SAFspace

The Move

2005-07-04T03:02:00.000-04:00

Well, I've hinted at it long enough - I figure it's about time I make the move. I'm switching to WordPress. I will no longer be updating this site.

You can visit my blog here. I ask for your patience - there are still some changes under way.

Canada Passes Same-Sex Bill

2005-06-29T09:09:00.000-04:00

Last night Canada came one step closer to officially recognizing same-sex marriage. Bill C-38 was passed 158-133, with the NDP and Bloc supporting the (minority) government. The legislation awaits its rubber stamp of approval from the Senate and the Governor-General. The vote (and the debate leading up to it) was highly contentious: Liberal backbenchers were allowed a free vote, and many of them did not support their party. Former MP Joe Comuzzi resigned from Cabinet to vote against the legislation.

Many Canadians believe this is a historic occasion, as evidenced by Prime Minister Paul Martin's speech in Parliament. The legislation makes Canada the third country to officially recognize gay and lesbian marriage, though same-sex marriage has already been legalized and is now performed in most parts of the country due to lower-court decisions in various provinces that redefine marriage.

Bill C-38 will only apply to civic marriages. It includes provisions for the protection of religious minorities and institutions. Religious leaders can refuse to take part in same-sex marriages. There had been talk of repealing the charitable status of religious groups opposed to same-sex marriage. Recently, the bill was amended to protect the charitable status of those groups. It will be fascinating to watch the balancing act between religious (and group) rights and the equality rights of same-sex couples – after all, both rights are explicitly protected in the Charter.

On Swearing

2005-06-28T13:09:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about profane language quite a bit lately. Why does it bother me so? And why do I find it so offensive? Is it because I was brought up with my speech carefully monitored? A great deal of coarse language makes reference to body parts or bodily functions. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. So what is it about some words that make them taboo?

And how does one determine whether a word can be used in regular speech or not? Several years back, when the term "screwed up" peppered my speech, my father would insist that I not use that term because it had a vulgar meaning. When I told him it hadn't that meaning any longer – I felt it meant someone was acting in an odd or "crazy" manner - he insisted I shouldn't use it because 1) I just wasn't aware of its connotations; 2) older people still consider it vulgar and wouldn't appreciate its common usage; and 3) I had been exposed to that word at school so often that it no longer had the intended effect on me. I thought his rationale was very convincing, but lately I've come to realize that many words that were once considered offensive have now entered public discourse. So perhaps the term "screwed up" no longer has the negative connotation my father thought it had – perhaps it can no longer be considered coarse language.

Unanswered questions tend to trouble me, so I emailed an old professor to ask her my question:

Dear Professor "Wordy":
I was wondering whether you'd be able to answer this burning question of mine. At what point do swear words lose their force? A few years ago, my father would gently rebuke us when we used phrases like, "he's screwed up" to mean someone has problems or isn't fully normal, because he believed the word has sexual connotations. Yet I'm sure there are some words we use today that might have been considered profanities in the past, and I know there are some words which have quite innocent meanings but have come to refer to sexual activity. How do we judge whether a word is socially acceptable or not?
Safiyyah

My professor responded the next day:

Hi Safiyyah,
I wish I had an easy answer to your questions. You are right that swear words tend to lose their force over time and also that they are more acceptable in some situations (say, with your friends) than in others (with your parents). It is not easy to judge when they have become acceptable. One way might be, if you hear them on a family TV show, they have probably become acceptable. I am still shocked when I see an advertisement announcing that something 'sucks' - that is still profane for me, but obviously not for a lot of other people. I would think that most former swear words even if they are no longer profane still remain acceptable in informal language only. A dictionary like the Canadian Oxford Dictionary can give some guidance; it marks words that the editor considers profane as 'coarse' – for example, 'screw up' is marked as slang (meaning informal language only) but not as 'coarse'. I hope that helps.
Professor "Wordy"

I'm not entirely satisfied with this response, but perhaps there simply isn't a concrete answer to my questions. In any case, I thought I'd pose them to my readers once again:

What is it about some words that make them unacceptable for use in polite company? When does profane language become part of the public discourse? And what happens when seemingly harmless words are hijacked and made profane over time? Can these words be used in their original manner or would it be anachronistic to do so?

Islamic School Days, cont'd

2005-06-26T02:34:00.000-04:00

Read Part 1 here.

So Sr. Shaila had forced us onto our desks as punishment for chatting in class. There we stood, hands clasped atop our heads, waiting for her to come to her senses. We'd been standing there for quite some time when our principal walked in unexpectedly and paused, taken aback at the discovery of thirty sombre statues set upon thirty tiny desks.

"What's going on here?" he asked. His eyes swept the room, baffled at the strange tableau before him. "Get down, all of you! What're you doing up there?!"

But we stood there, shame-faced and silent, knowing we had no choice in the matter. It was either him or the scary lady, and the scary lady we could not ignore.

Our teacher broke the unsettling silence. "I told them to stand there, Br. Abdurrahman. I've had it with them! I've had enough!"

"No, Sr. Shaila, they must come down! It's unsafe. Get down, all of you! Get down!"

We fidgeted uncertainly, waiting for her word. Our principal looked at us, then at her. Finally he gestured to Sr. Shaila. "Can I speak with you outside?" he asked.

She nodded, and he led the way. But before shutting the door, she perused the classroom one last time. "Not a word from any of you. Do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

We didn't respond. We knew what would happen if we did. Instead, our eyes remained fixed upon the door as we sought to listen in on the secret conversation – in vain.

Minutes later, the door inched open. Sr. Shaila strode straight to her desk, her mouth still set in a stubborn frown. It was Br. Abdurrahman who addressed us: "Get down, everyone. Off your desks! I don't want to see you there again, okay? And I want this to be a lesson to all of you. Have your textbooks out and be ready for class. Is that clear?"

We nodded wordlessly, then scrambled down from our desks, involuntary sighs of relief slipping out as we settled into our seats. Br. Abdurrahman left quietly, shutting the door behind him.

But before we'd managed to pull our textbooks out, before we'd even managed to get comfortable in our chairs, Sr. Shaila's familiar voice startled us: "You know, Br. Abdurrahman is too kind. You people will never learn this way. GET BACK UP ON YOUR DESKS!"

In shock, we stumbled from our seats yet again; disobeying simply wasn't an option. She glared at us from behind her spectacles. "AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!!!" she commanded.

My eyes lingered on the second hand of the clock. I was bored to death and willing the period to end. Before long, i was thoroughly agitated. This was simply ridiculous. We were twelve year olds, and she had us standing on our desks? Wasn't there anything we could do to end this madness?

And then, unexpectedly, I hit upon an idea. What would happen if I apologized - on behalf of the class? Would she let us off? It was worth a try. But I was terrified. What if she yelled at me? Or concocted some unique sort of punishment for me? On the other hand, perhaps I was the best chance we had. She had taken a liking to me for some reason. It was worth a try, I thought. But why risk it? Why not someone else?

The clock ticked away as I pondered my options. Several times I made to speak, only to realize I hadn't the courage to do so. Finally, I could stand it no longer. "Sr. Shaila?" I whispered. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Sr. Shaila?" I asked, more loudly this time.

Her head jerked up from the jumble of newspapers before her. She'd heard. It was too late to back down. My heart beat wildly as I adjusted my clasped hands. "Sr. Shaila, can we please sit down? We're really sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Saffya?" Yes, she called me Saffya and I hated it. She also called me variations of that name, including Soofya and Sowfya. But Saffya was the most popular, it seemed.

Why were we sorry, she'd asked. She was making me spell it out. "We're sorry for not being quiet and for not being ready for class." I felt like a snivelling four-year old begging to play outside.

She slowly turned a page and continued perusing the page before her. She said nothing. Nothing! Oh God, it hadn't worked! Oh, the shame!

Minutes passed. My arms were throbbing. And I silently berated myself for sucking up to her.

Then suddenly, without looking up from her paper, she murmured, "Soofya, sit down."

Did she say what I thought she said? It took a moment for her words to sink in. She looked up to see me still standing. "Soofya, I said sit down!"

Huh? Just me? But I'd already tried my luck; I wasn't brave enough to speak again. Red-faced, I climbed down from my desk and sank into my chair, the rest of the class still towering over me. I felt even worse now, knowing I'd been the only one spared. I suppose I'd learned a lesson: It's not smart to negotiate with a crazy woman.

Time passed slowly in the strangely still room. Then, ten minutes were all that remained. I could see and hear classmates shuffling around, adjusting their hands, rotating their necks – all to alleviate the discomfort they were in. I was suffering almost as much as those who remained standing - not physically, of course, but from the embarrassment of being singled out. So it was a relief to finally hear her voice.

"You know," she said, her voice deceptively casual, "you people have no shame. The least you could do is apologize. But you people are too proud for even that. And what grade are you in? Grade 7? GRADE 7?! What kind of example are you? WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE?! La halla wa laa quwwataa!" She shook her head at the class, mouth twisted in disgust, the anger just barely veiled.

And then a voice broke through the tense silence that followed. "Sr. Shaila, I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what? SORRY FOR WHAT?!"

"For talking before you came in."

"SIT DOWN!" she thundered.

Then another voice. "Sr. Shaila, I'm sorry." And another. And another. Within a few minutes, everyone had apologized and was seated, a sense of normalcy returning to the classroom.

"Open your textbooks to page 89," she commanded.

I'd never seen textbooks whipped out so quickly.

"Read quietly until the end of the period. Answer the questions at the end of the chapter. I'll check your work tomorrow." And with that, she collected the remnants of her newspaper and waltzed out the door.

That day – the day Sr. Shaila disciplined thirty twelve year olds – that was the day I finally realized my history teacher had gone berserk. She wasn't the only one. It was much later that I came to appreciate the distinct madness that pervaded that school.

Islamic School Days

2005-06-23T16:31:00.000-04:00

I spent most of my childhood in an Islamic school – I won't mention which one. In fact, I'd appreciate if there were no guesses. I'm not out to pick on my old school. I was there until the age of fourteen or so. I loved it – well, at least parts of it. But there were lots of funny bits, and that's what I'm going to share with you right now.

The story I'm about to tell you is completely true. It happened when I was in grade 7. We were a class of about 30 students, with the boys and girls arranged on separate sides of the classroom. On that special day, we had just returned from lunch break, and we were sitting around waiting for our teacher to come in. Our teachers always seemed to take their good 'ole time, and like any other kids, we got bored. So we started chattering back and forth, not noticing what a racket we were making.

Then, BAM! We froze. In charged our history teacher, a deadly frown set within the folds of her drooping cheeks, glasses resting low upon the bridge of her dainty nose, eyes shooting angry darts at every face. She was old and very intimidating. I'll call her...Sr. Shaila. Yes, we didn't call our teachers Ms. or Mr. or any other name like that. It was either Sister or Brother. And this teacher was one sister!

"WHY AREN'T YOUR BOOKS OUT YET?!!!"

We stared at her, still stunned by her sudden appearance. We'd forgotten, we really had! But there was no arguing with this woman. Should I take out my textbook and risk having her notice I hadn't taken it out earlier? I could sense I wasn't the only one paralysed with indecision.

She continued her slow perusal of the class, glaring eyes settling upon each trembling child in turn.

"WHERE ARE YOUR BOOKS? ARE YOU DEAF?!"

A girl in the front row quietly reached into her desk and pulled out her book, her eyes still fixed upon Sr. Shaila. (No, there were no lockers in this school.) The rest of us cautiously followed suit. We were scared stiff, we really were. We stared straight ahead, casting fearful glances at her from below lowered lids, not a peep coming out of our mouths.

And then it came. The tirade we'd been anticipating.

"HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TELL YOU THE SAME THING? YOU PEOPLE ARE WORTHLESS! I COME A FEW MINUTES LATE AND I CAN HEAR YOU ALL THE WAY DOWN THE HALL! HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU?!!"

She stopped to take a deep breath. Uh oh. This was a biggie.

"YOU KNOW, YOU PEOPLE DON'T KNOW BASIC THINGS! YOU LACK THE BASIC MANNERS! WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD YOUR PARENTS THEY ARE WASTING THEIR TIME? WHY HAVEN'T YOU? THEY WORK NIGHT AND DAY, SPENDING EVERYTHING OUT OF THEIR POCKETS TO SEND YOU – YOU! - TO THIS SCHOOL? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT?! YOU PEOPLE SHOULD BE BURGER FLIPPERS (and she rolled each 'r'). IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO BE? TELL ME! TELL ME! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO BE?! LA HALA WA LA KOOWATTA ILLA BILLAH (this was exactly how she said it)."

But we knew by now she didn't really want us to admit we'd rather be anything but burger flippers. In fact, we knew that if we did tell her, we might get into even more trouble. (It had happened once before, you see, with a student too eager to please.) So we kept quiet, staring at the ridges in our desks, our fingernails, anything to avoid her accusatory glare. We were praying she'd soon stop and we could just get on with learning. But then we realized that wasn't going to happen any time soon:

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I TRY WITH YOU PEOPLE! WHY DO I BOTHER? YOU THINK I AM DOING THIS FOR THE MONEY? YOU PEOPLE ARE WORTHLESS! WORTHLESS!"

"STAND UP! STAND UP! ALL OF YOU!!!"

I scraped back my chair as fast as I could, hastening to do as she ordered. The clang of thirty chairs was ear jarring, but she was so angry she didn't notice. What would she make us do? Hands on our heads this time?

"GET UP ON YOUR DESKS!" she screeched.

What?! We stared at her in confusion, not believing our ears. We'd had strange punishments before, but this was unbelievable.

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?! GET UP ON YOUR DESKS! RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW!!!"

The lady had gone bonkers. She was losing her marbles. She was...crazy. But we couldn't risk her wrath. We rose solemnly on our chairs and climbed onto our desks.

A few minutes after we'd settled in, she had one final order: "PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS AND NOT A SOUND!" We put our hands on our heads. And we stood there. Waiting. And waiting some more.

She didn't seem to notice. She was sitting at her desk now, carefully flipping through the Toronto Star newspaper laid out before her. She looked comfortably happy, as if she could easily sit there for another hour.

Standing on a desk was one thing; standing on a desk with our hands atop our heads was a new experience. And it wasn't pleasant, I tell you.

My arms were starting to hurt. I glanced at the clock. Half an hour left. When would she let us off?

Then there was a knock at the door. In came our beloved principal. "Assalaamu Alaykum," he said in usual cheerful voice. Thank God! We sighed a collective sigh of relief. He was here! He'd save us! He was the kindest man on earth. And sure enough, his bright smile turned to horror as he found thirty twelve year olds standing stiffly atop their desks...

To be continued (I think).

Nothing to see here...

2005-06-21T20:29:00.000-04:00

...at least not until late Thursday. Sorry to disappoint. I've got a major deadline coming up, and it's draining me of my creative energy.

Recommendations

2005-06-19T11:20:00.000-04:00

I'm looking for information from anyone who has traveled from England to Continental Europe by train. Here are some questions:

What would be a reasonable time frame for someone who wants to visit a few countries in Europe? A week? A month?

What sort of costs would the traveler have to consider?

If you've stayed in a hostel, what has your experience been like?

Are there places to see or things to do that you'd want to recommend to a first-time visitor?

Canada – brrrr!

2005-06-18T15:56:00.000-04:00

Safiyyah getting ready to play in the summer snow!

On a random tour through blogosphere, I came across a woman who is planning a trip that will pass through Montreal. She is concerned about what sorts of clothing to pack. Would it be too cold for summer gear? Reminds me of the time someone admitted she'd heard about Islam but wasn't sure who he was. I suppose people just don't know very much about Canada either. What pops into your head when you think of Canada?

A Question of Tolerance

2005-06-17T03:21:00.000-04:00

We sat together at MoMo's, a bunch of old friends immersed in deep discussion about what religion meant to us. We had organized a series of peace-building initiatives on campus many months before, and we continued to meet regularly to engage in our own informal dialogue.

We were discussing prayer when "Maria", my Christian friend, suddenly revealed that she regularly prays for her mentor (who lives what she considers a very sinful lifestyle). She asks God to guide her mentor back to what she defines as the moral path.

I was surprised by her bold admission, but I kept my thoughts to myself. "Isaac", my Jewish friend, was too astonished to hold back. "You do that?" he asked.

"Yes, I do. Every day. I pray for everyone I care about."

"I wouldn't want you to pray for me," he exclaimed, consternation colouring his usually calm demeanour.

The fervent interjection startled her. She paused, eyes flickering across the faces in the room, taking time to judge each person's reaction as if unsure of what to say in response. Finally her eyes settled upon him once again. "Why?" she asked.

The table was suddenly quiet. In his usual eloquent way, he sought to explain why he deemed her prayers so distasteful. His words flowed beautifully, and I simply drank them in. But one idea stood out: "Praying for another to become a Christian, or in some cases, to become a better Christian, indicates one's deep desire to change another person. That shows a lack of acceptance for that person."

Maria was stunned. Clearly she did not really understand his unease. "My prayers are based on love," she pointed out. "I love my mentor. Because I care about him...that's the reason I pray for him to become a better person. My intention isn't at all bad."

I caught Isaac's sidelong glance. He was waiting for my perspective. "To be honest, I don't really care one way or the other," I shared. "If she wants to pray for me, that's fine. If she doesn't, that's fine too."

Always the thinker, he sat back in silent contemplation, puzzlement evident upon his face. He was likely questioning his own tolerance. How could he dictate how another person prayed? After all, praying is a very personal action. One must not be prevented from praying for whatever one desires. At the same time, praying for God to change an individual in a way that the supplicant so desired - and in a way that the person in question might not appreciate – seemed both selfish and uncaring.

The conversation suddenly shifted direction and the issue was dropped, but as I left MoMo's that day, Isaac's reaction kept replaying in my mind. I wondered why it didn't matter to me - and why it troubled Isaac so. Was it because he was less tolerant than I was? Or was it perhaps because I wasn't tolerant enough? Maria was very dear to me, and yet I was startled by the possibility that my indifference had to do with the meaninglessness of her prayers; believing that I had the truth, her appeal to God that I be guided to the straight path couldn't do much damage.

Is one's tolerance correlated to one's belief in the invalidity of another's faith? Was I more tolerant and more willing to accept Maria's religious actions because I didn't feel they were of much consequence? Perhaps one can only afford to be tolerant of another's religious beliefs when one thinks that the other's beliefs are wrong or less legitimate than one's own. If that is so, then the concept of religious tolerance is very shallow indeed.

Dr. Zaghloul El-Naggar at UofT

2005-06-15T20:57:00.000-04:00

Dr. Zaghloul El-Naggar will be speaking at the University of Toronto tomorrow. I'll be there - I've been asked to moderate the session.

Here are the details of the lecture:

Human Development in the Glorious Qur’an
2 - 4 p.m. on Thursday, June 16
Bahen Centre for Information Technology, Room 1160
40 St. George St., University of Toronto

Dr. El-Naggar is on a 10-day speaking tour in Canada. Visit the Shabab Islamic Centre to learn about other lectures in the "Scientific Miracles in the Qur'an" series.

Hypocrisy

2005-06-14T00:09:00.000-04:00

Rancorous ruminations flood her thoughts, engulfing her mind with pernicious vengeance. May you die a painful death. May you burn in Hell forever. Bitterness overflows from her very soul.

But when she catches sight of you, her angry accusations are shoved aside, the disgusted sneer quickly wiped away. Suddenly, she is all-smiles and pretended interest; arms stretched open to receive you; warm, loving words flowing from her lying lips.

She hates you. But she does not tell you.

Know though that many others are aware. She has meticulously catalogued your faults for public access and retrieval. They all know. Believe me, I've heard the rumours too.

And yet you seek out her company and simper at her false praise, stubbornly refusing to see her for what she is. How can you not acknowledge the spiteful allegations? Do you not notice? Are you fooling yourself?

Or are you hiding mutual animosity beneath that cheerful veneer?

Ah, you see, I sense the truth.

You hate her. But you do not tell her. Two can play this game.

I'm back...

2005-06-13T16:45:00.000-04:00

...but I'm just not ready to post yet. I thought I'd be anxious to do so, but I'm sick and tired - literally - and I'm afraid anything I write will be tinged with irritability. I had loads of fun last week. Perhaps too much fun, for my return was soon overshadowed by illness and exhaustion.

My bed is looking awfully inviting.

Just Saying...

2005-06-06T19:03:00.000-04:00

I'll be away from this blog for the next week or so. I don't anticipate I'll be able to post anything, but I won't rule out the possibility of a stray entry or two finding its way through.

Love Affair with the Printed Page

2005-06-05T15:07:00.000-04:00

When I was a wee little girl, the library was my candy store. All the colours and shapes and sizes...my brothers and I couldn't resist. We were super-nerds, obsessed with books of all kinds – and we demanded a fresh supply every week.

We went to the library so frequently we had to change libraries every so often. Know how your clothes just get so old and ratty after a while that you can't stand them anymore? That's how it was with books. We read so many books, there weren't any new ones left. So we'd read them over. And when we got tired of them, we'd switch libraries. Going to a new library was terribly exciting. The novelty! We even visited the little bookmobiles that came by at one time. And bookstores? That was our treat. We'd patiently peruse the shelves for hours, searching for the perfect catch. We kept each possession in mint condition, only grudgingly allowing our siblings to read on condition that they promised to keep it clean.

You see, we were deprived as kids. Happened when were wee little young'uns. Poppa pulled the plug - with our permission. Being the reasonable Poppa that he is, he asked us first whether we thought it was a good idea. And truth is, our wee childish instincts told us Maria's kissy act on Sesame Street just wasn't right. So we said, yeah. Let's try it for a while. It was an experiment at first. A week later, Poppa asked us if we were still happy with our decision. We thought for a while and realized we hadn't even noticed the difference. And you know what? The tube never went back on. We had already discovered other things to do.

One of those things was…reading. Yes, we got so obsessed with books that we were perpetually in trouble for reading instead of doing our chores. You'd think our Momma would be happy her young'uns were so engrossed in something good. But no. Even worse, reading when we were supposed to be sleeping was another no-no. This is where our dinky five-dollar flashlights came in handy. Their tiny little bulbs shone a path into our books, lighting half a line at a time – just enough for us to enjoy an hour or two with our beloved books.

The dainty librarians called in extra duty when they saw us coming. They dreaded our visits, for it meant they'd have to work harder. Often we'd have two or three waiting on us, sighing and panting as they waded through our hundred or so books – though they struggled to conceal their admiration. Library patrons stood by, eyes wide, mouth gaping at the piles and piles of books we'd stuffed into bags and baskets. Some muttered and pouted and asked why we were allowed to borrow so many. But the dirty looks weren't enough to prevent us from dropping in weekly to collect our precious stash. We were starved - obsessed, really. If it weren't so embarrassing, it might've been hilarious.

Then there were simply too many books to carry during the 5-minute walk to our home. This is where Poppa and his trusty old car came in. We'd load our books into the vehicle, snagging a few to read on the way, and then a joyful silence would prevail until our Poppa announced we were home. Once he'd managed to convince us it would be better to continue reading at home, dear Poppa would unload the books while we pretended to help – though we really were more interested in the words dancing before our eyes - and then we'd stumble through the door and sprawl onto the carpeted living room floor with our hoarded pile of delights before us, already in our imagined world and uncaring of what transpired around us.

Until we were forced to get up. To eat, to clean up, it was always something or the other. And even then, we’d beg to finish the chapter, complete the page, anything to sustain the pleasure before we were forced to tear our eyes away.

We didn't have very much, but we knew how to read. And read we did. Our love affair with the printed page transformed our lives. Our education was not just about going to school. It was about exploration and imagination – and we did quite a bit of that. Our extensive reading broadened our minds. I remember bringing home a book called, "I Have Two Mommies", not realizing what it was about. Did Poppa say, don't read it? No, he explained what the title meant and we went on with life. And books that challenged our lifestyle and worldview only forced us to think and ask questions and ultimately become wiser in our decision-making and chosen way of life. I don't think television could have done that.

Did we miss out? Perhaps a little bit. All the kids talked about at school were the shows they'd watched the night before. Even at a young age, I thought those conversations were pretty meaningless. And I was ridiculed for not watching TV. How can you live without TV? I was constantly asked. Yes, the peer pressure was burdensome. But the sacrifice was worth it. My parents instilled in us a special love for books and learning. I wouldn't do it any differently if I had my own kids.

Coming up: End of the Love Affair

Recommendations?

2005-06-03T23:50:00.000-04:00

If you could convince me to read one book, which would it be and why?

Protests Aren't My Thing

2005-06-02T16:16:00.000-04:00

A fellow I know – who doesn't usually attend protests and rallies, he assures me – tried to convince me to go to a protest to demonstrate my outrage at the desecration of the Quran and religious abuse at Guantanamo Bay, Afghanistan and Iraq. I refused. And he was surprised. But he shouldn't be. I very rarely go to protests. Not because I'm uncaring of the issues at hand – I don't appreciate when people make assumptions because I refuse to protest – but rather because I can't stand protests. I think they're useless.

I should note at the outset that I have nothing against the concept of the public protest. Theoretically, it is grounded in the desire to uphold democratic values. In a liberal democratic society, the public must be free to register its opinion in some way. Protests have historically been taken seriously because of their strength – either physical (threats of violence) or moral (threats stemming from the power of the idea) – and hence the fear that they could overpower the political system and change the status quo. If people feel that protests are the way to go, it is not my purpose to denounce or dissuade them from participating.

But I have been to a few protests, and the common thread in all of them was a dumbing-down of the issues, which I find insulting to thinking individuals. Here are people denouncing George W. Bush's policies, claiming to be the voice of reason, and yet they're wearing bizarre caricatured costumes and carrying placards with clichéd slogans purporting to encapsulate their entire message. "Drop Bush Not Bombs." "Heil Bush." "Shame Shame USA." The messages are foolishly partisan and uncompromising. Black and white. I wouldn't want to say the wrong thing in the midst of a shouting, angry crowd holding signs like that. Yet it strikes me that many of those carrying "Not In My Name" placards have no idea what they're protesting about. Some vague ideas, perhaps, but they're simply going along with the crowd, submitting themselves to the group's will. There's nothing of substance there. In fact, besides the often-empty rhetoric of the participants, the speakers at these events are often raging scream machines themselves.

A couple of years back, there was a demonstration to protest tuition hikes at UofT. I attended, as did many students on campus. There was talk of walking out of class to protest, and I'm sure some students did so. The event was well attended, the protesters fired up. But I had to leave after only a few minutes because the doltish crowd could not stop screaming offensive profanities in tandem. I couldn't be a part of that. I supported their cause, but I didn't support their methods. The problem with protests is that they're free-for-alls. People think they can just let loose and do what they want without repercussions. Even violence is justified in the name of democracy. They're protected by the crowd, after all.

And yet, if you're protesting, chances are you're supporting things you may not want to support. I once attended a rally that was very specific in focus, and yet there were flags in recognition of a cause that was contrary to the event's purpose. Most people didn't realize – I suppose they assumed they might as well support every group's rights if they were supporting one. But am I obligated to approve of the many anarchists at every protest? And protesters supporting women's right to choose, demanding the legalization of marijuana, and insisting on an end to capitalism? I believe this to be the very downfall of the political protest - there are simply too many ideas getting mixed up and there's no unified message to announce to the world. To be effective, protesters need to come up with a clear, cohesive message – and deliver that message is an reasonably intelligent manner. A riot of causes will not help any of them.

What troubles me most are the people who live for political protests. They consider themselves politically active, and so they go from protest to protest – wherever there's one, you're bound to find them. They'll even hop on buses and drive to wherever the next protest is taking place. As if these distractions will solve the problems of the world. Have enough protests, get the largest crowd, and things will come together for you. It won't. Because it's not that easy.

It's clear that something's not working here. We need to ask why that is so. Why do the media no longer cover these protests? Is it perhaps because there are so many? Or maybe because there's not much difference between the many protests sprouting up all around town? Why do politicians no longer take heed? Perhaps no one really cares about the rowdy yahoos anymore? And why is it so easy to get the police to intervene? Must one fight back with more protests? With acrimonious exchanges? Is there not room for discussion, for negotiation, for debate within the societal and governmental structures? Or do we believe we've gone beyond that point, that protest is the only answer now?

I believe protests can at best be described as the beginning. There's a whole lot of work that must be done afterwards. Yet so much focus is placed upon getting people together that there's little time or energy or resources left to think about what happens next. A small protest can bring together a thousand different people. If even a quarter of those people were mobilized to do something, think of how potentially powerful they could be. I'd like to see organizers investing their funding and resources in order to form organisations, to infiltrate the political system, to lobby and negotiate with political actors. We need not waste people's time and energy on futile endeavours if there are other more effective ways to exercise one's democratic right. When I think of the protest against the desecration of the Quran in Guantanamo Bay, I have only praise for CAIR's strategy of distributing translations of the Quran to spread awareness of its message and its significance in the Muslim community. Yes, it's less exciting work. But it's meaningful. And it's proactive in a way that protests by their very nature can never be.

I know political protests are not always futile. Ukraine is a spectacular example. But consider the effort that went into making it work. Consider the many people who camped out for so many days to make their point known. They did not put aside flashy placards after a couple of hours, abandoning their fight for the comfort of their homes. Their souls were invested in the cause. And they stayed on till they got what they so desired.

Some may say it's better to do something – anything – than to sit at home and whine at the injustices of the world. That's a valid criticism. But I'd like to see a strategy that's better than just anything. I'd like to see a strategy that has the potential to win, that offers reasonable solutions and a plan to get there. Otherwise we just have a group of excited, energized and highly emotional people, but no way to channel that energy. The feelings of solidarity can only go so far. After that, it's the substance of the message, and not just the cause, that will get people to act in meaningful ways.

Speech Sounds

2005-06-01T14:54:00.000-04:00

While indulging my fascination with linguistics, I came across an interesting tidbit related to phonetics.

Apparently, when Canadians say the words "caught" and "cot", there's no difference in pronunciation. And yet the two are pronounced differently in both British and American English. The reason? A phenomenon called Canadian raising, in which the sounds of diphthongs, such as "au", are changed when they precede voiceless consonants like the letter "t".

Try it yourself and see.

Egyptian Streets

2005-05-30T08:35:00.000-04:00

First impressions from a student in Egypt:

"Drivers are nuts, and they give a whole new meaning to jaywalking. You have to run because they won't stop for you. They expect you to run. Jaywalking has actual danger associated with it."

Where are all the Women?

2005-05-28T19:20:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine complains that she is discouraged from actively participating in the Muslim community. The culprits? Overzealous male students who believed it is wrong for women to be at the forefront of Islamic activities. She speaks in the context of the Muslim Students' Association, but the lack of female participation in all Muslim organizations is a very serious problem.

There are in fact some male students who refuse to participate in MSA activities because of what they call "mixing". Of those who participate, some brothers believe that it is un-Islamic for sisters to sit with them. In one MSA, executive committee meetings are held with a divider segregating sisters and brothers on either side of the room. One wonders how executive members can communicate with each other when there is such a physical barrier separating them. How would they dialogue or even debate ideas? How would they make decisions? And doesn't it seem silly that the sexes must be curtained off from each other when they sit side by side in class and meet one-on-one with their profs? Then there are some brothers who will not seriously take into consideration the ideas and perspectives of Muslim women who do not wear the headscarf. This fixation on headgear and outward appearance glosses over other measures of faith – including ones' behaviour and morals and the extent to which one observes the regular prayers.

It is no coincidence that female students are often less visible at the executive level. Even when female students are involved, they generally serve as secretaries or sisters' coordinators, leaving the more prestigious positions to male students. One could count on one hand the number of female presidents of MSAs in North America.

I know of very few male Muslim students who would insist Muslim women couldn't participate in public activities according to the Qur'an and Sunnah. Regardless, at times ideas about a woman's place are engrained in the unconscious, affecting a student's actions in ways even he might be unaware of. A student may think, for example, that women are more emotional and thus unable to make wise and often difficult decisions. I've heard men explain away women's irrationality by way of their femininity. One brother, upon hearing that sisters wanted to take a leadership role in emceeing a dinner, made a derogatory statement implying that women who did so were less decent in some way. His remark demonstrates the impression some men have of the way women should be – and their unwillingness to stray from that paradigm.

So one need not deny that Muslim female students have had to deal with idealized impressions of themselves and what their place should be. But what is most intriguing is that it's a two-way street. Simultaneously, this same image is found amongst Muslim female students themselves.

First, there are elements in the female Muslim community who hold very strict views about how Muslims themselves should be. They argue that there must be a strict separation between men and women, and that women can best serve the community if they remain within the private sphere. They are the ones who refuse to participate in MSA activities and events - besides taking advantage of the well-maintained prayer space. These women would look down upon or even denounce other women who are more actively involved. Why is she talking to that brother, they whisper. And why is her skirt so tight? Yes, there is internal censure coming from women themselves.

Second, there are Muslim women who know that Islam does not require these idealized perceptions of women, but believe that most men expect women to be gentle, giving, submissive and shy. These women try to squeeze themselves into a mould that other Muslims create, adopting the very images they so despise. They are the ones who seethe silently at meetings, but never share their thoughts with the group. Most people will admit to attending meetings where the sisters are completely silent. They do not offer their opinions, and when they finally find the courage to open their mouths, it is often to agree wholeheartedly with what a brother has already said. And then, when they leave the room, their tongues loosen, and private conversations reveal the true extent of their discontent. Women have internalized old-fashioned male perceptions of themselves to the point where they are paralysed with indecision about whether or not they should risk speaking out. They do not want to be perceived as aggressive or forward. It might tarnish their reputation forever. Moreover, who would want to marry a woman who speaks her mind?

What these female students forget is that their own perceptions may not be correct. They may be unfairly projecting stereotypical impressions on unknowing male students, in which case not only are they failing to appreciate male students beyond their preconceived paradigms, but they are also sending mixed signals about what they want and need, thus perpetuating the very thing they want to change and limiting their ability to contribute. There are male students who are open to the idea that women should take an active role in the MSA. Some even try to facilitate it. And then they're left scratching their heads, befuddled over repeated complaints of gender discrimination, when they organize events and halaqahs (study circles) specifically for female students and find that women do not wish to participate.

Some introspection is required. Female students must ask themselves whether they would organize for a cause they are passionate about, or how many of them would be willing to run for office. Many have shied away from running for high positions simply because they fear being perceived in a less than womanly fashion. These women should consider whether they're willing to put themselves out there to make the change they want to see. And if they're not, then it is unfair to place blame on the entire male population for the lack of female participation in Islamic organizations. What is striking is that many women desire change – but they themselves do not want to institute it.

It is troubling that women are not more involved in their student associations. Students at the university level are typically rethinking and revising entrenched paradigms of belief. Worldviews shaped at this level may stay with them for their entire life. The MSA helps to shape this newly constructed worldview. It is thus the training ground for Muslims who will go out into society and translate what they have cultivated and developed at the student body level to the wider population. The MSA, then, is a model for the rest of Muslim society. It is also a good indication of the future direction of the Muslim community. Success at the MSA level seems to fasttrack an individual to success in the Muslim community as a whole. Hence it is absolutely necessary that Muslim women are made to feel that they are contributing members of the MSA.

Improvement will be made when both men and women recognize the need for it. But neither side must wait for the other to act. The Muslim community needs women who are brave enough to battle through cultural prejudices about the place of women in Muslim societies. But these women must approach the task in a reasoned, intelligent manner - through close reference to the Qur'an and Sunnah. And they must gain credibility within the community.

The community also needs men who are courageous enough to speak out when there is no imperative to do so - visionary men who will seek out the opinions of women, engage women in discussion and decision-making, and involve women in planning activities and events. Most significantly, these men should support women who take on active roles and positions within Muslim organizations, and they should encourage gender-inclusive policies and guidelines along with community education about the limits of male-female interaction within the Islamic tradition. There is a greater obligation upon the male population because it has historically held the reins of power.

The Qur'an encourages the believing men and women to be supportive of one another. Without the active participation of women, the community is merely using half of its collective potential, and it is depriving the other half of the spiritual nourishment, social networking and personal development that one experiences within the organized structure. It will be up to the younger generation of both men and women – particularly those coming from within the Muslim student movement – to recognize the pressing need to seek out solutions to gender exclusivity and to act on those solutions within the context of the Qur'an and Sunnah.

Still Here

2005-05-28T18:37:00.000-04:00

I apologize for my silence. My non-participation must be blamed on my busyness in the last few days. I am now reconciled with the anonymous commentator - she has apologized, and I thank her for doing so. I think we've come away with a better understanding of each other, and I am hopeful that there shall be no similar incidents in the future - on anyone's blog. I have already said all that is necessary, so I will spare you the boredom of repeating it here. I know some of you may have no idea what is going on. Nevertheless I'd like to thank my readers for the support and advice – and for being so patient with me as always.

I'm a bit tired of this blog and all that it entails. It's too constraining and journal-like. While I'm not planning to get rid of it, I do intend to change a few things. I'm thinking of switching to WordPress. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to do it – after all, I'm sorely lacking in the technical department. But I'm looking for a little advice from someone who promises not to snicker at my questions, no matter how naïve they may be. Anyone up to the task?

Where Did I Go Wrong?

2005-05-26T02:52:00.000-04:00

Since I first set up this blog a few months ago, I've received emails from men asking me to be their "friend", offering unsolicited autobiographies and resumes, and attaching grinning pictures of themselves. At first, I laughed them off and continued undeterred. Then I noticed visitors to my blog requesting to meet with me. And strange men calling me "Saf", a nickname reserved for my closest female friends. And I began to ask myself, "Where did I go wrong?"

A while back, a reader mentioned that I don't say enough about myself on my blog. I sought to remedy that omission by revealing my personality, interests and goals. But doing so has its own inherent dangers, as evidenced by some of the inappropriate email I've received. I regret not maintaining that distance online. I'm really rather religious – or at least I strive to be so. In real life, only those who know me well would be privy to all that is Safiyyah. But this blog has revealed those aspects of myself that I generally keep hidden – including ideas and opinions that I don't usually share.

A few days ago, a reader made a very hurtful assumption about me. The allegation was so preposterous - so unlike what I knew to be me - that I almost could not stomach it and I most definitely cannot share it here. But I ask myself whether I've done something to justify those assumptions. Have my writings been less decent than I thought them to be? Have I given the wrong impression to my readers? Because if I have, I don't want to continue along that path. I don't want to open myself up to unnecessary attack or criticism. I don't want to be misjudged because of a few hastily written words strewn here and there for all to see.

And it bothers me. It bothers me so much that it has kept me awake at night. I don't know what to do or how to proceed. I feel cheapened, my sense of worth somehow reduced. I feel as if I've unwittingly tarnished my reputation. This latest incident has forced me to reconsider the very purpose of this blog and to reflect upon the way in which I present myself. I ask you to bear with me. There will be a great deal of introspection in the days to come.

Assumptions

2005-05-25T07:42:00.000-04:00

A good friend of mine recently contemplated visiting her homeland. Because she is of marriageable age, friends and relatives assumed she was taking the trip to find a suitable mate from "back home". When I happened upon her circle of friends and heard the news, I told them it couldn't be true. After all, I'd seen "Sarah" just a few days ago and she had indicated her parents would be going on their own. But her friends brushed me off. She doesn’t want to admit the truth to you, they insisted. Look how old she is. Obviously she can't find someone here. And so the assumptions built upon themselves, eventually becoming a fantasy of her friends' making.

When the truth came out, it was embarrassing not for Sarah but for those "friends" who had concocted a fanciful tale about Sarah's imaginary trip. Apparently, Sarah had decided not to go after all. Unsurprisingly, the real story had difficulty getting out while the false one had already spread far and wide. Most people knew Sarah had gone back to her home country. Few realized the plane had left without her.

Those who jump to conclusions are almost always wrong. And they run the risk of misunderstanding the very individuals they judge. Though the allegations are sometimes quite funny – as in the case of Sarah – suspicion and baseless assumptions have the potential to ruin people's lives. I will always remember the tragic story of Aishah (RA), a wife of the Prophet Muhammad (SAW). She had accompanied the Prophet on an expedition, and on the way back, when the caravan had stopped to allow the group some rest, Aishah slipped out of her litter in search of a missing necklace. When she returned, she found the caravan had already continued onward. Safwan, a young man who had been left behind for some reason, arrived at the camp and found Aishah sleeping. He offered her a ride and led her back to Medina.

Rumours swirled upon their arrival. People assumed the worst, and it soon became a very public scandal. The incident placed great strain on the household of the Prophet and on the Prophet himself. He withdrew from Aishah. She returned to her parents' home in anguish and sickness and remained there for quite some time. Eventually revelation came down to establish her innocence while rebuking those who had spread gossip against a pious woman without providing the requisite evidence.

Trust in the overall goodness of people is one of the basic principles of a civilized society. We are all guilty of forming baseless assumptions of one another at one time or the other. But if one harbours suspicions of another person, the proper way to handle the situation is to approach the individual privately seeking clarification. There is nothing to be gained from broadcasting one's suspicions to the world – especially when they may not turn out to be true. Perhaps we can learn a lesson from the incident with Aishah and Safwan and avoid the very actions God sees fit to condemn through revelation.

Fireworks on Victoria Day

2005-05-23T21:46:00.000-04:00

The marvellous sparks shooting through the sky poignantly symbolize the emptiness, the fleetingness with which human beings associate joy and excitement. It is but for a moment, maybe two or three, that the colours rise and form distractingly beautiful patterns. And then the sky is blackened yet again, desolate smoke the lonesome sign of its past existence. Its artificiality is haunting; one spends exorbitant amounts to purchase a dozen, and then it is gone in a blink, frighteningly loud pops and booms punctuating its brief life. Dogs bark aggressively, struggling against their chains; the soil is littered with paper tubes and emptied packages, and amazed spectators cheer wildly, ignoring the daring fellow who must flee the firecracker's wrath upon igniting it. And then the lights and sounds dissipate. The little ones are already wailing, their parents hollering at them to get inside. It’s time for bed. Tomorrow is another dreary day.

Possibilities

2005-05-22T02:24:00.000-04:00

Suppose a certain individual wanted to visit the United Kingdom for a brief time. Suppose said individual intended to stay in London and/or Leicester. What sort of interesting things could be done or experienced beyond the typical tourist draws?

No excuses, T.O.

2005-05-21T01:20:00.000-04:00

So what’re you doing on Sunday? If you’re in Toronto, the Walk for the Homeless is the place to be. The Ansaar Foundation is a new Muslim organization dedicated to eradicating homelessness in the Greater Toronto Area. The foundation has organized a walk-a-thon that will take place on Sunday, May 22nd. That’s tomorrow. It is incredible to see Muslims spearheading a creative new initiative that has managed to win the support of so many other organizations nation-wide. The money raised from this walk-a-thon will go towards a shelter that the foundation hopes to build. Who will walk with me? I want to see Muslims there supporting the efforts of this amazing organization.

If you can’t attend, you can always lend your support in other ways. You can choose to sponsor participants or donate directly to the Walk for the Homeless initiative. I’m aiming for $200. Any sponsors willing to pledge an amount?

To learn more about the Ansaar Foundation, visit its website. And if you’d like to participate in the Walk, be sure to get the latest details here. Spread the word, my friends. This is something to be proud of.

Finding My Place

2005-05-20T18:02:00.000-04:00

It didn’t happen on any particular day. All I know is that at a certain point in my life, I became fed up with my community. On the surface level, I seemed fine. I was happy, involved, even committed. But inside, ideas roiled around at will, leaving me discontented, confused, and agitated. I was surrounded by so many, yet so completely alone. I was tired of searching, yet longing for someone to understand me.

When the frustration could no longer be ignored, I left. Barely anyone knew I had done so. "Where've you gone?" people asked. "How come you weren't at the meeting yesterday? You should be part of this." I made excuses. Things are too busy right now. School is killing me. It was the truth, but I had never let academics get in the way of anything else I'd wanted to do. The problem was that my spirit was no longer with the community. I felt incapable of participating and I withdrew from people and events, disillusioned and disappointed.

The period following my ‘departure’ was not a great deal of fun, but the time away was vital to my personal growth. I found new friends and supporters. I explored my interests and discovered my passions. And I gradually gained awareness that I could not leave; I was too strongly attached to the very thing I was unhappy with. My place was in the community, not elsewhere. I would just have to make it work. And slowly, I found myself gravitating towards the community once more.

I only realized the extent to which my feelings had changed at an event that took place last Sunday. It was an appreciation dinner for two former MSAers who were departing for Egypt forever. It was only then – surrounded by friends, classmates and acquaintances – that I was overwhelmed with the sense that the MSA community really is my family. Yes, we say it all the time. The community is about brotherhood and sisterhood, we claim. But it was at that point that I felt something I hadn’t felt for a long time. I felt belonging and real love for the people around me.

I believe that withdrawal period increased my appreciation of the Muslim community as a whole. And I returned with a greater sense of purpose; a stronger awareness of who I was and how I could contribute in a meaningful way to my community. By the time I was ready to rejoin, I found there was already a place waiting for me. There were people welcoming me back with open arms, individuals who cared. It was a startling realization, and one I feel blessed to have experienced.

Ours is a beautiful community that continues to grow and develop – even evolve. Yes, there are ups and downs. There are disagreements and clashing worldviews. There are individuals who will never compromise; who see things in black and white; who want to do things their way. But there are also people with pure intentions. Generous, kind, good souls. We need only seek them out.

Some brothers pose for a group photo after the dinner...

...and here are the sisters

My advice to those who are struggling to find their place within the community? Don’t give up. Never think your ideas are too strange to share. And never turn your back on your community. What I found was that the more I isolated myself from the community, the more I perceived that I didn't fit in. But when I decided to try and make things work, I found that I wasn't so different after all; there were others with ideas somewhat like my own. There were brothers and sisters out there who were willing to hear me out and who wanted to work with me to make a difference in the community.

The dear brother who left for Egypt yesterday offered me similar advice every time we met. We had a very contentious relationship, for in some ways we are very similar – we could see through each other and discern the other’s faults. We disagreed regularly, and I often thought him meddlesome, but I will never forget his repeated pleas that I stick with the community; that I develop my leadership abilities, that I help to establish the ummah in Canada. No, we did not always share similar opinions, but we shared a dream that the Muslim community would flourish and grow. He has come a long way, and so have I. And the community has room for both of us.

Yikes!

2005-05-18T15:01:00.000-04:00

I didn’t get a chance to post last night’s entry. Here it is now:

Have you ever met a huge centipede? Longer than your index finger? Because I’ve only just seen one this big. It’s in my room…and I have no idea where it’s gone.

I watched it amble across my wall, brazenly ignoring my looming shadow. I stared at it in fearful fascination, shuddering visibly as it jetted by. I was on my own; it was too late to call for help. I needed a weapon! I settled upon some old crutches I'd been trying to give away. I seized one and headed for Mr. Centipede. But he was nowhere to be found. My bulging eyes roved wildly, searching out the hideous thing. And then I saw movement! The centipede had somehow descended the wall and was now racing across the floor faster than I could move!

I swivelled around and grabbed one crutch, heart beating ferociously. I stabbed frantically at the centipede but he kept running. I stabbed some more, becoming more vicious with each strike. Soon he just lay there, a shrivelled-up heap of legs curled around a lifeless body. I stood over his body, victorious but weary. I was feeling a tad bit sorry for the poor fella, but it had to be done. And at least Mr. Centipede went out fighting.

I’d deal with his remains the next morning, I thought. I couldn’t handle picking him up just yet. So I took one last look at him before covering his body with kleenex. He was disgusting even in death.

I would have been fine had I simply fallen asleep. But I got up ten minutes later to go to the bathroom. When I returned, there was something sticking out of the corner of the kleenex. Had I not covered Mr. Centipede properly? Before I could grab another kleenex, Mr. Centipede raced out and I panicked, hopping madly as I tried to avoid his wild escape. I thought he was dead. But no...I watched as he headed for the jumble of computer wires under my desk. I waited a few seconds, then rattled the wires a bit, trying to persuade him that his hiding place wasn’t safe. But nothing. No movement, no sound. Mr. Centipede was good and gone.

This was war. Not only had he played dead, but he had now officially disappeared. And it wasn’t reassuring to think that Mr. Centipede was strolling around my room while I slept.

And then I caught him skittering across the carpeted floor. If he could make sounds, he’d be chuckling gleefully. He was lording over my room. My room, not his. He meandered over to my laptop bag and I stopped breathing. My bag was open. Wide open. And there were pockets. What if I opened my bag the next day and Mr. Centipede sauntered out? No. He had to go. He had to get as far away from my bag as possible. I prodded my bag with the crutch. The bullysome fellow had arrogantly taken up post near the very top of my bag, but he raced out and fled for the dark space under my bed before I could count to two.

I won’t bore you with what happened next. Suffice it to say that I spent more than an hour trying to kill the thing with my crutches. And every time I thought it was the end, resilient Mr. Centipede would come trudging up the wall again. Yes, centipedes have more lives than cats do. This was a mighty big problem for me. Especially since he kept falling when he’d crawled too high. Making audible thumps when he hit the floor. What if he fell on my head while I slept?

So I ended up sitting atop my bed like a madwoman, as far away from the walls as possible, crutch in hand, keeping watch over my room and guessing where he was at any given moment. I was always wrong, and the surprise element was devastating. What’s more, it was quite pathetic to be terrified of a creature so small. But I can’t argue with my feelings. Especially when I was feeling weird creepy-crawly sensations on my arms, my legs, my head...arghhh!

Did I mention I don’t like centipedes? This is gonna be a long night.

Update: I finally grew tired of ‘killing’ Mr. Centipede and sought out safer sleeping quarters in the living room. It was a long night. And I still can’t find Mr. Centipede!

Shouldn't Walk Here

2005-05-16T15:32:00.000-04:00

I am walking along College Street, random thoughts sorting themselves out in my mind, when a sharp voice cuts through my blissful reverie. "You shouldn't walk here; you'll scare the patients." There's a middle-aged man strolling towards me. Pleasant face, hostile eyes. Is he talking to me? Seems so. But...scare the patients? Why's he saying that to me?

In a split second I realize why. I am walking past the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. And I'm in full Islamic dress, complete with jilbaab (outer garment) and headscarf. It's warm outside, so there's no winter coat or spring jacket to hide my scariness.

Walking towards me is a complete stranger with the audacity to insult me to my face. In public. On a bustling street, with other pedestrians nearby. You shouldn't walk here; you'll scare the patients. And before I can properly school my response, my eyes are widening with restrained humour, my mouth already quivering upwards. The absurdity of the situation hits me so suddenly that I can't help chuckling. The chuckling turns to laughter. And the laughter feeds on itself, drawing strength and growing louder. He is taken aback, trying to interpret my strange reaction. My merriment seems to confuse him more than anger or submission. Finally he glowers at me, mutters something and stomps away.

He probably thinks I'm one of them. Somehow I really don't care.

Culture of Conferences

2005-05-13T15:30:00.000-04:00

This is becoming an embarrassment. Izzy Mo asked me a series of questions several weeks ago, and I haven't yet answered them all. Here's the answer to question #2. There's just one more question left. It should be posted within the next few days.

Are you traveling to the States anytime soon? ISNA is having their 42nd convention in September.

I’ve stopped going to conferences...or lectures for that matter. I’ll be honest and admit I rarely hear anything new; it’s just the same old thing rehashed continuously. Most of the speeches are motivational by nature: Islam is great; Islam is peace; Islam will solve all the problems in the world. Just articulating those statements with a bit of emotion can get the audience revved up, and I’ve seen speakers whip the crowd into a mindless frenzy. At times I feel as if our leaders are deluding themselves (or their audience). People get excited because of the vibes in the room, not realizing that when they go home, they have nothing substantial to hold on to - the speeches are more fluff than content. So if you ask most Muslims why they wear hijab or whether honour killings are part of Islam, a surprising number do not know. There needs to be more than just emotion. I want deep analysis. I want recognition that there are problems in the Muslim community. I want sound, rational arguments and real engagement with the sources. I come away frustrated instead.

The Muslim community needs to acknowledge that conferences are just the beginning. We cannot continue to have conference after conference. We cannot have endless lectures. We need to analyze what purpose they serve – and how we may achieve these purposes in different and better ways. Many conferences are intended to change the lives of those who attend – to revive the Islamic spirit, so to speak. They are a call to action. Are these conferences serving their purpose? Are we seeing real improvement in the community? Or do we go back to our own lives of mediocrity and apathy after our two-day Islamic immersion?

This Culture of Conferences is also disturbing to me because it serves as an entertainment extravaganza – most people are not attending with the goal of learning about their religion. Why not organize a series of workshops or break-out groups so that ordinary Muslims can learn from the scholars in more meaningful ways? The bazaar atmosphere, the socializing, the autograph-signing, the celebrity singers – I have nothing against them, but they’ve become larger than the conference itself.

I worry about the attendees. The indiscriminate clapping confounds me. The speaker makes the stupidest or most innocuous statement - and the mob cheers and whistles wildly. I wonder whether they’re even listening. And the screams of “allahu akbar” - they sound like battle cries to me. I remember when a Muslim celebrity made an appearance at a conference in Toronto. The amount of security the organizers arranged was just overwhelming and still the audience went berserk. People sobbing as if the Day of Judgement was upon them. Others rising and cheering endlessly, ignoring the speaker’s protestations. Fans trying desperately to touch him. Even women, grasping at his sleeves, perhaps hoping to collect some of his “noor” while unknowingly losing some of their dignity. It was simply dehumanizing and it disgusted me. I was unfortunate enough to be sitting near the front, and when the speaker left the stage, the crowds surged up from their seats. I remember being jostled, pushed rudely aside, my fingers stepped on by vacuous women in spiky heels hoping to touch, to photograph, to catch a glimpse of their beloved hero. Those in the back pushed forward, standing on chairs and shoving past security lines. It felt as if a hot new group had come to town and I was at the wrong venue. I sat there in my seat repeating “oh my God” and trying hard not to cry. If this is the state of our ummah, then we have much to work on.

I must caution that I am not against conferences and lectures. I just want collective learning initiatives rethought so that they make a difference in the lives of the Muslims who participate. And I am not condemning the speakers. Some of them are superb. All of them deserve respect for their time and efforts. Some may have reasons for speaking in the way that they do. They may feel they are providing what the audience wants: A simple message for a simple people. And the people...I’m not trashing them either. Perhaps they’re just a reflection of the society we live in. Maybe I’m being too hard on my community. Maybe I’m expecting too much. And maybe, just maybe, I’m too opinionated on this matter.

Having said all that, I must ruin this little rant by confessing that I may attend the ISNA conference after all. And there is one conference I never miss: the Reviving the Islamic Spirit Conference in Toronto. It’s the best I’ve ever seen, and for that I must be satisfied.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Read the answer to:
Question #1 here.
Question #4 here.
Question #5 here.
Only 1 question left!

In 5 Years...

2005-05-12T21:35:00.000-04:00

Izzy Mo asked me a series of questions many weeks ago, and I never got around to answering them. I promised her I'd respond to one question each day until I've completed them all, but I'm afraid I've been putting it off. Here's the answer to question #1.

Where do you see yourself in five years?

I've been deliberating over whether to answer this question for quite some time now. This blog seems like such a public forum - and a public record of what I write. But anyone who does a bit of digging on the Internet is sure to find out things about me anyway. Plus, I’ve been needled about the fact that I don’t say much about myself on this blog. Is this true? Because I feel as if I’m baring my soul.

Okay, here goes. In five years, I want to be a new and improved Safiyyah. It’s hard to measure success, but here are a few quantifiable goals:

Academics: I will be graduating with an Honours B.A. in Political Science later this year. I can’t adequately describe what a surprise it was to hear I’d been accepted directly into the Ph.D. stream at UofT – without having done my Master’s degree. I applied on a whim, so I’m still trying to come to terms with the exciting news and struggling to get over my trepidation. In five years, I plan to be near completion of the program, God willing. I hope I can make it worthwhile for those on the Admissions Committee who obviously think so highly of me.

Religion: Besides aiming to become a stronger person spiritually, I'm a glutton when it comes to Islamic knowledge. I'm also driven to improve my command of classical Arabic. And I intend to continue with my activism in the Muslim community.

Personal development: A number of things strike my fancy, including refreshing my French, rereading forgotten philosophy texts, and travelling to an undisclosed location. Undisclosed because I'm secretly very rich and famous and don't want any stalkers chasing me down. I'm kidding. The real answer is less glamorous but more mysterious: I simply haven't decided where to go. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention marriage. I intend to be married when I find an individual who’s intelligent enough to intrigue me, religious enough to inspire me, and with the kind of akhlaaq (morals) and adaab (manners) that will garner my love and respect. And no, I’m not a hopeless romantic - just a girl in search of her soulmate!

Anyway, those are some of my plans for the next five years - or at least the ones I'm willing to share. I find this exercise needlessly uncomfortable, but I feel I owe it to my readers. The truth is I don't really know what I'll be like in 5 years. I can only hope that I'll be happy with myself and satisfied with what I've accomplished.

You can view the answers to question #4 and question #5. More to come soon.

So Long as He’s a Muslim

2005-05-11T14:06:00.000-04:00

My post about a Jewish-Muslim couple apparently warrants some clarification. You seem to support interfaith marriage, a very polite email reads. Would you ever marry a Jew? It’s interesting that this question is raised, because I often tease my parents about what sort of partner they would approve of. My father laughs at my barrage of silly questions and replies, “so long as he’s a Muslim”. I’ve always taken that to be the bare minimum.

But I know too that racial barriers are a problem in many families. In fact, it’s not just a problem in Muslim families. A good friend of mine – not a Muslim, but of a very traditional background - is distraught because she wants to marry a man her parents disapprove of. They share the same faith and are both very decent individuals, but her boyfriend is of a different cultural and racial background. I find it hard to understand her parents’ stance, because to me, racial, ethnic and cultural differences are irrational grounds for rejecting someone. This understanding seems to be in keeping with societal norms.

I was recently speaking with one of my professors about Jewish-Muslim tensions in the community, and he lamented the lack of engagement on either side. “We’ll only get past the impasse of Jewish-Muslim tensions when Jews and Muslims start marrying each other,” my professor stated. These days, interfaith marriages are cause for celebration. A couple’s love strong enough to overcome petty religious differences - it’s the classic love story. Many do not understand why religion should keep two people from marrying each other. I tried to explain to my professor that for most religious Muslims and Jews, this idea would be preposterous, not because we are racist and hate each other - though some from each camp certainly do - but because both Muslim and Jewish religious beliefs place great emphasis on marrying within the faith.

The Quran stipulates that Muslims should not marry unbelievers. But the Quran does make an allowance for marriage to People of the Book. Men are allowed to marry pious Jewish or Christian women, though women cannot marry non-Muslim men. There are scholars who interpret this gender-specific instruction as a reflection of societal norms at the time. Nevertheless, many imams typically advise against interfaith marriages – for both men and women. I believe there are good reasons for doing so.

I should note at the outset that interfaith relationships are perfectly fine for some couples. If you do not practice your faith, you aren’t likely to have any trouble marrying someone who has different beliefs because these beliefs will not directly affect your life. But if you’re deeply religious - if religion is of primacy in your life - you will not marry outside the faith. Not because you’re racist or prejudiced, but because you believe your religion is inseparable from your identity and your lifestyle. Non-religious individuals do the same thing. If you’re a strong Conservative, you will not likely marry an individual who’s gung-ho about the NDP. Similarly, religious Muslims will look for someone with a similar commitment to their faith.

On a practical level, there can be great difficulties living in an interfaith marriage. There will be quarrels over religious differences, starting with where to hold the marriage ceremony: A church? A mosque? A synagogue? And will one partner be compromising her faith by participating in a religious ceremony that is not her own?

Then, how will you raise your children? The children of these unions have to be raised within Islam, regardless of whether or not one spouse is of a different faith. It is very difficult to create an Islamic home if one spouse is not a Muslim. This needs to be discussed thoroughly by the couple before they decide to marry. And I do not believe in the fanciful talk of “letting your children decide”. Muslims are obligated to impart knowledge and guidance to their children at a young age; parents are to teach their children how to live Muslim lives. Moreover, Islam places a strong emphasis on practice in conjunction with belief. How can a parent be expected to sacrifice his own beliefs and practices just to allow his children choice? Regardless of whether or not children are taught their faith, there comes a time when they are old enough to decide for themselves whether to continue on the path of Islam or meander away. And at that time, parents have little control over their children’s choices. But in the meantime, it is their duty to create an Islamic home.

So the short answer is that I myself would never get into an interfaith arrangement; it would be unthinkable to me because my religion is such a vital part of who I am. And I believe that individuals who are most passionate about their faith will likewise not marry outside of it. But is this cause to lose hope? I do not believe so. Interfaith marriages may ease tensions among some Jews and Muslims, but I believe that real and lasting change will arise when those who are deeply committed to their faith and their community are nevertheless willing to actively engage with the other side.

How Old Do You Want To Be?

2005-05-09T14:51:00.000-04:00

I’ve just returned from a painful game of hide-and-seek with my four-year old cousin. I was forced to contort myself in the most outrageous ways to fit behind oversized chairs and in dark, stuffy closets. And yet she found me within minutes. Most embarrassing was the fact that I simply could not find the girl. She was tucked in a corner beneath a stool of some sort and I bypassed her completely. I’m ashamed to admit I almost gave up. Only after she got tired of waiting around and starting rattling things and calling my name did I finally venture a glance in the right direction. Needless to say, I offered to hide the next few times. I like to think it’s because she knows the hiding spots in her home better than I do.

This irresistibly cute little girl turned four less than two weeks ago. When asked how old she is, she says, “almost five”. When probed further, her eyes brighten as she chants, “almost five, and soon I’ll be six, then seven, then eight, then nine, then ten.” My aunt on the other hand will soon be “over the hill”. Human beings are rarely satisfied with their age. How old do you want to be? And why?

Aaaaah!!!

2005-05-05T02:19:00.000-04:00

Just 10 hours left. 300 pages of a history textbook to be read - no, memorized - in those scant hours.

The nail-biting and the hair-pulling will soon start. Then the whole-body sweating. And soon I shall be running in dizzy circles around my room, screaming out for salvation until some unruly body part makes contact with my bed and I collapse in a drunken heap atop the covers. I blame it on an acute case of Procrastinitis.

Don't ask how it's possible. Just offer advice on how to get through this.

Disappearing Post

2005-05-03T17:54:00.000-04:00

Some of you may have noticed that one of my recent entries inexplicably disappeared. I had posted a piece intended as a social criticism of the alienation that is experienced with globalization. But I haven't been satisfied with my writing lately; I feel woefully incapable of adequately expressing myself. And there was just a tinge of vulnerability in that piece that I didn't feel comfortable revealing to the world. So the post conveniently disappeared.

I apologize for not mentioning it earlier. To be honest, I'd forgotten about it until someone mentioned it two days ago. Perhaps I'll consider posting it some other time.

Addicted to Blogging

2005-05-02T07:28:00.000-04:00

Bloggers rarely reveal how addictive blogging can become. One of the benefits of this break is a renewed awareness that I cannot blog each day. This is a hobby, not a part-time job. I have neither the time nor the energy to commit to daily postings, though my ideas are admittedly eager to run free.

Please take the time to answer these questions, either publicly or privately:
1. How often do you post new entries on your blog?
2. How many hours each day do you spend on your blog (or on other people's blogs)?
3. Do you feel guilty if you break your regular blogging routine?
4. Is your blog a substitute for something that is missing in your life?
5. What sort of satisfaction do you gain from blogging?
6. What sort of frustrations arise from blogging?
7. Are you addicted to blogging? If so, what will you do about it? If not, how have you saved yourself from this obsession?

The Rules

2005-04-28T12:30:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, I bought a hilarious wall hanging purporting to explain the difference between males and females. When I showed it to my aunt, she was not amused. She guesses it was written by an extraordinarily bitter male. Do you agree?

The FEMALE always makes The Rules.
The Rules are subject to change at any time without prior notification.
No MALE can possibly know all The Rules.
If the FEMALE suspects the MALE knows all The Rules, she must immediately change some or all The Rules.
The FEMALE is never wrong.
If the FEMALE is wrong, it is due to a misunderstanding which was the direct result of something the MALE did or said wrong.
The MALE must apologize immediately for said misunderstanding.
The FEMALE may change her mind at any time.
The MALE must remain calm at all times unless the FEMALE wants him to be angry and/or upset.
The FEMALE must under no circumstances let the MALE know whether or not she wants him to be angry and/or upset.
The MALE is expected to mind read at all times.
The FEMALE is ready when she is ready.
The MALE must be ready at all times.

Any attempt to document The Rules could result in bodily harm.

Professionalism and Camaraderie

2005-04-26T18:26:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I attended an All Candidates’ Forum organized by the Muslim Students’ Association. The purpose of the Forum was to allow MSA members to gauge the candidates prior to the election of the executive committee. Candidates were to give short speeches outlining their reasons for running and their goals if elected into office. Members of the MSA were given the opportunity to ask questions of the candidates at the end of their presentations.

I ran for Communications Director, and part of my speech focussed on my desire to help the Muslim Students’ Association become more professional than it already is. I described a two-pronged approach. Internally, the Communications Director needs to consolidate MSA’s policies and its Constitution so that both are comprehensive and up-to-date. This ensures that the MSA is a stronger and more permanent body on campus. Externally, the Communications Director is the face of MSA; this role involves interfacing with other campus groups, professors and the university administration to ensure the Muslim voice is heard and to demonstrate to the campus community the value that Muslim students bring to UofT. Together these two approaches enable the MSA to maintain its position as a permanent organization for Muslims and as a strong representative of the Muslim voice on campus.

After I had completed my spiel, a student asked me a question I hear repeated regularly within MSA circles. He asked whether adopting a more professional image and enacting policies and procedures would mean sacrificing the more down-to-earth, friendlier face of MSA that draws students in rather than hindering their involvement.

This is a valid concern. Students have been complaining for some time now that the MSA Executive Committee is too far removed from the MSA member body. I served on the MSA exec two years ago, and it was extremely business-like and professional. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy being with the other exec members around the table; it was in fact an incredible experience. It’s just that we weren’t friends sitting together. We were professionals and business associates. On the worst days I felt as if I was working at a job I hated. The delightful enthusiasm for Islamic activism had been sucked out of me by the system. Thankfully the MSA has softened its image since.

Yet one cannot deny the need for professionalism. Many years ago, it might have been possible to run the MSA in a loose, more flexible and open fashion. Not anymore. The MSA at UofT (St. George campus) is one of the largest student groups, and it is also one of the most organized and influential. With this status comes greater responsibility. If one does not establish rules and policies to guide the actions of the executive commitee, the MSA cannot function to its full potential.

Why is it important that the policies of MSA be strengthened? Yes, it may seem like a hassle, and yes, it may turn off members who want to take an active role within the MSA, but policies and procedures ensure fairness within the system because there are standardized rules that all members must abide by. For example, let’s say Ahmad wants to organize a sandwich run for the homeless. Ahmad needs to follow a series of protocols to ensure the event goes ahead as planned. For example, he has to get executive approval for the event. He has to book a room where the sandwiches will be made. He has to advertise the sandwich run on campus. All these steps require certain time frames. If an event does not fit into these time frames, then the exec may decide it cannot go ahead. The decision is not an arbitrary one; it is based on certain standards that were set prior to the case now coming before them and that are intended to ensure all events are successfully implemented.

Now let’s imagine that Fatimah decides she’s going to organize an event too. She wants to organize a formal, with music and mixed dancing. If there were no rules and regulations in place, Fatimah’s event might slip by the MSA exec. They might not notice until it was too late that the event was going ahead under their name. But with policies in place, there is a set of rigorous procedures that check an individual’s ability to act on his or her own whims in a way that would damage the organization.

Established policies and procedures also ensure permanence. Ever wonder how the government bureaucracy keeps chugging away even while elections are being held? The bureaucracy is forever, though the government changes. Similarly, the MSA should be entrenched on campus. It doesn’t matter who is elected or who isn’t. The core of the MSA is set in place through its consolidated Constitution and its policies and guidelines. Future MSAers can always come in and continue the work, guided by the documented work of their predecessors.

The Constitution limits the power of the Executive Committee. One MSA in Canada changed its election system a few years ago so that only the president is voted into power. Then, in an ameer-like fashion, the president is able to select (from within the MSA student body) the executive committee that will work with him. Let’s say the executive at UofT decides it wants to change its whole voting structure. It can’t do so without receiving the approval of the MSA student body. How do we know that? Because it’s written down in the Constitution. Students are required to vote on such a measure during a General Meeting. The Constitution provides protection for members if the executive committee chooses to make significant changes to the workings of the MSA.

Having a clear internal structure makes the MSA as an organisation strong. Unless the MSA is strong, the executive cannot credibly go out and represent the Muslim community on campus. If the MSA want to play a bigger role on campus, its members must constantly improve themselves, and that improvement comes in part through continuously revisiting and updating policy documents and procedures.

At the same time, the MSA executive members must make an effort to draw in Muslim students. The exec has to be the warm and friendly face of the MSA. Its role is to ensure an inclusive and welcoming environment for Muslim students. In that vein, policies should always be made with the interests of the electorate in mind. That means heavy-handed policies are unacceptable. Members must always be able to voice their concerns and to make decisions within the committee structure. New policies and procedures have to be properly communicated to the volunteers who might be affected. And when members collectively demand that policies be changed, the MSA exec must take those concerns seriously.

This entry is the first in a series on the organizational capabilities of the Muslim community. It will include, as you can see, an analysis of the Muslim Students’ Association. This entry is not a campaign pitch; I was elected as Communications Director several weeks ago. Nevertheless, I want to stress that all ideas expressed here are personal opinions. They do not reflect the views of the present or future MSA executive team.

Trying to Focus

2005-04-24T15:31:00.000-04:00

Life intrudes. In the next two weeks, I pay the price of perpetual procrastination: I must search for year-old textbooks hidden in dusty corners, and then I must begin the painful task of reading them.

It would be nice if the rest of the blogosphere paused in silent consideration. But I know better than to expect such kindness; bloggers are notably cruel in that respect. I am, however, capable of controlling my own blog. There will be no daily postings on SAFspace. While I shall not abandon my readers, my posts will be sporadic at best and I shall use fillers and mindless distractions to disguise the fact that I have nothing useful to say. I beg your patience in advance.

I shall resume a more regular posting schedule on Friday, May 6th, God willing.

"I Need You"

2005-04-23T09:11:00.000-04:00

I need you, she says. Three words that make your stomach churn. And you drop your work for a brief moment and hasten to her side.

She sits alone at the agreed-upon meeting place. Her face is swollen, tearful, but she offers a wavering smile of recognition. How’s it going, you ask, a false cheerfulness in your tone. And then you admonish yourself for your foolishness. You know the tears and what they mean. You know you must soon descend into her world of darkness and despair. So why voice trite questions?

Her broken words intrude. I just wanted to talk to you, she whispers. Tears rush down now. Her speech speeds up, then falters. You take her hand but it is clenched. Desperate now to penetrate the fog of sadness, you reach out and wrap your arms around her.

You sit intertwined with her, two souls reaching out to one other. Then her words can find no escape, and the racking sobs, the clutching hands, the salty wetness soaking your shirt fill in the remainder of the grim story.

You whisper phrases you’ve used too many times to count. Careless, empty phrases to your ears. I’m sorry, you murmur consolingly, I'm so sorry. Your mind wrestles for something meaningful, something wise. Clumsy words take shape and are promptly dismissed. You know not what to say.

So you offer the only comfort you have to give. You listen. You hold her tightly and say nothing as she pours her anguish into your soul. And your heart becomes heavy with the weight of sadness transferred upon you. Your tears of grief mingle with her own. How did she survive so long beneath that depressive weight? What sort of friend are you, that you did not notice something was terribly wrong?

You sit with her, heedless to what curious passers-by might think. Two young women, wrapped in a tearful embrace. Both wearing headscarves in a public space. And at the end of it all, once the eyes are wiped dry and there is nothing else to say, you reluctantly part ways with her, exiting her world of lonesome despair. There is not much more you can do.

But a seed of sadness takes root within. And the helplessness and the unbidden grief grow uncontrollably. Unable to stay away, you find yourself dialling her number two days later. Without thinking, again the hollow words spill out: How are you feeling, you ask.

I’m okay, she replies.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more, you confess, guilt already gnawing at your fragile conscience.

You did a lot. Thank you. I’m actually feeling a bit better.

You're feeling better?!

Yes. Thank you for being there for me. And then the zinger: You don't know what it meant to be able to talk to you like this.

Long after the phone call ends, you ponder her words, puzzled at your perceived role in her gloomy tale. But through your confusion, you acknowledge a strange glimmer of relief. It means the world to you that she asked for your help, that you were there to ease some small part of a friend’s grief. One needs - that is human nature. But one cannot underestimate the longing - the need - to feel needed. The beauty and reciprocity of the human relationship is that the one who gives is often indistinguishable from the one who receives.

Sorry's Not Enough

2005-04-22T09:07:00.000-04:00

About a week ago, a friend of mine received the following letter in the mail:

Atop the letter proclaiming, "YES! I want to keep Canada working!" is an envelope with the words, "Canada is working". And then, the cherry on the top is a card for loyal Liberals. (The name of the cardholder has been deleted.) A pretty package, don't you think?

The letter is from the Liberal party, requesting donations by mail. Ironic, eh? Perhaps my friend should do as Bob from canadiancomment has suggested: Send piles of fake money to symbolize her protest over the scandal.

So what do Canadians do when they discover that about $100 million has been wasted by their government? Not just wasted, but blatantly misused? Martin’s televised speech last night did little to quell the firestorm of anger and indignation over the sponsorship scandal. His credibility had already been damaged with his claim that he had the “moral authority” to govern. Yes, he ended the sponsorship program, and yes, he called for the public inquiry that is now threatening to pull down the whole government, but Paul Martin and his Liberal government are ultimately responsible for this mess. He may argue that he did not know about it – though he has not been implicated, one wonders whether it is possible for a finance minister to have been so blind. But even if he was unaware, even if this is just the case of a few Liberals gone bad, Martin is still accountable for prior wrongdoing as leader of the government of the day.

Unlike the regular presidential messages down south, it is very unusual for a prime minister to take to the airwaves in Canada. In fact, the last time it was done was during a national crisis – the Quebec referendum in 1995. Martin’s appeal to Canadians yesterday only underlines the fact that this corruption is a challenge not just to his own party, but to the whole political system. Democracy is threatened, and for all the talk about national unity and Quebec, the Liberals have only themselves to blame.

There is no doubt Martin seemed sincere and contrite. He apologized for the mess, taking personal responsibility for not being more vigilant with public money. And I agree with him that it is wise to wait until Justice Gomery files his report. Indeed it is only fair that one withholds complete judgement until the whole inquiry has run its course. But there is no doubt this government is heavily involved in this scandal. Moreover, it does not seem as if the regular operations of Parliament can continue in this fashion. Parliament has been effectively paralysed. Do we want to see long, drawn out electioneering – by the Liberal party, no less? Joe Volpe’s announcement a few days ago smacks of a desperate party grovelling at the feet of Canadian voters. It is only a matter of time before an election is called.

With all due respect – for I admit I identify most with the Liberal party - it would be disturbing if we were to have another election only to see Martin’s Liberals back in government, even if it be with a smaller minority. It would be unethical to vote for the Liberals despite their flagrant misuse of taxpayers’ dollars. Unfortunately the options are less than satisfactory. Can Canadians stand to have the Conservatives as minority government? It would not be a stretch of the imagination to see the Liberals back in power after the election.

Qu'est-ce que c'est?!

2005-04-22T01:09:00.000-04:00

Was a bit strange taking this test - I am of course not American. Any Americans wish to interpret these results? Do my writings fit this "linguistic profile"?

Your Linguistic Profile:

75% General American English

20% Yankee

5% Midwestern

0% Dixie

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Pay Up Or I'll Eat Him

2005-04-21T03:38:00.000-04:00

Indigo Jo's post reminds me of another scheme to make money - this one a bit more clever. The fellow behind Savetoby.com claims that if he does not receive $50,000 by June 30, he will eat the adorable rabbit he's named Toby. Animal rights activists are up in arms, demanding the website be taken down and pressuring PayPal to shut down the Savetoby account. The story was featured several days ago on NBC Nightly News.

Check it out for yourself. Hilarious is all I've got to say. Of course, that's also because I sense the whole thing is one big hoax. The two college students behind this crazy idea must be screaming with laughter at the response they've garnered.

Child on Leash!

2005-04-20T08:08:00.000-04:00

MSN features an article entitled, "Running Away". The article provides practical advice for parents who are worried about their toddlers escaping their grasp outdoors. I am curious about the toddler harness. Occasionally I will see a child wearing one of these harnesses, and I can't help but think it's dehumanizing. I know a parent might object, claiming that this is the best way to protect his or her child. What do you think? Would you use a harness or leash to prevent your child from running away?

What’s a Woman to Do?

2005-04-20T01:54:00.000-04:00

When I was younger, and I learned of cases of domestic violence, I would often tell my parents, “I would NEVER stay in a situation like that,” or, “why doesn’t she just leave him? How can she stay with someone like that?” But as I grew older, I realized how naïve I’d been. There are no easy answers for women being abused at home.

In a previous post, I mentioned a woman who had come to the mosque seeking reprieve from an abusive husband. I didn’t mention what happened after all the talking was over. She decided she wanted to go to a shelter. But the only Muslim shelter was hours away. So she and her daughter ended up spending the night at our place. And in the morning, my parents took them to the shelter.

Before long, we received another phone call. The woman wanted out. It just wasn’t working out. And so she went back to her abusive home after assurances from her husband that the two would go through counselling to deal with their problems.

Women living in traditional family structures often don’t have an easy way out. They can’t make it on their own because they don’t have marketable skills. They can’t just enter the workforce. And so they cannot provide for their family.

Unfortunately, we have not constructed real alternatives. We lack the social networks that allow women and children to find safe haven away from their abusive homes. There is not enough awareness about domestic abuse to empower the community to provide assistance. I know of only one Muslim shelter, and it is situated far from the city centre. Even if women are offered help to get to the shelter, women who do not know how to drive are virtually imprisoned there. Those who are able to drive often cannot travel the long distances required to get to the city centre, where most jobs are to be found.

Children are another concern. Mothers in traditional family structures may think their children will suffer. Displacement from their home, and from the routine that goes along with home life, can be traumatic for children, and their mothers are usually the first to recognize this.

Added to the guilt-ridden worries over their children, mothers are often fearful of the shame that will come upon their family if others know they have left. The taboo against divorce or even marital problems is quite strong. This is not a negative feature of the Muslim community, but there do need to be avenues for individuals to comfortably discuss and seek to resolve the family conflicts that trouble them. And the community has to be more receptive to the needs of divorced and abused women.

What about women who have the education and skills required to make it on their own if need be? If my future husband were to abuse me in some way or the other, I could always leave and start over. But would I? Or would I stay because of feelings of obligation? Perhaps I might feel bound by complex ties of love; human emotion is a powerful thing. I do not know. But I’ve become so sensitized to the circumstances of other women that I feel it would be inadequate for me to judge them one way or the other. There are no easy answers. And for some - I’ve come to realize - the best and most realistic solution may not include leaving.

Part 1: "Domestic Abuse: Don't Believe Me?"
Part 2: "Wife Beaters"

Only in Canada, eh?

2005-04-19T02:35:00.000-04:00

Izzy Mo asked me a series of questions a few weeks ago, and I never got around to answering them. I promised her I would respond to one question each day until I've completed them all. Here's question #5.

5) Is it true you guys end your sentences with the phase, “ey”? Such as, “There’s lots of snow out there, ey?” (Just kidding)

No, we do not end our sentences with “ey” because we think “eh” sounds so much more Canadian. Spelled “eh” but pronounced “ey”. Only in Canada, eh?

So what does “eh” mean? I’m not really sure. I think it functions as a “you know?” or “what do you mean?” or “wouldn’t you agree?” It is generally voiced with the raised intonation that one commonly employs when asking a question. But “eh” doesn’t always function in the interrogative sense. It may be used to elicit agreement, as in, “what great weather, eh?” It can be used in the narrative sense: “It’s snowing, eh, and we won’t be able to shovel it all today.” It may just be used to end a sentence. Perhaps the best way to understand it is by thinking of the more American “huh” and its functions. “Eh” is really quite similar.

It is often thought that “eh” is unique to Canada. That - along with the notion that Canadians live in igloos and have moose for pets and sled dogs for transportation – is sadly incorrect. Though “eh” may be more commonly used in Canada, it is found in the works of non-Canadian writers as well, which indicates that it is not as unique as one might presume.

Read the answer to question #4 here.

Eating Habits Gone Bad

2005-04-18T01:33:00.000-04:00

Wanna watch a snake eating a wallaby? Be warned - these photos are not for the squeamish. But if you're brave enough, they're definitely worth a look.

Ever felt a snake's skin? A few years ago, I had the pleasure of doing so, and I realized that contrary to conventional knowledge snakes are smooth and firm rather than slimy or wet.

Where to Live in Canada

2005-04-17T18:22:00.000-04:00

Izzy Mo asked me a series of questions a few weeks ago, and I never got around to answering them. I promised her I would respond to one question each day until I've completed them all. Here's question #4.

What is the best place for Muslims to live in Canada and if it is Toronto I want to know why?

If Muslims are looking for the easiest and most convenient place to live, then big cities are the way to go.* Cities like Toronto boast an exceedingly multicultural demographic as more and more immigrants settle there. One does not feel alienated from the rest of society because there is little racism (relatively speaking) and many familiar faces.

At the same time, one must be wary of taking advantage of Canada’s tolerance. There is a tendency within multicultural cities for Muslims to seek out their own communities and create ethnic ghettos. This is a misguided move that wll only create misunderstanding and feelings of otherness between Muslims and non-Muslims.

Another tendency is to try too hard to fit in. Oftentimes this will mean sacrificing important religious values in order to assimilate. This approach can leave Muslims feeling empty and fragmented. The best strategy is to try to integrate while maintaining one’s Islamic values.

For the more courageous amongst us, I would recommend going to less multicultural areas – up north or to the smaller, less known cities. I once watched a documentary about a Somali man who had come to Canada as a refugee. In his search for work, he found himself travelling north. He and his wife settled in Nunavut so that he could teach there. It was quite moving to see a Somali Muslim refugee explaining the Canadian political system to college students who were native to Canada.

There are difficulties – I won’t deny that. Last summer, my family hit the road and ended up near James Bay on the northern tip of Ontario. It was an eye-opening to see how the native Cree people live. There are no roads – we had to leave our vehicle behind to take a train north, and then use boats to get to our destination. Snow arrives in September. During the winter, the river freezes and is transformed into a road, complete with road signs. Students go to school by airplane. Instead of ambulances, there are helicopters. One day we went to a pizza shop. The owner said he couldn’t help us; he didn’t have any tomato sauce. He said he wasn’t sure when it would be shipped in, but it would probably be in stock within the next few weeks or so. We went to another store and tried to buy fruits. But the prices were prohibitively expensive, because everything has to be flown in. A bag of milk cost $9. Fruits were three times the cost in Toronto. Nunavut, where the Somali man lived, is even further north than Ontario. It is almost always covered with snow and is quite underdeveloped and underpopulated. In some areas, for a number of months in the winter, there is continuous darkness. Likewise, for several months in the summer, there is continuous sunshine.

So yes, there are difficulties, but I think it is possible for a Muslim to live a very fulfilled life in the North. The Somali family had adapted in many ways to the aboriginal culture. It was quite overwhelming to see the family praying together and then going about their day-to-day business in Nunavut. I can only imagine how difficult it was to adjust to the constant cold after years of living in Somalia. No doubt one would have to be incredibly strong. Because the religious communal element is non-existent, one would have to struggle harder to maintain a Muslim identity. But one would be able to get rid of all the cultural impediments in one’s religious practice because there is really no room for it there.

And a Muslim can really make a difference there. Mind you, it can get uncomfortable to be the only Muslims in a strange new place, but often fears of discrimination and prejudice are unfounded. The aboriginal people are traditional themselves. And once they get to know their neighbours better, they embrace them – as was evidently the case for the Somali family. Muslims who have a special skill or expertise to share with the community are particularly welcome there.

So it depends on what one means by “best”. If “best” means easiest and most convenient for Muslims, then the big cities are best because they’re multicultural. If one would like to make a real difference, then living in other parts of Canada can be an enriching experience. Someday I think I’d like to live up North. At least for a few months or so. Yes, there may not be the modern conveniences that we’ve become so dependent on. And yes, some people find the North utterly depressing. But I find myself strangely attracted to that type of lifestyle. The forced solitude is a refreshing change. And the immensity and beauty of the harsh environs seem real and pure compared to the artificiality in our modern lives.

*Many people don’t realize how underpopulated Canada is. Canada is the second largest country in the world, but the population of Canada is less than that of California!

Mere Muslim Comes to T.O.

2005-04-17T17:05:00.000-04:00

Br. Abdurrahman Robert Squires of Mere Islam is coming to Toronto in less than two weeks to speak at a couple of events in support of the TV program Let the Quran Speak.

"Progressing, Regressing & Confusing Islams"
6 p.m. on Saturday, April 30
River Grove Community Centre
5800 River Grove Ave., Mississauga
(Britannia Rd. & Creditview Rd.)

"The Quran: A Miracle of Prophesy"
6 p.m. on Sunday, May 1
Burlington Seniors' Centre
2285 New St., Burlington

Tickets (for each event): $10 per person

Let the Quran Speak airs on:
VISION TV: Saturday nights at 9:00 p.m.
CTS TV: Saturday nights at 9:30 p.m.

Beauty in Disguise

2005-04-15T03:37:00.000-04:00

If you saw a man without arms and legs, how would you react?

Poor man, you might think. And you would surely feel sadness. Pity. Perhaps relief. You might even utter a brief prayer of thanks that you still have all of your body parts.

But this man – he is not a creature to pity.

His music is joyous, uplifting. Draws the ear and then the eye. It is only when you look closely that you notice he has neither feet nor hands, neither elbows nor knees.

And yet he plays on and plays well, an almost angelic smile lingering upon his lips, eyes twinkling when he catches sight of a curious passer-by. His spirit is a thing of beauty.

The first time I saw him I stood transfixed, watching as his arms danced on the keys. I was overcome by emotion. For this man may have lost his limbs, but he is more delightful than countless other healthy beings in this often cheerless world. And now his presence is the source of life on a busy downtown intersection.

May we strive to be as beautiful as this “poor” soul clearly is.

Wife Beaters

2005-04-14T03:22:00.000-04:00

Is domestic abuse a “Muslim” problem? As some individuals have rightly noted, elements of domestic abuse are prevalent in all cultures. Yes, we should make efforts to eradicate this practice, but so too should everyone else.

I believe Muslims should be particularly concerned, for there are individuals who will manipulate Quranic verses and ahadeeth to validate domestic abuse. There are two types of individuals who do this. The first type consists of those who sincerely believe Islam allows men to beat or otherwise ill-treat their wives. Imams and religious leaders need to use the textual sources to convince these individuals that their mindset is wrong. This re-education and socialization will not happen overnight, but our religious leaders need to develop a plan that will eventually seek to eradicate the misguided notion that beating one’s wife has anything to do with Islam. The second group of individuals does not believe the texts legitimize domestic abuse. But they know their wives aren’t as knowledgeable as they are, and so they pretend there is an Islamic basis for their behaviour. These are despicable individuals, and there is little the community can do to reform them. But the community can generate a collective awareness that domestic abuse is wrong, and this feeling will ripple out and act as an element of social control. The community can also make direct efforts to help such families by educating and providing support to the women so that they are able to understand and stand up for their rights.

Of course, there are some Muslims who don’t really care what Islam says or doesn’t say about domestic abuse. Their lashing out lacks religious undertones. Should we care? I believe so. We should seek out alternative determinants for domestic abuse. Do the individuals believe that their culture gives them a licence to control and coerce? Some families are extremely authoritarian and hierarchical by nature. Women, like their children, are expected to serve and obey their husbands. Or perhaps there are other reasons for domestic abuse. In some cultures, working defines the man. Immigrants may feel deep frustration and inadequacy if they are unable to find a job or provide sufficiently for their family. There are ways for the community to assist such individuals.

It may be naïve to assume that men who beat their wives will change. But I have seen the most unlikely men reform themselves. I know of a man who had a serious drinking problem and physically abused his wife for countless years. She stuck with him, but after enduring great suffering for a long period of time, she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She gave him an ultimatum, and because he loved her dearly, he agreed to go through with treatment and give up his drinking. He is now extremely remorseful, seeking to make up for all that he had done, and they have a beautiful relationship. So there is always hope, even for the worst among us. That does not mean that women must be left to suffer. Far from it. Whether or not the men seem beyond any sort of help, we have an obligation to assist the women and children, for they are members of our community. We must seek out creative ways to do away with violence and abuse of any kind in the household.

Read Part 1: "Domestic Abuse: Don't Believe Me?"

Roshan's Roots, translated

2005-04-13T22:44:00.000-04:00

Okay, I know some of you may not be able to relate to the creolese English that I’m using, but I’m having a lot of fun with it. I’ve tried to accommodate those of you who can’t understand. It’s hard to translate the meaning and the intonation, but this is the best I can do:

---
"Hello everybaddy. Meh wan’ tek dis oppo’tunity fo’ introduce meself. Meh name Roshan. Meh deh in meh early 20's. Still young, meh hope. Meh come from one small village in Guyana, but meh whole family emigrate to Canada lang ago fo' bettah oppo'tunity, and meh know de culcha here."
Hello everyone. I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Roshan. I’m in my early 20’s. Still young, I hope. I come from a small village in Guyana, but my whole family emigrated to Canada long ago for better opportunities, and I’m familiar with the culture here.

"Best meh tell you lil bit ‘bout meh roots fo’ start off. Nuff people don’t know nuttin’ ‘bout Guyana and da' nah too good. When meh parents de growin’ up in Guyana, they ain’t know much, but now people gettin' good education and so on, and still, nuff people does confuse Guyana wid Ghana. Even in Canada. Dem deh in different continents, man! Guyana deh in Sout’ America. Some people does say it deh in de Caribbean. Any one good enuff. But not Africa."
To start off, it might be a good idea for me to tell you a little about my roots. A lot of people don’t know anything about Guyana, and that’s sad. When my parents were growing up in Guyana, they didn't know very much (about the world), but now people are well educated and yet they confuse Guyana with Ghana. They’re in different continents! Guyana’s in South America. Some people say it’s in the Caribbean. Either is good enough. But not Africa.

"A few months ago, Guyana get flooded. Mos’ o’ de country in ruins, and de people dem lef’ wid nuttin’. It bin really bodderin’ me, so meh glad Saf ‘low meh fo’ talk ‘bout it here. Nobody even mention it in Canada or ‘Merica or anywheh. Why? Guyana nah important? Nah big enuff? Dis a one subject wha' close to meh heart, you know? Why nobody hear ‘bout dis? Only people who ge’ family back home bin know de news. It bin prapally bad, meh tell you. But nobaddy care 't'all."
A few months ago, Guyana was flooded. Most of the country is in ruins, and people were left with nothing. It was really troubling me, so I’m glad Saf let me to talk about it here. No one even mentioned it in Canada or America or anywhere. Why? Is Guyana not important? Not big enough? This is a subject that’s very close to my heart, you know? Why didn’t anyone heard about this? Only those with family back home knew the news. It was really bad, I tell you. But no one cared.

"Guyana used to be one nice place fo’ live. Dey used to call it “Land of Many Waters”. Maybe da' one fittin’ title aftah de flood. But dere were so many nice tings in Guyana. Now is all gawn, long gawn."
Guyana used to be a nice place to live. They used to call it “Land of Many Waters”. Maybe that’s a fitting title after the flood. But there were so many nice things in Guyana. Now it’s all gone, long gone.

"Here meh include some pictures so you can see how de flood de ravage Guyana:
http://www.bryanmaxx.netfirms.com/
http://flood.guyana.net.gy/egallery/
http://www.gtvibes.com/SEC/index.htm"
Here I’ve included some pictures so you can see how the flood ravaged Guyana.

"Anyway, da’ de story of Guyana. De flood get it down. But it used to be a beautiful place. And it gon’ get back good, meh hope. Guyana does still affect lotsa de people who born dere or even dose who come ‘way. We still ge’ de Guyana spirit running tru our veins, you know…we still ge’ de culture. Meh gon’ talk sometime about de culture if Saf ‘low meh. Meh nah know if you know a’ready, but dem get lots o’ Muslims who come from Guyana. Meh gon’ tell you more about dem anadda day."
Anyway, that’s the story of Guyana. The flood brought it down. But it used to be a beautiful place. And it will return to that beauty, I hope. Guyana still affects lots of people who were born there or even those who left it. We still have the Guyana spirit running through our veins, you know…we still have the culcha. I will talk sometime about the culcha if Saf allows me. I don’t know if you know already, but there are lots of Muslims who come from Guyana. I’ll tell you more about them another day.

"Meh gon’ stop here fo’ today 'cause it gettin' late. God bless, and have a great night."
I will stop here for today because it’s getting late. God bless, and have a great night.
---

That’s all. I hope that translation was helpful. I think I’ll do a bit more Guyanese talk because the language is so expressive and musical and I enjoy it so much.

For Armchair Critics

2005-04-13T19:26:00.000-04:00

It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

Theodore Roosevelt
"Citizenship in a Republic", Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Domestic Abuse: Don't Believe Me?

2005-04-12T12:21:00.000-04:00

Two days ago, my mother met an Iranian woman in her late fifties at the mosque. In a matter of minutes, the woman had warmed to my mother enough to begin pouring out her life story whilst my mother listened.

Eventually, she turned to my mother and asked, “Is your husband a good man?”
“Yes,” replied my mother.
Then she motioned with her hand, slapping one with the other. “Does your husband hit?” she inquired in broken English.
“No,” my mother replied, shaking her head to stress the point.
The woman stared at my mother in disbelief. “I don’t believe you,” was her blunt but telling response.

If my mom had shared this story with me seven years ago, I would have been shocked. Sure, I had always known that domestic abuse existed in far-off lands, but I had never imagined that there were Muslim families in Canada that consider it the norm.

I was in high school when I first realized that domestic abuse is a reality for some Muslims. I still recall the midnight phone call from one of the employees at the mosque. There was a woman who insisted she wanted to stay at the mosque overnight. She was with her 9-year old daughter. They had fled their house because of a domestic problem and had nowhere to stay.

After a few minutes of discussions back and forth, my parents felt the situation was sufficiently serious that they should go to the mosque to talk to this woman. I was brought along in the hopes that I could be a companion to the daughter while the mother sorted out her domestic problems with my parents.

But the daughter didn’t want to talk. Because she was busy sobbing. And her mother was too. And after I had done all I could for them (this meant fetching a Kleenex box and water for them to drink) I ended up in the same room listening to the mother’s devastating story.

Her husband had beaten her. Threatened her. Thrown things at her. Yelled at her. Called her names. All within sight of their young daughter. And while this had not been first time, it was clearly the breaking point – the point at which she had somehow decided she would no longer take it anymore.

And as I listened to the sniffles and the snippets of halting English, a wall of restraint crumbled within, and I could no longer hold back my tears. I wept furtively at first, for I was supposed to be a comfort rather than a crybaby. But eventually, I was forced to leave the room before mother and daughter noticed I was sobbing as much as they were.

Over the years I’ve discovered that there are other Muslim families who live in similar circumstances. For all the families who come to the mosque to speak to the imam about their problems – and there are many such families – there are countless others who continue to suffer in silence.

It is depressing to reflect upon the sad condition of some Muslim families I know. I do not want to blame this on Islam. I know too well that cultural baggage plays a considerable role. But as a community, we need to make a better effort to stem the domestic abuse that goes on in so many Muslim homes. We will be answerable to God if sit by and allow it to continue.

Below are some suggestions that will enable the community to move forward on domestic abuse issues:

Intra-community action:

Professionally train religious leaders and members of the community to deal with victims and perpetrators of abuse. Obtain materials and guidance from community organizations about physical, verbal, sexual and psychological abuse. Find out what community members should do when they discover instances of domestic violence, and develop a plan to deal with these circumstances, should they arise.

Organize mediation. Have trained counsellors on hand, and encourage husbands and wives with domestic troubles to speak with their imam or counsellor. Make women aware that the service is available, free and confidential.

Launch a public awareness campaign so that the community understands that domestic violence is wrong, and that it goes against the spirit of Islam. Write articles in newsletters. Develop and distribute domestic abuse booklets and brochures that are Muslim-friendly. Ask imams to give khutbahs (Friday sermons) on domestic violence. Ask speakers to explain the rights and obligations of husbands and wives in Islam. Request that they describe the loving and collaborative family life of the Prophet (SAW). Men often misuse verses and ahadeeth to justify abuse; ask imams and religious speakers to explain these verses to the community.

Get to know the Muslims in your congregation. This is the responsibility of religious leaders and community members. By building a sense of togetherness, the community can gain awareness of the life circumstances of individual members, thus helping to prevent or put a stop to abusive practices.

Make the mosque a women-friendly environment. Women must be encouraged to attend congregational prayers and take part in community activities. They must be able to ask questions and seek advice. Religious leaders and board members must ensure that women feel comfortable in the mosque, for it can sometimes serve as a safe space away from an abusive home.

External action:

Network with community organizations to organize language and literacy classes for women. By equipping women with the tools of knowledge and awareness, women gain self-confidence and become empowered to act as independent agents within their community.

Work with community organizations and social services to help them understand the unique situations Muslim families experience. Sit on advisory committees and explain the Muslim perspective. Collaborate with these organizations so that they can better serve the Muslim community by building Muslim-friendly shelters and providing information and advice that is sensitive to Muslim needs.

These are just some initial brainstorming ideas. Do YOU have anything else to add?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

UPDATE - see other posts in this series:
Part 2: "Wife Beaters"
Part 3: "What's a Woman to Do?"

Font Too Small?

2005-04-12T11:49:00.000-04:00

Should my font size be larger? Let me know.

Wee Hours

2005-04-09T06:04:00.000-04:00

Staying up all night can do strange things to one’s ability to properly perceive reality. Staying up all night for a couple of days in a row can totally skew one’s worldview.

That is why, I tell myself, I was startled, even terrified, by a snake. Not just any snake. A genuine toy snake was enough to get me going.

What makes this fear even more embarrassing is the fact that it was yours truly who purchased that very snake on the way home from Florida during the Christmas holidays. Being the mischievous girl that I am, I had concocted exciting schemes in my head, all of which involved sneaking up behind unsuspecting younger cousins and allowing the snake to wiggle gently in their peripheral vision until they looked over their shoulder, saw the snake, yelped and ran away. At that point I could either seek out other innocent victims, or chase the already frightened ones around the house while they screamed and the older cousins rolled on the floor in helpless laughter.

Because the snake moves. Oh, yes it does. And it looks real. A pretty good trick, I thought. I couldn’t wait to put the plan to action.

But I never planned for the eventuality that I myself would be afraid of it.

So it was that as I rummaged through a pile of neatly stacked papers on my desk late last night, I felt something weighty between them. The pile was heavy, but it shouldn’t have been that heavy. And then I saw something move. Felt it wiggle. Something alive. I didn’t pause to see what it was, because I was already on my bed, feet tucked under, heart leaping wildly, pages scattered in my haste.

From my safe perch atop comforters, I took a peek at my desk. No sign of life. I stared wide-eyed at the scrambled sheets of paper. And then, as I got a little braver, I raised myself up to see the tail of a snake – a toy one at that - wedged neatly between a sheath of white paper. And after I had stared for a heartbeat longer, I threw myself onto the bed and stifled giddy laughter with pillows and bedsheets. (It was late, remember.)

I told this story to my brother the next morning, and he just shook his head and called me ‘crazy’. I hadn’t slept much for two days, I tried to explain. I was jittery and on edge. No wonder I'd jumped away prematurely. But I knew there was a teeny weeny problem with that line of reasoning.

You see – and I’m ashamed to admit this – I had another run-in with that snake. Last night’s performance was just a repeat of an earlier “situation”. I’m not very proud of it either, so I won’t go into the details here.

I suppose I’m fearful of anything that moves. That might explain why, when my brother walked by and called my name one night, I screamed and scared both of us. ‘Twas the wee hours, I pleaded. I was engrossed in my work. And I wasn’t expecting anyone to be wandering about the house.

Who did I think he was, he asked half-laughingly. I still do not know.

But what I do know is that the hallucinations are in full swing. Wait a minute - hallucinations? Or are they delusions?

I need sleep. I really do. And until I get it, there will no posts or comments. And no replies to emails. Wish me luck with my end-of-term papers, for I'll have to finish them before I can even think about my bed.

Accented Class

2005-04-07T06:15:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine – I’ll call her Sarah - is getting married to a fellow in England. Listen in on some light-hearted girl-talk, punctuated by much laughter, among a bunch of friends:

Girl 1: “So tell me, does he have that to-die-for British accent?”
Sarah: “Yeah, he does.”
Girl 2:“But you’re able to understand him, right?”
Sarah: “Oh, yeah!”
Girl 2: “Because some of them are crazily hard to understand.
Girl 1: “Really?”
Girl 2: “Well, in elementary school, there was this one girl in my class with a British accent, and half the time we were asking her to slow down!”
Girl 1: “Was she from a specific part of England?”
Girl 2: “I don’t remember which part. It was a long time ago. But she sounded like she had a huge jawbreaker in her mouth and was trying to talk around it.”
Girl 1: “Doesn’t sound too pretty.”
Sarah: “Nah, his is not too weird…you know, I think he’s sort of proud of his accent.”
Girl 2: “Really? What do you mean?”
Sarah: “I heard it’s a class thing. Your accent sort of shows your standing in society.”

Question: Is one’s accent an indicator of one’s social class or standing? And if so, what’s the best (or worst) accent to have?

New Female Muslim Scholar?

2005-04-07T01:46:00.000-04:00

Watch this clip of Fatimah Meer Lawhi of Iran as she literally wows the crowd of men in Lebanon with her extensive knowledge of the Qur'an. In the first half of this clip, she is given a verse of the Qur'an and required to identify where it is in the Qur'an. Fatimah even rattles off where the verse is located on its page. In the second half, she is given a topic and asked to find verses that fit the topic. She does so, once again with stunning quickness. If you know some Arabic, her performance is even more impressive than it first appears.

May God make her among the great Muslim scholars of our day.

I Like What You Did With The Kid Last Week

2005-04-06T03:46:00.000-04:00

This is why you never leave a kid alone with two men.*

I don’t have little kiddies of my own, but even I know that you shouldn’t be laughing if you want a child to listen to you. The kid’s just drinking up the attention; he’s playing for the camera, and the two men have no clue. Notice how Jacob just gets wackier as they laugh?

The fellow holding the camera has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard. Perfect antidote to the dull-as-death papers I have yet to finish.

*Click the orange button on the top right of the screen to watch the clip.

Roshan's Roots

2005-04-06T00:02:00.000-04:00

Hello everybaddy. Meh wan’ tek dis oppo’tunity fo’ introduce meself. Meh name Roshan. Meh deh in meh early 20's. Still young, meh hope. Meh come from one small village in Guyana, but meh whole family emigrate to Canada lang ago fo' opportunity, and meh know de culcha’ here.

Best meh tell you lil bit ‘bout meh roots fo’ start off. Nuff people don’t know nuttin’ ‘bout Guyana and meh think da' nah too good. When meh parents de growin’ up in Guyana, they ain’t know much, but now people gettin' good education and so on, and still, nuff people does confuse Guyana wid Ghana. Even in Canada. Dem deh in different continents, man! Guyana deh in Sout’ America. Some people does say it deh in de Caribbean. Any one good enuff. But not Africa. De Guyanese people are not African.

A few months ago, Guyana get flooded. Mos’ o’ de country in ruins, and de people dem lef’ wid nuttin’. It bin really bodderin’ me, so meh glad Saf ‘low meh fo’ talk ‘bout it here. Nobody even mention it in Canada or ‘Merica or anywheh. Why? Guyana nah important? Nah big enuff? Dis a one subject wha' close to meh heart, you know? Why nobody hear ‘bout dis? Only people who ge’ family back home know de news. It bin prapally bad, meh tell you. But nobaddy care 't'all.

Guyana used to be one nice place fo’ live. Dey used to call it “Land of Many Waters”. Maybe da' is a fittin’ title aftah de flood. But dere was so many nice tings in Guyana. Now is all gawn. Long gawn. Meh frighken dis might be de end fo’ Guyana.

Here meh include some pictures so you can see how de flood de ravage Guyana.
http://www.bryanmaxx.netfirms.com/
http://flood.guyana.net.gy/egallery/
http://www.gtvibes.com/SEC/index.htm

Anyway, da’ de story of Guyana. De flood get it down. But it used to be a beautiful place. And it gon’ get back good, meh hope. Guyana does still affect lotsa de people who born dere or even dose who come ‘way. We still ge’ de Guyana spirit running tru our veins, you know…we still ge’ de culture. Meh gon’ talk sometime about de culture if Saf ‘low meh. Meh nah know if you know a’ready, but dem get lots o’ Muslims who come from Guyana. De Muslim people from Guyana are very good people. But meh gon’ tell you more about dem anadda day.

Meh gon’ stop here fo’ today 'cause it gettin' late. God bless, and have a great night.

Case Study #1

2005-04-04T17:00:00.000-04:00

A Muslim student applies to defer an exam because it falls on the day after Eid. She claims that she cannot adequately prepare for the exam because she will be spending the day of Eid celebrating. She is unable to study before Eid because she is occupied with the special worship and reflection that is common near the end of the month of Ramadan. What should the University’s Examination Committee do? Should the committee permit her to defer the exam to a later date, or require her to write the exam on the day after Eid?

Can You Figure This Out?

2005-04-04T02:57:00.000-04:00

This exchange between an English-speaking traveller and a member of the hotel staff in a Far East hotel was recorded in the "Far-East Economic Review" about five years ago. It may take you a while to fathom it all out, but do try. Once you know what it is supposed to be, it really is hilarious!

Room Service: Morny. Rune-sore-bees.

Hotel Guest: Oh, sorry. I thought I dialed Room Service.

Room Service: Rye, rune-sore-bees. Morny. Djewish to odor sunteen?

Hotel Guest: Uh... yes. I'd like some bacon and eggs.

Room Service: Ow July den?

Hotel Guest: What?

Room Service: Aches. Ow July den? Pry, boy, pooch...?

Hotel Guest: Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry. Scrambled please.

Room Service: Ow July dee baycome? Crease?

Hotel Guest: Crisp will be fine.

Room Service: Hokay. An Santos?

Hotel Guest: What?

Room Service: Santos. July Santos?

Hotel Guest: Ugh. I don't know... I don't think so.

Room Service: No. Judo one toes?

Hotel Guest: Look, I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what "judo one toes" means. I'm sorry.

Room Service: Toes! Toes! Why djew Don Juan toes? Ow bow eenglish mopping we bother?

Hotel Guest: English muffin! I've got it! You were saying toast! Fine. An English muffin will be fine.

Room Service: We bother?

Hotel Guest: No. Just put the bother on the side.

Room Service: Wad?

Hotel Guest: I'm sorry. I meant butter. Butter on the side.

Room Service: Copy?

Hotel Guest: I feel terrible about this but...

Room Service: Copy. Copy, tea, mill...

Hotel Guest: Coffee! Yes, coffee please. And that's all.

Room Service: One Minnie. Ass rune torino fee, strangle aches, crease baycome, tossy cenglish mopping we bother honey sigh, and copy. Rye?

Hotel Guest: Whatever you say.

Room Service: Hokay. Tendjewberrymud.

Hotel Guest: You're welcome.

Call for a Moratorium on the Penal System

2005-04-03T01:29:00.000-05:00

Tariq Ramadan has called for a moratorium on the application of hudood (penal system) in the shari’ah (Islamic law). Ramadan argues that he is not calling for a rejection of the shari’ah. He claims he is not even rejecting hudood. Rather, he is calling for the rightful implementation of the shari’ah, which many scholars would agree is scarcely to be found in “Muslim countries”.

Ramadan has been very careful in wording his speech. He argues that the hudood penalties (penalties including corporal punishment, stoning and the death penalty) have a basis in classical Islamic law; thus one cannot deny that they are a part of Islam. Yet one must take into account the contextual framework within which the penalties are applicable. This emphasis on the formalistic application of certain parts the shari’ah without fully appreciating its spirit, its comprehensiveness, and its goals leads to unjust applications of Islamic law that simply betray the message of Islam.

Ramadan thus calls for intra-religious dialogue among Muslim scholars to work out what the shari’ah means. In the meantime, one cannot turn a blind eye to the individuals within Muslim countries who are being punished unjustly. Thus his call to suspend the current application of hudood is meant to protect vulnerable individuals while debate takes place.

I wonder what will be the repercussions of this call. Will the scholars take him seriously? Will we see papers produced and discussion stimulated? Or will he be denounced and swept aside? Whether or not Muslim scholars have a forum for debate is contestable, but even so, it is not clear that debate will solve anything. There have been many disagreements throughout history. Ramadan may claim that the majority of the scholars believe that the conditions under which the penalties should be implemented are almost impossible to replicate. Yet there are scholars who believe otherwise; one cannot expect consensus on a matter as contentious as this one. Moreover, even if there is consensus, it may not be in the direction Ramadan is hoping for.

I respect Ramadan for speaking up. I think it is commendable that he is working to reconcile what he sees as weaknesses within Muslim societies from an Islamic frame of reference. I do feel, however, that what is missing from his paper is his explicit opinion on the matter. Ramadan could have called for a more reasonable interpretation of the shari’ah. Instead, he calls for a moratorium. I am left wondering what would constitute this ideal state where hudood may be implemented. Does Ramadan believe hudood penalties are unnecessary? Already those who adopt a more literalist interpretation of the shari'ah are criticising his stance. They argue that the laws are correct irrespective of whether or not they are applied correctly and therefore one has no right to issue a moratorium. Other scholars, though agreeing that few countries apply hudood in the correct manner, make the weak claim that Muslims are under attack and must band together and avoid airing internal differences. Clearly this public call for a moratorium is a controversial one, but I am glad Tariq Ramadan is courageous enough to broach a subject many others would avoid.

Remembering the Pope

2005-04-02T16:28:00.000-05:00

One cannot help but feel deeply touched at the news of the passing of Pope John Paul II. He will be remembered not just as a leader of the Catholic Church, but also as a man of immense courage and nobility; he was bold in his efforts to bring about justice and universal peace. In his 26 years as Pope, his steadfastness to his own moral principles garnered immense respect. Though we may not be Christians, we can recognize in John Paul a great role model and an example of how one’s faithfulness to God can embody itself in glorious ways. His was a calling to serve humanity for the sake of God, and for that, he will be remembered as an inspiration to us all.

Hate Is Not A Joke

2005-04-01T18:17:00.000-05:00

Last year, a group of student groups, in collaboration with University administrators, organized a “Hate is not a joke” rally at UofT on April 1st. The event was in response to a spate of acts of vandalism and spray-painted hate messages on synagogues and mosques. It was intended to send a clear message to the university community that hate-related discrimination will not be tolerated on campus. Below are some pictures from the event itself:

Some organizers and participants after the rally. Note the Banner of Hope in the background.

Two students

Signing the Banner of Hope

Two-Week Special for Fools

2005-04-01T17:40:00.000-05:00

April Fool’s Day it is – one of my favourite days of the year. As Mark Twain wisely stated, “the first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.” In that spirit, I wish to announce that two new characters will be joining this blog for a two-week trial period, beginning on Monday.

Roshan is from Guyana and she believes the Guyanese part of her is often misunderstood. She’s reluctant to start a blog on Guyana because she’s uncertain whether she can sustain something of that sort. Perhaps her success here may persuade her to take the next big step.

“Free Spirit” is the second guest blogger. She is infamous for her willingness to speak her mind. She will be an “interesting” addition to my blog. I hope that some of her lively (and hilarious) anecdotes and articles will grace this page – particularly those pertaining to the good ‘ole Islamic school days.

Stay tuned for more information. I may add new voices to SAFspace in the weeks to come. In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, please join me in introducing….Roshan and Free Spirit!

The Sirens Beckon

2005-03-31T18:02:00.000-05:00

Though her mind utters weak protestations, her heart cannot resist. For everywhere the sirens echo the sweet songs of enticement within. And though she knows she shall be lured towards impending disaster, she grows weary of this timeless rivalry between desire and wretched obligation.

God help her, for she has not the strength to sail away.

More Sensitive Than I Thought

2005-03-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

Dear Reader,

I admit I was bit shaken up by the latest bout of emails and comments. My time is precious, and this blog was supposed to be pure fun. It was my own personal space online where I could set the agenda and share my thoughts, stress-free. It felt fantastic for a while. Then suddenly a whole bunch of people came on board, many of whom did not take the time to find out what I was about. And it became a chore, not just to put out new content for readers on a regular basis, but also to tiptoe around issues to ensure I didn’t offend or otherwise alienate the diverse readership. There are too many people, both in Muslim and non-Muslim circles, who are ready to pounce on individuals based on what they say (and don’t say). I am currently re-evaluating my priorities and will soon let you know what I’ve decided to do. Regardless of whether or not I continue here, I assure you I will remain an active voice in the wider community. In the meantime, I want to take this opportunity to thank you for being a part of this very personal journey. It meant the world to me.

Sincerely,

Safiyyah

Heart-to-Heart

2005-03-25T17:54:00.000-05:00

Those who know me very well know that I very rarely get upset or offended. So I don’t mind if you criticize my ideas…even my writing. In fact, I relish conversations with individuals who aren’t just saying, “you’re so right” and “you’re amazing”, but who seem to offer intriguing insights of their own. If you criticize my ideas, I may learn something new and change my perspectives accordingly. If I don’t, I will have at least had the opportunity to gain a better understanding of some of the viewpoints out there, and perhaps be able to fine-tune and develop my own opinions through the interplay of ideas.

So criticism is not the problem. But I do have issues with readers questioning my motives or attacking my character. I have been getting some hate mail recently, some of it seemingly anonymous, and I will say this: they’re utterly hilarious! Okay, that slipped out. But here’s my advice: if you think that I’m insincere, that I have some hidden motive, or that I’m using my smarts to covertly dissuade, then this is not the place for you to be. The beauty of an online forum is that it is a completely voluntary exercise.

Thinking Out Loud

Recently I’ve asked questions that may seem provocative to some of my readers. Question my intentions all you want, but I am simply a curious explorer seeking to expand my horizons and to enlarge my mentality by finding out about ideas and practices I know little about. For those who think I’m veering off onto a deviated path, have faith that I am a strong individual who will make decisions for herself based on her own convictions and beliefs. Asking questions does not mean I am shaky in my own beliefs.

I want to be clear on this point: this blog is about enlightening myself. So I will ask questions out loud - questions that arise in my mind. Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. So be it. If I’m misguided, then forgive me. And if you’re so dissatisfied with my line of questioning or with me, then feel free to leave. But please don’t question my motives for asking.

You need to understand something about me. I’m curious. I will seek out ideas that challenge my own. But expressing a view here does not imply that I actually hold that view. I have been known to argue ideas I don’t actually stand for. I do so to test my own intellectual capabilities. I do so to ensure my own beliefs are sound. When I question your ideas, I am not challenging you. Neither am I attacking your ideas. Believe it or not, it usually means I have a high opinion of you – and that I think you’re capable of deepening the discourse. And surprisingly, my provocative questions do not necessarily imply that I disagree with you. I am likely teasing out possible explanations and understandings I hadn’t heard before. I may be seeking a multiplicity of perspectives, or I may be critically analyzing my own ideas, measuring them up against new ones. Call me devil’s advocate. For me, it’s an intellectual exercise.

Blogging and the Writer-Reader Relationship

Does a blogger have a responsibility to readers? We’re not getting paid for our work – at least I’m not. And it’s not the same as an author of a book or some other portable material that’s been paid for by the reader. The reader, in purchasing the author’s material, is making a commitment to the author, but they’ve chosen to do so after looking at the cover, flipping through the pages, and finally deciding it’s right. My readers don’t have to be committed to my blog. They may come once, never to return. Or they may be regular visitors, checking obsessively, hour after hour. There’s no patterned relationship here.

A blog is not quite a personal diary; neither is it a published piece. The blogger is speaking to herself, but she is also speaking to an audience. It is not always easy to maintain this balance. Although I do keep my readers at the back of my mind, I write primarily for myself. I write what sounds right to me, and I click “Publish” with the hope that others might be interested. I engage my mind in the process, hoping that my ideas will engage the reader. But I cannot cater to the reader or the reader’s reaction. I need to be true to my own creative spirit. If I think too hard about what others will think, my ideas will not be able to develop in any real way, thus defeating the very purpose of this blog.

Readers are able to contribute to the thought process by leaving comments or sending emails. And I welcome both. Sometimes I lament the fact that there is not enough discourse for my liking. I actually believe that a reader shows respect or appreciation for the writing - or at least for the effort that went into it - by leaving a comment that indicates some wheels were turning while they read. So I don’t want it to seem as though I’m shying away from comment or criticism. As long as the comment or email is not hateful, racist, vulgar or derogatory in some way, I welcome it. But a reader cannot force me to write one way or the other.

I know you as a reader have expectations of me. You expect me to post regularly, and to post good content. And perhaps there are other expectations too. Feel free to share them with me. But I have expectations of my readers too. I hope that you will be open-minded enough to at least read what I have written, to consider my ideas in good will. I hope that you will not jump to conclusions or try to label me one way or the other. It would be easy to misread my sarcasm or my penchant for humour. It would be easier to come to the wrong conclusions about me by reading a single post or the other. Taken together, however, I do believe this blog provide a good overview of who I am and how I think. New readers need to be prepared to suspend their disbelief until they’ve read enough to understand what I’m about.

I respect my readers immensely. And that is why I am sharing my thoughts with you. This post is not meant to address any one specific person. In fact, it does not apply for the vast majority of those who come here regularly. So if I have said anything to wrong or hurt you, please do forgive me. And please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and ideas with me, for that is what brings me back here so very often.

A Call for Restraint

2005-03-24T17:21:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who isn’t gleeful that MuslimWakeUp’s website was hacked? Is it unusual to feels pity for those folks hoisting placards cursing Amina Wadud and others outside the premises where she was to give her Friday khutbah?

Many people have asked why I abandoned Muslim-Jewish dialogue work. Those of you who know how passionate I am were confused as to why I let it slide. I did so because I have come to realize that real progress is not ultimately achieved through inter-religious dialogue. There is too much that must be dealt with within the Muslim community before one can gain widespread, mainstream support for the very concept of interfaith dialogue.

We do not have to agree with what Amina Wadud did to appreciate the need for intra-religious dialogue. I was delighted to see the discussion papers and scholarly opinions on women leading congregational prayer being passed back and forth with much enthusiasm. But we need to learn how to engage each other in an Islamic manner. We need to learn how to disagree with one another without tearing the community apart. We need to elevate our discourse beyond the whining and screaming. And we will do so only by respecting each other and taking each other seriously as brothers and sisters in Islam.

In fairness, we must make more of an effort to understand the individuals we disagree with before we can legitimately judge their words or actions. We’ve used online articles to blast Amina Wadud – articles even she has spoken out against. Yet we do not know the thought processes that led to the sound bytes we now hear. And so it is important that we exercise restraint in our criticism. And if we are not capable of reasonably discussing contentious issues, then we must remain silent. For if we shout and protest, we only make ourselves look like radical fools in the eyes of the rest of the world. We will never help our cause this way.

Is This True?

2005-03-24T03:08:00.000-05:00

"If the Sufis call you Salafi and the Salafis call you Sufi, you know you're just about in the right place."

Mixed Emotions

2005-03-23T14:18:00.000-05:00

There is something about modern technology that exacerbates problems. One is able to sit comfortably in one’s living room watching television and still feel as if one is in the midst of a conflict far away. And yet there is the realization, once one turns away from the television screen, that one is helpless to do much to influence the conflict one way or the other. The instantaneous nature of electronic media likewise causes extremes of emotion. In less than an hour, here are three consecutive news items that caught my attention and triggered very different reactions:

1. I found out about a report of the First World Congress of the Imams and Rabbis for Peace, released by the Hommes de Paroles. I had been waiting anxiously for the report to come out, and it did not disappoint. The summary and photos of the historic event brought reluctant tears to my eyes. Though much of it was fluff (much talk, little action), it demonstrated a willingness to dialogue and relate to each other as equal participants, and that in itself is a positive indication. Change will only result when the strongest on both sides engage each other – and imams and rabbis are often the ones with the most passion and influence invested in the conflict. Those who participated are now charged with the responsibility to share that collective vision of peace, good will and commonality with the communities they have returned to.

2. I then checked one of my many email accounts (yes, I currently have seven) only to find that the supposedly “world renowned Middle East expert” Daniel Pipes is coming to UofT next week to speak on “Radical Islam and the War on Terror”. His presence alone is bad news, but it is made worse by the fact that he is coming to inaugurate a new student group: the Middle East Forum at UofT. I was completely taken aback to read that this is happening. I fear that it will only serve to further poison relations between Muslims and Jews on campus. I cannot explain how much this disappoints and deeply saddens me.

3. Finally, I learned that Hillel, the Jewish group on campus, has decided it no longer wants to be named Hillel. It is changing its name back to the old Jewish Students Association. This is a very smart move, and I am delighted to see the Jewish students on campus go that way. Independence from the international organization that is often associated with strong ties to Israel will alleviate the fears of those who want to establish good relations with Jews but cannot bear to work with an organization that promotes Israel as one of its primary goals.

How is one to respond to these three very different stories? I believe the stories mirror the news of the Middle East. The diversity: one can hear good and bad news in the same day, and the complexity: not only is it impossible to predict what will happen, it is also impossible to figure out exactly what is happening. The more I learn, the more I realize how much I do not know. But I come away with a renewed sense of how complicated the conflict is in the Middle East, and how strong are the reverberations even in far-away Canada that the impact can be felt among people who are only psychologically and spiritually linked to that tiny but tumultuous piece of the world.

What would YOU have done?

2005-03-22T17:36:00.000-05:00

After reading some of the comments on standing in line, I couldn't help but wonder what you would have done if faced with a similar circumstance. Would you have walked away at the first sign of a long line*? Would you have said something to the obnoxious lady? Would you have accidentally trampled on her toes? What would YOU have done?

* "Line" is queue for my British readers.

Standing in Line

2005-03-21T20:10:00.000-05:00

4:00 pm: I am exhausted after pulling an all-nighter. But I have things to do. I have to post this letter before 5 pm today. And then I have to rush to a meeting at 5 pm. Enter the University bookstore. I could spend a whole day in this book haven, but too much on my mind right now. I’m heading straight to the post office located conveniently inside. Oh dear! Disappointed sigh as I catch sight of the impossibly long line weaving through the aisles of the bookstore. The line is huge, and I shall be at the very end of it.

I make my way there. There’s a lady with her son, about 5 years old. They don’t seem to be waiting in line, but I can’t be sure. The lady’s looking at a blue folder with the UofT logo emblazoned on it. The kid’s wandering about, his winter boots making clonking noises as he walks. “Excuse me, are you in line?” I ask. “Yeah,” she replies.

Suddenly, she is in line, at attention, son with her, blue folder chucked in disarray atop a neatly stacked pile of identical blue folders. I step behind her, checking my watch periodically. My eyes are closing. I’m going to have to stop pulling these all-nighters! And it’s getting close to meeting time – I’ll be late if this line doesn’t start moving.

I hate standing in line! I should have come earlier!

4:06 pm: The woman in front of me is getting restless. The line is moving – slowly. Strange thoughts float through my mind. Hey, perhaps I could take a nap standing up! No, that would be too weird. Instead, I marvel at the cashier’s slowness. But the woman in front of me doesn’t share my fascination. She wants to move. She can’t stop moving. Now she’s fiddling with a postcard. A pink ballerina graces the front. Despite myself, I start making comparisons. A ballerina’s graceful, but just watching this woman’s incessant movement is making me jittery and annoyed. And her son – his constant clomping keeps disturbing my sleepy reverie. I’m gonna scream!

4:07 pm: Behind the darkness of my closed eyes, her voice penetrates. She’s telling her son she’s going to check out something at the other end of the bookstore. He wants to come with her. She turns to me. “Would you hold my place for me? I’ll just be a minute.” I hesitate. I hate holding the line for people, but no one’s behind me, and she’ll just be gone a minute anyway. And it might be nice to have a little break from her nervous dance. Plus she looks kinda scary. That does it for me. “Uhh, ok,” I say reluctantly.

4:10 pm: I’m past the ballera postcard now, and she hasn’t returned. She’s probably doing her shopping while I hold her place in the line. I’m bored to death and thinking evil thoughts.

4:15 pm: One person sneaks up behind me. Then another. Then a couple. The line behind me is getting snakier than ever. Minutes pass. Where is she? She said she’d just be a minute. I can’t hold her place like this while other people are waiting. That’s unfair.

4:25 pm: Finally! I’m getting close to the front of the line, but still, the line’s moving veeery slowly. No sign of the woman and her son yet. I’m getting agitated. It’s just not right for someone to be gone so long and then come back expecting to be served before everyone else waiting so patiently. She said a minute. She’s been gone for many. She’s forfeit her place in the line long ago. I hope this doesn’t get confrontational. I’m near the front. I’ll be over and done with by the time she gets here.

4:30 pm: Four more people ahead of me! I’m getting there. The feelings of elation are mixed with frustration. It’s getting late. I’m going to be late for my meeting. And I need to get this letter in on time. I sure hope that lady doesn’t come back.

4:34 pm: My God, I hear clomping. It’s getting louder by the second! They’re coming! Oh no! My heart beats a little faster. What to do, what to do? Perhaps she’ll see the huge line and go to the end like she should. But no! She’s coming. Think, think. Clomp, clomp.

Aha! The line is such that I can avoid her if I want to. I pretend not to see her. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything to me. But that’s because she’s spotted another victim. She seems to know the woman behind me, and they’re having a long and very loud conversation about work and school and everything in between. Okay, she’ll stay there. Fine.

4:36 pm: She breaks off her passionate conversation about all the trials she’s been through in life to speak to her child in hushed tones. “Go stand in front of her,” she advises. Suddenly, her son squeezes his way past me. The nerve of mother and son. Can’t do anything about it. Seething is good at this point.

4:38: I get to the counter, the boy in front of me. Suddenly, the woman pushes in front of me, her conversation with her friend long forgotten. The cashier looks at both of us. “Who’s first?” she asks. I hesitate. I feel grumpy and mean. What right does she have? Then, being the relenting fool that I am, I give in.

“You can go ahead,” I say, looking over at the woman now in front of me. She’s still not looking at me. No thanks, no nothing. “Is that okay with you?” the cashier asks. “Yeah,” I confirm, still seething inside. I watch as the woman gets her package mailed, and then waltzes out, no backward glance. What can I say? I’ll be late for my meeting, my mail’s just narrowly missed the deadline, but God help me, I’m just happy I’m not her.

Childish Logic

2005-03-20T20:13:00.000-05:00

I adore children. The spontaneous words that pop out of their mouths so easily make them rather amusing companions. Notice how imagination overcomes illogic in this conversation with a wee cousin of mine:

“When I grow up, I want to be a gentleman!”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
“Why do you want to be a gentleman?”
“Because I want to be the mayor of London!”
“The mayor of London?! But how would you get to London to become the mayor?”
“I can walk.”
“Isn’t it far? London’s two hours away!”
“I can still walk. And I will wear a gentleman hat and a long robe and a stick and people will admire me and want me to be the mayor and I will want to be the mayor too, so I will be the mayor!”

Possibilities are endless when you’re a child. We spend the rest of our lives paring away at those thwarted expectations. We need children to constantly remind us of what is possible. Did I mention I absolutely adore them?

SAFIYYAH

2005-03-20T09:00:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

Why Safspace?

Where You From?

Heart-to-Heart

Historian Does Some Probing

LIFE'S ABSURDITIES

2005-03-20T08:58:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

Wee Hours

Invasion of the Meese

Moose Distracts from Noose (Er, Nose)

Curry Pot - the Hottest Scent to Hit T.O.

Childish Logic

Where Have Your Hands Been Today?!

Hold your Stomach and Roll with Laughter

Mama's Apron Strings

Sacrificing the Subway in the Name of Freedom

Standing in Line

What would YOU have Done?

I Like What You Did With The Kid Last Week

When a Clock Makes you Chuckle

Just Say It!

Signs in English around the World

Can You Figure This Out?

Accented Class

RELIGIOUS RAMBLINGS

2005-03-20T08:57:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

Playing God, when I'm just not up to it

The Trouble with Irshad

Proud Moment for Toronto Muslims

Khateebah: New Word Added to the Muslim Vocab

A Call for Restraint

Dance of the Dervishes

Seeing Red

It's All One Big Religious Ritual

Once You Believe in God, There is no Religion

Is This True?

Prancing into the Beauty Pageant Pandemonium

Ramadan's Moratorium on Hudood

ON MUSLIMS AND JEWS

2005-03-20T08:54:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

I know...the Jews did it! Or is it America this time?!

Auschwitz Remembered

Some Jews who Disappoint

Jew + Muslim = Safiyyah?

Towards Peace and Reconciliation: Here and Abroad

Mixed Emotions

Hate is not a Joke

POLITICAL MUSINGS

2005-03-20T08:50:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

Summers, Biological Differences, and Gender Imbalance

Segregation Making a Comeback

When It's Fun to Shoot People

Coulter's Canada

Father's Lethal Act of Revenge

Remembering Pope John Paul II

SOCIETY AND ITS DISCONTENTS

2005-03-20T08:46:00.000-05:00

View posts in this category:

Leap of Faith

Know-it-alls on Campus

Sacrificing the Subway in the name of Freedom

Where You From?

The Story of Gmail

Borderline Fears

Missing IAW

2005-03-19T22:34:00.000-05:00

Is it possible to miss an idea? Because I miss Islam Awareness Week, and it’s only just done with. But it was a spectacular success while it lasted. Yes, there were good lectures, and the food was delicious. But what amazed me most was the response to our displays at Sidney Smith Hall.

Because I learned something incredible. I learned that people are actually interested in Islam. As I stood at the MSA booth, students came by to ask questions – and I was floored by their respectful demeanour and their willingness to learn more. Countless students and faculty members perused our free material. And the amount of English translations of the Quran that people picked up was shocking. We emptied box after box – we must have given out hundreds of translations in the five days we were there. This showed me, more than anything else, that people really want to know what Muslims are all about. And it our fault for not sharing our understanding of Islam with others. We complain about the ignorance and the maligning of our faith, and yet people are genuinely interested in what we have to say.

One student came to the display table and he was just staring wide-eyed in a dazed manner. I was speaking to another student about polygamy, but when I was finished, I turned to him and asked if he needed anything. I could literally see him try to shake off the confusion. It took a while for him to find his voice. “This will sound ridiculous,” he said, “but there’s just this glow about you. I mean, I’ve heard of the Virgin Mary and how she looked so pure and holy, but I never really saw it a person before. It’s like faith is just embodying itself. It’s just…” He was at a loss for words. I was too. But he signed up for a free Quran because we had run out at the time.

I will miss IAW, but I will never forget those moments. Engaging in real discussion with students I’d never seen before. Answering questions I’d never heard before. And when there wasn’t any more time, giving students my email address for any further questions they might have. Being at that booth - seeing fellow students come by - renewed my faith in the goodness of humanity. And it reminded me that I too have a responsibility to try to understand others in the same way that they have sought to understand me.

Thank you to all the volunteers who made IAW possible. May God reward you for your efforts in this regard.

2005-03-19T22:28:00.000-05:00

Poster made by IAW crew

Another poster

My favourite

Students checking us out

More students...more posters

Prancing into the Beauty Pageant Pandemonium

2005-03-17T16:18:00.000-05:00

A Miss-Canada Pakistan beauty pageant is coming Ottawa this Saturday. To the organizers, it’s an exciting cultural event - a way to instil confidence among young Pakistani women. So they are baffled as to why the event has come under fire from Muslims across Canada.

I do not see Muslims rushing to condemn the event. The organizers appear to have mentioned publicly that the Muslim community is concerned about a beauty pageant taking place, and the media has pounced on the story, actively searching out Muslim leaders to get their opinions. Nevertheless, this is not an Islamic event. There is no “Muslim take” on the issue.

Having said that, the organizers would like to know what is wrong with their beauty contest. After all, they say, it is Canada, and it is the 21st century. Interestingly enough, criticism of the beauty contest has been advanced from all quarters. Muslims of different stripes are protesting, all of them with very compelling reasons for doing so. It is rather ironic that Muslims who self-identify as “moderates” or “progressives” oppose the pageant with the same vigour as that of “traditional” or conservative Muslims, but for different reasons.

“Progressive” Muslims claim beauty contests objectify women’s bodies. By judging women based on their looks and their moves, beauty pageants dehumanize women and reduce their worth to their physical attributes. Even worse, this Miss Canada-Pakistan beauty pageant is being introduced at a time when the whole concept of these competitions is going out of style. Muslim women are picking up a “Western” practice that is being gradually discarded.

“Traditional” Muslims would agree with these “progressive” arguments. But they would add something more: beauty contests are antithetical to Islamic standards of morality and modesty. At its most basic level, the concept of the hijaab is about decency on a personal and societal level. Hence the public sphere is desexualized in an Islamic milieu. The male choreographer’s command that the girls “swing [their] hips” is foreign to anyone who takes Islam seriously; doing so before a mixed audience is simply unacceptable.

Furthermore, an overemphasis on outward manifestations of beauty is looked down upon in Islam. Muslims love beautiful things because it is a reminder of God’s many bounties. Muslims do not worship or glorify physical beauty; they worship God, the very source of all things beautiful. Beauty then is instrumental to a Muslim’s relationship to God. Choosing to put on an event that will reward personal beauty seems misguided and unwise.

This is not to say that Muslim women should not be having a good time. But there are other more halaal ways of doing so that simultaneously respect the dignity of young Muslim women. Individuals looking to make change within the community must explore more positive methods to promote the self-confidence of women; one’s worth should be tied not to outward appearance, but rather to character, ability and achievement.

Nevertheless, regardless of one’s opinions towards the concept of a beauty contest, one has no right to threaten the organizers with bombs or bombard them with hate mail. Muslims must rise above such unthinking idiocy. Canada is a liberal democratic society. As long as the girls have consented to participate, there is nothing any Muslim can or should do to prevent them from doing so. One can criticise the event or even try to persuade the organizers that a beauty pageant is not the right way to go, but that is where one’s involvement must end. Resort to violence is just plain ugly.

A Simple Thanks

2005-03-16T05:21:00.000-05:00

There are times when I am overwhelmed by the goodness that has been given me. And in those moments I am deeply humbled, speechless, even moved to tears in gratitude to God. God gives and gives endlessly. I am blessed in ways I cannot even imagine. And yet I receive and foolishly forget to reflect. But there are savings moments like this one - moments when I cannot understand what I have done to deserve such breathtaking joy. And in those moments, I cannot help but submit myself wholly to God. I pray that my heart is never hardened enough to render me unable to give thanks to The Beneficient for the many bounties bestowed upon me.

Invasion of the Meese!

2005-03-14T03:09:00.000-05:00

I am walking along College St., minding my own business, when, on a whim, I decide to walk by the old-fashioned red brick building that is our local fire station, foolishly hoping some bright red fire engines might cheer me up. Sadly, the trucks are safely tucked away, secure from the chunky snowflakes plopping down with abandon.

But as I swallow my disappointment, lo and behold! Not one, but two moose lording over the little road. I blink once, twice, and yet again, hoping perhaps my medication has blurred my vision. But it is to no avail. The moose are still there, both dressed impeccably in white uniform. I have to admit the one in the Maple Leafs jersey is far more attractive. Regrettably, the two are too pompous to look at me, though I come to my senses just in time to snap away frantically with my shiny digital camera. I’m sure they’re basking in the attention, but are too proud to show it. What do you think?

Notice how they studiously ignore me? Neither of them have anything to be proud of. The Maple Leafs fellow? No games to play this season. And the Blue Jays Moose? The saddest team I've ever seen. Maybe that's why they'd rather stand outside in the snow. Poor fellows. Both of them.

Signs in English around the World

2005-03-14T01:04:00.000-05:00

Not clear who wrote this, but it's hilarious.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Signs in English seen in countries that speak another language:

Cocktail lounge, Norway: LADIES ARE REQUESTED NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN IN THE BAR.

At a Budapest zoo: PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS. IF YOU HAVE ANY SUITABLE FOOD, GIVE IT TO THE GUARD ON DUTY.

Doctors office, Rome: SPECIALIST IN WOMEN AND OTHER DISEASES.

Hotel, Acapulco: THE MANAGER HAS PERSONALLY PASSED ALL THE WATER SERVED HERE.

Information booklet about using a hotel air conditioner, Japan: COOLES AND HEATES: IF YOU WANT JUST CONDITION OF WARM AIR IN YOUR ROOM, PLEASE CONTROL YOURSELF.

Car rental brochure, Tokyo: WHEN PASSENGER OF FOOT HEAVE IN SIGHT, TOOTLE THE HORN. TRUMPET HIM MELODIOUSLY AT FIRST, BUT IF HE STILL OBSTACLES YOUR PASSAGE THEN TOOTLE HIM WITH VIGOR.

Dry cleaner's, Bangkok: DROP YOUR TROUSERS HERE FOR THE BEST RESULTS.

In a Nairobi restaurant: CUSTOMERS WHO FIND OUR WAITRESSES RUDE OUGHT TO SEE THE MANAGER.

On the grounds of a private school: NO TRESPASSING WITHOUT PERMISSION.

On a highway: TAKE NOTICE: WHEN THIS SIGN IS UNDER WATER, THIS ROAD IS IMPASSABLE.

On a poster at Kenyon: ARE YOU AN ADULT THAT CANNOT READ? IF SO, WE CAN HELP.

In a City restaurant: OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK AND WEEKENDS.

One of the buildings: MENTAL HEALTH PREVENTION CENTRE.

A sign seen on an automatic restroom hand dryer: DO NOT ACTIVATE WITH WET HANDS.

In a Romania maternity ward: NO CHILDREN ALLOWED.

In a cemetery: PERSONS ARE PROHIBITED FROM PICKING FLOWERS FROM ANY BUT THEIR OWN GRAVES.

Tokyo hotel's rules and regulations: GUESTS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO SMOKE OR DO OTHER DISGUSTING BEHAVIOURS IN BED.

Hotel notice, Tokyo: IS FORBIDDEN TO STEAL HOTEL TOWELS PLEASE. IF YOU ARE NOT A PERSON TO DO SUCH A THING IS PLEASE NOT TO HAD NOTIS.

On the menu of a Swiss restaurant: OUR WINES LEAVE YOU NOTHING TO HOPE FOR.

Hotel room notice, Chiang-Mai, Thailand: PLEASE DO NOT BRING SOLICITORS INTO YOUR ROOM

Hotel brochure, Italy: HIS HOTEL IS RENOWNED FOR ITS PEACE AND SOLITUDE. IN FACT, CROWDS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD FLOCK HERE TO ENJOY ITS SOLITUDE.

Hotel lobby, Bucharest: THE LIFT IS BEING FIXED FOR THE NEXT DAY. DURING THAT TIME WE REGRET THAT YOU WILL BE UNBEARABLE.

Hotel elevator, Paris: PLEASE LEAVE YOUR VALUES AT THE FRONT DESK.

Hotel, Yugoslavia: THE FLATTENING OF UNDERWEAR WITH PLEASURE IS THE JOB OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

Hotel, Japan: YOU ARE INVITED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across from a Russian orthodox monastery: YOU ARE WELCOME TO VISIT THE CEMETERY WHERE FAMOUS RUSSIAN AND SOVIET COMPOSERS, ARTISTS, AND WRITERS ARE BURIED DAILY EXCEPT THURSDAY.

Hotel catering to skiers, Austria: NOT TO PERAMBULATE THE CORRIDORS IN THE HOURS OF REPOSE IN THE BOOTS OF ASCENSION.

Taken from a menu, Poland: SALAD A FIRM'S OWN MAKE; LIMPID RED BEET SOUP WITH CHEESY DUMPLINGS IN THE FORM OF A FINGER; ROASTED DUCK LET LOOSE; BEEF RASHERS BEATEN IN THE COUNTRY PEOPLE'S FASHION.

Supermarket, Hong Kong: FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE, WE RECOMMEND COURTEOUS, EFFICIENT SELF-SERVICE.

From the "Soviet Weekly": THERE WILL BE A MOSCOW EXHIBITION OF ARTS BY 15 SOVIET REPUBLIC PAINTERS AND SCULPTORS. THESE WERE EXECUTED OVER THE PAST TWO YEARS.

In an East African newspaper: A NEW SWIMMING POOL IS RAPIDLY TAKING SHAPE SINCE THE CONTRACTORS HAVE THROWN IN THE BULK OF THEIR WORKERS.

Hotel, Vienna: IN CASE OF FIRE, DO YOUR UTMOST TO ALARM THE HOTEL PORTER.

A sign posted in Germany's Black Forest: IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN ON OUR BLACK FOREST CAMPING SITE THAT PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT SEX, FOR INSTANCE, MEN AND WOMEN, LIVE TOGETHER IN ONE TENT UNLESS THEY ARE MARRIED WITH EACH OTHER FOR THIS PURPOSE.

Hotel, Zurich: BECAUSE OF THE IMPROPRIETY OF ENTERTAINING GUESTS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX IN THE BEDROOM, IT IS SUGGESTED THAT THE LOBBY BE USED FOR THIS PURPOSE.

An advertisement by a Hong Kong dentist: TEETH EXTRACTED BY THE LATEST METHODISTS.

Tourist agency, Czechoslovakia: TAKE ONE OF OUR HORSE-DRIVEN CITY TOURS.WE GUARANTEE NO MISCARRIAGES.

Advertisement for donkey rides, Thailand: WOULD YOU LIKE TO RIDE ON YOUR OWN ASS?

In the window on a Swedish furrier: FUR COATS MADE FOR LADIES FROM THEIR OWN SKIN.

The box of a clockwork toy made in Hong Kong: GUARANTEED TO WORK THROUGHOUT ITS USEFUL LIFE.

In a Swiss mountain inn: SPECIAL TODAY - NO ICE-CREAM.

Airline ticket office, Copenhagen: WE TAKE YOUR BAGS AND SEND THEM IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

On the door of a Moscow hotel room: IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST VISIT TO THE USSR, YOU ARE WELCOME TO IT.

A laundry in Rome: LADIES, LEAVE YOUR CLOTHES HERE AND SPEND THE AFTERNOON HAVING A GOOD TIME.

Alopecoid

2005-03-12T16:28:00.000-05:00

Kids are incredibly resilient, but I can’t imagine a more stunning comeback than that of Akshay Buddiga. The 13 year old fainted onstage during a Spelling Bee competition and then came back almost immediately to spell “alopecoid” before an amazed crowd. This kid’s just incredible.

Watch the clip here.

Historian Does Some Probing

2005-03-12T02:08:00.000-05:00

The Great Levantine Historian has decided to probe the minds of some of his most loyal readers. I will indulge his quest for information just this once. After all, when these historians don’t get their way, they can get ugly! So here are his questions, and my prompt and frightened answers:

1) How good is the University of Toronto, can it compare with the top U.S. Schools?

An interesting question, and something I should be thinking about since I am in the process of applying for grad school. I cannot claim to answer this objectively, for I am unaware of any studies comparing schools in North America. It is a prestigious university, top-ranked in Canada. And it is considered the “Harvard of the North”, but I’m not sure what that means. I believe the University of Toronto is superior to many other universities based on my own standards, which I will outline below roughly in order of importance. Please keep in mind that these standards are based on my own needs and wants, so they may not be in keeping with your own.

a) Top professors in my field

I’m interested in political theory – in particular, I wish to explore the oft-contentious relationship between minority religious communities and the liberal democratic societies in which they reside. Ask me more about it if you’re interested; I won’t bore you with the details here. But my point is that there are scads of top-notch thinkers at UofT with the research background and interest in the field of study I’m passionate about – so much so that I’d have difficulty trying to decide which ones to work with. For me, the most critical thing is to have the right people around me who will understand my project and where I want to go with it. And based on my research of other universities, I’d say that in the field I’m interested in, UofT ranks among Ivy League schools for its concentration of superb scholars in Political Science.

Now, if they could only make those scholars more accessible to lowly undergrad students…I’m almost done with that phase of my life, so it shouldn’t matter anymore. But I don’t think I can ever forget the 1500 first-year students huddled together at Con Hall, watching and listening to a professor’s image on two huge screens. If he didn’t have a mike, I don’t know what we’d have done. Actually, I do. He was forced to cancel class midway through and we all clapped and cheered wildly before packing up for the trek home. It was one of the best school nights of my life.

b) Intellectually competitive collegial atmosphere

Being around students who are intelligent and willing to challenge my ideas is integral to my learning. I want to engage with others who are at the same intellectual level of myself or higher. Nothing like a little competition to make an old girl jump higher.

Besides, I just like being around smart people. It makes me feel smarter than I actually am;) Yes, we do have our Trinity folks who will don their very special robes just to eat lunch in their very privileged hall with a bunch of very old esteemed profs, but in general, even bright (to use a British term) UofT people are quite friendly and fun to be with.

c) Academically challenging courses and course material

Believe it or not, I need course material that will force me to think by continuously threatening to uproot all that I believe in. This may sound wild and wacky, but what keeps me coming back to school is that which challenges me intellectually in ways I’ve never expected. The great thing about UofT is that there are so many interesting course offerings that it’s impossible not to find something I’d be interested in. Especially in Political Science.

d) Excellent Library

I’m already missing that behemoth that’s supposed to look like a peacock. Robarts Library is hideously ugly – make that terrifying - but it has one of the largest collections in all of North America. If you ever need a book – any book – or even a tape or a newspaper or a letter or a manuscript, it’ll be there. And to think I’ll have to pay to use it when I leave:(

e) Vibrant student life

One of the weird things about me is that I never study. I’m always running around (yes, FB, that was not just a blur of black whizzing past you!) and doing one thing or another on campus. I cannot understand students who come to school, then go home and bury their heads in books for the rest of the night. I need the student clubs, the organizations, the college newspapers. The activist part of me is still strong, and I need it fulfilled. At UofT, I can choose what I want to do, but there’s lots to choose from.

f) Large campus

I can’t deny that this one’s just ridiculous. But it’s important to me because I need space. And UofT’s great for that. It’s got dozens of buildings and lots of little spots waiting to be found. Plenty of room to walk; to sit; to think. A myriad of places to disappear. So yes, I like the fact that I’m just a number, a nobody on campus. I like walking around unknown. I can go about my life, unencumbered, choosing what I will or won’t do or say. And I can find myself in the process. It’s the most empowering aspect of UofT, I think.

g) Generous awards and scholarships

This is one thing that really bugs me about UofT. It is incredibly stingy. It doesn’t award excellence in any significant way, so there’s little incentive to do well. Nevertheless, I do believe UofT pours money into graduate work and research, so that’s something to look forward to. Fortunately, UofT has one last thing going for it, and that is…

h) Exceptional reputation

Yes, believe it or not, UofT has a great reputation. That has to count for something. Some may say, so what? Maybe UofT earned that rep long time ago, and now it no longer jives with reality. I wouldn’t argue with that. But most universities go by reputation. Even the Ivy League schools. Reputation’s everything in the academic world, and UofT has it. ‘Nuff said.

2) Do Muslims believe in conspiracy theories about Jews, are they justified, and why?

I’ve answered this question before, and I won’t go into further details for fear of being considered a Jewish spy seeking to infiltrate the Muslim community. If that alone doesn’t answer your question, I’ll add one more thing: the Protocols of the Learned Leaders of Zion is a best-seller in the Arab world.

3) Is Toronto Muslim-friendly, and how much so compared to other U.S./Canadian cities?

Ironic – I was just having a conversation with someone about this very thing last night. Toronto is Muslim-friendly because it’s incredibly multicultural. There’s just a convergence of colours and languages and foods, and people are extremely tolerant towards each other. It’s easy to gripe about one incident or the other, but a couple of hours’ drive to Kingston, Ontario is enough to make anyone fully appreciate just how multicultural Toronto is. The lack of colour diversity in some parts of Canada is glaringly obvious, and while that in and of itself is not a negative thing, those who are not “white” are made to feel disturbingly conspicuous. There is a sense of not belonging that comes with the inadvertent staring and the hushed whispers and the head turning, even though it’s not usually meant in a negative way. In fact, I’ve spoken with families living in Kingston, and they’ve heaped praise upon their non-Muslim friends and neighbours for being wonderfully kind and supportive.

Keep in mind, though, that the Muslim community is quite new in Canada. Many people my age were born outside Canada. So the community’s not as well established as that in Britain. Fortunately, the relationship’s just improving with time. But Toronto…nothing to worry about here. Great place to raise your kids. Lots and lots of Muslims cropping up everywhere. And they’re quite visible too. It would almost be scary if I wasn’t a Muslim myself;)

As for government policy, we have it much better than Muslims in America. Aside from a few worrying cases after 9/11, Canadians are going the careful, steady way they always have. I think we’ve learned from past mistakes. If you want details, ask more questions, but this post is already getting too lengthy for my liking.

4) My wife and I would like to travel from Halifax to Toronto on one of those large groovy trains you have. Should we do this and would we like it?

I normally recommend walking, but not in this case;) There was a man who tried to walk from America to Canada in the winter to get to his lover – his fingers turned black along the way! Try VIA Rail. If your question’s pertaining to the train’s close resemblance to the public transit, no worries there. The seats are comfy and clean, the environment’s friendly…it’s almost like a plane. Actually, I’m not really fond of planes. Foot space is a problem. And the food is horribly bland in a cardboard sort of way. How do I know? I ate some when I was a kid. Tasted horribly bland…in an airplane food sorta way.

5) How important, and why, is it to have Muslims in academic posts in the Arts?

This is a really complicated question, and I’d like to answer it at length in a post all by itself. Can’t do it now. It’s been a long day. But prompt me if you have to wait too long for the answer, because I’ll likely have forgotten at some point. That’s all for now. Hope you discovered some treasure-troves of information along the way.

When Everything's Gone...

2005-03-10T01:37:00.000-05:00

By now, you may have heard of Ginny Quick, a blind Muslim who unfortunately lost all of her belongings on Sunday in a devastating house fire. While it may be possible to conceive of how difficult it is to lose everything, it is almost impossible to fully understand what it means for a blind person to cope in such circumstances. If you would like to help Ginny - and I strongly urge you to do so - please visit the site set up for that express purpose. Kudos to Indigo Jo, Sister Scorpion and others for bringing this to the attention of the Muslim community. I did not know of Ginny before this incident, but it appears these individuals do, and I trust their judgement.

Ginny's personal account got to me more than any other passionate plea from fellow bloggers, and I hope that by sharing it, you may feel inclined to offer your assistance in whatever way you can. Remember to visit this website for more information.

Here's Ginny's story:

Assalamu alaikum, I am never sure how to start things like this, I'm never good at intros. However, I'll just tell what happened. I woke up at about 12 yesterday afternoon (Sunday), I had been awake earlier, when my brother and sister-in-law had knocked on my door to tell me that they were leaving, and I was going to get up then, but I fell back to sleep. The next thing I knew, it was 12 noon, so I thought I should get up.

I got up, and went into the living room to check my email. There were some guys outside cutting some trees down in the back yard. Abby, who is my Leader Dog, started acting funny. At first, I thought it was because of the sound of the backhoe and chainsaw, but I didn't thinkit was that, because it wasn't that loud, and she could look out the back kitchen window and see the guys working. then, I heard what I thought were branches brushing up against the roof and walls.

Abby kept barking at me, and jumping around. I thought she just really needed to go out. I told her to give me a few minutes to check my email, and then I'd take her.

So I sat down and started looking through my email, and Abby kept barking at me and jumping around. So finally, I decided that I'd go ahead and take her out. Usually, she would wait for me to finish what I was doing, but I just thought that she really needed to go out. So, I went into my room, through a scarf on my head, and my jacket on, grabbed Abby's leash, went to the door and put my shoes on, as I take them off when I come in the house, and thus they were by the door, and out the door I went.

While I was out with Abby, I was listening to the men cutting the trees down. All of a sudden, one of them came and asked me if we still had power, I said that as far as I knew we did. Then, another man said he saw smoke coming out of the house. Then, the landlord came running around the side of the house, and when he opened the door, I could hear the smoke alarm going off. Then, it seemed like a few seconds later, I heard someone say there was a fire, and started to hear the sound of the fire. Then, I heard some of the windows start breaking. I also started to feel the heat coming off of the house.

When I realized that the house was on fire, I started to scream for them to get the puppy and kitty. We had an 8-week old puppy called Onyx and an 8-month old cat called Oreo.

I think I heard the landlord saying he couldn't get the animals because the smoke and fire were already too bad. By this time, I'd backed up in to the road, because the fire seemed to be getting worse.

Then, one of the neighbors came and got me and walked me away from the house. By this time, I was crying, and asking what happened, and asking about our animals, minus Abby who was with me. There were some minor explosions so they started asking me if my brother kept guns in the house, to which I told them that I didn't think he did, but I didn't know.

The neighbors had by this time called the fire department and had also called my sister-in-law. I could heare the fire burning too. I was slowly coming to the realization that all of our stuff was probably going to be gone!

I started trying to think if maybe I had done something to start it, I knew I hadn't but still, I started thinking that. I also remember thinking how I should have tried to get the animals out, but when I walked out of the house, I had no way of knowing that the house was on fire, or would be. The fire department got there, and then my sister-in-law and her mom and stepdad got there, and some other people started showing up.

We then had to find my brother, because he was working on a friend's car, and he was out test driving it. We finally found him, and my parents also came.

When I saw my brother and sister-in-law, we all just started holding each other and crying. We were all just in shock.

The firemen started putting out the fire, and the Red Cross people started asking us if we needed anything, and if we had a place to stay.

The rest of what I remember is just a hodge podge of things. I remember the smell of the smoke. I remember telling people about how I got out. I remember people telling us if we needed anything to come to the store to get it. I remember wondering about missing dhuhr and Asr prayer. I also remember thinking how I was going to ask about getting Islamic clothes. I also remember how the neighbor kept telling me how it wasn't my fault, that it was a really old house, and how I kept saying I was sorry and how the neighbor kept telling me "I've told you, it's not your fault!"

I also remember Abby getting excited to see Mom and Dad. Other than that, she didn't seem upset by all the people or the fire, she was so calm. I also started to realize that Abby had probably saved my life, or I should say, Allah made her to do that, by His Will and Permission, He used her to warn me and get me out of there.

I remember feeling out the Red Cross stuff and someone gave me a bottle of water, and a snack cake. I hadn't eaten that day, and I needed to eat but I was afraid I'd get sick if I did. Mom said I should go ahead and try to eat, and if I was going to be sick, she'd just take me to some grass away from people.

Then, Mom left to go with my brother to talk to the landlord, and Dad put Abby in the car. I then just sat there listening to all the people. I wanted to go home, meaning back to my parents.

Then, after a while, my mom and dad took me home. Then, they went back over to the house to see if anything could be saved. My purse with all my ID documents made it, although they need to be dried out, and my djembeh drum that I got from The Gambia made it, but the bag I got to carry it in is scorched and it fell apart when my mom tried to wash it. My cane was scorched, so I have to get a new one. We thought some of my clothes were saved, but we think we're going to have to throw them out because we can't get the smellof smoke out of them.

The rest of the day, I was just shaking, and I could still hear the sound of the fire in my head, along with the sound of the trucks and the water and the sound of breaking glass and crackling wood. I was afraid to go to sleep last night because I was afraid of having nightmares. I slept a little, but I didn't have any bad dreams, alhamdulillah.

This is completely shocking to me, not so much because I lost pretty much everything, but because I feel I came so close to death. when I think about it, I don't thinkit was the sound of branches I heard, but the sound of the fire, already starting, in the walls of the house. I now think that was why Abby was so upset and wanted to go out so badly. It was so upsetting to see my brother and sister-in-law crying, I hardly ever see my brother cry...

It was just awful. But I know Allah was and is watching over me. I know He tests us in so many ways. I am striving to be patient. I haven't felt angry yet. Actually, I've been so overwhelmd with the support I've received from my friends and family! Everyone's thoughts, prayers, and good wishes are worth more to me than anything material. I feel so humbled by this experience. I really can't put into words how I feel. May Allah bless all of you who took the time to call or email or just to listen to me talk their heads off, as if I'd just drank a bunch of coffee or something.

I am truly grateful for everything everyone has offered to do. I love all of you for the sake of Allah ta'ala. This experience has truly made me grateful for my life and my family, and all of the past events which were causing me so much pain and trouble seem so insignificant and trivial now. Anyway, I think I should end this. My head is hurting and I need to try to sleep. Take care all.

The Good Stuff

2005-03-10T00:16:00.000-05:00

For those of you looking for more intellectually stimulating commentary, I sincerely apologize for the last few days. I am recovering from a persistent sinus infection that has left my energy depleted and my head throbbing. I'm hoping lots of sleep will do the trick. And yes, I know *someone* will be making the case that I should contact Hakim Archuletta. Please understand that I've thought about it, but I've decided it's just not my thing.

More interesting posts to come soon inshaa Allaah.

Is Shredding Supposed To Look So Good?

2005-03-09T21:19:00.000-05:00

I came across a site called SSI. Apparently, it creates versatile, mobile shredders worldwide. The site includes interesting demonstrations of some of the machines working their magic on huge appliances. I had second thoughts about posting this. Is it perverse to watch something that is so destructive? Nevertheless, I did find the shredding demonstrations fascinating, particularly the clip where a mattress is pulled into the shredder in a matter of seconds. The power of those machines amazes me!

Suitable for wasting a good ten minutes of your time...

Father's Lethal Act of Revenge

2005-03-09T00:56:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I do not understand depression. I do know how it is to be nearly divorced, unemployed, on welfare, and in debt. Because all of these problems cannot, in my mind, justify the killing of one’s own daughter. It is a tragedy when one feels such despair that one must resort to suicide. But it is evil when one decides to take an innocent child’s life along the way.

Alnoor Amarsi had threatened suicide before, and when his wife refused to give him more time with his daughter, he decided he’d put into action this final, desperate act of revenge. Amarsi picked up his five-year old on Sunday afternoon, as was his usual practice. This time, however, he left a note indicating he hated his wife, and was planning to kill their daughter Inara before committing suicide.

Most devastating is the fact that police officers were aware of the situation as it unfolded and were standing by. Passers-by were observing from car windows, wondering at the strangeness of a man holding his daughter on a bridge few pedestrians used. Nobody could fathom the possibility that such evil was in the works.

Miraculously, the little girl was not struck by any car. But she remains unconscious and in critical condition, and it is not clear whether she will recover. Canadians are praying for her recovery, knowing fully well that even if she does heal, she will have to come to grips with the fact that someone she trusted – someone our society entrusted to cherish and care for her - purposefully put her in harm’s way.

Yes, children are resilient, but no child expects to suffer the horror of having her own father toss her headfirst from a bridge three stories high into oncoming traffic. And not just any traffic. Highway 401 is Canada’s busiest highway. Cars zoom by at fast speeds. There is no time to stop. There is no time to be aware of a man and five-year old on a bridge.

I wish I could probe the mind of this man, to know what he was thinking at the time. Autopsies and investigations can determine if a deceased individual killed or was killed. They can retrace an individual’s steps to find out what led to the murder. But I will never be able to comprehend how someone could commit such a callous act. No justification will ever be good enough.

Once You Believe In God, There Is No Religion

2005-03-08T16:31:00.000-05:00

Here is a quote from The Illuminated Prayer, written by the late Sufi mystic Bawa Muhaiyaddeen:

"You are a Christian because you believe in Jesus, and you are a Jew because you believe in all the prophets including Moses. You are a Muslim because you believe in Muhammad as a prophet, and you are a Sufi because you believe in the universal teaching of God's love. You are really none of those, but you are all of those because you believe in God. And once you believe in God, there is no religion. Once you divide yourself off with religions, you are separated from your fellowman."

Any thoughts from my Sufi friends? How do you interpret this statement? Do you agree with it? And how do you view Muhaiyaddeen himself?

Children of Abraham Project - Spring '05

2005-03-07T21:30:00.000-05:00

What an excellent project. I wish I were just slightly younger so I could participate too.
For those of you who are interested, the deadline's March 10, so get to work!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If you are a Muslim who has never spoken to a Jew
Or a Jew who has never met a Muslim
If you are angry, suspicious, even hate the "other side"
If you want the chance to represent your faith
To educate the "other" about your beliefs, your culture, your religion's way of life
To be educated in return
To speak your mind
We are for you.

Children of Abraham is a non-profit organization that invites young Jews and Muslims from around the world to be part of a new community, grounded in the realities of suspicion and unfamiliarity that characterize the relationship between Islam and Judaism today. The programs we run offer participants the opportunity to explore that relationship safely, through online discussion groups, social entrepreneurship and photography.

During March-May 2005, participants in the project will enter Muslim and Jewish communities in the cities and towns in which they live, and take photographs representative of religious life from their own perspective, including ritual, symbols, culture and other themes connected to Judaism and Islam. You will share these photos with over 100 other Muslim and Jewish participants from 40 countries around the world via a closed website created for this purpose, engaging in discussions via message boards, chat-rooms, voice- and video-conferencing, as well as in guest sessions with leading religious scholars and related speakers. And if, once the project has ended, you feel empowered to bring what you have learned back to your own schools, colleges and communities, to speak out- we will continue to provide you with resources, contacts and support to make sure that your voices are heard.

The truth is, what happens when Muslim and Jewish youth get together is sometimes explosive, sometimes emotional, always fascinating. But the good that can come out of facing each other honestly is unquestionably worth the effort- as previous participants in CoA's programs will tell you. We know our differences all too well. But discussing our perspectives from a religious point of view may bring us closer to accepting those differences, and learning to recognize our similarities.

Last year's participants:

-constructed a powerful photo essay of Jewish and Muslim themes that is scheduled for display at the UN headquarters in New York, and at both the Israeli and Palestinian parliament buildings.
-have independently organized exhibits of their photo essay in schools, universities, mosques and synagogues from the US to Pakistan and Egypt.
-have initiated Muslim-Jewish dialogue groups at their schools and connected Jewish and Islamic high schools with one another
-have generated publicity and media attention, speaking with local and national newspapers and television stations
-contributed to the development of CoA programs
-continue to communicate regularly with one another through the CoA network

Requirements:

Applicants must be:

- Muslim or Jewish, or have a strong interest in Islam/Judaism
- Aged 15-20
- Able to communicate in English
- Must have regular access to the Internet
- Must have access, or be able to gain access to a digital camera or a traditional camera + scanner

Successful applicants will receive a username and password to enable them to log onto the website. They will be expected to submit a minimum of 50 original photos, and post an average of 5-7 relevant messages on the discussion boards per week, in addition to contributing to scheduled live chatrooms with other members of the group. The project will run from March 15th- May 15th 2005.

Selected applicants will be informed of their acceptance within one week of the submission of their application.

Any questions about Children of Abraham should be directed to Ari or Maria at info@children-of-abraham.org

Co-directors of Children of Abraham:

Ari Alexander, an American Jew, has completed Masters degrees in Comparative Ethnic Conflict and Modern Middle Eastern Studies, and has worked with teenagers and university students in conflict resolution and cross-cultural dialogue.

Maria Ali-Adib, a Syrian Muslim living in London, has worked with international organizations to develop student-centered approaches to education reform, and has recently obtained her Masters degree in Managing and Implementing Development Projects.

APPLICATION FORM

Please email your completed application to info@children-of-abraham.org
OR fax it to (+1) 718-237-8765 no later than March 10th.

Please include a photograph of yourself as an email attachment along with the following information:

Full Name
Date of Birth
Gender
Email Address
Mailing Address
Phone Number
Where will you be living/traveling from March 15th-May 15th 2005

Please answer the following three questions:

1) Describe yourself, your life and your religious background in one paragraph.

2) What comes to mind when you think of Judaism and Islam? (250-500 words)

3) Why is it important to you to be part of this project? (250-500 words)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Children of Abraham
c/o International Center for Tolerance Education
25 Washington Street, 4th Floor
Brooklyn, NY 11201

www.children-of-abraham.org
718-237-8760718-237-8765 (fax)

Moose Distracts From Noose (Er, Nose)

2005-03-06T23:51:00.000-05:00

I am mad at my nose. Enraged, actually. Because I cannot breathe. How can a nose be runny and clogged at the same time? I have been deliberating this puzzling question for many hours. It is deeply philosophical, and there are no simple ways to resolve it. But it’s an easy target, for it distracts me from the dizziness and the face that throbs and aches.

I know who I caught it from too. Am I supposed to feel sorry for the person with the dreadful, hacking coughs and splattering ah-choos, or enraged that she had the gumption to come out and make me sick? I do not know. But in my worst moments, I admit I tend towards the latter.

To distract myself from philosophical questions I cannot answer, I turn to another one: why do sick people find hideous things appealing? I found this moose – the last of the herd – standing serenely over passers-by a busy street. And for just a moment, I forgot the pain as I imagined climbing onto that moose. It was a joyous moment. And yes, I might have been hallucinating.

Toronto readers, take a guess: On which street is the last of this endangered fibreglass species to be found? Hint: the last of this endangered fibreglass species is the same majestic moose that graces this post.

Khateebah: New Word Added To Muslim Vocab

2005-03-04T15:58:00.000-05:00

The following message was relayed by Tarek Fatah:

The First Muslim Woman on Record to Lead Mixed-Gender Prayer

On Friday, March 18, 2005, i.e., today, Dr. Amina Wadud, professor of Islamic studies at Virginia Commonwealth University, will be the
first womanto lead a public, mixed-gender Friday prayer. She will also deliver the Friday sermon.
Dr. Wadud, the author of the groundbreaking book Qur'an and
Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman's Perspective, is an esteemed scholar of Islam who affirms the right of Muslim women to be prayer leaders.

When: Friday, March 18, 2005 at 1:00
PM
Where: Sundaram Tagore Gallery, 137 Greene
Street, New York City, NY 10012 212-677-4520

This issue has been raised again and again, and yet it remains highly controversial. Even if one were to prove that there is no scriptural basis to prevent women from leading prayer, there are some very practical matters that make the Muslim prayer very different from that of other faiths. The simple act of making sujood can be problematic for a sister. Nevertheless, had this event taken place in Toronto, I think I might gone to observe the proceedings.

Anyway, after hearing about this event in New York, I did a Google search on Wadud. Interestingly enough, I discovered that she had come to Toronto a few weeks ago. In fact, Tarek Fatah wrote an article about Wadud's appearance at the Noor Cultural Centre. The event - and the ensuing article - created waves, and Wadud responded here and here. Here's a comment from an observer that resonates with me.

Not knowing very much about Wadud, I am loath to judge. However, the controversy made me reflect more generally on the role and adaab of a leader. In Islam, speakers are viewed as leaders, to be respected and emulated. A speaker must behave in a manner befitting that role. There is a way of being that is expected but not unreasonable. I do not believe there is any conceivable justification for a speaker to scream derogatory words in a religious centre. It is rude when a member of the congregation does so. It is exceedingly crass and distasteful when it comes from a religious leader.

Especially when the idea is revolutionary, one must take extra care to express it in the best possible way. One must show empathy and respect for the audience by demonstrating a cognizance of where they are coming from. The mainstream Muslim community holds the Quran in high regard. One will not win sympathy from the audience by making bold statements that appear to disparage it. There are ways of expressing ideas - of couching terms - to make the audience more amenable to the message being put forth.

I once asked a female Muslim professor (who had published a book with revisionist interpretations of the Quran) how her ideas had been received by the Muslim community, and whether she could offer words of wisdom to those who might find themselves in a similar situation. She pointed out that one must pay a price to make change and that is the price that reformers of all sorts have paid historically. One cannot alter entrenched modes of thought without opening oneself up to critique. When I heard her words, I thought of Ibn Taymiyyah. One who challenges the status quo must realize that acceptance and success may not come in one’s lifetime. But those who wish to take that bold path must be prepared to sacrifice happiness for the sake of God.

Coulter's Canada

2005-03-04T09:58:00.000-05:00

Ann Coulter represents the worst of America, a stunning combination of ignorance and arrogance. Watch this clip if you need any proof. Not only does she have a problem with Islam, she also has serious reservations about "liberal" Canada. She'd be surprised to hear we don't really care up here.

Urdu and the Queen?

2005-03-04T09:51:00.000-05:00

Never imagined that Queen Victoria might have known Urdu. Here's a page from her diary. For those of you who can read it, what does it say?

It’s All One Big Religious Ritual

2005-03-01T03:12:00.000-05:00

There are some individuals who will unknowingly presume a religious connotation for everything a Muslim might do. This is a frightening thought. Think about the implications: If you’re an oddball, or even if you just let loose and act strange one day, you may unknowingly end up tarnishing Islam’s rep for everyone else. Consider the following (and admittedly mundane) encounter with a woman who probably isn’t very bright:

“Why are you so grouchy today?”

“I’m not. I’m just in a rush.”

“You seem grouchy.”

“Well, maybe I am, a little bit. My brothers spent hours in the bathroom this morning and I didn’t get a chance to take a good long shower. I hate being rushed in the shower.”

“You bathe in the morning?” She’s shooting me an incredulous look.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Every day?” I’m getting the whole works now, eyebrows shooting up, forehead furrowed, lips already forming a sneer.

I’m starting to feel mildly uncomfortable. And slightly puzzled too. “Yeah, every morning. Why, is that weird?”

“Is it like a religious ritual or something?”

My mind freezes for a moment, and I silently beseech myself not to give way to the laughter that threatens. “No, it’s just what I do. What my whole family does. We were brought up that way.”

“Well, most people take a shower at night.”

“I don’t see why I would shower at night when I’m ready to go to bed. That just seems absurd to me. People do things differently, I guess. I mean, I suppose some people don’t bathe every day either.”

“A lot of people don’t. Especially in the winter when it’s cold.”

“Well, I apologize for not being like a lot of people. But I’m telling you, it’s not a religious ritual. It might seem weird, but it’s just my version of cleanliness.”

. . .

Moral of the story: Be careful what you do. If you’re jumping up and down, making funny faces in a public space, some poor lady might assume you’re praying. If there’s a perpetually angry look on your face, others may conclude you’re thinking of martyrdom. If your wife’s trailing behind you with a gaggle of babies in tow, some dude might think that’s Islam for you. And if you’ve got your wife and teenage daughter with you... well, four’s the limit, isn’t it?

Be careful.

Some Technical Stuff

2005-03-01T02:17:00.000-05:00

It was just a little over a month ago that I started this blog. I’d like to make some technical changes, but as you can see, I’m using a pre-made template from Blogger and I’ve only made minor tweaks. I’m not at all tech savvy like so many of you seem to be.

I have a few questions regarding some improvements I’d like to make in the next little while. First, I'd like to add drop-down menus to the topical categories on the sidebar. I'm not sure how to do so. Right now there’s just too much text on the sidebar.

I'd also like to add a comment box that will go on the sidebar somewhere near the top of the blog, automatically listing the last 5-10 comments added, so that viewers will know when new comments are added to older posts. I asked around and was encouraged to visit this website, but unfortunately the coding does not do what I want it to do. And that makes me very mad! I’m kidding:) But yes, if you look at the sidebar, you'll see that it simply displays recent comments that are on the main page. I am looking for something that searches the whole blog. The comments that aren't on the main page are the ones in need of visibility.

Finally, I’m confused about the whole copyright issue. How much of an article can be posted? Can I use photos published on online newspaper articles or websites? I know many blogs do so, but I want to do what’s right. The problem is figuring out what that is. Is ignorance innocence? Let me know.

If there are any other changes you’d like to see or any suggestions you’d like to offer, please drop me a line or two. Thanks in advance!