Identity

Muslim cleric says Amir Khan is a 'bad example'

A radical Muslim cleric has said the British boxer Amir Khan is setting a bad example to Muslims. Omar Bakri Mohammed, who lives in Lebanon said Khan’s wearing shorts with the Union Jack is a sin, claiming sovereignty is for God and his only allegiance should be to the Prophet Mohammed.

Although The Muslim Council of Britain (MCB) said his comments were “bizarre” and that Khan’s a wonderful role model, there are always those who are influenced by what extremists such as Mohammed say. This is usually to do with gullibility, belief that if someone is a religious cleric they are always right and lack of proper Islamic knowledge.

I know my family would consider Mohammed a  person of authority and someone to listen to, because he has a beard and  appears to represent our religion. They wouldn't see the extremism because it's hidden within the veil of religion.  As long as he mentions Islam and says a few prayers every once in awhile, they'd believe anything he says. And there are thousands more Muslims who think like them.

Amir Khan, on the other hand is a great role model, a young man with British and Pakistani values who seems to have them in good balance. I'm always so proud to see him on television, a Pakistani Muslim doing something different, representing Britain and successful in a field normally not associated with British Muslims. We need more like him and less like Omar Bakri Mohammed.

But publicity like this gives Muslims a worse reputation, results in more pigeon holing and more stereotypes for those like myself to fight, which is a shame. Extremists like Mohammed don't care about that, as they're selfishly trying to raise publicity for their own twisted ideologies rather than worry about creating problems for moderate Muslims.

You can read the article at:

http://itn.co.uk/news/fe4c21f49efd431587d710b84fa85947.html

 

Dating

I've been single since the beginning of September when Alex and I split up, after a little more than eight years together. Being single and in Spain had been amazing and i'd had a great time.

But then I returned to Britain. Despite mentioning to all my friends I was keen to date, I wasn't interested in anyone they suggested. I was beginning to think dating in Britain would be a disaster for me.

Then a week ago I met a couple of friends I used to work with. They told me about their experience of a popular dating site they'd joined whilst single about a year ago. I couldn't believe some of their stories, they'd both had lots of success, had a lot of fun and met lots of men. The icing on the cake was that one of them, Karina had actually married someone she'd met on the site, she'd told me he was a friend of friend!
The other, Amber, had dated one guy for six months and another for a few months. They'd been taken out to fancy restaurants, posh hotels and had had offers of holidays in exotic locations. They were insistent I should join and given my situation, living with my sister, the family issues building up, I thought, why not? If nothing else, it'll get me out in the evenings and I might make some new friends. Either that or i'd have some fun stories to tell, like Amber and Karina had. They'd had me in stitches. Some of their dating stories, good and bad, will be on the site in the future.

So that evening I went online. It took ages as the site encourages you to write as much about yourself as possible, with the aim of attracting a lot of interest. Which I did so. My username was Salsa2326, as I thought that'd be catchy, and my opening line mentioned my salsa dancing and graffiti drawing (I thought that'd attract attention, not many people can graffiti, can they?). I paid my twenty five pounds and waited.

Soon enough my profile was attracting attention - I couldn't believe it! I was getting 'winked' at (a bit like being poked at on Facebook) and e-mails were landing in my inbox. But the attention wasn't from attractive, intelligent thirty something men as i'd hoped. I'd kept my specifications fairly general as I didn't want to discriminate, but this meant I was opening myself to contact from all sorts of men who were also looking for 'Love'.

From The Bronzed God (he wasn't, he was fifty years old but thought if he mentioned he was financially solvent that'd make a difference. It didn't) to Palsy (a twenty five year old teacher who, from his photo looked sixteen), it seemed my profile was attracting all sorts. It kept me in fits of laughter on a rainy Sunday and I had to pretend to my family I was on MSN chatting to a friend.

Lecture number five

I just had lecture number five, which wasn’t that bad and a lot of repetition. Unfortunately my reaction to the lecture wasn't good. My father launched into the same stuff, my job, living arrangements, when will I do everything he wants. I was sharp as I replied because I’m on edge around him, I know all I’m going to get is another lecture about what a disappointment I am. Although I can handle it, I was tired of hearing the same things and it might have been nice if he'd just spoken to me like a normal person for once.

To be fair, he was nicer in the way he spoke top me (in that he didn’t just talk loudly about what a failure I was) but still expects me to have done everything he wants yesterday, such as changing jobs to one which he believes reflects my education, move in with my sister and start doing daughterly things (ie: obey his every word).

I felt bad immediately after replying sharply. That’s the Pakistani part of me, holding onto the belief that your parents are to be respected no matter what they say and regardless of my age. After my sharp reply he didn’t say anything else, which made me feel even worse and bought tears to my eyes, why was I being sharp to my seventy three year old father?

I wish my mind could settle on one side of the fence, either the "they can’t tell me what to do because I have the right to live my own life" or the "i’ll do what they want because it’s the right thing to do by them and forget about personal choice". But i'm still torn between the two. Guilt is such a complicated thing and i'm still trying to come to terms with it. This visit by my parents is definitely making me evaluate myself and my life choices once again. 

After he’d left Sameena started at me, she was angry at the way I spoke to him. That’s how it goes, now I live with my family there’s no escape from the situation and everyone has their opinion on what's going on and I can't escape being told it.

She said I can’t speak to him like that (note: not shouldn’t, but can’t. The choice of words used mark the difference between being Pakistani and not). Once again, instead of being thirty three years old, I’m treated, because it suits, as the youngest who can be told what to do and how to do it. Right now I was being told what I'd done wrong.

I tried to explain I’d listened to him all the other times and I’m so on edge I didn’t react well this time and admitted I shouldn’t have spoken like that, but there’s no space for mistakes in my family. I’ve been rude to my father and it’s not acceptable, and Sameena, launched into lecture mode just like him, without listening to anything I said.

“I wouldn’t let my children talk to me like that, not in my house. I don’t like you speaking to him like that, it’s not right. He’s your father. He can be rude to you, that’s his right. Don't speak to him like that again in my house, i'm not having it.”

I’ve realized I need to sell the house in Spain and get my own place as soon as I can. Living with my family for a long time could ruin the relationships I have with Sameena and Parveen, given they are torn between my parents and I. When they speak to me, they see my side of the story, when they speak to my parents, they see their side. And they're still bound by the rules that Pakistani parents are always right.

I'm reminded of exactly why the relationship between Alex and I suffered for the situation with my family. I thought trying to compromise with my father might work well for both of us, but instead I’m getting the impression his acceptance translates only as: Do as I want and everything will be okay. Do as you want and I won’t accept it, regardless of how old you are and how you compromise.  I don't see the situation has changed at all since they found out about Alex seven years ago.

Lecture number four

I escaped from Parveen’s house the day after lecture number three, under the pretence of going to work on Monday. The goodbye to my father was brief, he told me to go to Sameena’s house in London (where I’m living anyway) next weekend and I agreed.  I was hoping he thought  I was being a Good Daughter and doing what he wants.

The next time I saw my parents was when they came to Sameena’s house on Saturday, which was the beginning of the entry entitled ‘A bad day’.

Despite my attempts to avoid my father I couldn't escape lecture number four. I was a little on edge when the lecture started, probably because I'd had enough of being told how bad I was and hadn't had enough time and space to reflect on what had happened so far with my parents.

My father wanted to know if I'd changed jobs. I said I hadn’t and I'd do so in the future. These are lies anyway, as i’m not working, i’m looking for a journalism job. But if I tell him I’m not working, it’ll be another way in which I’ve disappointed him and will generate another set of lectures. Once again it’s better to lie, although i'm finding it hard to keep up with the lies i've told, as i'm not used to lying so much. All the lies i've ever told have been to my family, with the aim of making my life easier or gaining a bit of freedom.

So I defended my make believe science job and said I had a contract with a month’s notice period. According to my father there's no such thing as a contract when you work, he worked for years in a factory and never had one. He forgets he worked in the sixties and it may well not have been normal practice to have a contract then. I tried to explain every employee in Britain has a contract they've signed with a notice period but he didn't listen. I realize once again how stubborn and narrow minded he is to anything which doesn’t come out of his own mouth. This went on for a while, with him telling me about his knowledge of working and contracts in Britain (which is all rubbish).

Then he started about my moving to my sister’s house. I said I'd do so in the next week (although I’m already living here). He suggested again my living in Pakistan with them, where I'd be given every luxury I could ever want. This translates to a car (which I wouldn’t be allowed to go out in alone) and living in our houses in Kashmir and Islamabad with my parents, not allowed to do anything or go anywhere unless chaperoned by them. According to him it’s the life everyone wants. I said I wasn't going to live in Pakistan, but I'd move to Sameena’s house and change jobs.

My father likes the sound of his own voice so everything was repeated at least ten times. My dire situation was covered again, in case I'd forgotten it. Thirty three, not working properly and no house. Look at Parveen, who has two houses, a car and five children. He forgets that Parveen’s husband, Osama, after seventeen years of marriage still doesn’t let her out of his sight without knowing where she’s going, why and with whom. He doesn’t like her visiting Sameena so she doesn’t. Her freedom is restricted and she's made the best of it for the last seventeen years, concentrating on her children and not thinking about what type of life she could have had if she'd married her own choice.

My father chooses not to see any of this. If he did, he'd have to face the uncomfortable truth: he made the decision for her to marry Osama when she didn't want to, so any hardship she endures (of which there's been a lot) is due to my father. But he doesn't reflect on his own mistakes, only those of others. And given his obsession with material things, in his eyes Parveen has everything any woman could ever want. She’s a success story and I’m the opposite.

The lecture went on in this way for it’s duration, with him preaching what was right and myself counting the seconds until it would be over. Sameena was dragged into it, another spectator to listen to and back up my father. She made the right noises as there was no point saying anything contrary to him, he wouldn't listen and it would only anger him.

Finally, he changed topics, by chance to my cousin who he's also not pleased with. I escaped to the kitchen and like a good Pakistani girl put the tea on.

My plan, to show myself to be amenable to some of his suggestions, thinking he might compromise as well, was beginning to look like wishful thinking. It was becoming apparent he only wanted things his way. I'd thought, after three and a half years of estrangement, he might change the way he deals with me. But he's exactly the same, wanting me to do exactly as he says, when he says it.

I'm now counting down the days until he leaves. I feel bad for doing so, but  I think our relationship will work better from a distance, unless he starts speaking to me like a human being soon.

Revisiting old relatives

Whilst at Parveen's house I visited some of my extended family, although I hadn’t planned to and didn’t want to. This came about from shopping for a cardigan for my mum. She hadn’t been satisfied with the expensive cardigan my sister-in-law had bought for her, despite it costing twenty five pounds which is a lot more than I spend on cardigans. She'd been talking about it for ages and Parveen and I were desperate to put an end to the whole cardigan affair.

We went to one of the Asian areas in Birmingham called Lozells Road. This area is concentrated with Pakistanis and half my extended family lives there. It’s as if our village in Kashmir has been transported to the Midlands. You can buy everything you want that’s Pakistani, all the clothes are imported from Pakistan, the shopkeepers speak in the same dialect as us and call us ‘Baji Ji’ (sister) and ‘Halah’ (aunty). I  go there very rarely, but my Good Pakistani daughter mode called for  it.

We achieved the goal of the mission and found two cardigans. I also picked up a couple of Pashminas, claiming 70% cashmere. They were three pounds so I’m not sure if they’re real but they look good.

Then came visiting relatives, as they lived nearby. This hadn’t been agreed at the beginning of the trip so I wasn’t prepared for the usual interrogation and inspection.  I don’t like being around my extended family and the last time I'd seen any of them was when my niece got married, seven years ago.

The process is always the same, everyone's greeted: women older than me grab me by the face and plant two kisses on either cheek. Those the same age shake your hand. Women used to kiss men younger than them as well, but this is no longer practiced, because it involves kissing and a man (although he could be just your ten year old cousin). Older men put their palms on our covered heads. As a woman, you're expected to cover your head once you are in your early teenage years, especially in the presence of men.

After the initial greetings the attention diverted to me. I was looked up and down and scrutinized. My clothes were checked out (I always wear Pakistani clothes when around family) to see how fashionable they were, my face (to see how old I look) my hair (is it too short or too fashionable? Short and fashionable are not acceptable). Then the usual questions: “How are you? How’s your brother, sister, sister-in-law, nephews, nieces, great-nephews? When did you arrive? How long are you staying? Are you going to stay a week? Did you come by car? Where do you work? What do you do?”

There was much discussion around our shopping trip. Given the average Pakistani housewives' life revolves around looking after her children, husband and house, conversation usually covers similar topics: shopping, clothes, Pakistan, latest weddings and newborns.“Where did you go? What did you buy? Oh a jumper..how much? Yes, they have nice jumpers on Lozells road. What material was it? Is it thick enough for Pakistan? Yes, Halah needs a good jumper.” I didn't have much to input into any of the conversations, so remained silent and only spoke when I had to.

It was immediately after my niece's wedding my parents found out about Alex and out of the shame they feel at what I’ve done my parents, sisters and brother stopped mentioning me unless asked directly. Unfortunately this shows something is wrong. Although no-one in my extended family was ever told or found out about my marriage, they knew there'd been problems and I'd probably done terrible things every parent fears.

But here I was seven years later, in their eyes still unmarried, educated but old. They must have been killing themselves with curiosity to know what the situation was, but there’s no-one they can ask who’ll tell them anything. I could almost feel the unanswered questions going around in their heads, "what does she do? She was studying for ages...she must be at least in her mid-thirties...did she ever get married? Did she run away with someone? Where does she live? Will she get married now? Who will she marry, there's no-one left and she's too old....no-one wants to marry such an educated girl, she'll never listen to her husband or in-laws".

Lecture number three

Lecture number three came the day after my decision to change tack in the way I deal with my parents.

I asked my father about his needing help with his paperwork. It’s difficult to have a conversation with him because he doesn’t give straight answers. He’s spent so much of his life away from the family he’s not able to communicate with us like a normal parent. Instead of talking to us, he talks at us. I asked what it is he needs done in Pakistan and that I'd go there and help him, work permitting. If I know what he needs in advance, I can find out how to go about it in England where finding information is much easier than in Pakistan.

But he remained cryptic as ever and didn’t answer my questions, saying instead, “If you do what I ask of you, Allah will sort all of my affairs”. That line really wears me out. I wish my parents would forget religion for a second and  concentrate on what's happening around them in their family. Religion is their obsession, it rules their day and everything else happens around it. I've got nothing against religion, I was bought up Muslim and embraced it until the fall out with my parents. Now i've decided to take some common core values from Islam and concentrate on those instead of how i've sinned and how i'll burn in hell for it. That's not going to help me in life.

Then began the repetition of the core ingredients of any lecture directed at me, "You've lived your life of Sin now it’s time to do the Right Thing. You’re hurting us, People are laughing at Us because of You. You're one of Us and always will be, You're not English. Why do you think you're English?".

This part of the lecture requires no input or defence from myself. I'm expected to listen, which I did, although I tried to concentrate on other things and distract myself so I wouldn't hear everything, in case it made me upset afterwards.  My father likes the sound of his own voice, it makes him feel powerful.

Then he got onto my living arrangements and why I don’t own a house in Britain. I tried explaining the unprecedented increase in house prices and difficulties faced by first time buyers. This wasn't seen as a valid excuse, I should have bought a house, i'm to blame for not buying a house and it’s another way in which I've failed them. I'm an unmarried thirty-three year old alleged scientist without a house and car. I couldn't be more disappointing.

I admitted I made a mistake in not buying. But instead of acknowledging this and moving on, he went on for ages about how so and so bought a house and now it’s worth triple the value. And I, so educated but with nothing. Where had all my money gone? There was no point in telling him about the flat I own in Spain with Alex, given it hadn’t been a good investment and he has no understanding of any countries apart from Britain and Pakistan. It would just be used against me at another time, as most things eventually are.

Towards the end of the lecture he told me to move into Sameena’s house and re-integrate into the family again. Although I have to do this anyway, given my current circumstances, I agreed but made it look as if I was doing it only because he'd suggested it. This might seem stupid but it makes him feel good when we obey what he says. I thought it might buy me some credibility in his eyes and he might lay off the lectures for a while.

A bad day

Bad things definitely come in threes. First my parents turned up at Sameena’s house where I’m unofficially living, before I'd even woken up. So I wasn't eased into the weekend. Despite my hiding in the kitchen as much as possible, under the guise of Unmarried Daughter doing the Cooking and Cleaning, I couldn’t avoid lecture number four, which took place in the presence of my nephews and nieces. My twenty year old nephew’s comment sums it up nicely "I like the way Grandad just kept repeating himself, as if he never heard your replies".

Then in the evening Alex called. I wasn't expecting his call until tomorrow and so wasn't prepared, after an hour of talking about general things the hour and half of talking about Us and What would happen in our Future. This involved him telling me about women he'd been seeing, which didn't sit well with me. I'm not interested and don't need to know.

Finally an argument with Sameena before she went to bed. I can’t believe what she said, it’s so upsetting and shows me once again, no matter how stupidly close I am to my sisters, the lack of understanding  between us.

I’ll fill in the detail over the next few posts, it’s too much for me to do now. But i'm wondering how much longer I can live with any of my family, even those I get on with the most. I'm sure the whole situation is aging me. On top of everything, being thirty-three and single, I have to preserve myself as best as I can if i'm ever to find another partner.

My compromise

My parents and my brother have always had a troublesome relationship and it showed no signs of improving during this visit. Pakistani culture dictates sons are responsible for their parents in their old age, it’s one of the reasons why every parent wants a son and why they're more coveted than daughters.

Given the strained relationship they had, my father had realized my brother wasn't going to be there for my parents when they'd need him the most. He needed help getting his finances in order and making sure if they needed professional care later in life, it could be arranged with his own money and without burden to anyone.

My father had spoken to Parveen about me helping him. It broke my heart when she told me as no matter how unreasonable I feel my parents are, I still feel responsibility toward them. I told Parveen I’d do it and go to Pakistan, where his business interests are, when work permitted to get his finances in order. Although he's a successful businessman he's illiterate, which shows what's possible when you're determined enough.

But I was concerned they'd use my being there as an excuse to put pressure on me to get married. Although at thirty-three I’m not going to give in, having resisted all these years, I was loathe to have those conversations again.

According to Parveen, my father had given up hope of getting me married and only wanted to establish a relationship. She said things which were difficult for me to hear. My father can’t sleep because of me, because he doesn’t know what I’m doing or where I am, because of my estrangement from the family. He gets up at three in the morning and prays, with the only image in his mind’s eye being my face.

It made me cry then and brings tears to my eyes now. I feel so bad because whilst he's been suffering, I’ve been doing things which are against my parent’s beliefs and Islam. No matter how Western I am in the way I live, I can’t shake the Pakistani Muslim side of me, yet can’t embrace it enough to live that kind of life. But I can’t seem to find peace in the life I have now either, if I continue being estranged from my parents.

I decided I need to establish a relationship with my parents and see if, by applying the techniques I'd learnt from cognitive behavioural therapy, I'd be able to reach a happy medium where I could live my own life but do a few things to make them happy and stop hurting them. Perhaps this might get me closer to a resolution within myself which had so far evaded me and had affected me in many ways, from chronic back pain, to the mess which was my career and most recently, to the demise of my marriage. I could only hope.

Lecture number two

My parents have gone to visit Parveen in the Midlands, where all of my extended family live. I was asked, or rather told to go with them. I said I'd go mid-week and I did. I haven’t visited my sister in two years, as her husband didn’t approve of my marriage. With my marriage over and my parents in the country he's a bit more tolerant. I'm hoping he doesn't think there 's still a chance I might marry his carbon copy but shorter brother who's still single. It's become a standing joke in the family that he's still waiting for me to come to my senses and marry him.

Lecture number two came the first morning I was there, whilst I was having breakfast. This time it was in relation to how I was living my life. What job did I have? How much was I paid? Where did I work? How long had I worked there? Why did I leave my last job? Where do I live? Do I rent or own my own house?

My parents have little understanding of qualifications and education as they're uneducated. They knew I'd been studying for PhD when they found out about my now ex, Alex. But after everything which has happened they’ve lost trust in anything I say or have done. So I explained my qualifications once again. My father said he wanted to see the certificate, which is fine by me, as I have it in an envelope somewhere gathering dust.

During this lecture my parents made a big deal of the fact that I don’t have a car. Irrelevant really, but a good example of how they are. Why didn’t I have a car? Had I sold my last car? I explained it had been a company car and so had returned it when I left the job. Why had I left? I should have stayed there if the job included a car. I let them talk and didn’t bother interjecting, really, it was a one way conversation. They didn’t want me to answer them, they just wanted to tell me I was wrong to have given up a job with a car, despite them having no knowledge of what the job was. It’s their right, in their eyes to criticize and tell me what’s best for me. So I let them get it out of their system.

I didn’t bother to tell my parents I'd changed careers from scientist to journalist. Again there's no point. They wouldn’t understand why and they wouldn't have any respect for journalism. In their eyes the professions which command respect are medicine, law and accountancy. As a scientist with a PhD my father at least had something to be proud of when it came to me, although few in my family understand what a PhD is. Explaining a career change would create more problems for me and be another part of my life I'd have to defend. So I pretended I was a research scientist, another lie i'd have to maintain.

The strangest thing during lecture number two was my father hadn’t mentioned Alex. I haven’t told my parents we’ve separated. He hadn’t mentioned him to my sisters either. I'd told my sisters not to tell my parents we’ve separated, because it would give them false hope that I might now listen to reason and marry someone they picked, or it would make them exert control over my life once again, which I'd fought hard against years ago. It was worrying there was no mention of Alex. Did my father know about what had happened? How? I finally realized that since I hadn't mentioned him, he'd deduced that we'd split up and was probably very happy about it. But I was worried he'd now think I had no reason to be apart from the family and would start putting a lot of pressure on me.

Then my father said he wanted to see where I lived. I didn’t have a place to show them as I'd lived in Alex’s house for the last seven years. Since returning from Spain I was living at Sameena’s house, but didn’t want them to know this, again, I thought if they knew I'd moved back with the family they'd take it as a sign they could now dictate to me how to live my life.

Great, more problems to fix with more lies. I'd thought my days of lying were over.

What makes a successful blog?

They say you should blog on something you know about, which no-one else is writing about to get your blog noticed.

I wanted to write this blog because I felt there was no outlet for me when I was going through the initial stages of being disowned by my parents, when they found out about my now ex-partner and the whole situation exploded. At the time my partner was a great source of support and my friends did their best.

But my Asian friends seemed horrified by the seriousness of the situation and I felt they were thinking, "thank God it's her and not me". That's not a bad thing, i've felt that kind of relief many times when a friend confides in me about something serious.

My Caucasian friends at the other end of the spectrum didn't understand why my parents would have the right to question my life. Coming from backgrounds where parents generally accept children's choices, they'd ask, "but why do they think you should do what they want?".

I carried on and dealt with the situation the best I could. I always longed to know girls in similar situations, but didn't know how or where to find them.

Since the terrorism threats of 9/11 and the news coverage of Muslims, particularly Pakistani Muslims in England since 7/7, I felt there was something missing in the public's perception of people like myself. I'd sit in an office in one of the biggest broadcast institutions in Britain, surrounded by some of the brightest journalists in the country. There'd be discussion on how to cover the 'Muslim debate'. Who should we have on air? What angle should we take this time? Everyone in the room apart from me was white, middle class, probably private school educated, probably Cambridge and Oxford graduates.

That's fine, but there was definitely the need for at least one person who was a Muslim, who'd grown up in traditional family, who could explain things which no years of working or training in a field could provide. I felt there were hundreds of things which needed explaining in order to understand the Muslim debate better.

I'm not saying i'm the answer to this gap. This project started as a way to help me deal with the aftermath of the fallout with my parents and it's evolved to discuss some of the current issues surrounding Muslims. I don't think the news coverage has been wrong, but there aren’t enough voices from ordinary people like me, about everyday life in families such as mine. These might provide the foundation knowledge in understanding the Muslim debate better.

A two minute news bulletin can't cover the idiosyncrasies of a family and community like mine, their belief system and how we live in England yet cling onto our Pakistani Muslim identity for dear life, trying desperately not to be tarnished by Western values and customs. Also, this is specific to my community and doesn't reflect all Muslim communities in England. But I think it might explain how hard it is to balance to two identities within the second generation, in a country which is the opposite to where your parents grew up and the struggle within people such as myself, when it comes to everyday life, not just serious issues such as terrorism.

So that’s what my blog will aim to address, in amongst my own story of how I've lived my life caught between two cultures.