.

Yet, the first paragraph is a hopeful one, as Alibhai-Brown is keen to met Allegra Mostyn-Owen, who runs art classes at East London mosque. Will Mostyn-Owen be a cause for optimism, or will she fail to be enough like Alibhai-Brown?
Well, the reader does not get to find out any more about Mostyn-Owen’s art skills, as Alibhai-Brown is far too interested in the men in Mostyn-Owen’s life to ask. You see, Mostyn-Owen has “married a man much younger than herself” and would be happy for her husband to marry another, younger wife if he wishes to have children. Alibhai-Brown claims to wish her well, but spends the rest of the article claiming that such actions betray Muslim women.

The reader is not sure what Mostyn-Owen’s response to this would be, as the only time she is directly quoted in the article is when giving a brief description of her husband. This does not stop Alibhai-Brown from indulging in some very patronizing speculation about exactly why Mostyn-Owen has chosen this marriage:

First she has married a much younger, fit man and maybe feels excessively grateful. Then she is going for complete surrender, an uncritical acceptance of the most regressive practices of some of my co-religionists.

Coupled with meeting three unnamed converts who felt “cleansed” and less objectified after conversion, Alibhai-Brown decides that it is “submissive” white convert women who are “dragging the faith back to the dark ages” by choosing to enter polygamous marriages. Alibhai-Brown claims that their actions are not even sincere, just a reaction against the West. Why white converts (Alibhai-Brown only mentions white converts, presumably she hasn’t met any of the large numbers of converts of color) are so dangerous is not justified by Alibhai-Brown. She provides no actual evidence beyond meager anecdotes.

From a statistical point of view, there are 1,591,000 Muslims in the U.K. Only approximately 14,000 of these are converts, that’s less then 0.9% percent of the Muslim population, a truly tiny figure to be causing so much damage to the Ummah.

The closest Alibhai-Brown comes to quoting anything factual, is Dr. Haifa Jawad, who states the most women who convert do so out of conviction, but that doesn’t stop Alibhai-Brown attacking flaky white Muslimahs and dismissing them as seekers of the exotic, rather than sisters in faith.

The article could easily be titled, “The Trouble with White Converts Today.” Despite Alibhai-Brown’s assertion that these women are middle-class and well-educated, she is quick to label them as “uncritical” and “carelessly surrendering (their) rights.”

Many converts (if you actually spoke to them and listened to what they had to say), would tell you that they often feel a great deal of pressure from the Muslim community, particularly in terms of marriage. Does it not occur to Alibhai-Brown that for convert sisters to find themselves in marriages that their born Muslim sisters would reject, something other than white girl whimsy is occurring?

When Alibhai-Brown crows that many of these marriages will lead to “tears before bedtime,” she is being unkind, but not incorrect. Post-conversion is a vulnerable time, when one is trying to build a new life, often isolated from loved ones and at the mercy of people with various agendas.

Such lack of support can indeed lead to some disastrous choices and none more so then in the field of marriage. I admit I do not have statistics on hand, but it is widely acknowledged that the convert community is plagued by marital difficulties. The progressive response to the emotional trauma this creates is surely sympathy, instead of spite.

Yet, Alibhai-Brown seems completely unaware of these issues. In case the case of Mostyn-Owen, her family’s reaction is described as “subtly xenophobic,” and Alibhai-Brown blithely considers that this “must hurt.” I have to disagree. Stubbing your toe hurts. Being rejected by your family can be utterly devastating. Alibhai-Brown’s article is full of praise for the Muslim women she grew up with, her mother and numerous other friends. Converts do not always have this ready-made support. Their relationship to the Muslim community is one that takes time to establish.

Alibhai-Brown comments again that she feels convert women are choosing the most conservative forms of Islam. Again, this shows her lack of knowledge of the U.K. Muslim community: it is often the more conservative groups that are the most pro-active at reaching out to new converts. Also, if, as Alibhai-Brown states, white converts are whimsies that Progressive Muslims have no time for, how can converts be blamed for seeking communities that will accept them?

It is easy to mock Alibhai-Brown for persistently telling the subtly-Islamophobic liberal what they want to hear (see linked articles for examples of this). Yet this article frustrates not for its obvious bias, but for its complete obliviousness to the actual problems occurring. As with all this condemnation, minus any compassion or taking women’s feelings seriously, Albihai-Brown sounds awfully reminiscent of the religious conservatives she so despises.