A victory cry or an attempt to drum up paranoia? "Thousands"! How many!?
Sukla On 4 June 2010 08:01, farida m <[email protected]> wrote: > Although it doesnt bother me what one's religion is, this report is > interesting as it comes at a time and from a place where there is a war, > both military and media, on this religion of Third World. Farida > > > http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article7135026.ece > > 29 may 2010 > Young. British. Female. Muslim. Thousands of young British women living in > the UK decide to convert to Islam - here are some of their stories > [image: From Left: Sukina Douglas, Catherine Heseltine, Aqeela Lindsay > Wheeler, Catherine Huntley and Joanne Bailey (Photographed by Sheila Rock)] > > (Sheila Rock) > > From left: Sukina Douglas, Catherine Heseltine, Aqeela Lindsay Wheeler, > Catherine Huntley and Joanne Bailey > Sarah Harris > > - 80 > Comments<http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article7135026.ece#comment-have-your-say> > > Recommend? (80) > <http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article7135026.ece#none> > > It’s a controversial time for British women to be wearing the hijab, the > basic Muslim headscarf. Last month, Belgium became the first European > country to pass legislation to ban the burka (the most concealing of Islamic > veils), calling it a “threat” to female dignity, while France looks poised > to follow suit. In Italy earlier this month, a Muslim woman was fined €500 > (£430) for wearing the Islamic veil outside a post office. > > And yet, while less than 2 per cent of the population now attends a Church > of England service every week, the number of female converts to Islam is on > the rise. At the London Central Mosque in Regent’s Park, women account for > roughly two thirds of the “New Muslims” who make their official declarations > of faith there – and most of them are under the age of 30. > > Conversion statistics are frustratingly patchy, but at the time of the 2001 > Census, there were at least 30,000 British Muslim converts in the UK. > According to Kevin Brice, of the Centre for Migration Policy Research, > Swansea University, this number may now be closer to 50,000 – and the > majority are women. “Basic analysis shows that increasing numbers of young, > university-educated women in their twenties and thirties are converting to > Islam,” confirms Brice. > > “Our liberal, pluralistic 21st-century society means we can choose our > careers, our politics – and we can pick and choose who we want to be > spiritually,” explains Dr Mohammad S. Seddon, lecturer in Islamic Studies at > the University of Chester. We’re in an era of the “religious supermarket”, > he says. > Related Links > > - The niqab, fact v fiction > <http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/faith/article6721729.ece> > > *Joanne Bailey* > Solicitor, 30, Bradford > > “The first time I wore my hijab into the office, I was so nervous, I stood > outside on the phone to my friend for ages going, ‘What on earth is everyone > going to say?’ When I walked in, a couple of people asked, ‘Why are you > wearing that scarf? I didn’t know you were a Muslim.’ > > “I’m the last person you’d expect to convert to Islam: I had a very > sheltered, working-class upbringing in South Yorkshire. I’d hardly even seen > a Muslim before I went to university. > > “In my first job at a solicitor’s firm in Barnsley, I remember desperately > trying to play the role of the young, single, career woman: obsessively > dieting, shopping and going to bars – but I never felt truly comfortable. > > “Then one afternoon in 2004 everything changed: I was chatting to a Muslim > friend over coffee, when he noticed the little gold crucifix around my neck. > He said, ‘Do you believe in God, then?’ I wore it more for fashion than > religion and said, ‘No, I don’t think so,’ and he started talking about his > faith. > > “I brushed him off at first, but his words stuck in my mind. A few days > later, I found myself ordering a copy of the Koran on the internet. > > “It took me a while to work up the courage to go to a women’s social event > run by the Leeds New Muslims group. I remember hovering outside the door > thinking, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ I imagined they would be dressed > head-to-toe in black robes: what could I, a 25-year-old, blonde English > girl, possibly have in common with them? > > “But when I walked in, none of them fitted the stereotype of the oppressed > Muslim housewife; they were all doctors, teachers and psychiatrists. I was > struck by how content and secure they seemed. It was meeting these women, > more than any of the books I read, that convinced me that I wanted to become > a Muslim. > > “After four years, in March 2008, I made the declaration of faith at a > friend’s house. At first, I was anxious that I hadn’t done the right thing, > but I soon relaxed into it – a bit like starting a new job. > > “A few months later, I sat my parents down and said, ‘I’ve got something to > tell you.’ There was a silence and my mum said, ‘You’re going to become > Muslim, aren’t you?’ She burst into tears and kept asking things like, ‘What > happens when you get married? Do you have to cover up? What about your job?’ > I tried to reassure her that I’d still be me, but she was concerned for my > welfare. > > “Contrary to what most people think, Islam doesn’t oppress me; it lets me > be the person that I was all along. Now I’m so much more content and > grateful for the things I’ve got. A few months ago, I got engaged to a > Muslim solicitor I met on a training course. He has absolutely no problem > with my career, but I do agree with the Islamic perspective on the > traditional roles for men and women. I want to look after my husband and > children, but I also want my independence. I’m proud to be British and I’m > proud to be Muslim – and I don’t see them as conflicting in any way.” > > *Aqeela Lindsay Wheeler* > Housewife and mother, 26, Leicester > > “As a teenager I thought all religion was pathetic. I used to spend every > weekend getting drunk outside the leisure centre, in high-heeled sandals and > miniskirts. My view was: what’s the point in putting restrictions on > yourself? You only live once. > > “At university, I lived the typical student existence, drinking and going > clubbing, but I’d always wake up the next morning with a hangover and think, > what’s the point? > > “It wasn’t until my second year that I met Hussein. I knew he was a Muslim, > but we were falling in love, so I brushed the whole issue of religion under > the carpet. But six months into our relationship, he told me that being with > me was ‘against his faith’. > > “I was so confused. That night I sat up all night reading two books on > Islam that Hussein had given me. I remember bursting into tears because I > was so overwhelmed. I thought, ‘This could be the whole meaning of life.’ > But I had a lot of questions: why should I cover my head? Why can’t I eat > what I like? > > “I started talking to Muslim women at university and they completely > changed my view. They were educated, successful – and actually found the > headscarf liberating. I was convinced, and three weeks later officially > converted to Islam. > > “When I told my mum a few weeks later, I don’t think she took it seriously. > She made a few comments like, ‘Why would you wear that scarf? You’ve got > lovely hair,’ but she didn’t seem to understand what it meant. > > “My best friend at university completely turned on me: she couldn’t > understand how one week I was out clubbing, and the next I’d given > everything up and converted to Islam. She was too close to my old life, so I > don’t regret losing her as a friend. > > “I chose the name Aqeela because it means ‘sensible and intelligent’ – and > that’s what I was aspiring to become when I converted to Islam six years > ago. I became a whole new person: everything to do with Lindsay, I’ve erased > from my memory. > > “The most difficult thing was changing the way I dressed, because I was > always so fashion-conscious. The first time I tried on the hijab, I remember > sitting in front of the mirror, thinking, ‘What am I doing putting a piece > of cloth over my head? I look crazy!’ Now I’d feel naked without it and only > occasionally daydream about feeling the wind blow through my hair. Once or > twice, I’ve come home and burst into tears because of how frumpy I feel – > but that’s just vanity. > > “It’s a relief not to feel that pressure any more. Wearing the hijab > reminds me that all I need to do is serve God and be humble. I’ve even gone > through phases of wearing the niqab [face veil] because I felt it was more > appropriate – but it can cause problems, too. > > “When people see a white girl wearing a niqab they assume I’ve stuck my > fingers up at my own culture to ‘follow a bunch of Asians’. I’ve even had > teenage boys shout at me in the street, ‘Get that s*** off your head, you > white bastard.’ After the London bombings, I was scared to walk about in the > streets for fear of retaliation. > > “For the most part, I have a very happy life. I married Hussein and now we > have a one-year-old son, Zakir. We try to follow the traditional Muslim > roles: I’m foremost a housewife and mother, while he goes out to work. I > used to dream of having a successful career as a psychologist, but now it’s > not something I desire. > > “Becoming a Muslim certainly wasn’t an easy way out. This life can > sometimes feel like a prison, with so many rules and restrictions, but we > believe that we will be rewarded in the afterlife.” > > *Catherine Heseltine* > Nursery school teacher, 31, North London > > “If you’d asked me at the age of 16 if I’d like to become a Muslim, I would > have said, ‘No thanks.’ I was quite happy drinking, partying and fitting in > with my friends. > > “Growing up in North London, we never practised religion at home; I always > thought it was slightly old-fashioned and irrelevant. But when I met my > future husband, Syed, in the sixth form, he challenged all my > preconceptions. He was young, Muslim, believed in God – and yet he was > normal. The only difference was that, unlike most teenage boys, he never > drank. > > “A year later, we were head over heels in love, but we quickly realised: > how could we be together if he was a Muslim and I wasn’t? > > “Before meeting Syed, I’d never actually questioned what I believed in; I’d > just picked up my casual agnosticism through osmosis. So I started reading a > few books on Islam out of curiosity. > > “In the beginning, the Koran appealed to me on an intellectual level; the > emotional and spiritual side didn’t come until later. I loved its > explanations of the natural world and discovered that 1,500 years ago, Islam > gave women rights that they didn’t have here in the West until relatively > recently. It was a revelation. > > “Religion wasn’t exactly a ‘cool’ thing to talk about, so for three years I > kept my interest in Islam to myself. But in my first year at university, > Syed and I decided to get married – and I knew it was time to tell my > parents. My mum’s initial reaction was, ‘Couldn’t you just live together > first?’ She had concerns about me rushing into marriage and the role of > women in Muslim households – but no one realised how seriously I was taking > my religious conversion. I remember going out for dinner with my dad and him > saying, ‘Go on, have a glass of wine. I won’t tell Syed!’ A lot of people > assumed I was only converting to Islam to keep his family happy, not because > I believed in it. > > “Later that year, we had an enormous Bengali wedding, and moved into a flat > together – but I certainly wasn’t chained to the kitchen sink. I didn’t even > wear the hijab at all to start with, and wore a bandana or a hat instead. > > “I was used to getting a certain amount of attention from guys when I went > out to clubs and bars, but I had to let that go. I gradually adopted the > Islamic way of thinking: I wanted people to judge me for my intelligence and > my character – not for the way I looked. It was empowering. > > “I’d never been part of a religious minority before, so that was a big > adjustment, but my friends were very accepting. Some of them were a bit > shocked: ‘What, no drink, no drugs, no men? I couldn’t do that!’ And it took > a while for my male friends at university to remember things like not > kissing me hello on the cheek any more. I’d have to say, ‘Sorry, it’s a > Muslim thing.’ > > “Over time, I actually became more religious than my husband. We started > growing apart in other ways, too. In the end, I think the responsibility of > marriage was too much for him; he became distant and disengaged. After seven > years together, I decided to get a divorce. > > “When I moved back in with my parents, people were surprised I was still > wandering around in a headscarf. But if anything, being on my own > strengthened my faith: I began to gain a sense of myself as a Muslim, > independent of him. > > “Islam has given me a sense of direction and purpose. I’m involved with the > Muslim Public Affairs Committee, and lead campaigns against Islamophobia, > discrimination against women in mosques, poverty and the situation in > Palestine. When people call us ‘extremists’ or ‘the dark underbelly of > British politics’, I just think it’s ridiculous. There are a lot of problems > in the Muslim community, but when people feel under siege it makes progress > even more difficult. > > “I still feel very much part of white British society, but I am also a > Muslim. It has taken a while to fit those two identities together, but now I > feel very confident being who I am. I’m part of both worlds and no one can > take that away from me.” > > *Sukina Douglas* > Spoken-word poet, 28, London > > “Before I found Islam, my gaze was firmly fixed on Africa. I was raised a > Rastafarian and used to have crazy-long dreadlocks: one half blonde and the > other half black. > > “Then, in 2005, my ex-boyfriend came back from a trip to Africa and > announced that he’d converted to Islam. I was furious and told him he was > ‘losing his African roots’. Why was he trying to be an Arab? It was so > foreign to how I lived my life. Every time I saw a Muslim woman in the > street I thought, ‘Why do they have to cover up like that? Aren’t they hot?’ > It looked oppressive to me. > > “Islam was already in my consciousness, but when I started reading the > autobiography of Malcolm X at university, something opened up inside me. One > day I said to my best friend, Muneera, ‘I’m falling in love with Islam.’ She > laughed and said, ‘Be quiet, Sukina!’ She only started exploring Islam to > prove me wrong, but soon enough she started believing it, too. > > “I was always passionate about women’s rights; there was no way I would > have entered a religion that sought to degrade me. So when I came across a > book by a Moroccan feminist, it unravelled all my negative opinions: Islam > didn’t oppress women; people did. > > “Before I converted, I conducted an experiment. I covered up in a long > gypsy skirt and headscarf and went out. But I didn’t feel frumpy; I felt > beautiful. I realised, I’m not a sexual commodity for men to lust after; I > want to be judged for what I contribute mentally. > > “Muneera and I took our *shahada* [declaration of faith] together a few > months later, and I cut my dreadlocks off to represent renewal: it was the > beginning of a new life. > > “Just three weeks after our conversion, the 7/7 bombings happened; suddenly > we were public enemy No 1. I’d never experienced racism in London before, > but in the weeks after the bombs, people would throw eggs at me and say, ‘Go > back to your own country,’ even though this was my country. > > “I’m not trying to shy away from any aspect of who I am. Some people dress > in Arabian or Pakistani styles, but I’m British and Caribbean, so my > national dress is Primark and Topshop, layered with colourful charity-shop > scarves. > > “Six months after I converted, I got back together with my ex-boyfriend, > and now we’re married. Our roles in the home are different, because we are > different people, but he would never try to order me around; that’s not how > I was raised. > > “Before I found Islam, I was a rebel without a cause, but now I have a > purpose in life: I can identify my flaws and work towards becoming a better > person. To me, being a Muslim means contributing to your society, no matter > where you come from.” > > *Catherine Huntley* > Retail assistant, 21, Bournemouth > > “My parents always thought I was abnormal, even before I became a Muslim. > In my early teens, they’d find me watching TV on a Friday night and say, > ‘What are you doing at home? Haven’t you got any friends to go out with?’ > > “The truth was: I didn’t like alcohol, I’ve never tried smoking and I > wasn’t interested in boys. You’d think they’d have been pleased. > > “I’ve always been quite a spiritual person, so when I started studying > Islam in my first year of GCSEs, something just clicked. I would spend every > lunchtime reading about Islam on the computer. I had peace in my heart and > nothing else mattered any more. It was a weird experience – I’d found > myself, but the person I found wasn’t like anyone else I knew. > > “I’d hardly ever seen a Muslim before, so I didn’t have any preconceptions, > but my parents weren’t so open-minded. I hid all my Muslim books and > headscarves in a drawer, because I was so scared they’d find out. > > “When I told my parents, they were horrified and said, ‘We’ll talk about it > when you’re 18.’ But my passion for Islam just grew stronger. I started > dressing more modestly and would secretly fast during Ramadan. I got very > good at leading a double life until one day, when I was 17, I couldn’t wait > any longer. > > “I sneaked out of the house, put my hijab in a carrier bag and got on the > train to Bournemouth. I must have looked completely crazy putting it on in > the train carriage, using a wastebin lid as a mirror. When a couple of old > people gave me dirty looks, I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I > felt like myself. > > “A week after my conversion, my mum came marching into my room and said, > ‘Have you got something to tell me?’ She pulled my certificate of conversion > out of her pocket. I think they’d rather have found anything else at that > point – drugs, cigarettes, condoms – because at least they could have put it > down to teenage rebellion. > > “I could see the fear in her eyes. She couldn’t comprehend why I’d want to > give up my freedom for the sake of a foreign religion. Why would I want to > join all those terrorists and suicide bombers? > > “It was hard being a Muslim in my parents’ house. I’ll never forget one > evening, there were two women in burkas on the front page of the newspaper, > and they started joking, ‘That’ll be Catherine soon.’ > > “They didn’t like me praying five times a day either; they thought it was > ‘obsessive’. I’d pray right in front of my bedroom door so my mum couldn’t > walk in, but she would always call upstairs, ‘Catherine, do you want a cup > of tea?’ just so I’d have to stop. > > “Four years on, my grandad still says things like, ‘Muslim women have to > walk three steps behind their husbands.’ It gets me really angry, because > that’s the culture, not the religion. My fiancé, whom I met eight months > ago, is from Afghanistan and he believes that a Muslim woman is a pearl and > her husband is the shell that protects her. I value that old-fashioned way > of life: I’m glad that when we get married he’ll take care of paying the > bills. I always wanted to be a housewife anyway. > > “Marrying an Afghan man was the cherry on the cake for my parents. They > think I’m completely crazy now. He’s an accountant and actually speaks > better English than I do, but they don’t care. The wedding will be in a > mosque, so I don’t think they’ll come. It hurts to think I’ll never have > that fairytale wedding, surrounded by my family. But I hope my new life with > my husband will be a lot happier. I’ll create the home I’ve always wanted, > without having to feel the pain of people judging me.” > > -- > You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups > "Green Youth Movement" group. > To post to this group, send an email to [email protected]. > To unsubscribe from this group, send email to > [email protected]<greenyouth%[email protected]> > . > For more options, visit this group at > http://groups.google.com/group/greenyouth?hl=en-GB. > -- Peace Is Doable -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Green Youth Movement" group. To post to this group, send an email to [email protected]. To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected]. For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/greenyouth?hl=en-GB.
