“No Headwear Allowed” SMPalestine Contribution

I wrote a short piece for the blog, ‘Sixteen Minutes toPalestine’ a blog site focused on issues related to Palestine. They allowed me to write about Islamophobia, read and let me know what you think.

Original post: http://smpalestine.com/2013/08/02/no-headwear-allowed/

I remember someone once asking me why I wore a ‘headdress,’ and I almost had to stop and ask them what they meant, before realizing they were referring to my hijab.
Headdress?

Today while logging onto Facebook, I scrolled through my newsfeed and saw mention of ‘headwear.’ The comments weren’t in reference to football and helmets; rather this was yet another one of the odd names people make up when trying to categorize hijab.

A Muslim woman from Massachusetts had posted a photograph of a note she received from a test proctor while taking her Bar exam. The note read: “Headwear may not be worn during the examination without prior written approval. We have no record of you being given prior written approval. Please remove your headwear and place it under your seat for the afternoon session.”

Really?

I was initially outraged. Who is this proctor and what is this ruling? Then I read on to find that anyone who chooses to cover for religious reasons — be it with a Sikh dastar or a Jewish yamaka — must get written approval by the state’s board of examiners prior to testing.

I understand that there must be rules and regulations, and that hats, for example, may have been used creatively by cheaters. But is this really the case with this specific examinee or with the many others who wear religious head coverings? Is it rather that people of faith, specifically Muslim women, are being targeted?

I can’t help but to think that some sort of Islamophobia was involved. The Michigan Law graduate who took the exam at the Western New England University School of Law, claims to have already received approval to wear her ‘headwear.’ (Side note: can we all agree that ‘hijab’ itself, is the perfect term to use when referring to… hijab).

Why also did the proctor not bring this issue up prior to the test or at least during a break? In what kind of formal fashion is it proper to pass a student a note during the middle of an exam, especially one as tightly regulated as the Bar exam, breaking the student’s concentration or confidence and possibly even disturbing surrounding examinees? Was the student expected to pass a note back?

The lack of communication here is ridiculous. While many would write off this issue as simply a lack of better communication or a case of proctor rudeness, it is more than that. We live in a day and age where Islamophobia has become very normal, and we should not accept it as such. Many Muslims seem to internalize this racism and are scared to cause a stir. We cannot remain silent, and must actively speak up in the face of discrimination. If no one ever speaks up, the bullies and, in this case, misguided proctors will never be challenged and the status quo will remain, unfortunately, the same.

Change of Plans

Right about now I should have just been finished being frisked & romanced by the TSA and should have been on route to Beirut. Instead I’m still in Chicago 😦 A few days ago my trip got cancelled because of the rising sectarian & otherwise violence in the area. I personally (hey, I’m Palestinian we get this rough stuff) would have chosen to still go, but the coordinators of the organization thru which I would be working felt it was too much of a liability and thought the refugee camps would find themselves in the crossfires of the escalating violence. Refugee populations are always the most vulnerable casualties of war. 

Anyways, as a person who considers themselves ‘religious’ I don’t, can’t & won’t, understand anyone who fights in the name of religious difference. If you and God are on such good terms with your divinely right lifestyle, why worry what others think/do? 

Lastly, still super upset (cue a weeks worth of sad faces), I was really excited for the work that we would be doing and for seeing the lovely Lebanon, but I have a non refundable ticket, so let’s see where I can go to next. Hmm… to be continued.

LEAP: Summer 2013

Marhaba everyone! This summer I’ll be taking part in a program called LEAP, which stands for Learning for the Empowerment and Advancement of Palestinians. Starting next week, I’ll be teaching English and creative writing in a Palestinian refugee camp in Lebanon. *Insert insane excitement* Watch this short video I made that explains a little more about my trip. Can’t wait to share my journey with you all.

Side note: I don’t know anything about making videos. I have iMovie but the file was too large and so I had to upload it to you YouTube. Let me know of any better methods of embedding videos so I can share some of my videos from Lebanon.

Really informal post, I’ll write more later 🙂

DONATE to the LEAP Community Dental Health Project: http://www.gofundme.com/LEAPDentalHealthProject

Homeless

I was born homeless, literally. One week before I was born my parent’s first home burned down and we all moved into my grandmother’s attic. There was seven of us. My grandmother’s house was very small but had a double lot yard. Across the giant yard was this church that persistently asked us every Sunday to join them. We never did.

I remember the most random things about my early childhood, like how my grandfather raised chickens in that double lot yard in the middle of Chicago and how we all thought that was normal. I remember the corner store selling gummy bears in these giant barrels & that the owner died of cancer. I don’t even know the name of the street we lived on, or the neighborhood, but if I close my eyes I can see the details.

I don’t know if being born homeless played an impact on my now life, but it’s a funny story everyone tells on my birthday. My mother says it’s the reason I like to float, or rather, my mother was convinced by myself that that’s the reason. Maybe my home-home is one of those to be determined places that I’ll find in distant times. Maybe it’s just a story.

Samantha

As a child I always secretly wished my name was Samantha, like the character from my then favorite book series “American Girls.” I don’t know, but I was kind of over people choking over my two-syllable name and never (ever!) finding my name on one of those key chains at Great America. Samantha would be the kind of girl with a blank slate, the kind of girl that understood Mac & Cheese and fit nonchalantly on the inside.

During Eid my mother would put together a gift basket of ka3ik (date cookies) and make me pass them out to all of my teachers. My ten-year-old self just wanted to melt. Why the hell, would Mr. Jones and Mrs. Keller want my foreign cookies for a holiday that was never even acknowledged in class? Samantha would for sure pass out sugar cookies or oatmeal raisin.

I don’t know the exact moment I stopped wanting to be Samantha, but I know how liberated I now feel. I think it is a big part of adolescence to just try to blend, but as an Arab, as a daughter of immigrants, this obstacle was a lot more complicated. I remember my teachers instantly asking all the Kathrazynas to choose between Kasia or Kathy, and without hesitation castrating the Mohammeds to Moe A., Moe Q., etc.

As someone who now works in the education field, I make sure to ask each child how their name is pronounced and to say so accordingly. They all look back at me with the same flushed red face that I remember having and I want to have one of those epic ‘I am a teacher changing the world’ moments where I just give them the confidence to be their true selves.

Our true selves should never be seen as contradictory to the American identity anyways. Why has the American identity suddenly become so exclusive?

My foreign born parents who have now spent a majority of their lives living in the United States, now look at me as some sort of cultural radical. Whereas my mother and father have anglicized their names thru the use of nicknames, I refuse to shy away from asking people to at least attempt to say my name properly.

Being born and raised in America kind of gave me the bold I-don’t-give-a-shit-attitude that still surprises my parents—like when I decided to wear the hijab at 16 or when I visit the Middle East more than they do.

Being a first generation American, we are always expected to somehow show our loyalty to our Americaness. But what does this even mean? Being an American is my standard of existence. I exist within the frame of America. I vote, pay taxes, own a gun (just kidding), grill burgers, over eat, enjoy life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. My identity is strongly Arab, not because it drowns out my Americaness, but because this is how I choose to express my personality. Is culture, not just a historical, yet actually made up, series of personality traits? Why should my food or dress choices, or the way I relate to God somehow violate my patriotism?

Some people find their identity in culture, religion, sports, philanthropy, politics, love. Our identity is just a greater image we feel belonging to. Maybe one day my identity will be reshaped and I’ll kind of be over debka and Arab Idol, but for now this is where I feel comfortable and where I find happiness.

Wherever my identity takes me, I hope it is always rooted in a place of honesty. I refuse to fall into the anti-immigrant, Islamophobic, rhetoric that constantly puts my identity under a microscope and makes me feel as if only Samanthas belong. I wasted to much of junior high being embarrassed, and my roaring twenties will not be spent making everyone else feel comfortable with my comfort.

Will They Ever Call Your Death Beautiful?

Will they ever call your death beautiful? Your life a sacrifice? Will your death ever matter, or make headlines or be called a tragedy? I often watch the video posted below by  poets Nate Marshall and Demetrium Amparan, two high school students in Chicago who talk about the violence epidemic that haunts the city. They read off the names of those martyred by Chicago’s street violence, and end by asking, “how many deaths will it take before this [the massive homicides], be considered genocide?”

I began to think about my own identity, space, and the current event of the Boston bombings.

I often consider myself a Palestinian-Chicagoan over a Palestinian American because I take so much pride in the city of my birth. I barely know sports, but will hardcore defend the losing streak of the Cubs and wear my Bears jersey off season. The beautiful buildings, the offbeat restaurants and people and even the craziness that occurs on the CTA: I love this place. One thing that I don’t love, is the violence.

As an Arab who grew up in the Chicagoland area, people I interacted with would always ask the same questions prior to my visits to the Middle East: “don’t you feel unsafe there,” “isn’t it so violent” and then the pleading farewells of “please be careful.” One time I responded to an elderly white women, who had a slightly racist tinge to her questions about my ‘safety’ in the Middle East, by reminding her that sometimes I felt more unsafe in some of Chicago’s neighborhoods.

In 2012 the homicide rate in Chicago (for all reported homicides) was 506 people. 506 people were murdered in Chicago over a period of one year, meaning, on average, one to two people were killed each day.

Why haven’t their murders been labeled a tragedy or an act of terror? Why haven’t the bullets used to kill these  kids–mostly poor and black–been called ‘weapons of mass destruction.’ Does tragedy, then, have an ethnicity, a country or a socio-economic bracket?

Three people were murdered in the Boston bombings. The events that unfolded that led to their deaths were horrible and sad. However, the idea that the Boston bombings were influenced by something new to America, something influenced by an outsider religion or Islamic radicalization, or an immigrant threat are false. America does not have a ‘jihadist’ epidemic, we have an epidemic that is caused by living in a culture of violence. Violence, that I feel, is influenced by poverty and inequality. Muslims are not the problem. Young black boys are not the problem and immigrants are not ruining our country. America has an outgoing terrorist threat that is embedded within the very Americans who live here. We have to address the culture of violence that transcends country borders, and religious ideologies, before we can start jumping to racist conclusions.

First Thoughts

I resent that our – the Muslim community – immediate reaction to any violence is to condemn it or preempt any accusations. And I resent the fact that an hour from now I’m going to have to leave the house to pick my sister up from school and my primary concern is figuring out what cultural signifiers I have to wear to make me look more American. And I resent that we assign disproportionate values of human life when the dead are brown or the victims of US foreign policy. And I resent the 24 hours news cycle that is fueled not by information but by a rapid chase to find someone to blame, to find someone we can stick a pin in. And I resent that there are people out there who have foregone peaceful discourse, foregone peaceful activism, foregone their own humanity in favor of more violent means. And I resent that this all feels so familiar, that mourning and grief now feel like a regular part of our week. — T. Herwees

Praying for Boston. Praying for humanity. First thoughts. No apologies. No conclusions. Just thought I’d share a quote I came across on Facebook. Social media can be really good in that, we can easily see what a spectrum of people are thinking. Some of what I have come across is really troubling, so this gem of a quote stuck out to me.

Mediterranean Sea

I won’t push you into the sea, I just want to be a able to swim in the same waters.

Me & friends. Summer time.

Are All Women Created Equally?

Repost of an article I wrote last year. Edited some of the outdated context. Something I have been thinking about again.

Are all women created equally? This, is not a question we often asks ourselves. When talking about the quest for equality, discourse is usually shaped along gender lines, ignoring the colorization of equality. It has become so much easier to quantify and isolate women’s rights by, giving us gals a day, a Google doodle, and a surge of empty acceptance, without allowing a deeper deconstruction and contextualization of the role of women throughout societies. Women’s rights is not a white Western model nor is it a black post civil rights celebration. Women’s rights, and International Women’s Day, should become a cross cultural and cross racial movement for women’s solidarity. We must understand, and internalize, that no, not all women are created equality and that race, place, and religion have a big part in how women are treated. As women, we must stop isolating our issues, and open our eyes to the struggle of all women, and all people, and understand the humanity of equality.

International Women’s Day is still a point of celebration. It is a day that celebrates the achievements of women throughout history and should be used as a platform to highlight the continued inequity and need for progression.

As a Muslim-American-Palestinian-Woman, my identity includes many hyphens, each of which comes with its own baggage of struggles. Often times, people assume that hyphenated identities allow for partiality, belonging neither here nor there, and becoming a fluster of confusion and contradiction. I disagree. My multiple identities have allowed me to first create solidarity within myself. I understand and accept the challenges that come with being a Muslim in America and being a women in a “man’s world” and being a Palestinian in a society that has called me “invented.”

I challenge others to then look internally and ask themselves whether they have formed the same sort of solidarity. Do we ask questions like, do “invented people” have rights, let alone women’s rights? Women’s rights has often become a right of the privileged. We have to change this.

Sometimes I think about the women in Afghanistan or Iraq, women who are struggling to feed their children and keep them away from conflict. I think about the women in Palestine under occupation. Women’s rights only fit into the context of freedom. Oppressed people—male or female—do not have rights. As American women, we should not shy away from our privilege, but we should use it to educate ourselves and others about the injustices occurring to women throughout the world, often because of unfair U.S. policy. All women are created equal; it is just politics and ignorance that tear us apart.

The People of Gaza Matter

It’s 1am and I’m typing up a list of the 84 Palestinians who have been killed by Israeli soldiers in the last six days in Gaza. These are 84 people who have been murdered. I retyped the list and read each name because I wanted to think about their names and pray for them. I don’t want to forget them. I highlighted the names of those who were under the age of 23 because I’m 23. These are kids who are dying. More than half the population of Gaza–the most densely populated area in the world–are under the age of 16.  Are Palestinians not human?

President Obama, in response to “Gaza militant attacks” stated, “There’s no country on earth that would tolerate missiles raining down on its citizens from outside its borders.” I ask him, would any country tolerate a military occupation? Control of its boarders and sea? Would any country in the world allow a second country to determine its movement of people? WOULD ANY COUNTRY IN THE WORLD TOLERATE 84 OF ITS CITIZENS MURDERED IN SIX DAYS?

 

1. Mohammed Al-hams, 28 years old
2. Rinan Arafat, 7 years old
3. Omar Al-Mashharawi, 11 moonths old
4. Essam Abu-Alma’za, 20 years old
5. Mohammed Al-qaseer, 20 years old
6. Heba Al-Mashharawi, six-months pregnant, 19 years old
7. Mahmoud Abu Sawawin, 65 years old
8. Habis Hassan Mismih, 29 years old

10. Wael Haidar Al-Ghalban, 31 years old

11. Hehsam Mohammed Al-Ghalban, 31 years old

12. Rani Hammad, 29 years old

13. Khaled Abi Nasser, 27 year old

14. Marwan Abu Al-Qumsan, 52 years old

15. Walid Al-Abalda, 2 years old

16.  Hanin Tafesh, 10 months old

17. Oday Jammal Nasser, 16 years old

18. Fares Al-Basyouni, 11 years old

19. Mohammed Sa’d Allah, 4 years old

20. Ayman Abu Warda, 22 years old

21. Tahrir Suliman, 20 years old

22. Ismael Qandil, 24 years old

23. Younis Kamal Tafesh, 55 years old

24. Mohammed Talal Suliman, 28 years old

25. Amjad Mohammed Abu-Jalal, 32 years old

26. Ziyad Farhan Abu-Jalal, 23 years old

27. Ayman Mohammed Abu Jalal, 44 years old

28. Hassan Salem Al-Heemla, 27 years old

29. Khaled Khalil Al-Shaer, 24 years old

30. Ayman Rafeeq Sleem, 26 years old

31. Ahmad Abu Musamih, 32 years old

32. Osama Abdejjawad

33. Ashraf Darwish

34. Ali Al-Mana’ma

35. Mukhlis Edwan

36. Mohammed Al-Loulhy, 24 years old

37. Ahmad Al-Atrush

38. Abderrahman Al-Masri

39. Awad Al-Nahhal

40. Ali Hassan Iseed, 25 years old

41. Mohammed Sabry Al’weedat, 25 years old

42. Osama Yousif Al-Qadi, 26 years old

43. Ahmad Ben Saeed, 42 years old

44. Hani Bre’m, 31 years old

45. Samaher Qdeih, 28 years old

46. Tamer Al-Hamry,  26 years old

47. Gumana Salamah Abu Sufyan, 1 year old

48. Tamer Salamah  Abu Sufyan, 3 years old

49. Muhamed Abu Nuqira

50. Eyad Abu Khusa, 18 months old

51. Tasneem Zuheir Al-Nahhal, 13 years old

52. Ahmad Essam Al-Nahhal, 25 years old

53. Nawal Abdelaal, 52 years old

54. Mohammed Jamal Al-Dalou

55. Ranin Mohammed Jamal Al-Dalou, 5 years old

56. Jamal Mohammed Jamal Al-Dalou, 7 year old

57. Yousef Mohammed Jamal Al-Dalou, 10 years old

58. Ibrahim Mohammed Jamal Al-Dalou, 1 year old

59. Jamal Al-Dalou, the grandfather

60. Sulafa Al Dalou, 46 years old

61. Samah Al-Dalou, 25 years old

62. Tahani Al-Dalou, 50 years old

63. Ameina Matar Al-Mzanner, 83 years old

64. Abdallah Mohammed Al-Mzanner, 23 years old

65. Suheil Hamada

66. Mo’men Hamada

67. Atiyya Mubarak

68. Hussam Abu Shaweish

69. Samy Al-Ghfeir, 22 years old

70. Mohammed Bakr Al-Of, 24 years old

71. Ahmad Abu Amra

72. Nabil Ahmad Abu Amra

73. Hussein Jalal Nasser, 8 years old

74. Jalal Nasser

75. Sabha Al-Hashash, 60 years old

76. Saif Al-Deen Sadeq

77. Ahmad Hussein Al-Agha

78. Emad Abu Hamda, 30 years old

79. Mohammed Jindiyya

80. Mohammed Iyad Abu Zour, 5 years old

81. Nisma Abu Zour, 19 years old

82. Ahed Al-Qattaty, 38 years old

83. Al-Abd Mohammed Al-Attar

84. Rama Al-Shandi, 1 year old

Source: http://palestinefrommyeyes.wordpress.com/2012/11/17/gazaunderattack-names-and-ages-of-killed-people-who-fell-victim-during-the-past-ongoing-israeli-attacks-on-gaza/