Note
to self: Don’t go out for a walk on the nature trail when every landscaping
company in the area is cutting the grass. Not fun!
This
morning, I was struggling with a tricky concept in chapter one of my work in progress. And like I always do when I get mentally
stuck, I go for long walks on the trail by the creek close to my house. I tried
to ignore the buzzing sounds of tractors and lawn mowers by reflecting on an
incident or rather an experience I had last week.
A professor, a good friend of mine who teaches a course about Gender and Islam asked
me for a favor. She was struck by how many of her students never met a Muslim
woman, let alone had a sustained conversation with one. She asked if I would be
open to having a student interview me as part of an assignment to write an
essay about both the experience and me. I thought it a great idea, an
opportunity to dispel any misconceptions that might be present in the student’s
mind. I’ve always advocated putting the responsibility on the shoulders of
us women to dispel stereotypes, and especially us Muslim women to shatter the
dark images/concepts that are shoved onto us by people who don’t know or understand Islam.
I believe we have a role—I have a role, a duty to speak up and
defend what I believe in. I abhor complaining, and I hate waiting for someone to
do something, or for an event to happen and change the status quo. I believe in
trying - not necessarily succeeding - to engage as much as possible in the
society I live in. So I went to the interview, armed and ready.
Of
course there is no way for me to know what the student wrote about me after the two-hour conversation, and that’s not what really concerned me during my walk. What I mulled over was my own reaction to the deep
questions asked of how I perceive myself as a Muslim woman. Questions
concerning my views on gender roles, sexuality, spirituality, practices,
motherhood, work outside the home, LBGT issues, and dress code to name a few. I
promised myself to be honest with the extremely polite and
intellectual student, and I was taken aback by how some of my ideas and
personal beliefs affected me when I articulated them. Thoughts gain a different
measure of weight when spoken, a higher elevation when explained, and they open up whole worlds when they cross aisles and are received
as they were meant.
I
always thought of myself a deeply spiritual person. If people want to put me in
a box and stick a label on it, they would probably use Liberal Muslim. I, however, try to shy away from labels when it
comes to people, and being totally honest, it was not an easy road traveled to
free my mind of such biases, for I harbored plenty. I am ashamed to admit a few still
linger. Halfway through the interview I noticed how defensive I became,
projecting my pre-perceived notion that by simply being asked those questions,
I was being attacked. That was not the case at all. I forced myself to stop and
switch direction. I didn’t need to be in defensive mode, a habit
so hard to get rid off in the times we live in. I didn’t need to protect my
beliefs and my idea of Islam. This wonderful student simply wanted to know who
I am, and what I stand for, and I owed her nothing less than complete openness.
I am who I am. I seek not her approval, nor reject her scorn. I believe that
was the goal of the assignment, after all.
This
morning, I swiped away the grass shreds flying in my face and headed home. Like
those lawn mowers on the trail, I tend to push my way through situations
not paying attention to the noise and chaos my approach sometimes leaves
behind. From the other side of that interview table, I saw the damage I could
have caused had I not dropped my shield and opened up. I only hope the student
saw me with clarity.
Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.
Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.
