A digital platform to showcase the rad artists within our Muslim communities and celebrate the many ways of being Muslim (queer, trans, feminist and so much more)!
They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think “Do I know any Davids in Gaza?”
They call us now to say
Run.
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of
war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
Just run.
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
to nowhere.
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.
Run.
- Lena Khalaf Tuffaha
Lena Khalaf Tuffaha is an Arab American poet of Palestinian, Jordanian, and Syrian heritage. She spent childhood summers savoring poems and fresh-picked pistachios in her grandparents’ garden in Amman. She writes poetry as well as essays and literary translations. Her writing has been published in journals in the UK, Turkey, Egypt, Mexico, and the United States, including the Kenyon Review online, the Lake for Poetry, the Monarch Review, and Sukoon. Her poem “Immigrant” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2014. Her first collection of poems, Water & Salt, is forthcoming from Red Hen Press. Find her at www.lenakhalaftuffaha.com.
“In the name of justice; In the name of love; In the name of struggle”
This piece conveys intentionality and the beginning of a healing process. It is inspired by the word “Bismillah,” in order to acknowledge my Muslim identity, particularly in a society that discriminates against Muslims. This wording is also grounded in my spiritual and atheist principles.
The calligraphy style is inspired by Nasta’liq script. Common to its use, the words are written in a slanted manner in order to convey calm. The use of earth tones is used to convey grounding.
aql nazree
“Imagination”
This painting breaks down the word aql nazree into its individual letters. It demonstrates the pertinence of each individual and each creative thought informing beautiful ideas, and collective visions of freedom.
The artistic use of this word is inspired by my interpretation of a passage in “The Geometry of God” by Uzma Aslam Khan. The passage is a dialogue between protagonists Mehwish and Amal. The author uses the word aql nazari to challenge the false binary between imaginative and practical intellects. As such, the intention of this Urdu calligraphic art is to express the importance of imagination in social justice work.
Contact me if you're interested in digital prints! This painting is also included in the 2017 issue of Certain Days: Freedom for Political Prisoners Calendar, Sustaining Movements. Please visit certaindays.org for more information.
Farha Najah
I am a Queer Racialised settler based in Tio’tia:ke (montreal), unceded Kanien’kehá:ka territory. My family of origin migrated to this territory from pakistan/india (Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Punjab, and Sindh). I view my many identities as simultaneously fixed and fluid, given that I live in systems of oppression, but also as I envision and experience moments of inspiration.
My art practice is inspired by breaking isolation related to trauma and burnout within social justice movement building; by intersectional feminism; by anti-authoritarian and empowerment-based art learning. I have the privilege of learning from artists across generations who teach me about creativity, rule-breaking and storytelling (for more info, check out: farha-najah.com).
Hearts spending hours
raging closets
finding perfect coloured dresses
and edged ties
to match feelings
of everyday funeral blues
featuring bloodlines
we never met
but names that effortlessly
roll of tongues
in resistance
with dirt that refuses
to cover bodies
whose time wasn’t supposed to end
on Monday our hearts
wear blood lipsticks
and floral dresses of hope
as it sits in empty libraries
finding synonyms of pain
for skeleton’s broken vowels
and midway cut sentences
And from Tuesday to Sunday
we cover
our bruised bodies
with Black lives matter posters
as we join
with the dirt’s resistance
against the seasons of forgetting
Decolonizing Canada Day while reclaiming grief and histories of resistance
Today is heavy. I am left to deconstruct pounds of my identity. Memories come in the form of joy, sorry, and grief. Butler noted that the self is never autonomous, and that it is part of our being to be connected with others. Thus, when we lose someone, our process of grief is complex, in that the destination is unknown.
This day, 6 years ago part of me got buried as Allah took my dad back. I am still in the process of grief.
It is beautifully complicated because July 1st also involves joy of my Somali ancestors moving forward by fighting for their independence against the white colonizers. Therefore, my grief process includes recalling the Somali in my dad: his intellect, his boldness and his education. Thus, my grief includes a scent of pride. As I recall how culturally prideful my dad was. Even though Whiteness attempted to strip him from his doctoral degree and borders undertook the process of cleansing him of his identity, he remained proudly Somali.
However, my grief doesn’t end there. July 1st is also the day colonizers celebrate Canada Day, without acknowledging the stolen land they continue to reside on. For this reason, my grieving process also includes acknowledging my privilege. That I was born on unceded colonized territory because First Nations, Aboriginal, and Indigenous bodies continue to undergo linguistic, cultural, and physical genocide. My grief includes recalling the importance of nature in Indigenous cultures and combining it with Islamic teachings as I watched, 6 years ago, my dad’s Somali merge with land that continues to be occupied.
6 years and I am still in my process of grief. One that is so far complex, beautiful, and intellectually stimulating. I am still learning to be boldly Somali, whilst simultaneously understanding and fully acknowledging that I am on unceded colonized territory.
The author is a Somali woman who wishes to remain anonymous.
Breaking the Fast 2016: Glittering Muslim Arts Showcase
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Ramadan 1437 | June 23 Cost: $5-$20 sliding scale, no one turned away Performances start at 6:30 pm. Heartwood Cafe 317 E. Broadway Vancouver ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ A night of fabulous performances, comedy, poetry, music and much more by glittering, rad, talented Muslims! (detailed list of performers coming soon!) To showcase the artists within our communities, celebrate Ramadan and the many ways of being Muslim (queer, trans*, glittery, spiritual, cultural, religious, secular, observant, progressive, sufi, feminist, genderqueer, gender fabulous, taqwacore, activists, resisters and so much more). Ramadan is a time of reflection, celebration, an awakening of the body, the mind, the heart, the spirit. What better way to celebrate than with a night of art showcasing Muslim voices? ALL WELCOME!
Please spread the word far and wide! This is an event showcasing Muslim voices but open to all! Please note that this event is being organized within an intentionally anti-oppressive framework that centers, amongst others, queer and feminist voices. We will make a prayer space available for those fasting and wanting to do Salah/Salat and ensure that we break in time for this. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Accessibility Information: Heartwood Cafe’s washrooms are all genders but currently not wheelchair or scooter accessible. We have made an agreement with the neighbouring Starbucks who have kindly welcomed our patrons to use their fully accessible washrooms without the need to purchase anything. Please come scent-reduced.
As a woman of mixed race and mixed religious faith, growing up between an Islamic and Western country I have been trying to develop my ability to express my identity through the duality of both celebrating the beauty of sexuality with my inherent Muslim culture and surroundings. Waterbear is another name for Tardigrades, water-dwelling, segmented micro-animals that can thrive in extreme conditions.
Bio: Nargis Dhirani is a Filipino-Tanzanian interdisciplinary artist from Dubai, U.A.E., currently based in Vancouver, Canada. She received her Bachelors of Fine Art in Studio Art from American University in Dubai. Her work addresses concepts that center around cultural, female identity and self-representation. She works in digital collage, soft sculpture, installation, video, painting and photography. Nargis has an interest in kinetic sculpture and installations that are interactive with the public. She has won the Sheikha Manal Young Artist’s Award for People’s Choice in 2012. She is now working on continuing to serving the community to promote creativity and wellness through Yoga and Art.
The latest Tweets from Breaking The Fast (@breakingtfast). A blog to showcase the rad artists within our Muslim communities and celebrate the many ways of being Muslim (queer, trans, feminist and so much more)!
mashallah! we’re now on twitter! follow us, yes? let’s spread the rad muslim love <3
Indigenous solidarity through a Muslim lens: A conversation with frontline defender Anushka Azadi
Thanks so much Anushka for taking the time to talk with Breaking the Fast (BTF).
BTF: Let's start with introductions. Can you tell us a little bit about yourself?
Anushka: My name is Anushka. I am a frontline defender and legal advocate, broadcast journalist, writer, performer, community organizer and all around bad bitch.
BTF: How did you come to doing work with Indigenous land defenders? When did you start?
Anushka: As an immigrant to so-called Canada, growing up in poverty and fear, in pain and confusion, made me deeply aware of and sensitive to the intersecting oppressions that twisted up, not only my life, but the lives of others as well. I began understanding words like systemic, institutional and I began to understand the horrors that accompanied what was taught to me as the rise of civilization: industrialization, capitalism/free market economies, “democracy”.
I began to understand these larger systems that were actively suppressing and attempting assimilation of my heart and body into units measured by time and money. I began to understand how these systems were made and maintained, on whose bones and blood and bodies Western nation states had been built on and there was no turning away from it after that. I didn’t begin organizing in this direction right away. I didn’t know how and I had a lot to learn.
So I went off and did that. I was still organizing and active but my priority was to listen to those belonging to the Territories I subsisted off of as well, as an immigrant settler. My priority was to also do my own learning. And then I made a very serious commitment maybe about 4 years ago, just before I was violently arrested and assaulted by the Vancouver Police Department, that all the organizing I did on Indigenous Territories, i.e. all of Canada, would center the struggle of those who are Indigenous, against this terrorist state and occupying force that has committed genocide since contact.
BTF: You've been doing support work with various campaigns and communities, from Ahousaht to the Ts'peten Defence Committee and Secwepemc Elder/Defender Wolverine and many more. Can you tell us about some of these latest campaigns?
Anushka: Over the last two years, I’ve worked in many different Territories, with many different Tribes/Nations. I’ve been living out of my pack since September this year, traveling and making the most use out of the time, energy and skills.
This last year, I spent time in Ahousaht (colonially known as Flores Island, 45 minutes by boat from Tofino). Something very big and very special was happening there. There are 16 fish farms in Ahousaht waters. If you don’t know yet about the destruction fish farms cause in the waters they are put in, that’s something you should go learn more about. Anyway, a 17th fish farm was to be put in despite agreements that had been made clearly laying out there were to be no more fish farms in that territory.
An Ahousaht man had been patrolling the waters on his boat and had seen that they were getting ready to put a new fish farm in, consented to by the Chiefs but not the people. With support from the greater Ahousaht community a blockade was put up on the floating docks of the fish farm before the company had the chance to fully anchor and net the farm in. I traveled out to support the blockade. While it was a small group of us, mostly Ahousaht, it was a powerful one. The fish farm ended up being carted away and this was the first time in history that one of these farms had been stopped in its tracks like this. The Ahousaht continue to monitor their waters and are fighting for the removal of the 16 other fish farms in their territory, some so rife with disease they are creating serious hazards in the waters of this community and destroying the once healthy wild salmon population the families on this island rely on.
Currently I am in Secwepemculecw, so-called Interior B.C., just outside of the settler community called Chase. I am living with Wolverine and his family and have been for almost a month now, doing a variety of things. I am responsible for Wolverine’s personal care as he is recovering from being ill. I am also actively working on his call for a National Inquiry into the Gustafsen Lake/Ts’Peten Standoff (1995). This work has been and will continue to be expansive and is calling out so-called Canada for its continuing genocide against Indigenous peoples, but also for its illegal and brutal occupation of unceded and unsurrendered Territories where no treaties have been signed and there are no legal means that allow for the Provincial or Federal governments to have any jurisdiction on these Lands. Check out our Facebook Page, Ts’Peten Defence Committee or the website for more.
BTF: As a Muslim woman and settler who is deeply embedded in this work, how do you practice intentional and responsible solidarity with Indigenous communities?
Anushka: Mindful and responsible solidarity when working within Indigenous communities is an ongoing practice for me. Unsurprisingly, I’ve made many mistakes and stumbled along the way. I think the very first thing that is important to acknowledge is that allyship and solidarity are action words and verbs. They are not a thing to be achieved and then hold but are constantly moving and shifting states of being, seeing and acting.
And so I practice listening first and then taking direction from those belonging to the communities I am working in. I am reminded of and remind myself of my own position of privilege and the authority I am given because of it. I actively work to cede that authority in favour of more equal and egalitarian relations. Of more loving, caring and kind relations.
I practice letting go of much of what I was taught societally in regards to sharing time, money and resources and sharing space, culture and knowledge. I practice letting go of my own ego, my own importance. And cede all that I can and all that I am to the larger movement, the real resistance, the struggle to stop a genocidal “nation” from its continued brutalization and theft of Peoples and Lands.
BTF: In what ways does your identity as a Muslim woman inform this work? Do you think Islam - as you would define it - has a spiritual framework that encourages solidarity and resistance to oppression?
Anushka: My identity in full goes something like this: Polyamorous, Queer, (Dis)Able/d Muslim Woman. I identify as Muslim more politically, culturally and socially than I do spiritually these days. I have not found a spiritual framework that is also a community framework that I can engage in holding or expressing my full identity. My spiritual understanding of Islam has always required I actively recognize and resist inequality, unfairness and injustice. I have embodied that so far in as honest of a way as I can.
BTF: Have you come across any similarities in your interactions with various Indigenous and Muslim communities?
Anushka: I grew up in a Muslim community in a large and loud Muslim family and I have spent time in other Muslim communities as well. Over the last few years of my life, I’ve spent long periods of time living in Indigenous communities, on reservations, in villages or in camps and blockades. I’ve spent time living and traveling with Indigenous families and here is where I see the similarities. Growing up I blossomed in the strength, the language, the culture, the safety and the beauty of my people and my community. The love that people offered each other, the support and care, the emphasis on loving and lifting up your brothers and your sisters were the best parts of my community. I see so much of this in the Indigenous communities I live in and move through. There is a consistent core of culture and language, strength and love, care and support. These communities are lifting themselves and are lifting each other up and it’s powerful. And I am consistently grateful and immensely happy to be allowed to be working so closely and intimately within these communities.
BTF: Do you think there has been a growth in solidarity and awareness between Muslim settler communities and Indigenous communities since both were singled out and targeted by the last government (e.g. Bill C-51)?
Anushka: Bill C-51 is the dirtiest trick in the book of fascist government oppression and repression. Fear monger, whip the country back into the Terrorist frenzy. An easy target, Muslims are already regarded with fear, suspicion, distrust and even revulsion. Use this extreme fear to pass a bill that is so brazenly fascist in nature we may as well make the announcement now: this is a police state and it has been for some time. This is the formalization and legalization process of the same that we’re at now.
This bill isn’t meant to be used right away. It’s meant to coast on the fear of Terrorism (which also now includes interference with the economy) in order to surveil, criminalize, imprison and so liquidate opposition to the state. Top of the list, Indigenous People whose very existence and resistance represents the biggest threat, the most serious threat since contact, to settlers and the settler colonial state.
I believe there has been some growth in solidarity between these communities but I also believe there must be more active building between not only Muslim settler communities but also other communities of colour and Indigenous communities. This is crucial. We must be building together. We must be reaching out. We must be making those connections and we must be honouring the People whose Lands and Waters we live on.
BTF: What are your thoughts on the current government? Some of the rhetoric appears to have changed but perhaps not much has changed practically? For example, there has been a lot of visibility about the appointment of an Indigenous woman, Jody Wilson Raybould, as the new Federal Justice Minister/Attorney General. Yet her response to demands for an inquiry into Gustafsen Lake has been disappointing.
Anushka: My thoughts on the current government are the same as my thoughts on previous governments. The Federal Government, Liberal, Conservative, white man number 1, 2 or 100, they have no reason or right to be here. They are an aggressive occupying force. They have no reason or right to be claiming and acting out any kind of authority and jurisdiction backed by armed forces and violence, white washing all of it with this veneer of “democracy” and “multiculturalism”, “tolerance” and “inclusion”.
The state/government’s perpetuation of genocide, of white supremacy, of heteropatriarchy, the building of this Nation and government on the bones and blood of those who are Indigenous are all reasons that I have little to say on the current government, the past government, the future government. They are all the same to me.
And so not surprisingly, our interactions with the government, with Federal Minister of Justice/AG Jody Wilson Raybould specifically, as the Ts’Peten Defence Committee, are disappointing.
BTF: You do a lot of policy/legal support for many of these campaigns. How do you balance having to at times engage with the colonial legal system while doing grassroots, front line solidarity work with Indigenous communities under constant attack from the same colonial regime?
Anushka: So here’s the fun part, I graduated from Law School a few years ago now. I have, sort of, pursued articling to get to the part where I pass the bar and become a real lawyer! This hasn’t happened yet and I’m not sure if it ever will. I prefer not having to engage with the colonial legal system at all, in that, I prefer not having to go to court, make applications, call the judge lord or lady, your honour or whatever. Which is not to say that I won’t and haven’t gone to court to defend against injunctions and other sneaky shit, that I won’t fill out the forms, do the applications, act as legal advocate when that is necessary and appropriate.
When working with Indigenous communities in resistance, legal knowledge is valuable for more than just engaging in the colonial legal system. Legal knowledge instead offers another point or perspective in planning counter strategies and is especially useful when legal documents and applications are being thrown at the front lines in attempts at intimidation, initiating legal action and the like.
I don’t believe in the law, it’s a fiction, it is laughable what these white men (think they) have done and it is enraging how these white men have done it. It’s not over yet.
BTF: Why do you think it's important for Muslim communities here to actively be engaged in supporting Indigenous struggles?
Anushka: It is important for Muslim communities and generally, communities of colour living on Indigenous Territories to actively be engaging in supporting Indigenous struggles because so many of our communities also come from, are running from colonization and there is so much solidarity to be had between all of our struggles and our cultures, so much strength and so much power.
More importantly, as settlers too, our presence on these Territories, being settled, destroyed and stolen by the colonial state of Canada, means we have a certain responsibility and a serious one to actively resist this state, the genocide and the brutal oppression of those Indigenous to these Territories.
BTF: Muslims continue to face ongoing systemic oppression and also occupy the role of settlers on Indigenous land. What are some of the ways in which we can encourage our communities to engage in long term relationship building and solidarity with Indigenous communities and struggles within a framework of decolonization?
Anushka: Our communities must know the history of the Land they are walking on. They must know the truth about the country they are living in. They must know in a way that they will understand. And when they do, they must act. Because we know injustice, we know war, we know, we know, we know. And we must ally ourselves with others who know. We are stronger together, stronger than we’ve ever been and we must keep building on this. For us, for our brothers and sisters, for our children, for our future generations. These are important times and if we do not rise to this occasion, we will lose so much more.
BTF: Thanks so much Anushka for taking the time to connect with us. Anything else you'd like to add?
Anushka: When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty.
Bio: Anushka Azadi is a queer Ismaili Muslim, frontline defender, legal advocate, broadcast journalist, writer, performer, community organizer and all around bad bitch.
Smile they said
grin
let your white teeth shine
forget about the shattering sounds it makes
as it hides the tongue of pain
seal it so tight
that your painful narratives
never leave your mouth
but shatter on your lips
leaving it chapped
When you write, write happy
when you talk, talk fantasy
when you talk muslims, use the word perfection
when you say religion, never mention struggle
when you talk faith, always have it
“I am done”
I am sick and tired of
speech that never tasted the pain of my vowels
telling me
that faith always feels in prayer
because my faith is different
On Monday I have it
and on Tuesday, I find myself
standing
reciting vowels my heart don’t move to
covered with emptiness
aching of pain
using an Azan that was used to tell me I wasn’t muslim enough
to talk to a God,
who understands that even though my body couldn’t feel
it was still coated with faith
and it still produced the unbroken sentences of a Muslim
I am exhausted
of spending hours
reminiscing my childhood
only to be presented with
the recalling of sleepless nights
filled with tears running down my face
escaping from thoughts of death
filled with vowels that narrated
my sinful body
was going to burn in hell
and even when my childhood brain
tried to change it to happy talk
it couldn’t
because I was only taught angry God
and never the God filled with love
the one that gifted me shadows
as company when I felt isolated from this world
the one that opened my eyes to stranger’s smile
when i was done holding on
I am angry
of Muslim woman asking me
to write happy poems about being a Muslim woman
because me being a Black Muslim woman is far from happy
It is filled with the using of the Prophet
to silence my voice with hushed lullabies
it contains synonyms of using of the sunnah
to shove my vagina to the back
always catering to the erection dysfunction of testes
while never speaking out on the lack of orgasmic happiness
It is the using of the hijab
to shame the Bosoms that chose to blossom
to dissociating with hips that lived life
to make the very being of womanhood a sin
I am done
being told to shine teeth
that shiver to my narratives of pain
of the using of shahada to make drums that
preached my self-love is a sin
of the misusing of Surahs to tell me who I wanted to be
is un-Islamic
of the changing of hadiths to tell me to respect elders that left marks of power on skin too naive to protest
to the using of culture to force a undefined Jilbab that didn’t complement the marks of pain
I am done
being told that I am sinning
that I am not Muslim enough
by souls who never heard
the rhythms of my talks with God
who never felt the way my vocals
dance
when I tell Allah my pain.
A: Hey, Zenab, you’re back! Aren’t you glad to be in a Western country again? Pakistan must have been quite difficult for you.
B: First of all, what does that mean? Seriously, what is your argument with a statement like “Pakistan must have been quite difficult for you”? You’re implying something about cities like London, Berlin, and New York city that simply isn’t true.
People like you are impulsively defensive about the virtues of living here. Yes, the Diaspora allows for significantly more individual autonomy, depending on our personal wealth, and how quickly we can mime white people enough that they give us a bit of comfort room. You also don’t have to deal with Islamist street politics out here, for instance, allowing for people like me to wear tighter jeans and make other sartorial decisions.
But if you actually think is here to enjoy other than the fact that you’re less likely to get killed or beaten down for simply walking around, which still isn’t true for large sections of these countries especially if you’re brown, then you really do live in a different world.
You people always ask questions like “aren’t you glad to be in a Western country again,” as though the flight from Lahore or Islamabad into Europe or America is like a homecoming into some kind of queer utopia.
Do you think we sing songs when we exit Pakistani airspace, happy that we’re about to land in a place of everlasting fun and acceptance? All we do when we cross over is subconsciously sort through the new rules we have to follow, based on different repressions, and the rhythm of the Western cultural landscape. It’s not a homecoming, and if you actually believe that is going to change, or “Get Better,” then you’re somehow privileged enough to be romantic about your future, and analytically blind to material realities.
How do you think that people who aren’t you actually feel about those bars in SoHo, Brooklyn, and Kreuzberg? The ones where the objective is sex at all costs, and you’re being a difficult Islamist prude if you don’t partake? Your fixation with hyper-sexuality in many ways preserves and rearticulates the religious puritanism that you see as its Other. And then you drunkenly bellow about the glory and wonderment of it all, just a few drops of alcohol away from savagely attacking the Muslim immigrants for potentially ruining your fun.
What do you actually expect me to find liberating about your anti-repressive repressions? You promote a ridiculous overindulgence in drugs, alcohol, and sex, and then call it freedom. There are some of us who see through your games, knowing damn well that it’s a newly repressive strategy for healing from the social mutilation that we must suffer as a result of being queer. You’re trying to discover God without God, and simulate his presence with behaviour that is fundamentally defined by the fact that many of us feel as though He has left our lives.
And yet it is slightly more comfort room. It’s preferable to have your newly repressive framework of absent gods and sexual condescension, defined as it is by glitter queers, the urban marketplace, and in London, the sclerotic collapse of an officially secular country that is still tinged with Anglicanism. The alternative is one that is determined by mullahs, generals, and escapist liberals who are politically disengaged from the country.
But there is no room for Zenab to exist in your world, let alone painfully be born.
When you can’t be Zenab in a place, then you can’t be Zenab in a place, and that’s it.
Pakistan must have been quite difficult for me?
Who the fuck cares about the fact that now that I’ve left, I can feel newly alienated in the ultra-chic former red light district?
If you have to compromise endlessly with the world around you, then it doesn’t ultimately matter where you do it.
Reflections from a Palestinian Solidarity March in Paris - By Amal Rana
It's a Saturday afternoon in Paris. After 2 days of a nasty cold, somehow we manage to make it out to a local march in support of Palestine. We're late because it takes all my energy to walk to the metro. First, we pause to drink ayran from the Kurdish cafe across the street. In Istanbul, it healed me. Here too, the miracle doesn't disappoint. It tastes like khatti lassi. We walk past the Pak Affairs shop where on our first day, we bought an umbrella and I had my first Parisian conversation - in Urdu. The young Pakistani shopkeeper was born and raised in Paris. He tells me there are many Pakistanis in the area. Far from the sometimes judgemental familiarity of community back home, my Urdu comes back with the fluency of Juma Bazaars and Karachi evenings.
The March is powerful. There is resilience. There is grief. There is resistance. There is a collective defiance that can never be occupied. Women with and without hijab lead the chants. Many heads are wrapped in Palestinian flags.
A Palestinian woman marching next to me explains in a mixture of Arabic, French, English and gestures that there is anger because the media refuses to film any chants happening in Arabic. She says this is common. Francais only. I wave my Israel is the real terrorist placard in front of media cameras. The white reporters are not happy.
The number of dead, injured and imprisoned Palestinians rises daily. As does the resistance. We march for two hours. We learn to say terroriste, fasciste, colonialiste, boycott and more in French. Half way through, everyone pauses. In unison the crowd starts singing Le Chant Des Partisans, the unofficial anthem of the French resistance during World War II. Black, brown and white faces all seem to know the song well. The lyrics are adapted slightly to reference apartheid, occupation and colonialism. It is a moment of deeply moving beauty, one unlikely to be covered by the media which loves to sell sensationalist headlines about the rampant anti-semitism at marches like this in Europe. There is zero sign of this. Those marching include Jews. The March ends at Place de la République where many demonstrations happen. A group of marchers head to express solidarity with the no deportations refugee camp. The cops are everywhere.
Later I post photos of the march on facebook. My inbox fills soon after with multiple messages from folks back home, many of them active in various struggles. I respect a lot of their work. I assume they want to know about the march. The news of Israel's latest attacks and the growing resistance is everywhere. Instead, they remind me to vote, specifically for the NDP. There is no mention of Palestine. No mention of Mulcair suppressing Palestinian solidarity within party ranks.
This isn't about voting for the NDP or not. I've voted for them before, not without qualms but thinking at the time it was the best of limited choices. I've respected the work of a few members of the party federally and provincially on specific issues. This isn't about whether I voted this time or not. This isn't about a lack of understanding of electoral politics. Having worked for years as an educator for public sector unions (which form a big chunk of NDP support), I've written lobbying kits, training manuals and taught intensive courses on political action for seasoned union activists. This isn't about ambivalence regarding the critical need to get rid of Harper or about any love for the Liberals and their support for Bill C-51. This is about the assumption that any of these parties, run within colonial frameworks led by white men with at best situational principles, can really bring about radical and transformative change. This is about feeling sadness that people I respect have embraced an NDP leader with open Zionist politics, no matter how "left" they perceive the party to be. This is about this man being presented as the best choice amongst some terrible options. This is about endless frustration at the ongoing lack of proportional representation which means that for yet another election, the NDP candidate in my riding has no hope in hell of winning and once again the party barely bothers with the riding which includes a lot of Liberal wealth but also working class communities with many people of colour (including Muslims) and Indigenous people.
This is about Muslim women's bodies being kicked around like a political soccer ball, used by everyone to score points. Everyone has something to say about us, including Muslim men and white women, but few step back and offer us space to speak for ourselves. This is about remembering that our solidarity is not mutable and transitionary, shifting conveniently depending on the political climate. This is about a deep and long held commitment (no doubt often very imperfect) to opposing occupation from Turtle Island to Palestine to Kashmir and more while looking to our own roles as Muslim settlers on Indigenous land. This is about one day in Paris, marching beside a young Palestinian girl holding a flag, marching behind Muslim women in all sorts of garb, our bodies under attack from Paris to Vancouver, Islamophobia being entrenched in the name of secularism. This is about one Muslim woman's worn out body and tired heart, fed up with assumptions about voting and silences about occupation.
Amal Rana is a mixie femme poet, resister and educator living as a settler on unceded Musqueam territories. Mostly Pakistani roots by way of Jeddah, Karachi and Los Angeles. These migrations continue to fuel her deeply rooted obsession with habshi halva and In-N-Out Burger. Amongst other things, she spends her time making giant puppets of evil doers and curating spaces for and with racialized artists across disciplines. Her quest for the long lost hadith exalting the virtues of nutella continues. White saviours/liberators and pinkwashing literally give her hives. Find her words atrosewaterpoet.com or on twitter where she has just started to dip a toe @rosewaterpoet1 . She is a co-creator of this blog.
Death By Colonial Electoral Politics*, by Urooba Jamal
*A short horror story based on recent true events.
Voting line small talk:
"So which ~lesser evil~ are you voting for?"
"Vote ~strategically~ to ~get Harper out~!!!1"
"Remember ~ABC: Anything But Conservative~!!!1"
"Just ~make sure you vote or you can't complain~ about anything!!!1"
"~Apathy sucks~!!!1"
"We need more ~young voters~!!!1"
"People DIE in the THIRD WORLD to vote ok!!!!1"
As the voices get louder, you look down at your ballot and see no Communist party candidate in your riding. Instead, there is a Libertarian one.
Your heart races and you let out a bloodcurdling scream. Well-to-do nuclear family units shift uncomfortably around you.
The end.
**
Urooba Jamal is a Pakistani immigrant to these gorgeous, unceded Musqueam lands. She’s got a penchant for the political, polemic and poetic. A self-proclaimed life-long dissident, she loves engaging in eccentric sartorial endeavours, making leftist jokes that only about a fraction of people in the room can understand and…eating! A recent university graduate, her post-grad plans include: painting whimsically, wearing whimsical outfits, having whimsical love affairs and taking part in the communist revolution (basically, becoming Frida Kahlo). She tweets a lot (@uroobajamal) and blogs a little (underuroobasumbrella.tumblr.com). She is a co-creator of this blog.
I feel as if I’ve reached my capacity to follow the news around the elections.
I don’t need more awareness on how islamophobic Harper’s Canada is becoming, the rise of violence against Muslim women because of islamophobia, comments on “barbaric cultural practices”. It hurts too damn much. I live this reality every day. I am afraid of crossing the road in my headscarf because what if there’s a bigot behind the wheel who would gladly run me over. This is not paranoia. A friend of mine is recovering from severe injuries after being beaten on the streets of Vancouver while wearing a headscarf. She was hospitalized. I have twice been pushed and shoved by white men in public places.
I feel small. I am afraid. And everyday I hear stories that make me realize how justified my fear is.
**
Zehra is a wandering, patriarchy slaying, devourer of ramen noodles. Her family migrated from Karachi to unceded Coast Salish lands when she was 7. Home is foremost in her writing. As long as she has a pen and paper in hand, she is at home. She finds writing both a spiritual act and a political act. She loves to travel, eat copious amounts of biryani, and correct people when they say naan bread or chai tea. She can be found hastily scribbling down ideas while waiting at bus stops. She is one of the co-creators of this blog.
The origins and meaning of Eid Al Adha explained through ASL (American Sign Language) and the various names different Muslim communities have for Eid. Captioning available in Spanish and English (click the symbol on the video)
- Sabina England is a Deaf Indian (Bihari/South Asian) filmmaker/playwright/performance artist. Her films have screened at film festivals and gallery exhibitions all around the world, including India, UK, France, Austria, Canada, and USA. She is the author of a book of short stories called "Urdustan." www.SabinaEngland.com
She was all gangly arms and awkwardness, telling me stories over hot tea, three kinds of dessert and a setting sun that didn't understand that we wanted time to stand still.
Three hours later, we are tangled in the same web made up of the complexity of her relationships.
What is your secret?
I'm curious, wondering how she's managed to have long term relationships that she has poured her soul into with men that still love her, that still call her to tell her that they miss her but they are happy now with someone who could never be her.
She laughs ..
to try
she tells me,
try again if the first, second, third and forth attempt don't work.
She smiles,
and the fifth time I ask,
give up that time.
We grin together.
And life after babies?
I feel selfish even as I suggest the question as if babies don't become children that become adults that eventually have their own lives that don't require you to forever sacrifice yours. I'm so caught up in owning my life, even my questions prove how quickly I put away children as something that 'other people do'. As if raising children creates a dead zone around the parent, the mother, keeper of the dead zone forever trapped in the role of the maternal. As if raising children is the place where life stands still instead of an extension of the fullness of a womb.
I feel guilty almost as soon as I ask but we continue to dream in sound anyway.
The beginning of all my conversations that involve children is bravado.
"I don't want them, I'm not ready" which hides the truth, that every time I see a woman with a pregnant belly my fingers sneak towards my own belly, touch just over my own womb, pretend for a moment that there is something growing within.
Or when the pain of my bleeding lessens year after year I worry desperately that I may never get pregnant. Or when I look at a man who I could love I worry myself into three am kneeling at sujood, asking myself if he could be a good father because secretly I crave children.
Because secretly I yearn for anyone who could love me but just as wretchedly I am terrified I could become my mother ... independent and fierce in the ways that terrify love, that terrify me, leave me helpless and hopeless
we finish our dessert.
ii duuay I ask.
pray for me.
For what? she grimaces, wondering what I will ask.
I don’t have an answer.
So she responds the only way she can.
inshallah maacaanto, inshallah.
**
Hawa Y. Mire is a diasporic Somali storyteller, writer, and strategist who focuses on themes of Blackness and Indigeniety, (dis)connection and (un)belonging. Her writing is seated somewhere between oral tradition and the written word, celestial and myth, past and present, ancestry and spirit. An MES candidate in the Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University, her research incorporates traditional Somali stories with discourses of constructed identity while pulling from archival histories of resistance and radical curatorial practises. Hawa is the co-founder of NSOROMMA, a Pan-African arts movement that cultivates creative action and innovation in African communities. Her writing can be found at Jalada Africa, The Feminist Wire, Rabble, Araweelo Abroad and more recently she has co-edited a special issue journal for the Canadian Council for Policy Alternatives's Our Schools, Our Selves titled Constellations of Black Radical Imagining: Black Arts and Popular Education due out Spring 2015. Her short story series Black Woman, Everybody's Healer was long listed in 2015 for the Jalada African Literature Prize, and is currently in the process of being written as a book-length manuscript.
My name is Zain and I’m a 24 year old Ismaili Muslim spoken word poet residing on Unceded Coast Salish Territories. I identify as a tender hearted transgender person of colour and spoken word saved my life. I've been writing since I could hold a pen and I am so stoked for the launch of the Breaking the Fast blog and I am so looking forward to connecting with other queer Muslim artists.
The practice of women calling the Azan and leading prayers, with women (cis and trans) and trans identified people in the front row and cisgender men in the back, has now become a tradition at our annual Breaking the Fast showcase of rad Muslim artists that takes place every Ramadan. It has become something we all do seamlessly, including our cis male Muslim allies who move to the back row and wait for the women to call and lead the prayers. Some may see this as something new and shocking but we see it as a reclaiming of a long lineage of Muslim feminist, queer and trans traditions.
With this haunting and powerful audio recording of the Azan/Adhan done by one of the Muslim women in our community, we invite you to breathe deep and share in this legacy of beauty with us.
- The artist is a Muslim woman in our community who wishes to remain anonymous.
