My GCSE years introduced me to the study of what was then called ‘The Arab Israeli Conflict.’  A spark of interest in the status of this geographical area and its peoples ignited within me. It was then that a shadowy world came to life through the pages of a brilliant textbook and the words of a fantastic history teacher (Mrs Harris) who encouraged us to critically analyse. The highs and the lows, the workings of empires, the contestations and counter-claims and the bustling sites of religious significance all morphed out of the black and white pages into vibrant multi-colour and etched into my consciousness. That spark grew into a flame of interest in the geo-politics of Israel-Palestine. I tried to keep abreast of the tide of political events culminating in a much longed for visit to the Holy Land in 2021.

It was here, with my family, that we witnessed first hand what ‘occupation’ entails. From the long wait at customs, crossing the border from Jordan, the probing questions and hostile environment to the separation wall built in the West Bank, encroaching Palestinian land and separating peoples along with their dreams, their futures and their dignity. We entered the magnificent al-Aqsa complex whilst armed guards aimed multiple rifles at us. Little did I imagine a family with 3 adolescents would enter this holy site while interrogated down the barrel of guns. In Hebron, we were subjected to armed Israeli soldiers delaying our progress to prayer; the harshness of life and its sharp edges hung heavy in the atmosphere over once bustling markets. We witnessed the same khaki clad soldiers enter washrooms where worshippers performed ablutions, shouting aggressively and violently banging cubicle doors. These soldiers seemed barely out of adolescence, yet they ‘acted’ because they ‘could.’ Driving around the West Bank, we saw with our own eyes, settlement upon settlement built on Palestinian land, in contravention to UN resolutions.

This is daily life for Palestinians living under a policy of ethno-religious segregation. Little did we realise that 2023 would bring about a plausible genocide the like of which has never been witnessed in its live-streaming; backed by Western states, including my own.

I have felt horror, anguish, anger and utter shame at the tide of events in Gaza, the West Bank and Lebanon. As a British citizen, I feel a sense of dismay and betrayal regarding our country’s political backing.

For decades, ostensibly since I was 18 years old, I and many like me have worked within a framework of accepted beliefs. We work within the third sector, amongst British Muslim communities, building resilience and capacity and fostering a generation of positive purpose. We were a group of young people who believed that hard work and investment in communal benefit would reap its own reward….good work would see good results multiplied over and over. As a generation, we forged friendships and a camaraderie based on our faith to act as the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught us, working towards a future that would be fairer, more just and one in which our contributions and voices would be valued. We believed that if we put in the hard work, the unspoken rule of return meant we would see the benefit of social justice.

More than 43 000 Palestinians have now been killed, most being women and children. We watched in horror as Al-Shifa hospital was targeted, believing that the world order would intervene. Fast forward and neither schools, churches, mosques, refugee camps, aid workers, ambulances nor journalists have been spared. Al-Shifa was a harbinger of worse to come. We waited, expecting the machinery of a world order that promised ‘Never Again’ in the aftermath of World War 2, to step in to ensure the protection of civilian life. We waited in vain. The new world order failed. Our communal, cross-religious and cross-community voices, petitions and appeals to political power felt ignored.

The images of fathers digging under the rubble to find their children, of amputees, of incubators with abandoned babies, of parents carrying the remains of their children in plastic bags and of Palestinians burnt to death whilst connected to iv drips will never leave us. They have burrowed deep into our consciousness; the legacy of a people whose plight has been ignored for too long. A ‘plausible genocide’ is the end of a journey and not the beginning. It begins with dehumanisation.

So I weep…

Firstly, for the loss of innocent life; the hostages on both sides and the tens of thousands of Palestinians.

I weep for what this means for the foreseeable future with an escalating war in an area of the world that has entranced and captivated my imagination for most of my life.

I weep when I wonder how human beings can manifest such violence.

I weep when I consider the bystanders who have watched silently as horror has unfolded.

I weep for a people who have been made refugees again and again, seeking safety and a place to live in freedom and dignity.

Then I weep for what this means for those of us witnessing this trauma from afar. As a youth leader, how do I support the youngsters I work with? These emotions of despair, fear, anger, misery, grief and betrayal…is there a vessel large enough to hold these emotions? A vessel that is pliable enough to expand to contain our anguish? Is there a comforting place to be received wholly in our grief?

I weep for what this means for us here. I weep for the system we held up as sacrosanct; where input and output operated according to an accepted set of rules. Instead, dystopia has surged and engulfed us all, holding internationally accepted treaties hostage.

I remind myself that we have been here before, as a human race. The genocide in Bosnia is within my living memory as is apartheid with its systematic racialised oppression. Systems that create an order of power versus oppression have morphed over time and space… yet they continue to wreak misery.

We need urgently for a ceasefire, an end to occupation and all violence. We need international structures that were created to ensure a better world order to do their job and uphold the sanctity of all human life. We need justice for all those who have been wronged. Times are tough, emotions are strong and nerves are shattered…yet the path to building peace and coexistence is the only option we have; long and arduous though it may be. The dismantling of apartheid proved that the road to freedom is long and tough but it required us all to believe in its possibility.

Again, through the collective robust imagination for a fairer future, the path towards it will be forged; long and painful though it may be. We must hold on to that hope and keep building.

 

 

 

 

A letter to our youth

I was asked this question by a colleague:

“I wanted to ask you, Sara, with the race riots and this terrible summer, how are you?”

Just a simple question….. such a complex answer.

How am I? How are we? The very question at this moment in time jettisons me into a journey of what the past few decades have been like, as a British Muslim. There has been time to ponder during these long, terrible 11 months of bloodshed in the Holy Land and the ensuing race riots we have seen at home.

I find myself journeying back to my ‘A’ level days. As a student in the Midlands during South Africa’s apartheid years, I avidly read any news coverage about apartheid that I could, hoping that my General Studies Exam would include an essay option on the ANC and South African politics. We boycotted, we spoke out, we watched anti apartheid music concerts that centred songs such as Peter Gabriel’s ‘Biko’ and we celebrated sporting boycotts. Eventually, in February 1990, we were glued to our screens, mesmerised, watching live coverage of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. I remember the very day, having returned from a Medical School interview, ‘Madiba’ graced our screens as a free man; hand in hand with his wife, Winnie Mandela. That was a watershed moment of hope and relief; of decompression and jubilation.

 

As a clinical medical student, I watched incredulously the coverage of the Bosnian genocide. The horrific images of lifeless civilian bodies lying contorted on the streets, will never leave me. The Srebrenica massacre of over 7000 civilians, abandoned by UN peacekeeping forces who were tasked to protect them, still haunts me. We witnessed the failure of the international community to uphold the rules-based order and to combat genocidal intent and action. On European soil….it felt alarmingly close to home. We hoped against hope that this would be a ‘Never Again’ moment.

 

There are moments that remain imprinted in one’s consciousness….when you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. Such is the case with the terrorist attacks of 11th September 2001. Now married with 2 children, the world around me shifted at a vertigo-inducing pace. As young British Muslims, we were catapulted into the public and media sphere, condemning the attacks and repeating the mantra ‘Not in My Name.’ With 9/11, perceptions, hostilities, identities and geo-politics would see seismic shifts, the reverberations of which are felt still today. The world would become polarised, narratives would become entrenched and foreign wars would be waged. British Muslims were now viewed through the lens of suspicion. Extremism and emotion would inform policy making. Nothing would remain the same.

 

A couple of years on… another child… Iraq was invaded on the false pretext of weapons of mass destruction. I marched in a sea of concerned citizens, hoping my voice would count alongside a million others. ‘You are either with us or against us’ was the mantra being played out culturally, politically and militarily. More than half a million Iraqis were killed and millions became refugees. News of human rights violations and sexual abuse in Abu Ghraib prison surfaced, adding horror to horror. It dawned on us that institutions and systems meant to protect and keep humanity safe…. could be used as instruments of injustice. All that was required was the creation of a common enemy.

 

Fast forward …the invasion of Afghanistan, the rise of ISIS, the war in Syria, incarcerations within the monstrous edifice of an offshore prison named Guantanamo Bay …and we arrive at 2023/24.

 

‘How are you?’ How to explain the sense of utter grief at the horrific violence and barbarity in the beautiful Holy Land? Over 40 000 Palestinians have been killed by the IDF in Gaza and settler violence has erupted in the West Bank. Hospitals, schools, refugee shelters, humanitarian aid workers, ambulances, heath workers, men, women and children have all been targeted in what is the most densely populated place on earth. From the attack on Al-Shifa hospital to the flour massacre, to the tent massacre and the sand massacre and the killing of World Central Kitchen aid workers, these 11 months have felt never ending. We have marched, spoken up and protested. We have met with MPs, written letters and petitioned…..yet we see no break of light opening up relief for the citizens of the Occupied Territories, as our governments appear blind to international law and the duty to protect civilian life and the very structures that make living even possible.

 “Our nerves are jangling” I responded… not wanting to distract from the people who really are truly suffering the daily attacks and hunger. “The pressure of concern and grief feels suffocating….we scroll our newsfeeds fast to avoid seeing another crushed lifeless child, another mangled body and amputated limbs.” We were not designed to witness such carnage.

Conflict in Sudan means 25.5 million are facing food insecurity. There is crisis in the Democratic Republic of Congo and so many other regions of the world.

 

This summer saw race riots in the UK and Ireland, following the spread of disinformation after a mass stabbing in Southport. My GP surgery was advised to shut early due to unprecedented concerns over the safety of staff and patients in a moment the like of which I have never seen before. For many, derogatory language from sections of our political and media classes as well as normalised Islamophobic and anti-immigrant rhetoric meant the riots hardly came as a surprise. Take, for example, former Conservative MP Lee Anderson claiming on GB news that London and Sadiq Khan are under the control of ‘Islamists’ and Suella Braverman asserting that ‘Islamists are bullying Britain into submission’ whilst labelling marches calling for a ceasefire in Gaza as ‘hate matches’ ….many argue that the riots were ignited by some prominent politicians and media outlets.

 

‘How are you?’ I find myself travelling this timeline of geopolitics that has shaped my identity; this landscape of key incidents that have morphed how I now see myself vis a vis my elected representatives, world leaders and international bodies that were designed to keep us all safe.

For me and my friends, in our late 40s and 50s, perhaps we have come to recognise the signs of internal turmoil when faced with horror and the steps needed to try to calm our cortisol-flooded visceral systems; afterall we have been here before.

However, as a mentor in a national Muslim youth organisation, I remain extremely concerned for the youth. How will young Muslims and young people of conscience navigate these times of conflict and horror? In what ways will their very sense of identity and belonging; their core sense of who they are, be irreversibly impacted by this pressure cooker of national and international upheaval and disregard for human life? Afterall, life is sacred and our value lies in the value we afford others. Once any life is deemed expendable…. our very collective humanity has been eroded.

Schools have silenced any meaningful conversation for young people to navigate the humanitarian disaster they see in Gaza.

If we march, we are labelled hateful. One is left wondering, what mode of legitimate protest is unproblematic?

For many of us the migration of our parents was a trauma we barely understood enough to name and realise; yet as children, we experienced it viscerally. That experience is now multiplied manifold by the witnessing of a ‘plausible genocide’ whilst wondering how a just world order could let so many people down? Vicarious trauma is the witnessing of unchecked violence and it impacts our very neural pathways; flooding our system with stress hormones and embedding traumatic memories into our limbic systems.

Dear young people, how do we navigate this word of tribulations and difficulties? How do we carry hearts that feel pain and anxiety (feeling pain is a sign of a soft heart that is alive with concern) yet remain anchored in a faith that roots us to love and trust in God and His timeless laws?

Indeed, life was never meant to be a bed of roses. The very nature of trials or ‘fitan’ are such that they test our mettle by forcing us to face up to hardships and challenges. From the fire and pressure of a furnace does a metal ore become purified and so through trials, we polish ourselves and develop our trust and faith in Him alone. Our brothers, sisters and indeed children in Gaza have shown us what it means to rely on The Most Merciful, alone. They live the words, ‘Sufficient for us is Allah, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.’

We must seek solace in His words and devotion to Him. As an Ummah, we must tred paths that embody Qur’anic teachings, that centre justice, the common good, honesty, fair play and the protection of the weak and destitute …. instead of trade deals, financial gain and towing lines against the wishes of the populace.

Whilst every one of us must speak up and seek to bring betterment to our social order at every level of engagement, wherever we can …..ultimately events unfold according to God’s will; at His Time and at His Reckoning. For Him, time is not linear, and these moments of extreme constriction may feel never-ending but when time is collapsed, these may be terrible aberrations on a trajectory towards freedom and justice.

Finally, my dear young ones, there is another life where justice will abide. This world was never the place to base all our expectations for justice, peace and fairplay. Man has a dark side that manifests repeatedly…. paradise is for the next life. Meanwhile, keep building for a better tomorrow and planting seeds of hope and goodness. Roll up your sleeves and stand up for justice, no matter who the victim and who the perpetrator. That is the Prophetic way and the way that we adhere to lovingly with all our hearts.

Keep planting, dear young Muslims

Keep planting seeds of hope and optimism

Youth mentor

Sara Saigol

 xxx

Surah 49:13 is quite iconic and in it, Allah says:

“O Mankind, indeed We have created you from a male and a female and made you into nations and tribes that you may know one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you. Indeed, Allah is Knowing and Acquainted.”

This brings me to the Arabic term li-ta’arafu –‘that you may know one another.’

Khaled Abou-el Fadl describes ta’araf as an empathetic engagement that requires transparency and honesty as well as demanding self-criticism.

This verse provides a foundational basis for discussions on race, nationalism and tribalism; that our skin colour, languages, cultures, various traditions and customs are rich pools of wealth that should motivate curiosity and the will toempathically learn about one another, certainly not to despise one another.

I have often wondered whether this model of interaction can be extended to gender?

At the recent November Campus weekend residential, we touched on gender segregation and I commented on how the gender interactions at Campus have always impressed me. The honest, respectful, dignified conduct of our young men and women in the Campus space is to be lauded and appreciated. I did not have time to elaborate further.

If ta’araf is to learn how to compassionately engage with empathy and deep consideration across cultures, how vital a skill is that between genders today? Like any skill, it needs to be learnt, developed and honed, which I believe can only happen in a modus operandi of some degree of dignifiedgender interaction; it cannot be learnt and practised in full segregation. I also happen to suspect that strict segregation, though I will always respect the personal views of friends that it is the preferred option, can hamper and stall the development of compassionate and empathic learning.

In our daily lives, we will be learning from teachers of both genders, mixing in lecture halls of mixed genders, working in teams that are mixed gender and so on. It appears solely in our Muslim organisational spaces that there is an insistence on strict gender segregation; it appears to be a given. If that is your preferred option, I respect that. 

My questions remain:• Are we forced to segment and fracture our daily lives between what is mundane and what is religious? If so, what are the consequences of this ‘rupturing’ on personalities, societies and mindsets?• How are we to develop and learn the critical skills of empathic engagement in our early adolescence that will teach us the skills we need for life in order to realise ta’araf fully?

It is said that to understand what another person feels and experiences, we need to walk in their shoes. That sounds quite uncomfortable but we can certainly be listening and observing, absorbing and learning from one another.

Indeed our sisters have their own unique challenges as they traverse student life, organisational spaces and workplace environments. Whether it be skin colour, dress or indeed gender itself, they will face challenges that our menfolk would do well to perceive. The garb of Muslim women can be a red flag to racists and Islamophobes and yet, equally, be loaded with unreal expectations and projected aspirations from within the Muslim community. How did a solitary headscarf by itself come to imbibe the concepts of societal modesty, individual emancipation or indeed oppression and the politics of identityall at the same time; as if woven together with these competing threads. The physicality of the female figure toohas been idealised and commercialised such that it exerts an unhealthy and damaging pressure upon women or else is held up as an embodied form to feel ashamed of; a temptation to be hidden away and kept in the shadows. External factors such as navigating social bias or frank hostility and prejudice can be a reality for many. Internal factors, peculiar to Muslim spaces are no less real and may include: 

-feeling unwelcome in prayer and organisational spaces 

-being spoken down to, being spoken for and overlooked

-navigating dingy, dirty corridors in order to offer the most spiritual occasions of the day to our Lord

-being intimidated by men with positions of authority who should know better. Yes all this does happen, unfortunately. I have been around the Islamic activist scene long enough to know.

Would walking in these shoes enable our brothers to be better allies and protecting friends?

Would conversations predicated on empathy instil a better awareness of our condition and engender a concern to improve the situation?

Of course, the converse is also true. The pressure upon young men to fit a physical ideal is no less unrealistic and crushing.

Our sisters would do well too to perceive what young men endure. The days of men being the hunter gatherers and sole financial providers seem to have passed. How does that translate into a sense of self, position and purpose for men? Purposelessness seems to be a growing blight upon our young generation. We all need to feel appreciated , respected and valued; that is no less true for young men today.

Lets talk about mental health. As a GP, I know that male patients will find it much harder to initiate and book an appointment. How easy is it for men to discuss their mental health? Where are the safe spaces that can hold such conversations and all the supporting networks that can then grow like sticks moulding into a woven basket framework to nourish healing and growth.

How can we as women be better allies for our menfolk?

The believing men and believing women are allies of one another. They enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong and establish prayer and give zakah and obey Allah and His Messenger. Those – Allah will have mercy upon them. Indeed, Allah is Exalted in Might and Wise.  Surah 9:71

Being allies is modelling an active engagement; not a passive one. To engender positive change, we must start with compassionate engagement; so we can start to walk in each other’s shoes. 

I started on the path of Islamic activism just before embarking on my university degree; more than half my lifetime ago. Strangely, learning about the faith with fresh eyes and a longing soul came as a package deal with being engaged in the activist scene. It’s where I learnt so much about my faith and met the most amazing people; one of whom I married! Those were heady, dizzy, crazy days indeed.

From involvement in youth organisations to working with university Islamic Societies and mosques, I have a plethora of experiences which I have stored under my belt. The skills I have learnt, the friends that I have made (they truly are some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the good fortune to meet), the experiences I have grown through are too numerous to list. These friends have been integral in moulding me to become who I am- they are still the crutch I lean on. The positives are many indeed. I would not be the person I am today without the joy of working in groups of like minded individuals and the effort we put into trying to bring about a little extra goodness into the world.

As I rotate my neck and look to my past, I see growth through responsibilities. I feel camaraderie and friendship and I sense the joy of joint efforts. I see spiritual upliftment and elevation yet….. I cannot be blind to the scatterings of lost hopes and unfulfilled expectations. As I watch in my mind’s eye, my nineteen year old self blithely navigating her way through Muslim organisational spaces, I cannot help but feel a skipped heartbeat, an aching to reach out to her, guide her, protect her and advise her. I write this blog to my 19 year old self and as a call for us all to reflect on our organisational spaces. I believe and hope that herein are lessons for all leaders in the Muslim activists scene.

‘Dear Sara’

* You struggle to do anything half heartedly. With you, it’s either all or nothing. You were always that way. You dive in headlong or you remain on the outside. Your passion and your drive may propel and accelerate you, no doubt, but know that if you raise your head above the parapet, some will throw stones. In direct proportion to your drive, zeal and endeavour, expect the possibility of an equal oppositional force from certain quarters. That force will no doubt be acute and you will always wonder whether it’s coincidental that you are female or whether it’s integrally linked; this repeated worry, shared by many like minded friends, is evidence enough that there exists a deep seated problem. Perhaps you will stop in bewilderment and wonder why those who sluggishly move with their projects seem to encounter little opposition?

Be vigilant….

* Your passion and endeavour for your projects may see you running forwards, feeling light of foot with lifted heart. You may sacrifice and invest towards that vision…..gaze uplifted. And because your very gaze was lifted, you failed to see the obstacles or the wall that suddenly appeared in your path. Newton’s third law: whenever two objects interact they exert equal and opposite forces upon each other. You will crash, falling harder and you will take longer to dust off and get back up.

There may well be no system in place to address your worries fully and no support service to debrief or counsel you through your concerns, your pain and your hurt.

* Know that there is a law of inverse proportionality.

Activism is indeed a choice. We all fluctuate in how much time we are able to devote.

However, leadership is an Amaanah, a trust. Sitting at tables where decisions of great import are made and where we represent the community’s hopes and aspirations is a weighty task indeed. Sometimes our conversation needs to shift from making excuses for lack of engagement to holding ourselves and others to account.

Go back to point one and know that criticism may well be paradoxically reserved for those who seem to be exerting the most effort. This is the law of inverse proportion- the least support and resources are offered to the most active.

* You may well find yourself with decades of experience in a certain field of work; having led, managed teams and grown a project. You may find that you are managed by those who understand your project less well than you and may have less experience. They may often be lucky to sit at head tables as men with gravitas and they will not hesitate to direct you from their lofty positions. Sometimes things will feel topsy turvy. You never sought to sit at tables of power and you never sought positions yet you also did not buy into the notion that it is acceptable to be spoken down to; for your experience to be invisible; as a woman.

* There will be times that your drive and your passion will count against you. The very emotion you invest into projects and teams; the strength of passion that you display will be accepted and harnessed. Understand that, in situations of disagreement, those emotions will be labelled ‘loaded language and behaviour,’ to be curtailed and crushed out of the conversation. But you brought to the table your passions, as a strength. In disagreements, those passions need to be managed. And you will scratch your head and wonder whether this is gendered conversation. The very spaces in which we claim how valuable our sisters are in careers such as teaching and nursing by virtue of their deep emotional skill sets of empathy, compassion and nurturing become spaces that ask you to leave your emotions at the door when disagreements are discussed. Perhaps if more women sat at the head table, the emotional wealth of the female experience would be fully valued and not curtailed? The lens by which we see differences in biological make-up should be bifocal and not unifocal. This will only be corrected when diversity at the top table is taken seriously and effort put into addressing imbalance.

These experiences are real and garnered from multiple organisations across the board. They are to be balanced and tempered by the tremendous wealth of positive experiences, friendships, learning and skill development that have occurred alongside; in spaces of deep spirituality. Yet if we care deeply, we must invest in positive growth which proceeds after deep reflection.

My hope in penning this blog, is that we endeavour to make things better for the next generation.

As a 19 year old on the cusp of emerging from my teens, I felt the immense pressure on young women; from the world of advertising with its magazines and billboards to the fashion industry with its models and promotions. The pressure was everywhere; almost as if a woman’s face, body and attire were public property; to be pinched, boosted, reconfigured and exposed.

I felt that pressure acutely and it puzzled me. Picking up a ‘Just Seventeen’ magazine- the pages of skinny, airbrushed models with their pouting inviting poses were rudely juxtapositioned next to problem pages discussing low self esteem, dipping self worth and societal pressures. The sly absolving of any responsibility by these magazines and fashion outlets for the pressurised system they contributed to, aimed at the developing minds of our young daughters was screaming to be exposed. And it maddened me.

At 19, I decided I would don a headscarf for many reasons but principally because I wanted to take ‘ownership of me.’ I wanted to stick two fingers up at the industry that told me how to look in order to be accepted, valued, lauded and loved. I figured that I didn’t need that…..I just needed to love myself. The lens through which I viewed Islamic values when it came to dress was one of ownership, control and of shifting the focus from the external to the internal.

As I have aged, that pressure just seems to have snowballed; like some overgrown monster sneaking its spindly fingers into our psyche and homes through the use of social media. Instagram sits in a unique position whereby it is able to project and promote idealised imagery straight into our living rooms; a curated and designed parallel universe of perfect smiles, fictitious bodies, wardrobes, holidays and friendship circles. It is almost as if the space for flaws and imperfections has been erased and all while audiences coo and faun, like and applaud. An image of Panem’s bizarre and dystopian Capital city from ‘The Hunger Games’ springs to mind; empty adulation, frozen smiles……..devoid of human frailties, flaws and asymmetries. But I am a GP and I know only too well that the average human form is far from that featured on airbrushed Instagram posts.

Surely but slowly I witnessed with joy and celebration, the broadening and shifting of parameters when it came to defining beauty. I remember with sheer joy Alek Dek, the first African woman to grace the cover of Elle magazine in 1997; embraced for her stunning, dark skin, tightly curled, short hair and African features.

I have no problem with whatever the next big look is,” she said. “Just don’t try and tell me that only one look is beautiful. It’s about telling girls from a young age that it’s OK to be quirky, it’s fine to be shy. You don’t have to go with the crowd.”

In 2015, ‘H and M’ took the bold step of featuring a Muslim model donned in a headscarf for the first time. It was an iconic moment for many. Again I felt the internal flutter of joy- ‘Hey that’s my people, a part of me highlighted, a celebration of diversity.’

Who was I kidding? As magazines and runways started to feature the plus sizes, those with disabilities, with medical conditions such as vitiligo, I realised the ruse. Under the guise of celebrating diversity, we were duped further into the consumerist snare. So long as we feel inadequate, so long as we feel too old, that we take up too much space or else too little…..so long as we feel our skin is too dull, our features not bright enough, our skin too flawed… we will continue to try to buy ourselves out of our internal misery. And therein lies the trap.

As I raise my daughters and my son, I see that our boys are also subjected to those same pressures. The visuals of form and build are celebrated such to compromise self esteem and confidence. Perhaps we could celebrate that the gender injustice is now more equal, the misery is balanced. The patriarchy that benefitted from women’s self censure is now also under attack. Suffice it to say, consumerist culture seeks to enslave us all and there is only one winner.

In an industry that celebrates perfection, there is no room for imperfection, flaws, disabilities and asymmetry.

It is an industry that focuses on the external, while the internal suffers from neglect.

In a 2016 Girl-guiding survey, girls as young as seven were found to face “intense and unobtainable appearance pressures to be perfect. Often, concerns about the way they look makes girls feel uncomfortable about taking part in exercise and sport.”

So I donned the headscarf at age 19, from a feminist stance; a pushback and an assertion of my own ownership over me. Yet decades later I have stood bewildered on the sidelines as the subject of women and what they wear has been hijacked as public property and used as a political football on the one hand and to be admired as trophies in Muslim spaces. Since when does dress become a hurdle one must climb in order to qualify to be an acceptable voice in Muslim spaces? Since when did donning it or indeed removing it open oneself up for public scrutiny, approbation or indeed censure? Bizarre!

And so I am reminded of the beautiful verse that we read together in our youth group:

Verily, We created man in the best of moulds.

And the saying of Muhammad, peace be upon him, God does not look at your outward appearance and your goods. He looks only at your hearts and your deeds.

It sounds trite but we need to reclaim the space for women to decide for themselves how they choose to dress without fear and without pressure; in public spaces, on transportation and even on beaches.

We need to start focussing more on celebrating internal qualities such as bravery, courage, kindness and generosity amongst others.

And finally, we would do well to raise our young valuing the gift that is their skin, their body, their appearance and support them finding some level of comfort and acceptance that shields them for an industry that seeks to disempower and discourage.

You may have heard it many times: the Renaissance was fuelled by the preservation, translation and development of Greek, Indian, Persian (plus more) intellectual property by Muslims.

Well as Muslims we’ve heard it, definitely. We’ve heard it and felt the wave of pride pass over us acknowledging the robust traditions of reason, rationalism, intellectual rigor, observation and experimentation that Muslim scientists, thinkers, philosophers, travellers, writers etc… engaged in during what has been dubbed ‘The Golden Age’ of Islamic Civilisation. The same period was ironically ‘The Dark Ages’ in the West.

We smell and taste the adventure and lust for learning that included:

-Translations of Greek texts by Plato, Ptolemy, Galen, Hippocrates, Aristotle and Euclid amongst others,

-The development of the number system learnt from the Indians,

-The manufacture of paper learnt from the Chinese.

All this cemented to form a springboard for further enquiry, research and new developments in such an exciting way.

However, I have two questions. Did we ever really understand the contributions of that era to Western development and the making of who we are today? Are the names and contributions of key players known and spoken of with the reverence they deserve?

Secondly, should this learning not be part of the mainstream curriculum, understood by generations of students as we solve the puzzle of who we are, how we relate to one another and how we forge our shared futures together. At a time when our communities seem to be so polarised and fragmented, would an understanding of how we built upon the legacies of one another; taking knowledge, translating it, understanding it, moulding it, constructing upon it and passing it on not be a balm to the angst and an antidote to arrogant dismissiveness? I suppose I should invert the question and ask why ever is this knowledge not a compulsory part of our school syllabi?

Having read “The House of Wisdom” by Jonathon Lyons, it reinforced my belief that there are key facts that we should all know and names we should all be familiar with. If we know the names of Thomas Edison and Isaac Newton, then so too should we know and say the names of Al- Khwarizmi, Ibn Sina and Ibn al-Haytham amongst so many others. It seems bizarre that a whole epoch, its innovations and intellectual capital have been erased from our collective conscience. Texts that fed the Renaissance such as Arabic translations of the works of Aristotle, were accepted in the West with great excitement and zeal, yet the conveyors, preservers, translators and innovators were erased.

Locally, we speak to primary and secondary schools regularly, reinforcing the syllabus and discussing issues relating to cohesion, respect and identity. We get a chance to fill in the gaps. We ensure we mention Ibn Sina, Al-Idrisi, al-Biruni amongst others. Equally we highlight that over 500 words in the English lexicon are from Arabic such as alchemy, algebra, coffee, elixir, sofa and so on. We get a short sharp chance to redress this gaping void of an omission but that is all- this one chance.

It’s important that we recognise one another’s contributions. Like a relay race, it seems our histories connected by the use of batons that were passed amongst civilisations. Each time the baton changed hands a new opportunity arose to polish it and develop it further before passing it on. And like a relay race, once the baton crosses the finish line, every hand that carried it played a role in the racers’ success. Surely to honour each carrier would on the one hand, tackle wilful neglect and on the other hand combat arrogance? Surely in the end, each hand should be acknowledged because that is only fair and right?

This was the topic at our latest ISB campus residential www.isbcampus.org.uk

Here are some fascinating facts; ones that we need to repeat and repeat till blue in the face if only to grant people, their endeavours and their achievements their dues.

Let’s start with Al-Khwarizmi, an eminent astronomer and mathematician. A Hindu delegation invited to the Abbasid court in 771 brought with them prized Sanskrit texts which included mathematical knowledge of the sine function. Al-Khwarizmi used this knowledge to refine the astrolabe and gave name to the science of algebra. A Latin translation of his work is the chief way Arabic numerals, as opposed to Roman numerals, were conveyed to Europe and led to the discovery of decimal fractions and the value of pi.

With the obligation for Muslims to pray facing the same direction, it became incumbent to determine direction. Al- Biruni excelled in mathematical geography and was the first to determine accurate geographical locales with the technique of spherical trigonometry.

Ibn Sina was a true polymath. His most well known contribution was his ‘Canon of Medicine’ completed in 1025 and used in western universities up to and throughout the 18th Century.

Then we have Mariam al-Asturlabiyy, the tenth century female astronomer who constructed Astrolabes- those mini computers used to tell the time, map the stars and sun and navigate by.

I find it strange that throughout my student years, I learnt only one sentence on this era and that was of Ibn Sina.

What intrigues me too, are the many who placed one foot on either side of the ‘divide’ during these politically charged times and sought to embrace the learning of the Muslims, honour it and transport it back to burgeoning European universities.

In 1138, one such Christian King of Sicily, Roger II commissioned al-Idrisi to draw a new world map to be etched onto large silver discs. He read Arabic and showed great care towards the religious minorities he ruled over. The map he commissioned was the finest work of cartography at the time.

Adelard of Bath was another such character, who travelled in search of the ‘Studia Arabum.’ He traversed through Pisa, a stop off point for Crusaders where bazaars were full of Arabic texts, on his way to immerse himself in Muslim lands believing that the knowledge found in the Arab East could help cure the ills of the West. Adopting flowing green robes and a green signet ring, Adelard was one of many who travelled and respectfully translated great works, including those of Euclid.

Holy Emperor Frederick II, grandson of King Roger II, mentioned earlier, was a learned Emperor twice excommunicated by the Popes for his suspect views and love for Muslim learning. He extended patronage to a Michael Scot who translated works by Aristotle and Ibn Sina. Amongst his protégés was Fibonacci of Pisa, the pre-eminent mathematician who translated and studied amongst Muslims and wrote treatises on geometry, equations and developed his famous Fibonacci sequence.

What fascinates me about this era centres on the topics of movement; of ideas, of peoples, of thoughts and of intellectual property. The Oxford and Cambridge Universities of the world stood firmly in Baghdad, Damascus and Andalusia. The movement of ideas and knowledge travelled from east to west. The baton kept moving and was polished and moulded by the hands of many as it circuited empires. As we talk of the movement of people and ideas today, we would do well to remember this time, if not to honour the contributions of those who we can so readily malign, then at least to comprehend how inter-connected we all really are. That nations rise and fall, that we give and we take, teaches us humility and respect and draws us back to the fundamental reality that our honour, dignity and rights flow from and through one another. Upon the shoulders of one another do we stand strong. Intolerance, hatred and bigotry attack our very core human essence, leaving none unscathed.

I have been involved in work at the school/mosque interface for many years. It is a very satisfying and rewarding project, not least because so much of what we cover is neglected or absent from the school curriculum.

We have an insight into what young people already know, what they enjoy learning about, where the gaps in knowledge are and which topics inspire them to feel empowered and able to connect better with others- being those who build bridges.

The horrific Manchester Arena Attack and the ensuing stabbing outside our mosque in Altrincham leant impetus to school visits, catalysing the commitment towards working for greater social cohesion. We witnessed an exponential rise in requests for mosque engagement. My personal view is that many school heads, RE leads and teachers have gone above and beyond in reaching out to hear ‘Muslim’ voices and to forge stronger community ties. Credit should be given where credit is due. Feedback has inevitably touched on how it is one thing to learn from textbooks in a classroom and quite another to see, hear and feel learning at a mosque trip; observing the prayer, hearing the recitation of the Qur’an and learning about how faith informs the lives of so many Muslims. We have had sessions lasting 2.5 hours with up to 120 secondary school students where teachers have given us a free rein to say what needs to be said and teach what needs to be taught.

My question is ‘How do we as Muslims present with meaning, wisdom and relevance?’

In short, how do we ensure our message has clarity, authenticity, compassion and is one that really matters today and makes a difference? This really is quite a challenge and if that is not felt acutely, we should not be in this role.

Is there a risk that the whole presentation entirely morphs Islam into ‘one gigantic interesting foreign artefact’ or one that over exoticises the Muslims and their faith; fetishising and otherising our own selves by our own hands. I have seen this happen umpteen times. Good intentions of creating ‘hands on, fun and sensory experiences,’ veer off course. How many times have I seen students presented with prayer beads, Qur’an stands, crescents and stars, flags to colour in and even given a chance to try on sparkly shalwar kameezes, jalabiyyas, kaftans, headscarves and abayas! This does nothing to explain the central tenets of the faith or bear witness to the emergence of a very British Muslim identity. Personally, I feel these techniques are distractions and should have been scrapped yesterday.

I was invited to speak to medical students by a university on ‘Inter-Cultural Consultations.’ The lecturer took me aside and asked me to be sure to explain to male medical students why they must not, as future doctors, shake hands with Muslim female patients and they must also understand that they should refrain from eye contact with the same cohort. I politely declined. I would not be party to this misinformation nor take a tiny fringe minority view and make such generalisations. How does anyone justify such teachings when a history and potentially intimate examination may yet unfold?

When we engage, when we teach, when we present, we must be clear as to our aims, what we want to achieve and go about it with determination, authenticity and far sighted vision.

We need to start with the premise that many people today seem to have a real discomfort with the rituals of organised religion yet there appears to be a natural understanding of God. We would do well to heed this and make adjustments. After all, many of us will be familiar with this Qur’anic verse:

Invite (all) to the Way of thy Lord with wisdom and beautiful preaching; and argue with them in ways that are best and most gracious.

When Ja’far was asked by the Christian Negus of Abyssinia to elucidate the case for the Muslims seeking refuge under his protection, he spoke of values: morality, protecting the weak, honouring promises etc…. whilst worshipping the same One God and following the guidance of a Prophet who was honest and truthful. He then recited Surah Maryam to connect with his audience. Why did he appeal to common values and why this choice of recitation?

If our presentations focus on rituals and rules without elucidating the inner meaning, then we have done a great disservice. How many times have Muslim spaces felt like bastions of long lists of what is not allowed to the point of feeling a serious lack of oxygen; the dos the donts, the frowned upon, the disliked, who will say what and who will talk etc….. However, perhaps there would be more traction if we approached from a more value based perspective? There is an over reliance on ‘The Five Pillars of Islam’ as our framework of reference but what about issues such as family, neighbourliness, environmental stewardship, honesty, being of service etc…An edifice requires more than just pillars to stand, to provide a function and to be an adornment. Again, if we translate just the pillars and the rituals to those who may already feel antipathy towards organised religion and if we fail to portray the grand edifice, we have done a disservice.

The prayer is to connect with Our Creator; to feel uplifted and to better oneself.

The charity is to purify ourselves and cement human relations whilst combatting inequality.

The pilgrimage is to centre our lives around The Divine and to manifest our equality before God. If we then lie, cheat, turn a blind eye to inequality, take advantage of others then we have lost the meaning and function of the rituals.

Aside for the angle from which we elaborate, we should try to comprehend where our audience are coming from. In order to take a class from point A to point B in the journey, we need to understand the nuances of where they are at right now- Point A. What are their perceptions and understandings of Muslims and Islam? Attendees to a mosque workshop may have no idea that we believe in the same One God, that we have key Prophets, including Jesus, also mentioned in the Judeo Christian tradition and that our law is concerned with the preservation of life, faith, health, honour, dignity and social justice. Moreover, many participants will have ingrained misconceptions based on news and political narratives. This all must be unlocked and rebuilt.

When asked what key points students had learned after our workshops, a young boy said that he thought the Qur’an encouraged Muslims to bomb others indiscriminately. Another student mentioned that Muslim women are oppressed because their men can throw acid at them if they are disobedient and that the Prophet zealously made war to extend his personal empire across Turkey to Spain. Surprising statements, unearthed only if we stop to ask and then listen.

Age old lenses by which we ‘otherise’ need to be done away with. Islam has a history in Britain that dates back to King Offa’s coin and The Ballycottin Cross of the 8th and 9th centuries. Perhaps we need to do away with the distractions of peripheral issues and demonstrate the crucial fact that Britain and the Muslim world have interacted for centuries; in trade, learning, travel and indeed conflict. We all know how much young people love a good story. Perhaps of more immediate need is to share the following historical narratives:

-William Quilliam- who set up the Liverpool mosque in 1891 which had a printing press, reading room, museum, hostel, orphanage, published two journals and set up services that were attended by Christians and Muslims whilst sensitive to both.

-Hafiz Mohammed Abdul Karim- attendant and secretary to Queen Victoria with whom she would discuss Philosophy and Politics. He was known affectionately as ‘Munshi.’

-Noor Inayat Khan awarded the George Cross for bravery for her services with The Allies in World War II.

-The fantastic achievements of Muslim philosophers, astronomers, mathematicians, scientists, mapmakers etc.. who fed the Renaissance should all be touched on; including the fact that there are 600 words in the English lexicon (sofa, coffee, algebra, camera…) that stem from the Muslim world.

Finally, we need to define and highlight topics that ring a cord and resonate in the public conscience. What’s in the air? From my experience in schools, the greatest leverage comes from discussions on what we have in common, stories of communities rising against hate and discussions on issues of human rights and equality.

I witness pin drop silence when touching on the biography of Malcolm X or Muhammad Ali, when explaining the achievements of Ibtihaj Muhamad (US fencer) or Fatima Al Fihri (who established one of the world’s first universities) and when explaining the equality demonstrated in prayer and pilgrimage; young people care about human rights and anti racist movements.

I see 100% eye contact when elaborating on social campaigns against hate, for example the ‘I will ride with you’ campaign that went viral in Australia or when narrating personal stories of courage and forgiveness, such as the case of Mr Nasser Kurdy who was stabbed in 2017 outside our mosque in Altrincham.

Herein lie beautiful lessons that are testament to man’s innate desire to do good by oneself and for others; lessons that have a faith perspective.

I feel a combined empathy when I discuss how Muslims really feel in this post 9/11 world with honesty and candour.

Young people love to discuss contemporary Muslim public figures: Mo Salah, Mo Farah, Nadiya, Ibtihaj Mohammed, Malala, Sadiq Khan…..

If you have eye contact, engaged body language and pin drop silence, you probably are doing a good job in your presentations.

If you include interactive discussions and debates where open questions are welcomed, you will excite reasoned reflection.

And yes LGBTQ+ issues are very much in the forefront of young peoples’ minds. Yes we need to honestly reflect our faith perspective and we must do justice to respecting personal freedoms and choices; reflections that are dignified and rooted in the Qur’anic teaching that ‘There is no compulsion in religion.’ We would do well to show a little kindness and compassion towards those very young people in our audience who may be struggling with feelings they don’t fully understand yet and would be further alienated by intolerant and hateful tones.

Ultimately these classroom exposures have the power to undo negative conceptions, build understandings based on common values, in a language that all can understand and to construct bridges bringing people together as communities.

If instead we lecture from high, use unfamiliar confusing jargon, promote a foreign tribalistic narrative lacking in spirit and without the goal of bringing people together, we have wasted a valuable opportunity. We need to reflect on a hierarchy of needs that respond to our current climate- If we feel that teaching peripheral issues that confuse young people such as talk of topis and jalabiyyahs, how to wash up to your elbows, gargle with water and even clean after going to the toilet, how many cycles are in each prayer and the names of each prayer are necessary to fill the time, we need to stop and press the reset button.

The Muslim scene has been one I have immersed myself in for decades. I have been blessed to work on projects of immense value which make up some of my fondest memories: Islam Awareness Week, Living Islam Festival, working with schools locally, small dabblings with writing, chairing, presenting and so on….

However, the activist space can be a noisy, clamorous cacophony of competing, conflicting, juxtapositioning voices and stances. Just saying that sentence is tiring and demonstrates how confusing a space it is!!

When one accepts that the Muslim community is not a homogenous group, with one opinion, it seems natural that many groups will and should exist. The supposition that we are a monolithic block despite our cultural and linguistic differences as well as the diversity in our personal tastes and personalities is reductive and can result in the promotion of the same viewpoints from the same speakers who fit a narrow theological understanding. We resist being pushed outside of our comfort zone.

At a macro and micro level, the Muslim community is a diverse patchwork of varying points of view and our history is steeped in the rich tradition of robust debate within a framework of accepted values- so we should expect diverse groups and views. This is nothing new. So far, so good.

The problem arises when one view, one school of thought is promoted as the only view and one way of practise as the only legitimate way.

There are the loud clamouring organisations that point fingers at others, name call and employ dog whistle tactics with their members. They are adept at using social media to sow seeds of intolerance and stir up campaigns of hate and also at knowing which buttons to press to ignite the Muslim angst; using terminology such as ‘in bed with the government,’ ‘sellouts,’ ‘brown sahib’ etc…to gain currency.

There are other groups that adopt conservatism and name call others as ‘liberal sell outs’ and vice versa. Some incessantly promulgate ‘victimhood’ and shame those who beg to differ.

Finally, are the groups that create a pressure to conform in order to fit in. They set the bar as to what is an authentic Muslim and who deserves to fit in. When this is the singular group operating, it becomes about power and control. Think dress codes, segregation, thoughts on music, how we interact with other communities- their views are fixed.

Let me give you an example;

A young person at her University Islamic Society was keen to hear a certain speaker who she deeply respected. She asked her friend to come along for the first time and as they tried to enter, they were brusquely told to enter via a different doorway; this one was for the brothers. Entering correctly, they saw a curtain from the roof to the floor behind which to ‘engage’ in the lecture. They left. I won’t go into how very harmful these practices are at a subconscious level for our young people and how damaging this ‘fracturing’ is but suffice it to say, the culture had been determined and set. You either fit in or not. The question then arises, where do you go to learn and engage when there are no other options?

I have experienced such contrasting subcultures and have matured to know my own mind, developed my own understanding and wish for that to be respected as much as I respect the choice of others. What I cannot abide is being told ‘This is the only way, the right way and you must conform.’ If my antennae pick up that vibe, I am out the door, quick as a flash! Surely, we can be mature enough to have fluidity in our norms to allow everyone to feel they can be themselves and be comfortable in their chosen practice. Surely, this hardening of the lines we draw, this setting of rigid parameters of what is acceptable and what is not is just a manifestation of our insecurity and immaturity at a community level.

The cacophony of voices from all different angles is loud and noisy. They won’t all suit you and your voice won’t necessarily suit others but that makes your contribution even more vital. Calmly insist on playing your role- don’t be shouted down.

On the topic of spokespeople, those who bravely put their heads above the parapet to take up the mic, the podium or offer a commentary in the public domain, do so knowing that they cannot always get it right; sometimes they offer an alternative valid viewpoint, sometimes a statement needs to be made because the public need to hear something different from us, sometimes their responses are framed eg the media and sometimes they just make human error. If their stance is acceptable theologically and they are causing no harm my questions are:

Do we need to shoot them down so readily?

Can there may be more than one narrative?

Or do we feel threatened and if so, why?

I think we need to seriously ponder over our understanding of God and His Power and His infinite ability to be the Best of Planners if we feel so readily threatened by diverse opinions and deeply shaken in our own self-confidence.

I say it again-the faith that we practise is one and the basic tenets are the same. Yet as a living breathing faith, it is by definition coloured by our cultural backgrounds, geographical locations as well as our personalities, upbringings, hopes, fears and aspirations. The result is that we are a tapestry-a kaleidoscope of colour, akin to any other community.

Going to a ‘community event’ can feel like immersing yourself in the warmth of a second home. Equally it can feel alien and uncomfortable, causing the fright and flight mechanism to kick in. A bit like shopping for the right outfit, one needs to pay a little attention to where one immerses oneself for spiritual nourishment and company. If you feel like a misfit then take the hint and find a place that fits better.

But know this- all our voices count. We need to be bold and brave and step up when needed; at all levels. We all have a unique perspective to bring to the table which deserves to be heard and is sorely needed in our polarised world. I believe that the balm to the angst and miscommunication we see so often today is for more, particularly youngsters, to step forward and be heard.

So what is stopping this happening?

Let’s examine just one external reason. Having seen some of the toxic behaviour in some organisations, I am well aware of the hierarchy of exclusion. I know all too well how power seeks to exclude and re-emphasise its own importance. We are often exposed to singular strands of thought which belittle and mock our intelligence rather than being introduced to the wealth of thinking, research and opinions that exist now and in our history. That can be intimidating.

The internal reasons I see include: fear of getting it wrong, lack of confidence in one’s own knowledge and ability to deliver, fear of criticism, fear of a backlash… Learning is about taking the plunge and sometimes succeeding but sometimes falling and getting right back up again. There is a desperate need for more young Muslims to be seen and heard, engaging in the plethora of platforms that exist, bringing about greater understanding.

I have seen name calling and bullish behaviour from many groups but that should be called out for the bullying that it is. Growing a thick skin is part of the territory.

A famous speaker once said that Islam is like water in a river. If the riverbed is the culture of the people amongst whom we live, the river water that runs over it will take on that colour. ‘Urf/ the culture that we live in is understood best by those born and raised here. For this very reason young people today need their voices heard and need to be engaging.

The Muslim Activism Scene? I now see it is one big jigsaw. Don’t expect everyone to like everything you stand for as much as you feel the same way but know that you are one necessary and vital piece of that jigsaw without which the whole would be incomplete. Let others try to shout you down; don’t be bullied by those who lack adab and claim that their vitriol is to protect Islam. Don’t get swayed by those who use ‘evidence and proofs’ against you and quote Arabic to impress others. You’ll know instinctively when something feels wrong. Don’t stay in the peripheries waiting for others to do what needs to be done and say what needs to be said; you have reason, agency and duty. Hold your head up, maintain your dignity and know that God gave you a voice to use.

Play your part!

I am now in my mid 40s- exactly. That means I have witnessed prayer rooms, mosques, Islamic spaces and activism since the age of 18- more than half my life! Whilst I have witnessed unparalleled love, kindness, compassion and brother/sisterhood, I would be lying if I omitted the harshness and dysfunction that I have seen playing out over all these years. And now after decades of confusion and angst, I feel I have the words to describe what I’ve seen.

I have been raised in a relaxed and liberal home. Thank God, I learnt at a young age that we are all people deserving of recognition, dignity and honour as God’s beautiful creation. This belief is as fundamental to me as Tawheed/ the belief in the unity of God and His creation. We are all human before we define ourselves as male or female, black or white, Muslim or not etc…..

So why am I rambling?

Let me elucidate:

In 2009, I was working in A and E in a Northern hospital. The chaplaincy had an annexe or multi-faith room, used mainly by Muslims for the daily prayers. Please visualise this-on entering I saw a screen such as those used in the past by patients to undress behind. It was moulded into a circle for any sister who wished to pray. She would enter this single screen and rotate the contraption around herself to pray within- this would guarantee her a 3 foot circular space-somewhat resembling a tardis. I remained silent though my heart bled, twirled the contraption around myself but left it open at the back; it was undoubtedly a claustrophobic space. Little did I realise that this would upset a brother who then proceeded to request that I fully close the curtain to seal myself and my backside away entirely. His expectation was that I would do as I was told. My expectation was that he would understand how humiliating an experience this was. The monstrosity reached to the carpet and up towards the ceiling. In sealing myself off, I felt neither part of something bigger and, more importantly, was completely unaware of my surroundings. How many were in the room? Who was in the room? Bear in mind, this included the dawn and sunset prayers when on call. This experience did not help me attain a calm, God centred internal state for my prayer; instead I felt anxious and within a state of heightened, coursing adrenaline. That feeling has recurred time and time again.

Since then, I have had numerous experiences, indeed too many to count, of brothers objecting to women praying even when behind them, walking through the mosque to access something, organising events etc…..

So let’s just analyse these incidents for a while. My understanding is that segregation is a choice made in order to heighten spirituality, should that be the consensus.

Segregation is not the norm but the exception in spaces of prayer and religious observance- again should that be the consensus.

What a curtain, a barrier and segregation should not do is dehumanise, erase or make another person; their physical presence, their needs and their desire for community, invisible or unworthy.

Our shared spaces; the markets, the institutions of learning and public services are not meant to be segregated and should remain spaces of fluid movement.

I have prayed alone on one side of the curtain feeling cut off from the congregation at times when I desperately needed the very opposite. Like a life raft, I needed community to buoy me up and found nothing but isolation.

I have prayed alone on one side of the curtain while witnessing the hairy fumbling hand next door inching the curtain forward in case my presence should, God forbid, become in any way perceptible.

I have witnessed brothers telling ladies actively pursuing projects in Islamic spaces that their presence is making the men uncomfortable.

A famous preacher from across the pond discusses gender segregation in his YouTube videos. He discusses the story of Musa AS and how he was approached by the ladies he helped and refers to how one walked ‘shyly.’ Now I am not really sure what ‘walking shyly’ is but his extrapolation that this is the way for Muslim women to behave seems surprising to me. In another video, he promotes the well versed viewpoint promulgated time and again in Muslim spaces that men struggle to control themselves and uses the example of how when a male enters a lecture room late, everybody gets on with listening to their lecture. However, if a female does so, men cannot fight their innate nature which is to just stare and stare and stare… At this point, my daughter and I shut the video down…..disgusted. So common are these views that they have become almost bread and butter. But we are left wondering how exactly should a female enter a room full of people and how exactly are these words digested and liable to be mimicked by our young boys? Whose needs are primary and whose are secondary- in effect whose experience is central to our worldview and whose is subsidiary?

Let me ask this question-What was the practise of Muhammed SAW, the best of examples?

His mosque was one room; for all. He encouraged the women to pray in congregation, including the Fajr and the Isha prayers. At the time, we know that some men had only a sheet to dress themselves with and the Prophet, peace be upon him, recommended that women delay raising their heads from prostration till after the men in case the men were exposed by their restricted means and restricted clothing. One door sufficed until the Prophet suggested that perhaps this door be left for the women. At no point did our Messenger erect a wall, put up a curtain or banish the women. Those who argue that those were the blessed companions, believe me when I say the women and indeed girls I have witnessed being criticised were doing nothing wrong.

There’s a beautiful story at the time of Rasool SAW when he knelt his camel down to offer a lady a ride as she was carrying a heavy load of date stones on her head. She felt shy and declined but her husband later said that he would have preferred for her to accept the lift from Muhammad SAW than carry such a load on foot.

I am going to state for the record that my local mosque is exceptional in its good practice but my experiences in so many Muslim spaces has left my heart scarred. This will not do. No this will not do at all. At a time when we need to be attracting our female youth to feel recognised, valued and imbued with a sense of belonging, I wonder whether instead we are witnessing heightened anxiety around Muslim spaces which are indeed contributing to micro-traumas on a relatively regular basis. For too long we have stayed quiet and patiently endured. That is not the answer. I firmly believe, left unchecked and uncensored, some in our communities are emboldened in their harshness and boldness in ostracising the other.

The male is not like the female.

Our roles are to complement one another.

We are one community, enjoining good and forbidding evil. And on and on…..

And yes, for the record I firmly believe we can be friends and companions, across genders.

And yes, that starts by nurturing respectful interactions from a young age.

And yes, I have seen beautiful, honourable, decent, kind interactions; at ISB Campus for a start.

So to those who like to reduce every male- female interaction to the base level of sexual desire and uncontrollable urges, I challenge you to aim higher and think deeper than your private parts. If we expect nothing but knee jerk reactions from our youth to those of the opposite gender, we will get just that.

Why is it we have to fracture ourselves so painfully when entering Muslim spaces?

From interacting at work, on campuses and in our neighbourhoods, so many Muslims will change their clothing, don a harsh exterior and ‘holier than thou attitude’ and step into Muslim spaces, transformed.

The female who is a leader at work, a CEO of a company, a team manager must now remain quiet; she will neither lead nor be heard now.

The youth who were working on a joint project must part ways, use different entrances and pretend they never met before.

The women will retire behind curtains of invisibility while 5, 6, 7 year old boys will cartwheel and cavort freely in the main open mosque hall.

Like broken glass, this fracturing is harmful, painful and has worrying consequences, for us all.

One example of this fractured mindset lies in the realm of projects such as ‘Visit My Mosque’ days. These are fantastic initiatives but irk and rub salt on the wounds of Muslim women who are funnelled and channelled into dark dingy cellars and behind walls of invisibility when their female colleagues of other faiths and none get to experience the real mosque flavour and appreciate the warmth of a welcoming embrace. All this while Muslim women who frequent these spaces regularly; supporting and fundraising are left out in the cold, so to speak.

I believe respectful interactions start young. I believe that the more our young people see and experience honesty, respect and honour in the interactions of those they look up to and value, the more they will naturally imbibe those qualities, becoming individuals who demonstrate integrity and decency. Our curtains should never become walls to protect us from unformed and immature psyches that never learnt how to interact with dignity. Our segregated spaces cannot be allowed to become cages to restrict the other and make them invisible. To those brothers and sisters who find one other so objectionable, please spend some time in introspection analysing where the problem lies. If the physical presence of another person is so offensive, then perhaps your place is at home.

The Qur’an 9:71

“The Believers, men and women, are protectors one of another: they enjoin what is just, and forbid what is evil: they observe regular prayers, practise regular charity, and obey Allah and His Messenger. On them will Allah pour His mercy: for Allah is Exalted in power, Wise.”

We are protectors to one another; comrades and companions. To achieve this, we need more love and more mercy. We need more honour and more empathy.

The time is long overdue for serious introspection on the part of all our communities.

We cannot ask for our rights whilst neglecting and trampling on those of others.

We cannot condone calling for the erasure and invisibility of such a large sector of our community and this says nothing of the little rights we afford other minorities such as the disabled, black Muslims etc…

I hoped for change but instead have witnessed heels being dug in and a further entrenching of hardline views.

Unless things change and quickly, our sons and daughters will sadly see injustice and irrelevance in so much of what we have built.

As a young medical student I wrote a project on ‘Grief and Bereavement Reactions.’ It was an objective project for which I researched the topic and undertook some case studies.

Little did I know that objective path would become a personal journey traversing hills and troughs, highs and lows, tears and heartache like nothing I have ever experienced before. The project did not prepare me – at all.

I realise now that life exposes us to a continuum of opposing forces, emotions and experiences. What is the experience of raw pure joy without the taste of pain and sadness that travel alongside? How do we know and feel lightness of spirit without having known the heaviness of loss that life throws at us? When we feel lonely, it is recognised because we know what warmth, company and belonging feel like? When we experience scarcity, we can label it because we have understood times of ease. What is night without day and light without dark?

Likewise, grief is part of of our human journey; hitching a ride, shadowing our moves and then entering without permission. It settles like an unwanted guest whilst we adjust to life with a bleak void within.

The journey of loss is a dark winding road; sometimes we are fore-warned with a dire prognosis and sometimes it is a sudden assault; coming from nowhere. Sometimes we watch the deterioration of disease and therapies endured while we stare helplessly from the sidelines. Whether sudden or gradual, nothing can prepare us as humans for the tearing away of life and loved ones. As people of faith, armed with such optimism and hope for cure, the fact is that we have no words to describe the raw gnawing fear of what may go wrong- for to name the beast may let it in. To name ‘despair’ and ‘hopelessness’ may make that haunting shadow real and solid. To say out loud that we fear a downward trajectory or that this disease is terminal may accelerate that hideous decline. Surely God is the Healer- He can do anything- we have to believe that- right?

The gift of love and affection comes with the formidable sadness that follows loss; the denial, the anger, the despair, the fear and even the questioning- ‘Why me? Why us? Why so soon? But I prayed just for cure, for life. But I donated so much in hope.’

We only feel such pain because we dared to love- there are those two opposing forces once again.

The first weeks and months and years can feel so very grey and so very bleak- as if a part of you extinguishes as that soul you loved left its body; for perhaps a part of you does indeed die too? That weight of grief seems to banish joy and laughter and the burden feels so heavy. For me, I could not say the word ‘died.’ I referred to ‘passing away’ and ‘loss.’ I would rage at those who would so casually say ‘my battery has died.’ It would chafe and gnaw at the wound, all over again, leaving me haemorrhaging. I preferred solace and avoided crowds. Times of celebration and joy reduced me to tears of misery. Patients talking about loss made my insides swirl and reduce me to a trembling sweaty mess. Visiting the funeral director to confirm a death, felt like running a marathon with no air to breathe. How does one enjoy a new experience when there is a constant reminder that our loved one would have enjoyed this too? That sunset, that vacation, this film, that family occasion- they would have loved it- perhaps even more than me. Why are they not here? Their chair at the dining table lies empty. What gives me the right to feel joy? How can our family have any semblance of a reunion now? Why not me instead? That undercurrent of sadness, loss and guilt travels alongside- always.

They say time is a healer and this is absolutely true. With time, the pain that felt so acute settles into an ache; a real heartache. What felt like stabbing pain settles into a toothache; a pain nonetheless but less sharp. Those intrusive memories that may have been tinged with visual images of disease, disability, cannulas, tubes, painful conversations with medical professionals and physical wastage and decline start to allow in memories of the good old times; of health and wellness. Those upsetting nightmares of loss become less frequent. The heartache we are left with is testimony to our capacity to love and so we may prefer not to be without it. The ache bears witness that we loved and becomes comfortable as if it fits and moulds to us. I am reminded of the words of a U2 song, ‘With or without you- I can’t live.’ It is a weight that becomes part of our very essence and one we cannot be without. There is a Japanese tradition to fix broken crockery with gold- a sign that things break and fracture but we can rebuild and move forward. Those fractures never disappear but perhaps can be testament to beauty, to love, to a union of souls, to the life that we once knew and will one day meet again, in our eternal home.

Allow me to share some advice. They say no one should have to bury their own child. There is no word for parents who lose a child. I would urge that we stay in touch with those who had to do just that. Most parents would wish that they could have traded themselves for their beloved child. The kindness and care should not end when we walk away from the funeral prayer and witness the mound of earth being transferred over a loved one. As family and friends use shovels to dig the cool, wet earth; using their own energy and hands to honour a life lost, remember them in your prayers and reach out from time to time. After all, it is just a phone call, just a visit but it becomes a lifeline to those who have lost.

As Muslims, we have a strong and beautiful tradition of visiting the bereaved. This may sound harsh but I believe that privilege comes with etiquettes that should be adhered to. Bear in mind not everyone wants visitors, not everyone feels ready to share. These opportunities may well be a time of silence and reflection. Many may wish to talk about the person they lost and bear witness to their character; others may not. To those who visit a friend who is mourning, we should remember that this time is not about us and our losses which mean parking our experiences and emotions till a more appropriate time. Refrain from small talk if it feels inappropriate; politics and sport can wait. Silence is just fine.

There is no good death. There is only death- the severance of all earthly ties; the start of eternal life. Whether sudden or after a terminal decline, whether young or old, whether of a spouse, sibling, offspring or friend- death cannot and should not be compared- so don’t do it. And with the raging hurricane of grief, comes the reminder that we will all taste death. It is the ultimate reality. Our lives and those of who we love do not belong to us but are simply on loan to us. We cannot make trade offs with God; our times were written long ago. Perhaps there is some good somewhere in this hard, arduous journey- for someone, somewhere though it’s hard for us to see? This again is not something to necessarily vocalise to the bereaved. Perhaps they were washed of all mistakes and sins and entered a state of purity to be at complete peace? I now remind myself that I was lucky to have known him for his 40 years, I was -no I am- lucky to be his sister and he now has the very best of care. He could not have carried on in his terminal state for much longer; ravished by a selfish tumour that took every human function away while it ate away at his very essence. Can it be possible that those swirling, conflicting, overflowing emotions can be harnessed into something new? Akin to the gold that affixes the broken crockery- can we in time funnel those feelings into a project, a plan, a movement? The Muslim faith reminds us that we, especially the children, can pray for deceased loved ones; indeed prayers and the setting up of trusts and charitable donations are formidable reminders of growth after loss.

Though we get carried away in the affairs of this life; every soul will taste death and the ultimate reality is only the eternal abode to come. A dear friend said to me the most comforting words after loss- ‘and you will meet him again.’

Yes dear soul, we will meet again and perhaps it will feel like just a blink of an eye has passed.

Love you x