303/2009: @ wiretap- 'standing up for muslim women's "writes."

 

 

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303/2009: @ wiretap- 'standing up for muslim women's "writes."

via kameelahwrites by kameelah on 10/13/09

new column at WireTap Magazine. if is so moves you, leave comments there..

Standing Up for Muslim Women's "Writes"
By Kameelah Rasheed, October 12, 2009

Column: What do we lose when we write for our audience rather than to our audience?

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a friend concerning an online publication that was soliciting "Muslim voices." I won't launch into a diatribe about the insulting nature of seasonal interest in Muslim folks during Ramadan; however, I will note that whenever the narratives of Muslim folks are solicited, I grow nervous. This is not about writer's block; rather, it is a concern for the ways Muslims, particularly Muslim women, are allowed to present themselves through their writing.

When writing is solicited, the narratives of Muslim women are often vetted. The ones deemed appropriate for public consumption generally fall along four plot lines: A trite tale of alienation, sudden acceptance, and seemingly premature celebration; the well-assimilated Muslimah who has an American flag sewn into all of her hijabs; the angry conspiracy theorist who recites Al-Fatihah and preaches about the authenticity of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion ; or the widely accepted apostate who is paraded as the "liberated woman" having successfully escaped the stranglehold of Islamic patriarchy.

We needn't forget the super heroine whose hijab serves as a cap, an unconditional shield against a sexualized male gaze, and a colorful stain-resistant accessory that matches the stitching of her jeans. We can be the super heroines or distressed woman in need of saving. The veiled amongst us are given the option of producing writing that reduces us to a tragic footnote or exposes us as a glaring example of the "clash of civilizations."

"We edit ourselves into the margins and sometimes out of existence."

While there are other spaces for Muslim woman to share their writing such as blogs and alternative publications, in my experiences, if we want to be published widely then we most conform to certain expectations. In many cases, we want our narratives to reach a wide audience because this is a story we want more than our immediate community to experience. In this context, we need to make strategic edits to fit into one of the aforementioned plot lines. This begs the question of whether I am more beholden to my audience or to my actual feelings. In the end, it feels like theatrics rather than an organic process.

All writers are at times directed to write for, rather than to an audience. In the process of crafting prose for our audience, we edit ourselves into the margins and sometimes out of existence. In the post-9/11 world, the industry for Muslim narratives grew out of a desire to understand the "other," while some Muslims wrote out of an urgent need to re-humamize the Muslim community.

For the past year, I have been working on an essay concerning my experiences as a Muslim woman in America. Midway through writing the essay, I decided that I did not want to write about myself. Among many things, I fear that it may be yet another trite tale of alienation and premature celebration. I remember one of the very first things I published about my experiences as an African American Muslim woman in the United States. I was 20 years old and living in South Africa.

Beyond simply being not very well written, the story followed a superhero plot. I tried to convince my readers that hijab possessed magical powers that not only shielded me from a sexualized male gaze, but also gave me the unconditional strength to ignore feelings of alienation and hatred. I cluttered the essay with bloated language.

Additionally, I argued that I was completely comfortable in my hijab and had no misgivings about how I was perceived. As forthcoming as I wanted to be, I was more beholden to my audience and the need to prove my strength rather than articulate my fears.

At 24, I do not feel any greater sense of security as an American Muslim; in fact, I've experienced a greater sense of precariousness as I have traveled, worked in a professional environment and faced increasing incidents of discrimination. I find myself crying in airports when I am forced into that Plexiglas holding cell to endure the "headgear check." I find myself growing increasingly sensitive to remarks about my hijab and insults from strangers. While I don't feel a greater sense of security about how I fit into the American fabric and society as a whole, I do feel a greater sense of responsibility in writing to my audience rather than for my audience.

The difference may appear to be simply semantics, but when we tailor out writing to fit into plot templates, we surrender some element of truth. We deprive the world of knowing who we truly are.

 

 

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