Whatever Happened to Hardcore Feminism?

Every now and then I seek mindless distraction. So as I was shopping once, I picked up a copy of Cosmo, and flipped through it. This is when it occurred to me that these boldly colored pages perfectly capture the aftermath of feminism today.
High heels, make-up, and everything feminine used to be frowned upon by any woman who wanted to be taken seriously and to assert her independence of the male gaze. Today, however, women feel more comfortable to be their own regardless of what mould men or feminists want to fit them in. A woman can put on her pink ruffled skirt and platform shoes, and head to work or school if she wants to and still be capable of asserting herself. As a matter of fact, the trend is spreading even among Muslim women who were told over and over again to shun fashion. A rise of websites entirely dedicated to Muslim fashion is a witness to this phenomenon.
This is not only true of women’s fashion. It’s also true of the roles they are choosing to play. I feel that women today are much more comfortable dedicating themselves entirely to their households, if that’s where they truly find themselves, without feeling that pang of guilt created earlier by frowning feminists. I am not judging whether this is beneficial to the productivity of a society or not. I am merely noting that women have more choices today.
So does this mean that everything our mothers and grandmothers have worked for has gone in vain? No, not at all. If anything, this means that women are more comfortable in their own skins and are freer than ever. Today, thanks to all the accumulated efforts, we can choose whether we want to be housewives or astronauts. Or even both! What matters is that we be capable of giving our best at any field of life we choose. So in the end it’s really not that surprising when you see that my shopping basket ended up with an odd combination of cook books and economic books.

(Painting by Jasmine Maddock)

Blind Walls

“Voting is for fags
For us, we believe in our leaders
What is a commoner like me compared to the experienced and wise leaders we have?
Bread, bills, rent, that’s what I worry about
A people like ours doesn’t even deserve to have its own say
Why, we would be at each others’ throats until we wipe each other out
We have agreed to disagree
Democracy shmocracy who has time for that nonsense?
It’s all part of a western plot to brainwash us and occupy our lands
All those satellite news channels are part of the plot too, you know
But I mock them by watching soccer instead
Thank God for the West
They were created to serve us
They work hard all day long to invent technology
When they’re done we put it right in our living rooms
All this, because of the wisdom of our leaders
For us we don’t need too much outside learning
All the knowledge is in the holy texts
You just read and you know
Even if you don’t know that you know, but you know
That’s why we believe in our leaders
They, better than anyone, know”

(Painting by Thomas Clyde)

The Transaction

Rima stretched her fragile body closer to the mirror as she applied a thick line of black eyeliner around her eyes with the new pencil her mother bought her for special occasions. After she was done, Rima took a final content look, and then ran to her mother in the kitchen who was preparing the traditional Turkish coffee. It was dark, bitter and boiled to perfection. Just the way it has been brewed for generations.
“What do you think mom?”
“Oh honey, you are gorgeous! You are gonna knock them dead”.
Rima giggled happily.
“But don’t forget to play a little hard-to-get. We want to give the impression that we are still reluctant.” Her mom said with a wink.

This was a big day for Rima as well as for her mother, Um Karim. As a mother it was her job to secure her daughter’s future by marrying her off to a member of a rich influential family in Damascus. She was dealt a fair share of cards and instinctively knew how to play them. To speed up the transaction, Um Karim decided that Rima will not have to wear her hijab in front of the suitor and his family tonight. Showing off those luxurious curls are a sure bet. “After all, she is only fifteen. She’s too young to cover up” Um Karim would rationalize.

Right after Al Mughrib prayer, a door bell was heard ringing. Um Karim frantically rushed her daughter to hide in her room, and then ran to get the door herself. As the custom was, the groom-to-be arrived accompanied by his father, mother, and eldest sister. Um Karim, fulfilling her role, had entirely redecorated the guest room the day before, and took care of all the necessary arrangements. The evening had to go just as it was planned. The old curtains were replaced with the fancy ones, reserved for guests. The sofas and cushions were scrubbed and rescrubbed. The silver cutlery borrowed from the neighbors was polished. New rugs were spread. Home-made delicacies were prepared. And of course, coffee was slowly brewing on the stove.

Later that night, there were hand shakes and plastic smiles. Fat bellies roared from underneath neatly-tailored suits. Numerical figures were discussed. Rima appeared and disappeared after serving the coffee. The evening ended professionally and, to everybody’s content, that night a deal was closed.

(Painting by Sapna Sarkar)

The Book of Saladin

As the introduction states, The Book of Saladin is a work of fiction based on historical figures and events. The novel takes place in medieval times with Saladin, the legendary Kurdish leader, as the main character alongside many other characters who once existed outside the pages of this novel. However, the intimate and intricate details of characters’ lives as described in the novel are weaved from the imagination of the author, Tariq Ali.
The genre of fictional history can be quite problematic especially when you choose to write a fictional biography of a character much revered in the Muslim world. For many readers, this could be the only encounter they ever have of this figure; thus, the hazy line between fact and fiction slowly fades somewhere in the back of a dusty memory. My concern in not only for the average reader, but also for the implications of vagueness that is created. Historic characters like Saladin have had far-reaching effects on the collective Muslim conscience. So when such perspective is tampered with, expect nothing but to unleash a wave of unease and turmoil.

The image that probably best describes this attempt at rewriting history is that of a fine piece of classical art marred by amateur graffiti. The aim of the author is probably to bring this larger-than-life figure closer to the modern reader. But there is a vast difference between humanizing a character by describing their pains and joys, and by incessantly demeaning them with trivial affairs. Ali could have done a much better job in bringing Saladin back to life as a person rather than a legend without plunging so low as to mention lengthy detailed accounts of tricks and rituals of eunuchs and the harem.
These mundane side stories do not add much to the plot but they do serve another purpose. They also create a shock factor when these images clash with the traditional view of Islam. It is quite obvious that Ali wants to shatter that uptight conservative image in favor of a much more liberal one, an image where Muslims and Jews coexist amicably, and wine and physical pleasures are applauded not frowned upon. I do not have a problem with that. Islam is open to a wide range of interpretations ranging between both extremes. But if you’re an author and you want to offer your own view, do that using your own fictional characters interacting with each other in your own setting. Please do not use legendary characters, whose actions have had long-lasting consequences, as your mouthpiece. So Mr. Ali, the next time your brush is itching for some graffiti, may I offer you a blank sheet of paper?