Book Review: The Moslems are Coming by Azad Essa

The author here with a USB47.

I’m late.

I’m always late.

I planned to update this blog with my review of Al Jazeera journalist and desktop ‘terrorist’ Azad Essa’s incisive book “The Moslems are Coming” for the blog tour but then life got caught in the process of moving from one place to the other where I, finally, have my own room and a bookshelf with no space or tolerance for Ayn Rand and Co. So stuff’s smooth for now.

Like his name, Azad (Urdu for ‘free’) is unapologetically azad with his views on the world and the ruckus that makes it go awry, if not round. At first, while reading, I almost blurted out, “Hold up, y’all. Is this guy one of those self-hating Muslim types who inadvertently ends up on the Islamophobic train to Racist-and-Xenophobic-ville while making short stops at towns of generalization and hyperbole?” But I was wrong – and I’m glad I was wrong. The Moslems are Coming isn’t just about Muslims; it’s a collection of published and unpublished posts from his blog and elsewhere that transcends borders, continents, cultures and even ideologies. And he does it with biting wit and insight. There are political histories that Essa has sharp opinions on and those opinions aren’t offered with TLC. Expect a jocular passive aggressive tone with post scripts here and there.

It’s uncomfortable in a good way. Forgive me for the clichéd expression but Essa holds up the mirror for everyone including himself. And while the reflection isn’t exactly the best one and the angle isn’t the most precise, it is undoubtedly honest and uninhibited – two traits that are rare. There were moments when I found myself thinking, “Gee, Azad. I kinda disagree here, man…” but I think that’s what The Moslems are Coming is about: To see the world with an introspective lens that doesn’t get blurry with instant indignation. There’s for great food for thought in here and it isn’t layered with sugar.

From the racial profiling and absurd paranoia harmless Muslims are subjected to, active racism, shameless classism to varying degrees of state-endorsed, community-encouraged hypocrisy, sexism, South African politics, the West’s peculiar disdain for Muslim women garb and the equally rash obsession with ‘liberating’ them, plus his bitter take on the duplicity present in the global community of Muslims, there’s a whirlwind of thought in here. There’s a strong stance on the western double standards of the phenomenon of the Noble Prize (and a good piece on the drone-pumping Nobel Laureate Barack Obama), there’s a heartbreaking collection of reports of disappeared and disappearing Kashmiris under the state of India and how the Indian civil society, like Mirza Waheed has tirelessly said, remains silent on state-led human rights violations, there’s a weird yet comical section on the ‘rise’ of brown-black marriages in India and so, so much more. Azad’s narration of the political events developed during the World Cup in South Africa is worth reading. For someone like myself who isn’t exactly knowledgeable about SA politics, The Moslems are Coming offered an interesting look at national affairs.

In the section on the burqa ban in France, I almost got angry at Azad for initially sounding like he was about to pass another personal law on ripping that covering off of Muslim women but this is the deal with his book: You have to patiently see where he’s leading you to. And usually it’s a good place. See, home boy doesn’t like the covering: “’I don’t like the burqa. Europe doesn’t like the burqa. But so what? […] Yes, there are women forced into wearing the burqa and the hijab. […] At the same time there are those who voluntarily and wholeheartedly accept it as a religious obligation. How can a government or an individual, from a judgmental distance, distinguish between those on whom the burqa is being forced and those wearing it freely?”

There’s nuanced criticism on almost everything – even your favorite leaders (no spoilers, that’s the fun part) and ideas you thought that were perfect when you were a gullible kid. It’s almost like he wants you to grow up and break those chains that stop you from calling a spade a spade.

That’s the azaadi offered by Azad. (I’ll stop being cheesy with your name now.)

Go read the book.

Allergic to Sexist Pity

When I was growing up, my mother would often hold cosy gatherings with her friends in the city. Sometimes if she found out a new neighbor had arrived in the area, she’d cordially invite them over as well for a cup of tea and some light-hearted chit chat. My sisters and I would play in the hallway while the ladies would discuss weather, Pakistan, recipes and health. During those conversations, I often found one lady or the other asking my mother a question that seemed less inquisitive, more accusing in its spoken nature: “To aap ki betiyaan hi hain, buss? (So you have daughters only?)”

My mother: “Jee. Teen. (Yes. Three.)”

Reply: “Haye, Allah baita de aap ko. Barri himmat hai. (Oh my, may the Lord bless you with a son. I commend your courage.)”

And I’d feel incompetent as though my being a daughter was somehow an insult, maybe some sort of incompetence on part of my parents. I love my mother for her response though: “Nahi, shukriya. Yehi baitiyaan hain, yehi baitay hain. Hum bohut khush hain. (No, thanks. These are our daughters, and our sons. We’re very happy with them.)”

But it didn’t stop. I grew up with classfellows in Pakistan asking me if I had brothers. I would reply in the negative. After which an entire group of students would sympathize with me and offer their brothers to give me “protection, honor and strength.” I never accepted the (pity-filled) offers – sometimes politely, sometimes with downright indignation.

Eventually I learned that due to a set of religiously exploited and malevolent patriarchal reasons, a daughter is viewed as a burden in our society. Bringing them up is not only considered a grueling test but a constant walk upon thin glass every single day of a subcontinental parent’s life. Phrases like “Baiti walay“, “Dheeyan aalay“, “Kaanch jaisi izzat ka khayal” and other highly dramatic terms flood households with daughters. It’s sickening. Everyone knows that, right? Why am I extrapolating the said and done? It’s not redundant; Shaming those who constantly offer unnecessary pity to parents with daughters and siblings with sisters only should be mandatory. Growing up while constantly questioning one’s self worth only because their gender perceived by the society inhibits them from deserving common respect is not only painful but humiliating. Silencing parents from airing their worries and speaking up against violence and discrimination is wrong and inhumane. Parents are often told, “Baitiyaan walon ko awaz neechay aur sar jhuka ke rakhna chahiye (Those with daughters should not raise their voice or head.)” Instilling fear into a family only because the child is female is a practice rampant in this region.

So I decided to do what I do best: Doodle my rage.

I’m illustrating a book some day with this cover for every girl in Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Afghanistan, Iran, countries in the Middle East, in North America, South America, Africa, even Antarctica. Here it is:

Depressing illustrations by Ms. Someone Really Sick Of Stupid Questions.

My mother usually had to go through this. She’s a civil lady so her disdain is often channelized into her tea cup. I don’t know how that works but whatever.

Which leads to:

Back in school, ironically enough girls would offer me sympathy for not having a brother. My basic reaction: You’re a girl too. Why let the culture and society control your idea of power and protection, of worth and esteem?

I also placed my (very unreasonable) demands when I was naive.

THE CHILD HATH NO IDEA OF WHAT SHE HATH ASKED FOR.

But my parents handled it ever so gracefully. Their stance: They don’t need sons to feel protected or respected. The biological sex of a child does not determine whether or not they are likely to bring shame or honor to the family. No one is a burden until you render them one. So the next time I find someone offering their “concern” when they find out I have no brother, I will most likely ask them to give birth to one and bring the kid to my place. Till then, shut it.

P.S. Hajj hiatus and other reasons kept me away from my WordPress blog. I’m back now and I’m ready to doodle. And stuff.

AND OTHER STUFF.

Just Your Average Pakistani Muslim Fanatic

I was arguing with a professor once about stereotypes and how they affect us in both direct and indirect ways on discerning levels. After being viewed as a brown Muslim female from Pakistan, I have had my fair share of instances where apparently wise people ended up asking me questions that deserved exasperated sighs and, sometimes, a good punch or two. e.g. “Do you guys in Pakistan kill every girl who wants to study?” and recently “Does everyone wear those black face net things? I heard you can get shot if you don’t.”

Stereotypes are scientifically termed as empirical generalizations based on a particular group of people. Sociologists use these prototypes and descriptions to study rules, exceptions, traits, mores among other commonalities. The average individual with average intellect (and in most cases, reluctance to pick up a book and learn better about something) uses them to encapsulate massive demographic in one ignorant little bubble.

Enough of the sociological jargon. Behold! The stereotypical fundamentalist Pakistani!

He sleeps with his extremist cat ever so extremistically.

Dental cavities stand no chance before him and his tube of halal toothpaste:

"Meet your brutal fate, haram germs!" he growled.

Coco Pops and wheat oatmeal, you have been warned. This man will munch your breakfast into oblivion:

And they were no more.

Raised with institutionalized hatred against algebra and geometry, this fanatic will do everything in his power to wipe their inky existence away:

They said he was aggressive and obnoxious.

She reached home safely. Don't worry.

His younger sister, another fundamentalist, grew up to become a suicidal quadricyclist.

His favorite TV channel is Geo.

After a long day of waging jihad against stupidity and ignorance, the Average Pakistani Muslim Fanatic has one message for you all:

Dedicated to Pyari Pakistanis: Happy Women’s Day, y’all!

That’s right! If you support gender equality and empowerment of both sides, you’re my friend forever. If possible, I’ll even make you cupcakes with vanilla and cinnamon flavored icing. Fifi Haroon and I believe in fighting against gender discrimination, abuse and stereotyping one teacup at a time.

Let’s get to business first.

Do Pakistani women receive equal access to education?

No. In fact according to SD Dimensions:

“In Pakistan, educational attainment shows poor results. Particularly the educational status of Pakistani women is among the lowest in the world. According to the 1981 census, the literacy rate for the population of 10 years and above is 26.2%. However, there are distinct gender and rural/urban differentials concealed in the literacy rate. Women have a literacy rate of 16%, as against 35% for men. Similarly, the literacy rate for the urban population only is 47.1%, whereas the literacy rate for the rural population is 17.3%. Moreover, this rural/urban differential is more pronounced in the case of women than men. The literacy rate for urban men (55.3%) is more than twice the rate for rural men (26.2%). However, the literacy rate for urban women (37.3%) is more than five times the rate for rural women (7.3%).”

Which is like so not cool, bro. You can help alleviate this terrible situation by teaching children around you. Weekly visits to government schools are not only fun but extremely generous on your part to help a poor child to learn to read or write. You can even bring educational reforms by simply securing the attention of the district officials to this plight. You can help fix this education emergency by even signing this petition here: 
http://educationemergency.com.pk
/

See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? You can make Pakistan a happier, smarter place. Oh, look. Sana Saleem agrees too.

Has violence against Pakistani women decreased?

Unfortunately, no. Trafficking, sexual abuse, acid burning, rape and other forms of brutality against women continue to grow day by day. Furthermore orthodox customs such as karo kari and public stoning are practiced even today. Patriarchies grow stronger and more violent by the minute. It becomes redundant to share statistics about a truth so obvious. What we can do to stop this from happening is simple: Speak up. If you see a woman being harassed or abused, do something. Inform the police, try stopping the abuser, provide protection for the woman. By supporting these women, you are giving them the strength and protection they need to fight back misogynists.

Are Pakistani women provided equal opportunity for employment?

Uh uh. This report from SD Dimensions explains the state of labor opportunity in Pakistan quite well:

“In Pakistan’s economy women play an active role. But their contribution has been grossly underreported in various censuses and surveys. Consequently, official labour force statistics show a very minimal participation of women. For example, the 1991-92 Labour Force Survey revealed that only about 16% of women aged 10 years and over were in the labour force and in comparison, the men’s participation rate was 84%. On the contrary, the 1980 agricultural census showed that women’s participation rate in agriculture was 73% and that women accounted for 25% of all full-time and 75% of all part-time workers in agricultural households. Also, the 1990-1991 Pakistan Integrated Household Survey indicated that the female labour force participation rate was 45% in rural areas and 17% the urban areas. Thus it is clear that if women’s contribution to economic production is assessed accurately, a conservative estimate of women’s labour force participation would be between 30% and 40%.”

Which sucks, bro.

Has the image of Pakistani women changed in its conservative society?

Barely. Stereotyping has remained one of the most aggravating problems for women in Pakistan. Labels, titles and assumptions not only fry our brains but also leave us utterly disappointed. What can you, as a Pakistani, do to fix this? Quit sexism. It’s not funny. Sandwich jokes are so two minutes ago. From now on, if you hear someone crack a sexist joke, try this:

And then:
Happy?

Because sexist humor and stereotyping is disgusting and women are running low on patience and tolerance. So if you don’t want a passionate iron hammer you-know-where, I sincerely suggest you put a halt to that crass humor.

Besides Bina Shah and a million other Pakistani women are morphing into desi Kill Bills and they’re more than ready to slice your chauvinism into fine pieces.

The point? The point is that every one of you, no matter how flawed, no matter where you are coming from or heading to, no matter what you have or don’t, you all are strong, full of hope, resilience and beautiful Pakistani women.

Whether you’re from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa or even from the Northern Areas.

Or Punjab.

Or Sindh.

Or Balochistan.

You all are amazing Pakistani women. You can change this place for the best. God damn it, I could hug all of you right now. Now go fight patriarchy, sexism, discrimination and ignorance!

Happy Women’s Day!

When In Doubt:

Brilliant solution for every problem in the country.

Blame Christians, women or USA-Israel for everything in Pakistan. Very effective.

What’s going on, Pakistan?

You were thinking “Ha! She gave up blogging. She can’t keep up with the timing. She lost her humor or her mind or both”. But you were wrong, dear, you were terribly, horribly, apocalyptically incorrect. Your assumption will now be annihilated by the onslaught of my crayons and bitter mood. After all, this country gives me so much to draw about; including political and religious debates that have been rambled upon until I could actually memorize the beginning, middle and end of every rebuttal from both sides. The crux from both ends of the spectrum? A polite rephrasing of the rather blatant statement: We’re not ready to take responsibility of any discrepancy on our part. It’s much easier that way. Bitch.

But I digress.

Where was I? I was in Tumaï, Nairobi. Did you know that Tumaï is a women’s village (of the Samburu tribe) that offers shelter and protection to battered women? It is essentially a matriarchy that consists of 150 people roughly (no men allowed) and it refuses to register your repulsive sexism as significant or applicable. While it is a real-life village, I met these women in my head under my big, curly hair. My imagination runs gender-equally and wild. Kilele, “Maasai Lady”, wouldn’t mind kicking your butt if you’re insensitive to gender discrimination and abuse. She says hi.

No, seriously. Where was I? I was away in my little utopia sipping lemonade, munching on digestive wheat cookies and narrowly escaping the clutches of depression. Our country, in the past few months, has projected in a downward spiral where sanity, rationality and peaceful coexistence have turned into – what’s the word? – mirages. So you can’t really expect someone like me to be jubilant about doodling under circumstances that also entail several lovelies assuming I’m an American agent OR, worse, drawing as a “liberal fascist.” What?

Why can’t we collectively call a spade a spade? Why can’t we call a murder a murder, a crime a crime? Why can’t we, you need to tell me, call a villain a villain instead of a hero?

Why can’t we muster up the courage to own up to our faults and then gracefully step towards the stage where rectifying our errors is not just the need of the gory hour but also something that we owe to our fellow citizens including minorities, women and children? Did I just say that? Did I just say minorities, women and children are rightful citizens of Pakistan too? Blasphemous of me.

So I was hibernating simply because the insanity around us has grown exponentially and my brain cells fried for a while. But now that I’m back, expect doodles, anecdotes and observations on the surroundings you and I share. About time we MS-Painted this chaos to its death. This is our country. You and I can actually fix it.

P.S. Why doesn’t MS Paint have a decent shade of beige? Damn it.

P.P.S. Pagal Bhabi is here. And she’s very angry.

The ratio of the credit goes to Umer and me like this = 52:48. Thank you for yelling at me in the car and for showing me how to drive with road rage tonight as it is truer, Umer. You're possibly the most intelligent friend I have.

An ode to Pakistani mommies

Note: This was originally written for Dawn’s blog: 
http://bit.ly/dS12cr

When I was little, I began noticing the difference between my Pakistani Punjabi mommy and the quintessential white American mother. Kyle’s mom was cool according to elementary-school standards: She’d sport her shades, stand by the SUV and wait for Kyle to leave the playground without showing much eagerness to see the kid. My mommy? Well, she was a different case. She would meet me after school as though I just returned from a warzone. She would be waiting by the glass door with a second serving of lunch for me in a bright shalwar kameez. By the time everyone asked me, “Hey, is that your mom?” I changed my ethnicity from Pakistani to Mexican to Eskimo.

Years flew by and I morphed into a haphazard mixture of contrasting cultures. I looked brown, I thought white. To me, the ebullience, warmth and instant bonding in the Punjabi culture was overwhelming. I found a certain comfort in the aloof environment of domestic white life. Mom, however, wouldn’t approve of such an approach. That was when I began feeling the strength and beauty that Pakistani mothers have. Today I am proud to tell everyone that not only am I a product of American values but I also follow and cherish the traditions of my forefathers. But that’s not the focal point of my post. Today we’ll be skimming through a few of the many habits our mothers display.

And we love them for it.

Curry Olympics:

If you ever want to know how fast your mother can run, simply say, “Ammi, salan jal raha hai” and presto! Pakistani mothers win my admiration for the skillfulness they display during house chores. I almost thought there was a secret Olympic game for our moms where they race each other to the kitchen to save karahi gosht.

Polyglot Mommy and Her Colorful Scolding:

In our house, we sisters had understood the pattern of our mother’s anger. When we grew up, we realized that it is pretty much the same in other Pakistani households. The difference, however, may remain between the numbers of languages chosen. You must be confused by now. It’s simple. A Pakistani mother usually has escalating levels of anger and the intensity can be understood by the language she uses to snub you with. We understood that English was our mother’s colonial manner of teaching us a good lesson or two. By the time she reached Urdu, we knew her anger had increased to a higher level which meant that we were in semi-serious trouble. But when she chose Punjabi, we knew that hell had been unleashed on Earth.

(It could vary for every Pakistani though. Sindhi, Pakhto and Baloch mothers follow the same method.)

A Pakistani Mother’s Point Faible:

Hyperboles are accepted and practiced in our culture to hilarious extents. Deep down inside, every Pakistani child knows that once those golden words are uttered, he or she is effectively immune to all sorts of punishments, ear-pulling, duties and, most importantly, school. Those golden words are: “Mumma jee, mai beemaar houn.” As soon as a Pakistani mother hears that, her tough-love mechanism falls down to zero and her unconditional protection system wakes up. In addition to her unquestionable love and concern, there’s something else that is evoked as well: Exaggerating the ‘beemari’ to dangerous extents only because she loves her little one so. But by the time we were above 10, our smart mother no longer acknowledged our golden words and we were sent to school briskly.

Excellent Storytellers:

Pakistani mothers know that Pakistani children have supernatural amounts of energy and zest for life. That’s adorable until it’s 2 ‘o clock in the morning and their story doesn’t help the kids drift off into slumber-land. What do they do? They chop up the fairy tale to one-third of it, spice it up with suspense and add the legendary warning: “Jinn baba agaya, aankhain band karo!” It works for the first six times but then we know what’s going on and thus, a cynic is born.

Jokes aside, Pakistani mothers are tremendously optimistic, beautiful and resilient women. Regardless of their ethnicity, education or creed, they remain a cogent constituent of our society because they bring us up in a country like Pakistan. I will always respect the mothers who choose to protect their children from the economic woes and political lunacy of this country. To raise a daughter in a patriarch’s heaven is indeed a painful task but our mothers do it efficiently. Many of them place their children as top priority whilst neglecting themselves. I dedicate this post and the laughter generated by it, to every Pakistani mother or mommy-to-be (you know you’re going to do the same things ammi did) and to their prosperity. Surprise-hug them today!

Beautiful As You Are

Happy new year, dear readers! I’ll refrain from the age-old cynic observation that we all have heard amidst cheers and fireworks that goes like, “Uh, yeah, whatever? 2010 sucked so 2011 is gonna suck too.” Shut your mouth, skeptical party poopers.

This year every month will be dedicated to several causes I passionately believe in as a teacher, blogger, student and feminist. I’ll also be taking in doodle submissions from readers on discerning topics. January is Body Positive Month on my blog and this means it’s all about you (I swear to God it’s not my fault if you can hear Ufone’s jingle when I said that) and your appearance. Many of you already know what BP implies but for those who haven’t heard of the term yet: Body Positivity is, in basic essence, accepting and appreciating yourself as you are. Regardless of your weight, skin tone, hair texture, features and even toe nails, Body Positivity advocates self-esteem and confidence by embracing yourself without cosmetically altering yourself. Why? Because you’re beautiful.

Without further ado, here is a poem I wrote for an adorable little girl, Zahra, in South Africa. Skin tones are often targeted with unnecessary criticism and, in many scenarios, bullying. I’ve been a victim of the anti-brown brigade which, ironically, is brown itself. I grew past it and here I am today. Here’s the poem with a few doodles dedicated to the beautiful, little Zahra.

Beautiful As You Are:

When I was four feet and five inches,
Kids at school would say,
“Hey Mehreen, buy yourself a paper bag!
Your face ruins our day!”

I asked them why they thought so,
My mom said I was pretty swell?
“That’s cause your hair is bushy!
Plus your skin’s dark as hell!”

So I wore the paper bag to school,
I wore it day and night.
I thought I’d be accepted
If I was out of sight.

Then I grew up and left home,
For college and other big plans,
I made friends around the world,
I even made some fans!

I learned that people are beautiful
If they love, respect and care.
What matters most is inside.
Not my skin or hair.

So if a girl is tall and pink,
But she’s rotten and she’s rude,
She’s not pretty in any way.
I’d rather have her boo’ed.

And if a girl is small and dark
And her heart is made of gold,
Trust me, she’ll be plain beautiful
Even when she’s old.

Now here’s a little secret.
Brown is a beautiful shade.
Of warmth, strength and sweetness
This strong color is made.

But that doesn’t matter,
Oh it doesn’t matter at all.
If someone treats you for your skin tone,
They’re not worth the fall.

You’re beautiful and you’re lovely,
Because you are you.
Aw, man, this rhymes too nicely.
Because it’s really true.

Your skin is just a cover,
Your skin is just some meat,
It doesn’t make you bitter
And it doesn’t make you sweet.

What makes you gorgeous and lovely,
Comes right out of here.
So now you know you’re perfect.
Oh, you’re beautiful, my dear.

What the Sheila?

It’s like an epidemic and there’s no cure for it. I’ve spoken to various metal-heads and lovers of dirty blues but they simply refuse to fight this insanity that has taken hold of the nation. I spent days and nights arguing with post-rock fans and trip-hop listeners that, yes, we can stop this madness, we can bring ourselves back to where we were but they turn away. Memories haunt me from the golden days when I bought my first APC album and fell in love with Maynard. Later on, NIN entered and jolted me with their twisted creativity. Oh yes, it is all etched in my mind.

I even have a photograph. Here. This is me.

Rather - I must confess - sweet.

(in British accent) How did it happen, you ask? She – she appeared out of nowhere by George! It was as though mother earth had spat her out with contempt! She – she seemed to – to shake her – meager bosom in all directions! And the children were giggling and the elderly folks forgot Viagra! It – it seemed so very surreal. I must contain myself. I apologize profusely, sire. I wipe my brow with my handkerchief.

I suppose I must give you a coherent account of what occured that winter evening…

Edible items from the Orient fascinate me.

(continuing in British accent) The children, the women, the men, they all seem to have fallen for this otherling. My hours are spent in the fear of a bottom-jiggling woman and her cronies. The only loyalty that ameliorates my agony is my handy dandy mp3 player. It sings to me songs of resilience and courage. Also, Luna by The Smashing Pumpkins, Lithium by Nirvana, The Noose by APC, My Kantele by Amorphis, Dirt by Alice in Chains and a few others.

(still in British accent, okay?) But I must tell you, dear friend of mine, that Sheila is not what Sheila seems. For in the dark, she morphs into your worst nightmare. And no incubus is more hideous than her.

I warned you.

P.S. If you had trouble reading the bar, click the doodle for a larger version.

Y U NO UNDERSTAND?!

My good friend and the ever-famous Y U NO man is here and we both had a long discussion last night on regional politics, IR and how Wikileaks is changing the world drastically. What compelled me to argue with Y U NO man was his pessimism regarding the local scene of politicians: He says he doesn’t care about the world if his very own home is on fire. Furthermore he told me how the citizens of Pakistan disappoint him on a daily basis. I agreed with him on some points. Here he is, beseeching y’all.

And then Y U NO man looked at me and asked two questions posed for the average Pakistani male and female citizen.

And

And the Hiterlesque Y U NO man spoke as well.

Annnnd this is the average Kasana-hater: