Velvet Jihad: Muslim Women’s Quiet Resistance to Islamic Fundamentalism

By Faegheh Shirazi
University of Florida Press

Central to Islamic scripturalist assertion, or "Islamic fundamentalism" as it is often referred to, is the notion of the ideal Muslim woman, whose status, roles and functions are defined by rules and norms deriving from a narrow, restrictive and patriarchal reading of the Islamic scripturalist tradition. The ‘ideal’ Muslim woman in Islamic ‘fundamentalist’ discourse is defined as being submissive to male authority, while being modest and virtuous in a patriarchally-defined sense. She is to be carefully controlled and monitored, at all times, by patriarchal authority. The spread of Islamic ‘fundamentalism’ throughout Muslim communities has had seriously negative consequences for Muslim women’s rights and status. Not surprisingly, groups of Muslim women across the world have begun mobilizing against Islamic ‘fundamentalism’, some on a secular basis, using secular human rights arguments, others, working within a broadly-defined Islamic tradition, employing Islamic arguments for achieving gender equality and challenging patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam.

Velvet Jihad provides a fascinating general picture of the status and conditions of women in Muslim communities around the world faced with the challenge of Islamic scripturalist assertion. Shirazi admits that patriarchy is, of course, not a Muslim-specific phenomenon, but argues that the forms that it takes in Muslim communities and Muslim-majority countries makes it particularly problematic and difficult to oppose in that it is generally sought to be legitimised in the name of religion. Hence, challenging such patriarchy is a particularly arduous task as it is easily branded as a challenge to religion itself. The book catalogues a long list of hurdles and restrictions that millions of Muslim women across the world are subjected to in the name of Islam.

With abysmal levels of education, and being economically heavily dependent on their men folk, it is not surprising that vast numbers Muslim women simply have no choice but to accept their lot. Many, as Shirazi tells us, even accept this as mandated by Islam itself. Yet, Shirazi tells us there is what she colourfully calls a "velvet jihad" astir in across numerous Muslim communities spearheaded by bold Muslim women who are now vocally and stridently challenging all forms of oppression in the name of Islam. She likens it to the "velvet revolution," a peaceful movement of resistance that brought down communist dictatorships in eastern Europe in the late 1980s.

What, then, are the means that assertive Muslim women (and there are many, as Shirazi documents) are today adopting to fight patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam? They fall into two broad categories. Some Muslim women, who may be defined as "Muslim feminists," are seeking to oppose patriarchal laws, rules, and practices using modern human rights arguments, such as secularism, freedom, justice, and democracy, linking up with reformers, both men and women, both within their communities and countries and at the international level, to highlight the oppression of women in the name of Islam. Shirazi describes numerous such Muslim women’s groups across the world which are using this approach, with varying degrees of success. This strategy might not, however, have much resonance with religious-minded Muslims, who could easily be made to be believe that such arguments for women’s rights are not just "un-Islamic," but, rather, represent, as it is often put, an "anti-Islamic, Western conspiracy." Indeed, that precisely is what Islamic conservatives and radicals never tire of arguing.

A more culturally-rooted, and, therefore, for many practising Muslims, perhaps a more acceptable way of shaping demands for gender equality and of critiquing misogyny and patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi points out, is represented by the phenomenon often labeled as "Islamic feminism." Not all the women (and men) who are engaged in articulating an Islamic feminist discourse and politics might, however, identify with that label, given the political and ideological baggage associated with the term feminism. Be that as it may, Islamic feminism, Shirazi shows by drawing on empirical evidence from extensive fieldwork in Africa, Asia, Europe, and America as well as a massive corpus of literature available on the Internet, is today a growing challenge to the authoritarian, deeply-patriarchal versions of Islam zealously upheld both Islamic conservatives and ‘fundamentalists’, who, despite their differences, are almost unanimous on the "women’s question."

Citing the works—both literary as well as practical—of a vast number of Muslim women scholars and activists as they seek to counter patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi concludes that their valiant efforts, derided and fiercely opposed by powerful patriarchal forces, truly herald the arrival of a velvet jihad, one that can play a key role in not just championing Muslim women’s rights but also in fashioning more compassionate and just understandings of Islam while critiquing and standing up to violent, authoritarian, patriarchal mullahs and Islamists who claim to represent Islamic authenticity. That, in short, is what this inspiring book is all about.

Review by Yoginder Sikand

A longer, more in-depth version of this review can be found at CounterCurrents

Sex and the City 2

Directed by Michael Patrick King
New Line Cinema



Allow me to save you $8. Here is the plot of Sex and the City 2: Four privileged white women take a break from relentlessly moaning about their privileged lives to go on an Orientalist fantasy excursion to Abu Dhabi, where they are each assigned a brown servant to wait on them as they maraud through the country, dressed like assholes, exoticizing people, mocking culture, flouting religious custom, and on occasion, “saving” the natives with their American liberation and largess.

SATC was always only about a certain type of woman, despite attempts to make Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte into everywoman. But the friendships between the protagonists felt universal. And as cartoonish as the individual characters could be, I saw pieces of them in the women around me, if not in myself.

Then I got older. So have the characters in SATC, but the franchise’s male creators aren’t quite sure what to do with women over forty. And so they have taken four flawed but generally likable women and made them repugnant.

Charlotte’s chirpy childishness—always a little icky—seems gross coming from a twice-married woman with two children. Carrie’s self-centered flakiness and drama-whoring is exhausting. Samantha and Miranda are unrecognizable—Sam having gone from an independent woman in charge of her sexuality to a desperate caricature fighting to hold on to her youth (Note: Chris Noth, who plays Mr. Big, is two years older than Kim Cattrall, who plays Samantha. Interesting that Samantha is portrayed as fading, while Big still gets to be…well…Mr. Big) while Miranda quits her job because the new partner at the firm is a sexist jerk. No fight. She simply gives up, which seems completely out of character.

SATC was never as feminist as it was made out to be, but now it seems as un-empowering and pandering as a those pink “girl” computers by Dell. And when the fearsome foursome arrive in the Middle East, privilege, racism, and ignorance meet in an unholy trifecta. Here is what we learn:

All you need to know about Arab countries, you have already learned in Aladdin. If you have a Jewish married name, do not use it on a trip to Abu Dhabi. In an Arab country, be sure to wear expensive clothing reminiscent of the aforementioned cartoon. (Two words: gold harem pants.) Arab men are either frightening crazy-eyed religious fundamentalists or hot menservants. (By the way, it is not at all creepy to accept the services of said hot, brown menservants, and if one such manservant is gay... jackpot! Two new accessories for the price of one! Refer to him as Paula Abdul.)

No woman ever follows the tenets of Islam by choice; all women who wear abaya or niqab are oppressed and secretly want to be white, wealthy, American women who wear revealing couture. Arab women who are not oppressed may be bellydancers in Western-style nightclubs. It is feminist to travel to Muslim countries and expose yourself, simulate fellatio on a hookah, grab a man’s penis in a restaurant, and possibly have sex on a public beach. If you are trying to communicate in an Arab country and cannot find the right words, saying “lalalalalala” will get your point across.

Now, I am sure there are those who will say that I am thinking too deeply about a movie that is meant to be a bit of fluff. For you, I will share that SATC 2’s problems are not all about the portrayal of women, privilege, race or religion. Before any of those things pricked my nerves, I was already sighing at the films stilted dialogue, awkward group dynamic, hackneyed situations, and corny jokes that beg for a sitcom laugh track. And then there was the spectacle of seeing Liza Minelli performing “Single Ladies.” Yes, Liza with a “z” sings Beyonce with a “B.”

Review by What Tami Said

This is an abbreviated version of Tami's review. The full review can be read here.

Aquila

For those familiar with women’s “lifestyle” magazines, the call to be “sexy” in some way or another is not new. We women need to have “sexy” everything: attitude, legs, skin, armpits, you name it. So pervasive is this message that I’m surprised that no one has spontaneously combusted from sexual arousal at the sight of a women’s magazine devotee.

And then we have the new Aquila magazine, whose key buzzwords are modesty and fabulousness.

As the “world’s first English fashion and lifestyle magazine for cosmopolitan Muslim women in Asia” that is based in Singapore, Aquila serves up the standard menu of any glossy: tips on make-up, shopping, book and film reviews, and some lightweight advice on career-building.

Aimed at readers from Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore, modesty and fabulousness are far from alien concepts: Muslim women of all ages, hijabis in particular, in Southeast Asia are intensely responsive to new faith-based sartorial trends, perhaps more so than women who do not cover their hair.

That said, Islamic consumerism, as cynical as it sounds, is a fairly new phenomenon in which women in the region form an active role. Aquila is an obvious byproduct of the purchasing power of Muslim women in Southeast Asia, but whether or not it aims to be representative of its target audience is quite another matter. So let us explore this issue by breaking it down to three parts, based on how well it’s doing for its intended readers thus far:

The good: The one thing I can generously say about Aquila is that there seems to be an intention that it offers something for everybody: from articles on face creams to an as yet developed page on “science,” which I hope will be a more informative take on scientific breakthroughs, instead of the science of eye creams and hair serum.

The bad: The beating heart of any self-respecting popular publication is the opinion piece. Often brief and pseudo-philosophical, the op-ed is, for me, what makes fashion magazines human and less banal. But that was what I thought before I came across the first opinion piece on Aquila. Entitled “Leap of Faith,” it reveals the thoughts of a Muslim man whose moral dilemma about his daughter dating a non-Muslim seems to completely eclipse his social drinking habits, at his favorite drinking hole no less! The piece ended on a cryptic note that suggested a sense hypocrisy that plagues the urban, middle-class and the selectively liberal Muslim communities in Southeast Asia, but lacked any insight or depth in what is a serious issue that very much concerns the intended reader.

The could-be-better: Though brand-spanking-new with the impressive accolade of being a kind of landmark magazine for Southeast Asian Muslim women, Aquila looks more like a half-built project with little pizazz. The graphics leave plenty to be desired, but then that wouldn’t be such an issue if it had more substantial content. I get the feeling that Aquila isn’t really targeted at parents, as it lists “kids” as a “lifestyle” issue that sits at the bottom of the drop down list. But I shouldn’t really be asking for the moon here, as most fashion and beauty magazines rarely figure parenthood as a particularly “trendy” subject.

In sum, Aquila is far from divinely inspired. It is a bland derivative of many beaten dead horses called women’s fashion magazines, except with less exposed flesh. It reminds me why I’ve stopped reading such things for good. I’m also not entirely convinced that it is trying hard to be representative of the young, upwardly mobile Muslim women who are taking Singapore, Indonesia, and Malaysia by storm. If the magazine’s not so modest vision of being “the world’s most trusted authority on the intelligence of affluent Muslims” is anything to go by, I would suggest Asian Muslim women to read elsewhere for fabulous inspiration.

Review by Alicia Izharuddin

Cross-posted at Muslimah Media Watch and Cycads

Paradise Beneath Her Feet: How Women Are Transforming the Middle East

By Isobel Coleman
Random House

At first I hesitated to write this review. I am a non-Muslim, Western woman writing a review of a book written by a (presumably) non-Muslim, Western woman about Muslim women in the Middle East. As I read the book, however, I became much more comfortable with the idea. Isobel Coleman’s book, Paradise Beneath Her Feet, is the result of nearly ten years of research and personal interviews with women from Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and Iraq. The book reads more like a report of women’s activities in these countries with only the occasional judgment from the author (“Linking feminism with the ‘heresy’ of the West is good politics, and helps turn patriarchy into patriotism.”) instead of one woman’s opinion on an incredibly complex and historical struggle of which she is not technically a part. (Most of the judgments, save for the previous quote, are of other Westerners who offer ignorant assessments of Muslim/Islamic feminism.)

Each country merits its own chapter, which I believe will help delineate the great differences in women’s rights struggles from place to place. Treading lightly on the tricky ground of reporting Middle Eastern policy to Westerners, Coleman quotes often from direct, one-on-one interviews she held with each subject. This removes opportunities for judgment from the author and instead allows the reader a rare, unbiased glimpse into parts of the Middle East. Within each country’s chapter, Coleman also interviews those from both rural and urban settings, highlighting the great difference in mindset between women, men, and religious leaders in different locations. The research is truly meticulous, and any reader interested in this subject matter would do well to read this book not only for the scope of knowledge, but also for the depth.

One fantastic example of grassroots change Coleman highlights is the National Solidarity Program (NSP) in Afghanistan. An Afghani alum of the World Bank, Ashraf Ghani, spearheaded this initiative to give agency for change to local governments. Localities must elect members of a community development council, which will then receive money from NSP to improve conditions for its residents. The catch? Women must be involved in decision making and benefit from some of the money.

This was not a completely objective report, however. Coleman states in the beginning that the greatest struggle she, and anyone else knowledgeable on the subject matter, saw within this movement of women’s rights in the Middle East was the role religion should or should not play, whether or not the intention behind change matters if the end results means equality for women. Coleman definitively concludes that religion must play a role in the battle for women’s rights in order for the change to be organic and sustainable, especially in rural areas where the majority of the female population in most of these countries lives. A few pages into the book’s introduction, she states (some may argue wrongfully so) that "[s]ecular feminism-both in the Middle East and in the West-has always been the province of urban elites and intellectuals, and that has long been its greatest weakness."

Considering the subject matter, Paradise Beneath Her Feet is an incredibly enjoyable read, which I hope will encourage more people to consider perusing this seemingly dense account. I read it on a red-eye flight to California after three hours of sleep and couldn’t put it down.

Review by Colleen Hodgetts

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Visibly Muslim: Fashion, Politics, Faith

By Emma Tarlo
Berg Publishers

In her new book, entitled Visibly Muslim: Fashion, Politics, Faith, Emma Tarlo captures the diversity in the way that Islam is practiced against the backdrop of multicultural Britain. Refreshingly, the book did not aim to answer whether or not covering was a part of Islam, and neither did it represent the views of Muslim women as a monolithic body.

In her book, Tarlo shows a snapshot of the way in which the veil has manifested itself within the Muslim population of Britain. In focusing on the way that different Muslim women struggle to find common ground between various identities, and the reactions of those around them, Tarlo looks at the veil as a part of the changing dynamics of members of a newer community, rather than an exposé that aims to penetrate the “secret world of Muslim women.”

Within the book, Tarlo moves from discussing high-profile Muslim women, to fashion, the hijab as a part of politics, and the fluid relationship between culture and religion. She does not gloss over the difficulties in finding a bridge between identities. When I saw the words “fashion” and “veil” together, I was worried that I would be confronted with a piece that would merely wax poetic about the intricate embroidery of hijab and the wonderful colors and trends that are starting to rival the Western fashion industry. Tarlo does depict changing fashions for Muslim women, but rather as a part of personal journeys. Furthermore, she analyzes the discourse surrounding the emerging market for “modest fashion.”

The most hard-hitting theme of the book was that of integration. In writing about some of the challenges faced by Muslim women within British communities, I could definitely relate. While Tarlo introduced a great deal of personal narratives from a wide range of women, she also brought into play some of the debate surrounding the hijab within the Muslim community itself. Finding a sense of identity and purpose is a concept which most people–not just Muslims–can relate to.

What was refreshing was that she did not glorify or vilify groups that were more “modern” than others, but simply left the reader to try to understand the realities of grasping for a sense of identity. In showing this theme of integration as a part of juggling different identities, rather than a poisonous and foreign part of society, it forced me to really reflect on how difficult it is for anyone to try to fit in on any level. Rather than trying to promote an “acceptable” level of integration, Tarlo merely provides a picture of the realities of the Muslim community in Britain. This is significant because she does not depict it as a threat, but rather as important debate that shows that the face of Islam is changing and growing, as with many immigrant communities.

What I felt was monumentally missing from Tarlo’s work was the voice of Muslim women who have either been forced to veil or took it off. While she did a great job in showing the diversity of religious views and coming to the veil, I think that in analyzing the world of hijab, it is important to understand why women may reject it entirely. Also, I felt that she could have analyzed the role of socioeconomic status a bit more within the book. While the role of fashion is very significant in trying to understand the identities of Muslim women, I felt that fashion may have a different place and even the hijab itself may play a different role for someone that may not be able to afford the diversity in dress.

Despite being left with these questions, overall I was impressed with the book’s fluid style, beautiful pictures, and honest stories. Furthermore, I enjoyed Tarlo’s dedication to trying to capture not only a snapshot of the Muslim community within Britain, but also in trying to introduce the difficulties within the Islamic community itself. She does not glorify the hijab or Islam, but rather highlights the realities faced by Muslim women.

Review by Sara Yasin

Cross-posted from Muslimah Media Watch

Transforming Faith: The Story of Al-Huda and Islamic Revivalism Among Urban Pakistani Women

By Sadaf Ahmad
Syracuse University Press

In Transforming Faith, Sadaf Ahmad explores the role of Al-Huda, a women’s Islamic religious school, in promoting the spread of a particular kind of Islam, especially among educated middle- and upper-class women in Islamabad, Pakistan.

Ahmad sets the scene by situating her topic in an historical and global context. She provides a broad overview of the various branches of Islam, and she tells the history of Pakistan’s self-conception as an Islamic state. She describes how Pakistani leaders have drawn discursively on certain flavors of Islam in order to consolidate political power, and how those choices laid the foundation for today’s increasingly conservative politico-religious milieu in Pakistan. Ahmad also links these developments to contemporary global pressures, including the hegemonic and military threats to Pakistan that accompany the skyrocketing Islamophobia in the West.

Against this backdrop, Ahmad explores the growing movement of Islamic women’s religious education, which takes place through small dars, classes for neighborhood women about technical and practical dimensions of Islam that are usually run out of one woman’s home, and through the larger, more institutional Al-Huda network. Its official branches and smaller, less formal dars are run by Al-Huda graduates.

Drawing on a body of carefully selected theory, Ahmad sensitively situates her description of the Al-Huda movement (which in many ways promotes a rigid, patriarchal form of Islam) in its political and cultural context. She notes that women are often positioned by the modern state as the “keepers of tradition,” and that women (especially Muslim women under the Western gaze) are perceived to be helpless victims of patriarchal and state pressure. While she does not hesitate to identify Al-Huda’s flavor of Islam as reactionary, she is also careful to tease out the complex reasons that women seek out Al-Huda and find its teachings transformative and personally meaningful.

On the whole, I found the book extremely nuanced and insightful; however, I did feel that one key element was missing. I found it strange that Ahmad does not discuss the communal feminist aspects of Al-Huda and the dars. Large numbers of women are organizing themselves and each other to obtain highly technical religious knowledge without the mediation of male teachers. In fact, Al-Huda promotes Arabic literacy to enable women to develop a direct relationship with the sacred text of the Qu’ran. It seems that this growing expertise might enable women to take more of a role in defining what it means to be a devout Muslim (and a devout Muslim woman in particular), which could have far-reaching implications. The lack of discussion of this question is puzzling.

Ultimately Transforming Faith is an exploration of the role of pedagogy in producing social and cultural change. How do teachers (in whatever sense of the word) identify and recruit a body of students? In a given sociopolitical context, how do teachers discursively situate their chosen body of knowledge (or, as Foucault would say, technologies of the self) against the backdrop of their students’ lives? What makes it possible to convince students to use those technologies of the self to discipline themselves into “ethical/pious subjects” (as Ahmad writes, drawing on Foucault and Mahmood)? In what way does the state co-opt those particular “ethical/pious subjects” for its own ends? In what ways do “ethical/pious subjects” develop a particular vantage point for resistance?

With its complementary combination of critical history, theory, and ethnography, Transforming Faith is an excellent—and thoroughly readable—case study for examining these questions.

Review by Ri J. Turner

Veiled Voices

By Brigid Maher
Typecast Releasing

When people think of Muslim leaders they rarely envision women; however, many women are have made their mark as religious leaders in Islam. Veiled Voices presents the lives of three such women, allowing them to tell their own stories filled with struggle, triumph, and irony.

The film centers on Ghina Hammoud from Lebanon, Huda Al-Habash from Syria, and Dr. Su’ad Saleh from Egypt. Each woman is making waves in her country as she carves out milestones in faith and society. These women are teachers who get their messages of Islam and women’s strength across through lectures, television appearances, one-on-one lessons, and living their lives as examples to others.

The film begins with the women telling about their past, how they become religious leaders, and what they believe makes them who they are. Next, we get to see them in action as they talk to students and speak on television. The film concludes by looking at the next generation, the daughters of the women.

The interviews with the women's daughters and husbands were important because it shows how equality within the home is very valuable. All of the women demand the men in their lives support their passion and refuse to settle for anything less. This is evident in Ghina’s standing up to family and societal pressure to divorce an abusive husband. The decision and its outcomes weren't easy, but it is apparent that this was the right decision for her.

The film shows how institutional sexism prevents speedy social evolution. One example in the film is when Sheikh Tantawi, Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, says it would be fine for a woman to be appointed as a mufti, a Muslim scholar trained to interpret Islamic law, so long as she is qualified through education and practice. However, it is revealed that when Dr. Su’as Saleh submitted an application, she only received one vote from an all-male panel. It is wonderful to celebrate these strong women making a difference in the Islamic world, but there is much progress to be made and it is important that the film highlighted the outright sexism these women face.

There wasn’t much discussion in the film about these women's thoughts on oppression and violence done to women in the name of Islam and based on misogynist interpretations of Sharia. Many people see this as a human rights abuse, and I would have liked to hear what these women think about these interpretations and the outcries to stop these violent acts. The personal stories of these Muslim women are inspiring, and their determination to be positive role models is clear. Veiled Voices is a good start to a conversation by and about women in Islam to change misconceptions held about the role of women in the religion.

Review by Andrea Hance