The 2012 Annual ISNA Convention Reviewed

At the beginning of September, I attended the annual Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) convention in Washington, D.C.  The event brings many well-known speakers, a bazaar, art exhibits, the always popular “speed marriage interviews a.k.a. the matrimonials,” and various entertainment acts from across the ISNA, Muslim Students Association (MSA), and Muslim Youth of North America (MYNA) organizations. The convention brings several thousand attendees.

Going into the weekend-long conference, I wasn’t sure what to expect. While I’ve attended the conference once before several years ago in Chicago, I have only vague memories of visiting the massive bazaar (and little else). This year’s convention proved to be a thoroughly insightful and inspiring time.

The most memorable and thought-provoking session for me took place the first evening of the conference. (Here’s a link to the convention program that gives brief descriptions of all of the sessions). Professors Seyyed Hossein Nasr and John Esposito, along with Feisal Abdul Rauf, and Zaid Shakir spoke eloquently during the session, “Interweaving Religion & Life in a Moral Society.” Professor Nasr commented throughout his presentation on the interrelationship between humans and nature—an environmental theme that I found refreshingly popped up throughout many of the convention sessions I attended (another favorite session of mine was one on “Caring for the Earth: Conserving its Resources for Future Generations and All Creation,” where the environmental theme was the entire focus).

Professor Nasr highlighted the “[overemphasis of the] human state over the rights of others” and our collective egotism as something to be aware of when considering the society we live in. He reminded us of to be mindful and “consider the sanctity of our creatures” (both human and non-human alike) as they all arise from the same source “al-Quddus”: “We cannot destroy other things without destroying ourselves.” He also reminded us that the “multiplicity of religion is the will of God” and that it is thus imperative for us to be respectful of other faiths: “[There is a] special duty on our shoulders for amity and respect as we are the last religion.” I hope ISNA posts a video of this session online, as I fear I’ve failed to do justice to Professor Nasr’s talk here.

While many of the sessions were moving, and brought speakers—both Muslim and non-Muslim—from a variety of diverse backgrounds, I was disappointed to see that women speakers were not present at any of the large evening sessions. [Read more...]

Ramadan Thoughts over Tamarind Chutney

My mother and I are in the kitchen on a bright Sunday afternoon right before Ramadan. Spices overwhelm our shared counterspace as my mother toasts and grinds spices for her garam masala, the ubiquitous Indian spice blend.

Making garam masala. Note the coffee grinder in the corner. It’s never been acquainted with coffee.

I’m squishing tamarind pulp that’s been soaking in warm water through my fingers—my mother assures me that the food processor won’t give the same results.

After years of avoiding learning from my mother’s kitchen skills, I find myself this year asking her to show me how to make tamarind chutney—a sweet+tangy condiment that’s only made during Ramadan at our home, that I eat in unhealthy amounts with everything during the month. It’s time I learned how to make it for myself. 

Despite the lack of food consumed during the day, there is an eclectic abundance towards the end as everyone at home prepares their own favorites to share. Our family’s iftars consist of dates, almonds, a cool sweetened milk drink called sharbat, and a spiced fruit salad. There is usually some sort of deep fried Indian snack—my sister’s dahi vadas, my dad’s bhagias (always tending more towards onion ones), samosas (the flat, triangular kinds at my home) prepared en masse and frozen to be fried at a moment’s notice, kebabs. All of the snacks go fantastically with the tamarind chutney; many are lovingly shared with friends who live close by. [Read more...]

Book Review: G. Willow Wilson’s Alif the Unseen

Back in 2010, I was so excited for the chance to review G. Willow Wilson’s memoir The Butterfly Mosque, where she explored her move to Egypt, conversion to Islam, and relationship with her husband. Here’s what I had to say about The Butterfly Mosque in 2010:

Muslim women are presented in an Islamic society not as subservient to patriarchal culture, but instead as strong, empowered individuals capable of deciding how they lead their lives within a religious and cultural framework.  That the memoir presents an affirmative representation of Islam from an American Muslim woman’s perspective makes for an important contribution to the growing body of work by contemporary Muslim authors.

I was just as excited to recently read Wilson’s new book and first novel, Alif the Unseen, and quickly made my way through it over the course of a weekend. [Read more...]

Sarabah Reviewed: Sister Fa and FGM in Senegal

Sarabah follows the life of Senegalese rapper Fatou Mandiang Diatta, better known as Sister Fa, and her quest to address female genital mutilation (FGM)* in her village in Senegal. After releasing her first album and marrying a German PhD student, she found herself in Germany working on her music and wanting to commit to raising awareness of FGM in Senegal, as she herself had undergone the procedure as a child.

Sister Fa’s organization, Education Sans Excision, works with the NGO Tostan in advocating for ending the practice. I looked at how Tostan was portrayed in Nicholas Kristof and Sheryll WuDunn’s Half the Sky a couple of years ago, and noted the lack of African women’s perspectives on FGM in the book. Sarabah offers an important personal perspective from a thoughtful, talented African woman.

Sister Fa. Image via Sarabahdocumentary.com.

Tostan’s educational emphasis does not aim to vilify the practice outright, and instead promotes a more nuanced discussion of its social necessity, in some instances, as it argues against the practice due to its negative consequences for women’s health. Sister Fa adopts this model in her own advocacy work in the country.  In an opinion piece for The Guardian last month, Sister Fa relates her complicated understanding of her own experience:

“For years, I wondered why my mother had allowed this to happen. It was not until someone explained to me that she didn’t have a choice: she was not cutting me to harm me, but because she felt that she was doing what was the best for me.”

When she returns to her village in Senegal with her German band, Sister Fa relates how the practice has little to do with Islam. Her village was one of the last to convert to the religion and retains cultural practices that predate their conversion. Imams might speak for or against the practice according to their own convictions, but it is ultimately women themselves who make the decision for their daughters to undergo the procedure due to its social convention.

Sister Fa is aware of her outsider status as a German resident, and fears being perceived as such as she promotes her anti-FGM campaign in Senegal. This discussion is an ever-important one in the field of development—who has the authority to conduct advocacy against harmful social practices? And also: what role might those who have left their countries have to play in promoting wide-scale social change back home? What role do artists play in activism?  I was not expecting these points to come up in the film, and found them refreshing to hear from Sister Fa herself. [Read more...]

Watching Muslimah Olympic Athletes, Past and Present

Recently, BBC’s Sporting Witness and NPR’s Tell Me More featured interviews with prominent Muslimah athletes.  Sporting Witness profiled Hassiba Boulmerka— otherwise known as the “Constantine Gazelle”—an Algerian Olympic gold medal winner in the 1500m competition in 1992. In the United States, Tell Me More profiled American fencer Ibtihaj Muhammad, who’s currently training for the 2012 Summer Olympics in the saber competition (she is currently ranked second in the United States).

Hassiba Boulmerka. Image via BBC.

What struck me, listening to both of the interviews, were both Boulmerka and Muhammad’s personal reflections of how their clothing choices influenced or affected their athletic participation.  This is something that I know many of my Muslim (and even non-Muslim) sisters and I have grappled with—how do we maintain our own physical activity while dressing in a way that we are personally comfortable with (for both hijabis and non-hijabis alike)?

Boulmerka did not wear hijab and was unable to train for the Olympics in Algeria due to the death threats she received as a result of her decision to compete publicly; she was deemed “anti-Islam” by local clerics following her win at the World Championships in 1991:

It was Friday prayers and the imam said I was not a Muslim. That I did not represent Muslims. And that I was anti-Islam because of the fact that I’d run in shorts and shown my legs and arms. It wasn’t just that I wasn’t a Muslim, it was that I was anti-Islam. That’s how it all began.

The NPR piece focuses on the “Olympic Hopeful: Mixing Faith and Fencing,” highlighting how she might be the first Muslim American woman to compete in an Olympic competition (during Ramadan this year) while wearing hijab.  Muhammad participated in a variety of different athletic activities before settling on fencing:

As a practicing Muslim woman, I knew that I would not only have to find a sport that accommodated my religious beliefs, but also where I could be fully covered and not have to change the uniform.

Ibtihaj Muhammad. Image via Wall Street Journal.

Boulmerka and Muhammad’s interviews illuminate how radically different their training, political contexts, and clothing choices were.  While her clothing choices seemed to have little influence on her running competitively, Boulmerka faced political vitriol and required an armed guard at the Olympics because she wore a traditional track outfit.  Muhammad settled on fencing, in part because the clothing requirements would easily allow her to maintain her own personal comfort and align with her religious beliefs.  Both of the interviews are insightful and allow each woman to voice her beliefs and reasons for competing on her own terms.

In media profiles of Muslim women, there is oftentimes an overemphasis of women’s decision to wear or not wear hijab, with little discussion of women’s own complex, personal beliefs regarding their clothing and the social ramifications they face as a result of their decisions in their own words. Muslim women who do not wear hijab may not receive the same media attention as hijab-wearing sisters, and hijab-wearing women often have to constantly discuss the hijab with little discussion of anything else.

In 2008, MMW analyzed the way Muslimah athletes competing in the Beijing Olympics were portrayed by media outlets.  I’m surprised by the emphasis on Muslim-majority countries who had women competing for the first time in 2008, knowing now about Boulmerka’s win for Algeria in 1992.  I’m not surprised by the media focus on their clothing decisions, and lack of discussion of Muslim women who participate without wearing hijab. [Read more...]

The Favored Daughter Reviewed

The Favored Daughter—One woman’s fight to lead Afghanistan into the Future, by Fawzia Koofi with Nadene Ghouri, tells the important story of a courageous Afghani woman, Fawzia Koofi.  The biography starts near the time of her birth up to her election and current role Afghanistan’s first female parliament speaker, with the country’s political history always in the background. Interspersed throughout her story are letters she writes to her young daughters— messages for when she travels the country without them, aware that she may not survive her journeys.

The Favored Daughter. Image via Palgrave Macmillan.

Koofi’s “favored daughter” status stems from several occurrences during her lifetime. Initially her mother is disconcerted by her birth—she is the nineteenth daughter of a rural village leader, her mother the second of his many wives—and leaves Koofi outside, alone in the sun, for the first several hours of her life.

Her mother soon has a change of heart, though, and lovingly cares for her, perhaps most importantly in supporting her schooling in the midst of several changes in the country’s governance and her family’s own living situation. Koofi is later devastated by her mother’s death. She writes the following letter to her mother as a woman and recently-elected politician:

I still wait and hope that you will come back.  Even now my breath catches in my throat when I remember that you are not in this world.  I’m a politician now.  But sometimes I’m just a silly girl and I make mistakes…If I arrive home later than usual, I still expect you to be waiting in the yard for me with your burqa.

Koofi’s “favored” status continues as she marries the man of her and her mother’s choosing, works as an English teacher, becomes the first Afghani woman to work for UNICEF in Afghanistan, and eventually wins the support of her family to run for a seat in Afghanistan’s new parliament. She describes her own trials throughout her adult life: her husband and brother are jailed by Taliban leaders soon after her marriage, her supportive husband succumbs to tuberculosis as her role with UNICEF increases in prominence, she receives threats regularly as a female politician. Despite these challenges, she is hopeful and continues to live her life with steely resolve—the trials are a part of her life, but not ones that predominate or ones she ruminates over.

The insight from the letters she writes to her daughters—letters about love, loss, family, and childhood—are personally touching in their brevity and hope for a better future for her country.  Her wisdom and insight for her daughters in her letters goes well alongside her own biography. Here’s one example of advice for her daughters, a reminder to have faith in their dreams:

But perhaps the worst thing that can happen to any woman is to lose yourself.  To lose sense of who and what you are or to lose sight of your dreams is one of the saddest things.

The prose of the biography is easy to read (sometimes too easy, with clichés and common turns of phrase). But Koofi’s personal story is engaging and immersive, effective at illustrating the customs, habits, and physical surroundings of everyday life as they change over her lifetime and throughout Afghanistan in response to the many conflicts that have affected the country.

Koofi, here, is able to tell her own personal story on her terms, the decisions she made in her life, her sorrows and successes.  It is an important glimpse into the inner world of an Afghani woman for a Western audience unfamiliar with the historical and cultural context that surrounds these women’s lives.  Koofi deftly writes about changes in cultural customs and norms and how they affected women with nuance that is sometimes absent from commentary surrounding Afghan women’s lives. In the face of incredible loss and sadness brought on by the ever-changing political environment in Afghanistan—one that is often hostile to women’s rights—this is an inspiring and courageous story.