Turkey's Bridge that should bind us together

I travelled to Turkey and found myself asking, is this country really the bridge between civilisations, and do we need a bridge anyway?

One of the great cliches about Turkey is that it is the bridge between Europe and the Middle East, the connection between Christendom and Islam. When you stand on the bridge over the Bosphorous, the river that runs through the centre of Istanbul, you feel a profound sense of geographic importance. You are told that on one side is Europe, and on the other you are told is Asia. Cross the bridge, and these oft-repeated words make you feel as though you are stepping across cultural, historic and civilisational tectonic plates. Is this really true, or do we simply think it is the case because the mantra of "the bridge" has been repeated so many times?

Turkey has a long and ancient history of peoples and empires. In the nearer past, it was taken by Alexander the Great in 334 BC. It fell to Rome in the 1st century BC and remained under Roman rule till Constantinople was named as the capital of the Byzantine Empire in 330 AD.

In the 7th century, Islam began to rise to the east of Byzantium. The Arabs took Ankara in 654 and by 669 they set siege to Constantinople. It is said that one of the companions of the Prophet, Ayub Ansari, was buried in Constantinople. They brought a new language, a new civilisation and of course a new religion called Islam.

There was considerable cultural engagement between the Muslims and the Byzantines. The Byzantine emperor Leo adopted the Islamic view that pictures of human beings should be banned. When the Arabs saw the domes on Byzantine churches they adopted them for Islamic architecture of buildings like mosques. The Arabs also translated classical Greek works of science and philosophy into Arabic.

As the Muslim empire grew and came under the control of the Abbasids centring on Persia, the Turks - who were a nomadic people from Central Asia - had been moving westward and under the Turkish Seljuk clan they took the sultanate in Baghdad. By the 11th century they had taken Anatolia from the Byzantines. In the thirteen century they were overrun by the Mongols, but were united in 1300 by Osman who established the Ottoman dynasty.

In 1923 the modern secular state of Turkey was founded by Ataturk. Despite the country's centrality in the Muslim world to this point, and in spite of what is still considered in parts to be a religious people, Ataturk confined religion to the Ministry of Religious Affairs, the mosque and the private domain at home, where it has remained ever since. One of the great ironies of Turkey is that it is a Muslim country that does not permit its women to wear the hijab in an official public space such as a university or in parliament.

More recently, Turkey applied to join the European Union, and in 2005 began accession talks. This seems to have been met by a mixed reaction both in the EU and in Turkey. With a population of over 70 million, the world's 17th largest economy and a geographically strategic location, Turkey is asking itself is it Turkey that needs the EU or the EU that needs Turkey? With thorny phrases like "Christian club" being bandied about recklessly, Turkey along with the Muslim world is asking itself whether it is the fact that it is a Muslim country that is creating resistance in some European quarters.

Given the fluidity of history, culture and trade across the landmass that is modern-day Turkey, it seems strange to think of it as anything but Europe. Visit Istanbul and you certainly feel like you are in a European city. It is quite different from Damascus, Jerusalem, Cairo or Baghdad. Travel west across the country and you feel a change in granularity and perspective as you near the borders of Syria and Iraq, but it is slow and gradual. The attitudes, cultures and peoples change gently rather than with the abruptness of stepping over a bridge. And that seems perfectly natural - why should a country change suddenly in the middle of its territory?

The same question can be applied to larger areas of geography, history and culture. Why do we think that Europe and European ideals (however you choose to define them) end at a fixed geographic point? This has never been the case previously, and nor should it be. Our European world does not end abruptly with a glass wall hemming us in like the globe that enclosed Truman in The Truman show. Real life doesn't work like that - it didn't in the past, and it doesn't need to in the future. Unless we say it so many times that we start ourselves to believe the corrosive propaganda.

Ask those who repeat the mantra "the bridge" about how they see that role being carried out, and the answers are tenuous at best. That's because the very notion of bridge implies separation and division that must be stuck together with a plaster. Our geographic and cultural connections are not like that. There is no chasm that yawns ominously between us like an infernal abyss. They are much more fluid and tightly interconnected. Our architecture, our intellectual roots, our commerce, genetics, and history all overlap and inter-relate. There is no epic gulf that requires spanning physically or metaphorically. It would be better to see Turkey as weaving together the strands of our interconnections. We don't need to bridge the divide, what we need is to be bound together.

This article was published in The Muslim News

Armchair spirituality is not enough

If the hajj teaches us anything, it is that you have to get involved spiritually and physically in order to make lasting and impactful change.

Muslims from all around the world will be travelling to Makkah in early December to take part in the hajj pilgrimage which takes place in the first ten days of the month. All the pilgrims dress in stark white clothing, indistinguishable from each other, as their clothing levels out the differences of prince or plumber. Their white brilliance contrasts with the Ka'bah which is draped in black cloth and around which they circulate to perform the duties of the pilgrimage. For many, it is a dream come true to visit in person the place which they face every day as they perform their five daily prayers. Each person is simply a soul, undifferentiated by wealth, status or colour. You can no longer hide behind clothes, make-up or social status. It is a sobering experience to come face-to-face with the grim realities of the bare souls of others, as well as your own.

The pilgrims then move to a desert expanse known as Arafat which represents the starkness of the Last Day. It is a place to ask for forgiveness, and make peace with oneself and the Creator. With no distractions, and a clear uncluttered head and unencumbered body, the change that is needed becomes apparent in your heart, and resolutions for making life better are quick to emerge. Pilgrims comment about the profundity and solidity of the change that occurs in this barren setting, which somehow frees the inner spirit. The physical presence in a challenging environment stimulates personal growth and development. No matter how much someone explains the environment and sensation, it never has the impact of being there in person. You have to taste it, breathe it, live it.

The journey passes through the night towards Mina, where Abraham was asked by God to sacrifice his beloved child and to show that he was willing to give up what was dearest to him. The pilgrims make a symbolic sacrifice of an animal, to represent the surrender of something of utmost importance to them for the sake of God. Still following Abraham's actions, they throw seven pebbles at stone satans, as though they are stoning the devils of their own inner desires.

Exhausted, the pilgrims return to Makkah, physically broken, but spiritually elated. The hajj pushes the human being to the limits of physical and spiritual endeavour. The lasting impact that hajj creates, and its success in creating change is down to the fact that it address both the physical and the spiritual. The body and the spirit are integral and interconnected parts of the human being that need nurturing. They must both go on a real, symbolic and ritual journey together in order to make change.

The images of these pilgrims is broadcast across the world on television networks, and we can watch the painstaking journey that each person is experiencing as they go through this most rigorous and gruelling of physical and spiritual challenges. Going through the event, and feeling the pain and elation at every moment is what cements the spiritual experience.

We sit and watch the journey of hajj from the comfort of our armchairs, enthralled by the experience, but not able to access the benefits for ourselves. We cannot create the same impact as walking those footsteps and tasting the sweat and tears, whilst we sit ensconced in the soft sheltered environment of our own homes. So it is with developing our own communities and our own spirituality. We like to shake our fists at community leaders, the state of the Ummah, and the ongoing problems we face, from the sanctuary of our sofas. It is like expecting your cheers whilst you watch your football team play on TV to have an impact, or as though shouting at the television set will change events as they unfold. It is like walking the footsteps of the hajjis watching through the live TV coverage: this can never create that type and strength of change.

If we believe that by sitting at home and engaging in armchair protests that we can make an impact, then we are deluded. Muttering astaghfirullahs whilst propped on a comfortable cushion with no connection to the outside world cannot create change. The hajj gives us that very evidence - you have to be right in the centre of things to make an impact.

It is the same with spirituality. To refine our souls and our ethics we have to interact with the world around us. It is only through participation and relationships with other human beings that we can truly learn what it means to be the purest of souls. Muslims are quick to point out that asceticism is rejected by Islam - physical separation is prohibited in that sense. Sitting on our sofas, and complaining about the world around us, is only one step away from that.

Proceeding with patience and prayer is the hallmark of a human being, and that is because the spiritual relationship with the Divine can only flourish through interaction and participation with society. This requires us to extract ourselves from the cushioned comfort of our armchairs, and to step out of the front door to take part in the world.

Rahmah not Rubbish

We love to tell the stories of the life of the Prophet, but have we really learnt to apply them to our daily lives?

One of the favourite stories that Muslims like to recount is that of the woman who threw rubbish at the Prophet. We like it because it tells a simple human tale of compassion that wins out over malice. It is the triumph of patience and good manners over hatred.

The Prophet walked along a particular street every day on his way to conducting his affairs. From one of the windows, a woman who was angry at him for preaching the message of one God, would throw rubbish at him. Each day he would walk past, and each day she would throw her fetid refuse at him. One day, as he is walking past, there is no rubbish thrown at him.

Let us pause for a moment, before completing the story, and really truly think about what it must have been like to face this daily occurrence. We recount it very glibly, and don't really feel it in our hearts.

Dear reader, please take a moment to create this situation as though it is real to you, and feel the emotions that rise up within you. You are walking under a window, and a pile of stinking vegetable peelings, rotting banana skins, three day old meat trimmings and some used toilet roll hits your head. You live in a hot environment, and so the mixture of putrid waste is particularly disgusting. A voice rings out above you: "******* Muslims! Terrorist! Osama lover!" and the abuse continues. We can all easily fill in blanks of the insults that Muslims face everyday. I would feel angry, furious. That is the natural human response.

Now we return to the behaviour of the Prophet himself. One particular day, there is no rubbish thrown at him. He is concerned and so he enquires after the whereabouts of the woman. When he is advised that she is unwell, he goes to visit her to see the state of her health. She is shocked when he arrives, knowing full well the extent of her abuse. His kindness and patience in dealing with her cruelty wins her over, and she accepts the message that the Prophet has been preaching.

How much we love to tell this story! How proud we are of the Prophet's exemplary character! But we fail to apply this in our daily lives. Let us return to our imaginary scene above. Would we have asked about the well-being of our abuser? Would we have taken time to get to the bottom of why they abused us? Would we have dealt with compassion and reason with them?

Many Muslims today already do suffer this kind of abuse, from simple rude comments on the street, to derogatory content in the media, to smearing in political circles, to books which cause offence. Sometimes we find it hard to connect it to the stories of the Prophet because we have not internalised the human experiences of the individuals whom we rightly venerate. And this is because we have not put ourselves in the shoes of their real human experience.

When we see an attack on Islam or Muslims, we ignore the example of the Prophet to return violence with rahmah, compassion, and concern, and instead return it with anger, protest and in a handful of cases with violence. It is easy to wax lyrical about the Prophet's patience, but have we really ever imagined ourselves in the situation, as we did a moment ago? Can we now imagine how hard what he did was? When scorn is poured upon Muslims, upon Islam and heartbreakingly on those whom we respect, we must rise above the instinctive response to retaliate with base violence. Defending yourself, and asserting your rights is indeed critical. It is right and proper to rise up to the full extent of law and justice. But we have to also bear in mind the vision that Muslims ought to have for society: to create an equal, fair and tolerant world that is based on knowledge and compassion.

A visionary can only take a dream and turn it into reality by meeting abuse with knowledge. And when those who are thirsty to know about all the values that can make us the best of human, they will look to wherever they can find that knowledge. If Muslims are not offering accessible knowledge, then that thirst will be quenched wherever even the mirage of truth appears. Where there is abuse, it must be replaced with knowledge and compassion, rahmah. That is what happened when the Prophet stepped into the woman’s home. As the Qur'an says, when we face those who are ignorant, we should return it with peace; that is the spirit that leads to quantum change.

This article was published in The Muslim News

Make Eid, Not War

Ramadan is a celebration of togetherness and tolerance, so let's break out the Eid sweets and put away the bitterness for good

The best Eids are those you experience as a child. You are elated with tingles of excitement which send shivers of pleasure and anticipation through you. That inner excitement as Eid approaches never disappears because in its essence Eid is a very simple matter. You have fasted all month, suffered headaches and growling stomachs, re-arranged the routine of daily life, read more Qur'an than in the whole year most probably, tried your best to be nice to friends and family, and reflected on your own life and where it is going. You have been working hard, physically and spiritually and so the joy of Eid is simple because it is a celebration of an achievement that looks daunting and unachievable. The joy is pure because the task was undertaken in order to get closer to the Divine. Eid is exciting because it celebrates renewal, refreshment and rejuvenation.

The physical and spiritual stretch has been enormous and as the month draws to its finale, you feel both exhausted and elated. It is the triumph of the achievement of spirit over body that makes Eid such an amazing event. As a community we experience more togetherness and unity than at any other time during Ramadan: we've all been in it together. Suddenly there is an explosion of love and trust. Until night before Eid. And then our spiritual and community synchronicity fizzles away under the weight of disagreement about the moonsighting.

After a month of tolerance and understanding our togetherness vanishes oh-so-suddenly. Is it sapped by the multitude of phone calls round the world to establish if a sliver of crescent has been spotted? Is it the plethora of text messages that ratchet up our bills to the mobile network companies? Is it the uncertainty of whether to cook Eid breakfast or not?

Ramadan is about unity of spirit. We reject the physical so we can concentrate on our connections as souls. As with hajj, when we fast, the outer is irrelevant. Each human being we come across who is in this state of worship is a beautiful thing for us to appreciate. Ramadan is the epitome of love, peace and goodwill to humanity. We know that "Allah cannot be contained anywhere in the universe except in the heart of the believer", and "there are as many ways to know Allah as there are human beings". Yet we insist on squabbling over our differences whether they be about Eid, the specifics of how to pray or do wudhu, what time the fast breaks, or how long or short out trousers, beards or headscarves should be.

We then approach the final days when Eid is almost upon us, and as soon as we see the exit gates back into the dunya, the spirit of unity that we worked so hard to cultivate is lost. Worse still, we we take pleasure in returning to the intolerant bickering like an ex-smoker returning to his beloved cigarettes. Was the peace, harmony and unity of Ramadan so transient and painful that we longed to return to the disagreements and divisive behaviours that we experience all year round?

If so, then it reveals more about us as a Muslim community than we might like to admit. If we had truly learnt to be as happy for our brothers and sisters as we are for ourselves, and if we had internalised the notion that we must celebrate difference, then we would not fall out over Eid the very second - and yes, it is the very single second - that Ramadan ends.

If others are celebrating Eid before us, we should be joyful for them. They have reached their triumphant end. But we too have joy, for we are blessed enough to have an additional day of Ramadan. Who would wish to pass up even a single minute of this month? If we are celebrating Eid before others, then what better blessing than to prepare the way for those who are still to come and join us to start our fresh journey into the year? It's Eid, let's relax and chill out. We managed to keep it together under the physical duress of Ramadan, let's not lose it over deciding which day is Eid, and then return to the mire of un-ending disputes the year-round. The Prophet says that any day that is better than the previous one is a day of Eid for the believer, so why not make it Eid every day?

On a more practical note, if we celebrate all of our Eids together, then we can have up to three days of festivities, joy and of course highly delicious and calorific sweets. Instead of being stingy and tightening our belts towards Eid, let us be joyful, generous and above all happy enough spend a trio of exuberant days celebrating not only the completion of Ramadan, but also the immense achievement of learning to accept, support and celebrate our differences.

This article was published in The Muslim News

Re-interpreting Ramadhan

Ramadhan seems to mean being hungry by day, and laying tables full of fatty fried foods and high calorie treats by night. Have we completely missed the month of fasting's messages of moderation and spiritual liberation?

As the credit crunch takes us into its firm grip, you might be forgiven for thinking that Muslims would be particularly prepared for tightening their belts. I put forward this bold thesis, as we get ready to begin fasting in the month of Ramadhan, a month highlighted for physical restraint and a rejection of excess. With years of experience in control and temperance, Muslims should be well-prepared to exercise moderation and eschew extravagance, but is that really the case?

The Qur'an advises those who believe, that fasting is prescribed for them, as it was for those who came before them so that "...you become of those who are conscious of God." Physical restraint in all spiritual traditions - which includes but is not limited to Islam - is directly related to a blossoming of the spirit, and therefore a closer relationship to the Divine.

If you listen to any explanation of the spiritual and physical meaning of Ramadhan and why Muslims fast, one of the key reasons that features will undoubtedly be along the lines of... to remember those less fortunate than ourselves who have less to eat than we do. It makes perfect sense as an explanation: Muslims deny themselves food and drink (and other physical pleasures) during daylight hours, which create painful hunger pangs and a parched state of dehydration that offers a mild and temporary hint of the traumas and difficulties that people suffering food shortages, droughts and famines around the world must suffer. But this very weak and brief pain is tempered by the knowledge that within some hours- even if the number of those hours reach double digits - we will be tucking into food and drink again.

It is of no doubt that the hunger and thirst that we experience during Ramadhan is something we would never ordinarily feel. And in that sense it allows us a peek into the lives of those who are truly suffering and can have no respite from the shortages of food and comforts that we take for granted. Our experience is incomparable in magnitude and it would be arrogant and patronising to complain that we now 'know how it feels'. But it can soften our hearts and at least give us a glimpse of the suffering that others go through, within the parameters of our own lives.

However, whilst we may be living the physical experience - albeit briefly - have we really grasped the meaning and spiritual experience? As soon as the adhaan rings out at maghrib time as the sun sets, we all settle down to heaving tables of our favourite foods. Tables buckle under the weight of specialities made for each individual's palette. Every child is cooked their favourite, starters are multifarious and highly calorific and main courses include several varieties. Not to mention the many sugar-filled and fatty desserts which slip so easily and pleasurably past our lips. For those from the sub-continent, think samosas, bhaajis, halwa, kebabs, pakoras. It comes as no surprise that many people leave the month of Ramadhan heavier and more rotund than when they started.

This is not to mention the hours and hours that are ploughed into culinary production. You might imagine that the reduced number of meals, and the reduction in appetite might mean that less cooking needs to be done. Instead, the kitchen is on full alert for a greater stretch of the day - and night. It is usually the women who lead the culinary preparation and it is right that the cooks want their families to be well-taken care of. But if we started to look holistically at the purpose of Ramadhan - to free ourselves from our physical indulgences and open up possibilities of spiritual exploration that we otherwise deny ourselves - we might find that all that additional time spent cooking could actually be used to maximise our gains from Ramadhan. By not eating, and by having to cook less, Ramadhan suddenly offers a huge amount of extra time (at least three hours saved by avoiding breakfast and lunch and perhaps more if dinner was a light simple meal) which could be devoted to activities we all claim we do not have time for - lingering over prayers, reading Qur'an, community service, mediation and reflection. If you don't cook that extra plate of samosas will it really make that much difference to the iftar experience? But if you spent all that extra time to read a few pages of the Qur'an – especially in the month of Ramadhan when the value and merit is so much greater - imagine what impact that could have.

Eating and drinking in the hours of dark becomes a festival of indulgence at the polar opposite of the hunger and thirst we underwent for a few paltry hours. We acquire bipolar disorder - riding high in the daylight hours and then binging at night. What does that say about our understanding of the very meaning of hunger as empathy, hunger as freedom from the physical and release into the spiritual? We have followed the literal rules of Ramadhan, but what about the meaning? Instead of physical restraint and spiritual freedom, we have greater indulgence and have blinded ourselves to the spiritual opportunities. Ramadhan is not only about feeling the pain of those less fortunate, but about being able to distinguish and implement the very concepts of moderation rather than excess.

The Global Ummah Needs to Start Local

Muslims are rightly proud of the diverse global ummah, but we should be more willing to embrace the diversity of the British Muslim communities, and channel it to drive forward new ideas

Outside of the period of hajj in Makkah, the UK is home to the most diverse Muslim community in the world. The extraordinary mix of ethnic origins and opinions from across the theological spectrum make it a unique moment in the history of the Muslim world, representing a microcosm of the diversity that Islam has always aspired to.

Islam and Muslims have travelled fluidly through history - across the Arabian Peninsula on horseback, by boat along the Eastern coasts of Africa and across to India and into the South Indian seas. It was often trade, by sea, or across the Silk Road, that flung Muslims eastward to China and Indonesia and west towards Morocco and Spain. In fact, records of the slave trade to the Americas suggested that Muslims had made it across the Atlantic long ago.

The re-drawing of national boundaries, wars, post-colonialism and the ease of travel and communication which have been the driving forces of the twentieth century, have once again shuffled Muslims around the world. Their movement has been mostly into Europe and North America, and nowhere has this redistribution and melting pot of Muslims been more apparent than in the UK.

In 2001, the British census estimated that there were 1.6 million Muslims in the UK, a number which is now forecast to be close to 2 million. This makes Muslims the second largest faith group in the country, and Muslims make up more than half of the non-Christian faith community. Almost three quarters of Muslims in the UK are from an Asian ethnic background. Those from Pakistan make up 43 per cent, from Bangladesh 16 per cent and Indians and other Asians make up 14 per cent. We probably could have guessed that. But did you know that 17 per cent consider themselves to be from a 'white' background, whether that is White British, Turkish, Cypriot, Arab or Eastern European? And did you know that 6 per cent of Muslims are of Black African origin, from North and West Africa, particularly Somalia.

We also know that all these figures are out of date, and show little of those of Middle Eastern origin who have joined us on this green and pleasant land in the last few years. If you haven't spotted your country on the list, then you make up that great overlooked fact of British Muslims - that they come from all the blessed corners of this God's great earth.

But so what?

First, it is important to take note of these astounding facts. We live in an historic time and place for Muslims. We have more ideas, cultures and perspectives in a concentrated space than ever before, to inspire, motivate and produce more than ever before. If ever we were to create something overwhelming, tumultuous and inspirational, then the time has never been more ripe. The great age of Muslim learning flowered because minds were open to new ideas, perspectives and cultures. Thinkers would wait eagerly for new books and learnings to travel across the ethnicities and languages of the Muslim world.

Islam is also about appreciating different people and knowing them. The Qur'an is quite clear about this, and Muslims love to quote that Allah created people into "tribes and nations" so that we may "know each other". We take positive pride in the diversity across the global Ummah. We claim that we love all our brothers and sisters, and that we feel their pain, wherever and whoever they are! Of course, this statement of bravado only lasts as long as we don't have to go to a mosque that 'belongs' to those of a different ethnicity. As long as we don't have to marry them. As long as we don't have to have children with them. As long as we don't have to work in communities together. There are exceptions, but they are relatively few.

We will protest vehemently for the Palestinian cause, and we may deplore the terrible situation in Iraq, but do we know any Palestinians or Iraqis here in the UK? It is easier to care for those thousands of miles away, then to look after those on our doorstep.

Nowhere in the world do we have more opportunity than in the UK, to put into action the ethos that the Prophet taught us - to treat all human beings as equal in worth, and to appreciate our variations and differences. At no time in history have we had the opportunity to infuse so much culture, so many ideas and so much vivacity into the future of Muslims.

History will judge us harshly if we remain enclosed in our ethnic and ideological bunkers. Our future generations will be even less forgiving if we fail to create the magic of cultural fusion and intellectual development that history has shown is in the DNA of the Muslim spirit.

This article was published in The Muslim News
Statistics quoted can be found in greater detail at the National Office of Statistics

Modesty is not a black and white issue

Modest dress is a key component of Islam, but it's important to retain personality and aesthetics in the way we dress

This week I tried out the most extreme black cloak to make it into my wardrobe. A piece of elastic attached it to the top of my head, and then the single piece of long fabric hung snugly over my hair, sweeping over my shoulders and down past my feet. The final flourish was for me to hold together the two edges under my chin. Two eyes, a nose and a squashed mouth peeked through the gap under the black sheet. My husband peered into the bedroom, and nearly dropped his mug of tea.

"You look like a black blob," he said, horrified. "Where have you gone?" He poked underneath the black cloth like a serious Sherlock Holmes. Despite feeling uncomfortable about the cloak, no man was going to tell me how to observe modest dress. "Don't you want me to hide my figure so I'm not attracting attention?" I barked at him. He froze, rabbit in headlights, and then looked at me for a clue.

"Of course I want you to be modest," he said, certain that this was the right answer.

"And isn’t this long cloak, the most modest thing I could wear?"

"Well yes. Erm, well no, well yes, no, yes, yeah... no? yes, yes... "

I looked at him sternly, with the if-you-dare glint of a determined Muslim woman, who has pro-actively chosen to wear the headscarf and modest dress. He looked more terrified of me in my new guise of crazy-eyed Muslim harridan than he had of the black blob. But he was right to be distressed.

The question about how we should define modesty is constantly plaguing the Muslim community. Neither men nor women can map out any consistency or meaning in the higgledy-piggledy implementation of the rules of modest behaviour. At work you can interact with the opposite gender but not at Islamic conferences. Muslim men can shake hands with non-Muslim women, but not vice-versa. Brides who normally wear hijab will uncover in front of men to be shown off. In some communities, men will push into the women's section during weddings, but will enforce segregation at home. In others it is the opposite, with women not allowed to participate in mosque management due to the fitnah (division) this could cause, but happily socialising together.

The spirit and implementation of modesty is confused at best. Women and their clothing have become hijacked into being the symbol of how religious we are as a community. If women are properly covered, then everyone seems to think they can rest easy.

Her choice of dress is inextricably linked to a judgement about her spiritual status. At the sober end she is considered overly pious, not to mention excruciatingly dull. By contrast those women who choose not to wear a headscarf, are immediately judged to be irreligious, un-spiritual and not considered to be 'properly' practising. There has been a visible increase in the number of women wearing the hijab (head covering), the jilbab (loose fitting long dress) as well as the niqab (face covering).

Colours are subtle: greys, browns, blues, blacks. These women cite their dress as a freedom, an escape from the body-obsessed post-modern world, as well as a greater commitment to the values of Islam. At the other extreme is the rise of the Muhajababe. Her head covered, she probably wears skinny fit jeans and lycra t-shirts. For her, the headscarf itself has shown her commitment to her Muslim identity and faith.

We sighed simultaneously at the black cloak I was still wearing. "We all end up looking the same, I feel anonymous and unknown. I'm not me anymore," I mourned to him. "Some people say that our voices should not be heard either. I'm part of a black silent mass at the back of the room. Surely individuality is important? Especially if Allah says that there are as many ways to know Him as there are human beings?"

He responded enigmatically: "Each flower that God has created is specifically a different colour, and design. Even when they are closed, they make an effort to show their personality, and individuality."

I squinted dubiously at him. "Does this mean you think women don't need to wear niqab, jilbab or even the hijab?"

"Defining what 'modesty' means isn't easy, and we Muslims spend an awful lot of time on the outward signs like dress and physical separation. Where we need to focus more is on the complex relationships between modesty, personality and aesthetics."

I draped the abaya playfully over his shoulders. "Modesty isn't just for Muslim women to worry about," I reminded him. "To build a strong community we all have to be concerned with inner spirituality as well as outer codes of conduct like dress." Grinning cheesily, I pointed at the cloak: "Modesty is definitely not a black and white issue."

This article was published in The Muslim News

The Muslim World is Larger Than We Think

The Muslim world is made up of more than just people from the Middle East and the Subcontinent, and drawing on our wider heritage and perspectives could help us address the pressing questions of Islam and modernity

It would probably come as a surprise to most people to know that the largest ethnic group within the world's billion or so Muslims, are not in fact, Arab. Nor are they Pakistani, or even Bangladeshi for that matter. Even the entire Muslim populations of Europe and America do not feature at the top of this list, and neither does China.

In Britain, our perceptions of Muslims - and thus of Islam - are shaped by the fact that the media shows us coverage of the Arab world as 'Islam' and also because the majority of Muslims in this country are of Pakistani and Bangladeshi origin. The issues and challenges that raise themselves in the Muslim community, and which spill over into the national discourse about Muslims and Islam, therefore naturally stem from our Arabic and Sub-continental-shaped spectacles. Even within the Muslim communities the problems we see and the solutions we propose continually hark back to world-views and religious paradigms based in Arab and Sub-continental perspectives on history and modernity. British Islam tastes of korma curry with a side-serving of hummus. In the global political arena too, the Sub-continent and the Middle East (read 'Arab') are also front and centre when it comes to 'The Muslim World'.

With this restrictive bi-focal approach, we try to address the big questions facing Muslims today. We ask in this context, how do we get to a meaningful understanding of Islam and governance in the modern world order of nation-states? Should we choose to interact (or not) in democratic processes, and if so, what methods should we use? What should our identity and role be in this globalised world? Is there a dichotomy between nation and ummah, and if so, how do we reconcile them?

The biggest challenge out of all of these for Muslims, is to find meaningful proposals to create a framework for participation with positivity and integrity in this new world order. Muslims constantly hark back to a 'better time' of Islamic empires and Caliphates, which were the spiritual home of Muslims, and for the most part were their physical homes too. However, such an empire, or a universal 'home' state no longer exists. In many cases Muslims live as minorities within non-Muslim majority countries. There is no option - and in many cases no desire – to 'go home'. Muslims should already feel respected and at home, and should not be treated as aliens. In the context of such a relationship, it is timely for Muslims to construct a robust place within the national community that they are part of and establish very clearly the contribution that they will make.

This desperately needed enterprise is being subverted by a small minority who wish to hijack this process of development and change. Their desire is to return to a 'better time', and to 'Islamicise'. But they created these false notions through Arab-Sub-continental lenses. The neo-conservatives who have created their empty identities and standing in opposition to this so-called 'Islamist' political ideology also see the world in these two blinkered dimensions.

So here is the surprise. Large swathes of Muslims are asking the above-mentioned first set of positive questions about this new globalised world that we live in. The groundswell is to participate and contribute, to explore traditional notions of Islamic governance and to advance new ideas of engagement and civic participation. By no means are they getting it all right but, as Confucius says, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

The most significant and flourishing example of this is Indonesia. This is a country of 221 million people, of which 88% are Muslim. This makes Indonesia the world's largest Muslim population, a fact unknown and overlooked by most people. The country stretches from Thailand to Australia, punctuated by lush rainforests and epic lively volcanoes. Its spirituality is understated but intricately and gently woven throughout the fabric of society. Mosques are plentiful (as are other places of worship), almost on every street corner, but they are softly tucked in, little oases in the hubbub of day to day life. Scattered liberally amongst the emerald green rice fields are small huts, used to protect workers from the tropical rain storms, and offer an accessible place for prayer.

The country is founded on five principles, the first of which is the 'belief in the one and only God.' For a country with an overwhelming Muslim majority, its political principles define it not as Islamic, but as theistic. There is concern to ensure that the huge variety of ethnicities that make up the nation, as well as its six official religions, share a sense of cohesion which is expressed in another of its founding principles: 'Unity in diversity'. It also envisions a just and civilised humanity, social justice for the whole of Indonesia and finally, and perhaps most significantly democracy guided by the inner wisdom in the unanimity arising out of deliberations amongst representatives. It is this fusion of democracy and faith that makes the physical, spiritual and social landscape of Indonesia so fascinating.

Ten years after the overthrow of a totalitarian government, the country is racing through a reformasi, and asking piercing questions about nationhood and faith. Whilst travelling there, I was constantly surprised by the strength of feeling amongst all the people I met about driving their country forward.

How did the fact that I am both British and Muslim manifest itself, and how did I relate to my nation, I was constantly asked. Instead of simplistic shock at the existence of Muslims in the UK, the Indonesians greeted my fusion of British Islam with thoughtfulness. They reflected on what they could learn from the experience of British Muslims, to create a cohesive nation state that could respect faith, benefit from it, and use it as a force to create unity - a slippery and elusive goal for a country of its huge geography, variation and population. They wanted to learn about how minorities were treated, and apply positive experiences to their own nation.

There was no possible question of not participating in political and civic processes. Faith - whether Muslim or otherwise - was a natural part of civic life. There was no need to make a headline fuss of it. It did not dictate the political agenda. Instead, it offered fresh perspectives on dealing with social, political and economic issues. None of this is to say that Indonesia is not dealing with pockets of extremist activity like we are in the UK. Indonesia has many human rights and security issues of its own to deal with. Despite the challenges it is facing, it was refreshing to be in a Muslim majority country, amongst politically and civically active Muslims, for whom Islam was not the only item on the agenda - if in fact it was on the agenda at all. Creating a society where faith is woven into nationhood, and exists happily under its banner were of greater concern to people on the street.

I came away thinking that as British Muslims we had many things we could learn from them. Indonesia sits very firmly as part of the Muslim world, and sees itself as a key player amongst Muslim nations. It is attempting to deal with some of the questions that face both Islam and faith in general in this new millennium. And like a child learning to sit up and survey the world around it, their experience can offer Muslims fresh eyes onto our modern day challenges. Muslims speak with pride about sharing the joy and pain of a global ummah. But sometimes we forget that the ummah stretches much further not only in geography, but also much further in culture, politics and creativity than we might think.

This article was published in The Muslim News

The rise and rise of Muslim awards

This week sees not one, but two, glittering awards ceremonies designed to recognise achievement and encourage talent in the Muslim communities. The Muslim News Awards for Excellence was held on Tuesday to recognise individuals and organisations for contributions in areas ranging from arts and science, to citizenship and enterprise. Now in its 8th year the awards have shown consistency and have made a real impact on promoting the positive contribution of British Muslims to British society. As this year's guest of honour David Milliband said, he was proud of the Awards not just as a politician, but also as a fellow citizen.

This evening will see the second Muslim Writers Awards which are aimed at encouraging Muslims to reach out more to their pens and keyboards and find their voices. Gordon Brown pledged his support for the awards, stating: "This is a wonderful opportunity to bring excellent writing by Muslim writers to new audiences, and increase the mutual understanding of the people of Britain." Again the event is a glittering event being held at the ICC, as a black tie do.

And I should modestly mention that I have been shortlisted for one of the Muslim Writers Awards, apparently from amongst 10,000 entries. If I win, the blog will show jubilation. If it goes all quiet tomorrow, dear readers, you'll know why...

Tranquility in remembrance

The Qur'anic stories of the Prophets offer us a reminder and an emotional connection towards the spirituality that Muslims strive for. Shelina Zahra Janmohamed is therefore troubled by an increasing negativity towards remembrance and emotion.

This year, the occasion of Easter and the occasion of the birth of the Prophet Muhammed, fall very close to each other. Both are clearly incredibly significant events to the faiths of Christianity and Islam respectively. Both mark the lives of individuals who have made a world-changing contribution (universe-changing some might say). Easter weekend falls from March 21st to March 24th, whilst the birthday of the Prophet falls somewhere between the 20th and the 25th, depending on which sources of history you refer to - the Islamic date usually being either the 12th or 17th of the 3rd Islamic month Rabiul Awwal.

Easter - along with the other occasions of the Christian calendar - appears to me to be a unifying event for the Christian community. I do not agree with the doctrine it reinforces (having chosen to be a Muslim rather than a Christian), but I do admire its focus and reflection on an historical event that can stir emotions and also shed light on our current and future circumstances.

It is an undeniable truth that the study of history and its remembrance is an aid to mapping a wiser brighter future. That is why Scripture - like the Qur'an - recounts the stories of Prophets and communities past, so that we can reflect on what happened to them, why it happened, and then avoid their mistakes. And the very point of narrating the stories and parables of these human guides is to offer an emotional connection and a human example of spirituality and worship.

The Qur'an repeatedly remembers what has happened to the Prophets and peoples before us. It tells us that the Prophets were sent as bearers of good news and guidance but also as warners. It re-iterates their stories in chapter after chapter, reminding us of their birth, lives and deaths and urging us to remember them and what they said to their people. Sura Saffat (The Ranks, Chapter 37) for example, is a poetic essay of the lives of the saleheen, the good. It tells us about Prophets such as Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Lot, Moses and Aaron. After the individual commemoration of each Prophet, the Qur'an says, salam, peace, to each one. In case we missed this repetition, it rounds off the chapter by saying, salam, to all the messengers, and then praises Allah.

With all of this in mind, I have been startled in recent years by the growing numbers of messages I receive in the form of emails, newsletters and sombre advice telling me that I should refrain from remembering events such as the birthday of the Prophet. Such advice sometimes goes as far as to tell me it is haram to commemorate the Prophet's birth. I am told not to commemorate his birth or death, not to mark the death of near or respected individuals, not to spend time in spiritual reflection on various nights throughout the year, not to remember the dead.

I find this deeply troubling. The sign of a mature community is one that can reflect on what has past. It needs to study what has happened and learn the lessons of history and then move forward. Where we found ourselves wanting, we must mourn and then convert our remorse into a more positive future. Where we found good, we must rejoice. To stop remembrance severs our roots. It leaves us floating precariously in an unanchored vacuum where we have no frame of reference. That is when we become weak and pale as a people.

What I also find troubling is that this growing negativity towards remembrance is aimed at quashing human emotion as a component of faith. There is an emotional value that remembrance brings to our faith, and by denying remembrance we are eroding the emotion of faith. It is natural for human beings to be joyful and emotional in remembering those who have done good to them - particularly when they have sacrificed their lives to bring us that goodness. The Prophet is the best example of this. It is the natural condition for a Muslim to feel love and happiness in relation towards him. In fact, the Qur'an tells us that the people asked the Prophet what he wanted in exchange for teaching them about Islam and the Qur'an answers that all he wanted is muwaddah, love. We should bear in mind that the Qur'an tells us that even Allah and the angels send their blessings on the Prophet, and that those who believe do the same.

The fitrah of the human being is to remember. It is also the fitrah of the human being that he or she will rush in the direction in which emotion pulls it. Without that emotion to drive it, the path is arid and laborious. Infused with emotion and remembrance it appeals to the instinct which is placed in each human's heart to reach for the Divine. Remembrance is what opens the heart and creates love and tranquility.

The theological arguments about whether the birthday of the Prophet should be celebrated or not will continue to rage, I'm sure. However, as people centred around faith and spirituality, what we do need is an understanding that remembrance - in whatever way people choose to exercise it - is a crucial component of our community ethos.

This article was published in The Muslim News

Time for a Womelution

The Muslim community needs to make a quantum leap in addressing the issues of gender roles, gender worth, and gender relations, and so this week I am declaring a 'womelution'.

The debate about Islam, women and rights seems to have reached a dead end. We are stuck, all of us together - Muslim and otherwise - in a groundhog day regurgitation of the same arguments about women and Islam. It's all talk with few new ideas and intellectual works being produced, little social change happening, and Muslims still not facing up to the fact that we need to address the subject of gender. We must reject this status of 'stuck'. Stuck, is no longer an option. God does not change the state of a people until they change it themselves.

We must also reject the notion of 'fixing women'. Fixing women, doesn't fix the problem. Let's replace the issue of 'women' with a debate about women and men. After all, God does say He created human beings in pairs.

What we need is for men and women to work together so that we can make substantive change and real improvements. What we need are open hearts and inquisitive minds so that we can make a positive move forward. What we need, is a womelution.

Inspired by women, but for both men as well as women, the womelution is positive, engaging, creative and forward-looking. This is not a bloody revolution, but looks inside all traditions and heritages, to both genders, to all ages and multifarious ethnicities and languages.

The womelution is about making real change: intellectual change but most importantly, real social change. It is characterised by compassion, humanity and humour and most of all by respect. It is not about women versus men, but about being on the same side, creating the best for everyone. It is rooted in Islam and its foundations are within the Muslim conception of the world. Its premise is that Islam has more to offer than it is currently given credit for, and it has a blueprint that can contribute to humanity in general. The womelution encourages questioning, respectful challenging and constructive criticism.

1. We need to re-ignite the tradition of intellectual debate

We need new thinking and output that moves forward Islamic scholarship on the issues of gender. The world has changed and we need to face up to that. We must ask challenging questions - but with respect and within the spirit and ethos of the Qur'an and the teachings of the Prophet. Every time we look at the words of the Qur'an we are advised that they will reveal something new. In the same way, when every new generation looks at Qur'anic verses and the Prophetic traditions it will be through new lenses.

In 2008, I invite every Muslim scholar, every Imam, and academic to tackle the issues around Islam and gender. It can be in the shape of a theological discourse, or a social reform, small or large, but it must offer something new and positive that leads to real change.

2. Communal spaces, particularly mosques, need to re-balance gender participation

Although a womelution is about both men and women, it is undoubted that in some areas - such as those of mosques and other public forums - getting women involved is the first priority. This will benefit both men and women. Those mosques or community centres which currently have no space for women need to create areas for women and start engaging with them. The many mosques where women are already actively involved need to make sure that there is at least one woman who is on the management or executive committee of that mosque or centre, and that she has actual authority and empowerment vested in her.

Let 2008 be the year for asking questions and offering answers about how men and women should share mosques and community spaces, and when every single mosque up and down the UK succeeds in appointing a woman into an official position.

3. Women must themselves actively pursue improvement and change - for the sake of society as a whole

Men need to open hearts, minds and doors, but women must also grasp the mettle and engage in change. It can and will be difficult and will feel uncomfortable. Both men and women need to understand that women must participate to create a successful community. Women have new perspectives and approaches, and will bring forward issues that have not yet been addressed. Women will double the resources, brains and energies at the disposal of the Muslim community.

4. Change must be based on addressing the needs of both men and women

What are the traditional gender roles that we are upholding? How do men and women currently interact, how are responsibilities distributed, and are these rooted in culture or faith? Once we've asked these questions we need to assess: what should be our definitions of gender roles and what should be our notions of gender worth? We don't live in a traditional world anymore. It is worth remembering that the greatest failing of the community of the Prophet Abraham was that they did what their fathers and forefathers before them did without questioning it.

The biggest social and practical issue facing us today though, is that of gender relations - how should men and women relate to each other, and how do we implement personal law? Muslim women have become the bastions for maintaining and regulating gender relations. The concepts of hijab, niqab and segregation have been confused with the real concept of modesty in etiquette, behaviour and personal relationships. What does modesty really mean? What is its role in Muslim society, how should both men and women practice it, and how should it regulate the world of gender relations?

5. Confidence, compassion and curiosity are the values that will drive positive change

It's time also to put paid to the frankly silly but insidious suggestions that Muslims are alien to Britain. Muslims must be confident in themselves, in their Islam and in living in Britain. We must have curiosity and confidence in asking questions to make the lives better of everyone around us - Muslim and otherwise. It also requires compassion and empathy for our neighbours which, of course, comes with the right to be treated with respect and love in return.

This year should be the beginning of a womelution, a marked change in the tempo and confidence of the Muslim community, with a particular focus on gender. We will need vision and creativity and to be positive and work together. This is the only way that we will move forward.

And if you're still confused, it's pronounced wi-mah-lou-shun.

P.S. We also need a little inspiration and some humour. As my own personal contribution, I dedicate four Superhero characters, which you will find on my blog www.spirit21.co.uk/magicmuslims

This article was recently published in The Muslim News

Social cohesion not gender confusion

The government's latest announcement about funding for Muslim women to help curb terrorism confuses social cohesion with extremism, and it also forgets that women cannot single-handedly solve our social ills.

Apparently, we're not very assertive. And apparently, we need the government's help. And apparently, some training courses are going to solve the problem. Thus spake the government when announcing that they would help us Muslim women to stop extremism. By going on some courses. Once we've been suitably trained, we'll go on to spy on our kids, create community cohesion, and curb terror. We'll then stop for afternoon tea. After dunking our digestives in our chai, we'll reverse global warming and achieve world peace. Muslim women will save the day! (I know we're good, really really good, but I'm not sure we're superhuman!)

Please don't misunderstand me - the initiatives announced by the government, in and of themselves, are good projects. Women do need more support, they are a fundamental building block of the community, they do need more attention. So bring on the training, bring on the resources, bring on the focus.

The projects proposed by the Department of Communities and Local Government are much needed. The communities in question, and the women that form part of them very much need this support. But why is investment in Muslim communities and in Muslim women about terror rather than social improvement? The very distinct line between extremism and social cohesion has become dangerously blurred - and the government must be called to account on this distortion.

Muslim voices are denigrated when they complain about 'spying', 'interference' and state-sanitised and approved religion. The wailing chorus is because 'Moozlim problems' are categorised as problems of extremism and terror and are dealt with as such, rather than being addressed as the social and economic problems of unemployment, access, education and opportunity that they are. Government resources are required to get to grips with deep social issues, as a problem to solve in themselves. Extremism and terror need to be tackled in and of themselves as well. But solving terrorism can't masquerade under the guise of social reform. The two must not be conflated.

When it comes to the specific question of investing in women, yes women - just like men - need to be involved in facing down the criminals that bring extremism and death to our streets. But we're falling into the usual trap of gender play-offs. If it doesn't work with the men, go onto the women? Try one, then the other? The government is beginning to sound like a deeply traditional mosque, or the feminist movement, by dealing with people (in this case Muslims) as two distinct species - male or female - who apparently have little or no overlap. Women can't do it alone, so don't set us up to fail.

Women are not, and should not be a separate project, an afterthought, a curiosity. This is an obstacle to creating a socially cohesive and balanced society. Muslim societies (just like European ones) are very guilty of this problem of falling foul to treating men and women as two separate mutually exclusive entities. But the government seems to be equally guilty. Building projects and goals on such shaky gender foundations may yield short term benefits, but it is predicated on a model of social interaction that is flawed. Men and women are not separate, independent, unrelated. It takes two halves to build a whole.

In the Muslim world, the longstanding focus of the debate on social relations between the genders has been on establishing the limits and boundaries of Islamic law. By focusing this debate simply on the specifics of the boundaries of Islamic law it reinforces the exclusion and separation of women from society in general. By talking about "women's rights", the whole area becomes a sub topic. In the same way, talking about women bearing the brunt of the responsibility to curb terror detracts from the responsibilities of the social whole.

To put it simply, it is a mistake to consider men on the one hand, and women on the other hand, in isolation from each other, because at every step we are connected to each other. The Islamic model of gender relations describes the equality of men and women as "created from one soul" as well as their interconnectedness and balance "you may find peace and tranquillity in each other".

The Quran explains, "It is He who brought you into being from a single soul". From the very source of the human being, both men and women have the same value, being created from the same beginning. In the Quranic model, women and men are linked right from the beginning and their source is of the same value, they share the same unity.

The whole area of gender rights and gender relations is very sensitive, and one of the areas of particular sensitivity is around the concept of 'equality.' By referring to a society of two equal and balanced halves, the reference is to being equal in value and participation, with no other connotation. And this meaning is quite clear in the verse of the Quran that locates men and women as created from one soul.

The issue is that women are not being given the opportunity to contribute their value. The government funding should help in a small way to address this - but only if it is aimed at improving the status quo, not as a means to the totally separate goal of dealing with extremism.

The Islamic model of the two genders as two halves of a whole, is a reflection of the fundamental Islamic concept of Tawheed. This central doctrine can be further explored by looking at the attributes of the Creator, who has names which represent His Jalaal – majesty, and other names which represent His Jamaal – His beauty. For every Muslim, these are both an undeniable part of Tawheed. Then if man and woman are created from a single soul, then are they not simply a reflection of the attributes of Jalaal and Jamaal, of the masculine and feminine attributes of Allah? In which case, how can the two ever be separated? And further, are not both together required to complete the unity?

The discussion should then not be on "men's rights" or "women's rights" but on the rights of the human being, and the respect for each other as human beings. Perhaps the problem is that we do not see the potential of each other as fulfilling the divine in everyday life.

The Quran is explicit in saying that Allah has created pairs for us that we may find peace and tranquillity in each other. This verse is usually quoted the context of two individuals getting married. But instead of simply looking at this at an individual level of one man and one woman, we can extrapolate it and create a model of social harmony - that women and men are a pair and need to work together in order that society is peaceful and tranquil.

What will be the key factors in shaping an environment which will be successful in creating a balanced whole with productive participation from both genders? We shouldn't be drawn into playing the genders off against each other. It is totally appropriate to identify the unique needs of each gender and to address them as part of a holistic approach to solving problems and improving society. It is not appropriate to favour one gender, and punish the other for seeming failure. That would be like holding your hand over one eye to try to see the whole world in three-dimensional glory. Unfortunately, by confusing extremism with social cohesion, and by holding women alone up as social saviours, the government is in grave danger of creating a one-eyed bumbling monster.

This article was published recently in The Muslim News

Whose body is it anyway?

Christian and secular art have at least one thing in common - they like to have people in them. Christian religious art is brought to life with representations of the personalities that populate Christian history. From high art produced by the great masters, to local churches, the artistic interpretation of Christ and other figures opens the door to discussion about the spirituality conveyed. Body, whether through direct representation or iconography, is the gateway to the spiritual meaning of these works, and it feeds from the Christian idea that the incarnation of Christ connects human beings to the Divine through the body of Christ.

Islamic aesthetic principles find the body an alien impostor to spiritual aspiration. God has no incarnation, cannot be defined in bodily terms, nor has location, size, shape or gender. The Divine is found in the abstract and undepictable territories of the inner heart, and is manifested in the geometric perfections and multiplicities of both art and nature.

From a Christian European perspective, the body is uncomfortably absent from public Muslim life. Calligraphy and geometric art are used to transcend into the domain of the spiritual - human beings are not usually depicted. Even people seem to lack bodies in the public arena, with women tucked neatly under headscarves and men in looser shirts and full length trousers. Muslim heritage rejects the body being a public billboard. Instead, it is to be celebrated and shared only in private, retained for personal and family interactions and for the pleasures of intimacy. This is one of the fundamental reasons Muslim women wear the hijab: to be valued for who you are, not what you look like. Muslims, in this sense, are simply exercising their very modern right to privacy.

Today's secular gods of consumerism and self indulgent gluttony, of beauty, youth and immortality, have their roots in the same Greco-Roman heritage that Christian art draws upon. Secular art, which is offered up to its own gods show us sculpted bodies that meet our contemporary ideals of bodily perfection. It idolises the oxymoron of super-slim yet ultra-curvy women, the sparkling white of pristine teeth that have gorged on chocolate - a modern day food for the gods - or the tough muscular six-pack man in the age of longer working hours and high alcohol consumption. Image is the ultimate altar to worship at. One men's clothing chain ran an advertising campaign last year using simply the words: "Looks aren't important. They are everything." Body is the ultimate god, and fashion designers are its disciples.

The body is thus the fulcrum for public debate, expression and attitudes. What happens when the body is not available as the yardstick? Is the response to see women who wear the hijab as 'withholding' themselves from the public space, and to consider that inflammatory? The privacy of the body for Muslims means it is entirely natural for Muslim women not to shake hands with a man, but the role of body in social interaction through a European lens means it is highly unnatural not to. There is no quick fix to resolving these different perspectives, because they stem from deeply ingrained attitudes and perspectives. Intensive communication and understanding hold the only keys.

We are told that the body is public, but faith should be private. But if faith is about aligning your entire being towards a better way of being, then the body is de facto part of that. In the religious domain we focus on the body of Christ, in the secular it is the flesh of supermodels. In both cases, the body is a public canvas, a forum for discussion. The personal is public, and the public is political except, ironically, when it comes to using our own bodies to express faith. Faith, as an exception to everything else, is a private matter, we are told, separated from public life and to be left at home. It seems we are at cross purposes. Modernity protects our right to privacy, but this privacy does not seem to extend to the body.

This article was published in The Muslim News

Not in My Name

We're not responsible for the behaviour of all Muslims, so why are we constantly berated for what happens abroad?

When I recently read the story of a 19-year-old Saudi woman who was gang-raped 14 times in an attack in Qatif, in the eastern province of the country, a year-and-a-half ago, I felt nauseous. I was disgusted. But not as horrified and angry as I felt when I read that along with the sentences for the perpetrators, the victim had also been sentenced to 90 lashes for breaking the Saudi rule that men and women who are not related should not be together. The victim claims she was not alone with any man but had in fact been abducted from a public place. When her lawyer protested that the sentences against the seven men were too lenient, and she went to the media, the presiding judge did increase the men's sentences slightly (from one to five years, up to two to nine years) but also increased her sentence to 200 lashes. The lawyer's right to practice is also being revoked.

I searched the news feeds to see if I had missed some key fact, mis-read the story, over-looked any shreds of humanity, compassion or justice. I found none. And so, for the first time - as I wrote on my blog about this incident - I found myself writing the words, Not In My Name.

I wrote these words as a human being disgusted that another person could punish further the victim of a multiple rape. But I realised that I also wrote these words as a Muslim. The ruling in Saudi Arabia was not to do with me, or my faith.

After the bombings of July 7th I had heated debates about whether I wanted to support campaigns that Muslims were organising under this very strapline of Not in My Name. I felt at the time that such a campaign would support reverse logic: by saying that the horrific attacks were not to do with me, I was indicating that somehow I was indeed responsible and related in my values to the bombers. I felt as though I was being asked to admit guilt and responsibility, where neither were appropriate. I was not responsible for what they did. What those men did, and others like them, is not from my understanding of my faith. It does not come from the core values of Islam. I asked myself, why should I feel the need to create an anti-connection to these men, if I was rejecting the very premises of their violent views? I condemn utterly what they have done.

My rejection and disgust at the bombings was the same horror as that of the British people. I shared the nation's grief as a human being. In this I was not distinguished from my neighbours by colour or creed. The mourning and distress of Britain, was my own mourning and distress. I felt no need to claim special status, responsibility or special distinction.

In the matter of the Saudi woman, however, there was no mourning, no outcry, no public grief. Therefore, I felt the need to make the declaration that this act had no truth, justice or compassion. The values of my humanity and my Islam were betrayed. The decision was made by those supposedly in authority, those who claimed special rank in showing what Islam should be. The Saudi courts who made this horrific ruling had not rejected authority, they were not attacking establishment - they were claiming in fact to be the authority and they were the establishment. How could I do anything BUT state that this authority and this decision was Not in My Name?

It is a given fact that I am not accountable for what another individual does. This is a basic premise of British law as well as Islamic belief. We only have a responsibility for our own actions. Neither do I have direct accountability for what happens in Muslim countries abroad. I'm fed up of being told I am to blame for what happens elsewhere in the world. I'm frustrated that as a nation, we have a discourse that says that just because there are problems - serious problems - in many Muslim countries with regards to human rights, religious practice and tolerance, then that means Muslims here are responsible for that, and that people of faith, including Muslims, should be denied rights here. Again, it is reverse logic. Why should our behaviour as a nation, be governed by the values of others? That only brings us down to the lowest common denominator. As a sovereign nation we should lead by example. By we' (in case I need to spell it out) I mean Britain. And that includes Muslims as an inherent part of the British people. Our actions should be rooted in truth, justice and compassion. They can never be contingent on the behaviour of others. As a nation we can only be responsible for the way we act, and we can only be accountable for our actions in the international community.

What is incumbent on me is to be a good citizen of my own nation, and to uphold truth, justice and compassion here in our land. I must assess and recognise what is right and wrong on its own merit, not based on who is saying it. My duty is to create the best society where I am, and that duty applies to those of all faiths and none.

As Muslims we need to be clear that just because a government or an individual that carries out an action claims to be Islamic or Muslim, that does not mean it is inherently right. If an action is carried out, or an opinion held by those of other faiths (or none), that does not make it inherently wrong. Locate the truth first, then see who is saying it, stated the Prophet Muhammed.

My actions should not be contingent on what someone else does. They should be rooted in what is right and what is wrong. At the end of the day, I am only accountable for my own actions, but that also means that I am responsible for my own actions irrespective of how other people act and behave. The case of Holocaust Memorial Day is illustrative. The organisers state that the aim of the day is to "motivate people individually and collectively, to ensure that the horrendous crimes, racism and victimisation committed during the Holocaust and more recent genocides are neither forgotten nor repeated, whether in Europe or elsewhere in the world."

I wholeheartedly support this objective. I believe that as a Muslim, as a person of faith, as a human being, it is my duty to remember all innocents who have been killed, and to offer my condolences and in this case, I offer my condolences and mourn those millions that were specifically lost in the holocaust. Never again, has to be our pledge.

Many people ask, if these are the aims, then why is this not a genocide memorial day? They rightly say, have not people all around the world suffered brutal massacre and persecution? I firmly believe that the international scale and horror of genocide does indeed need to be recognised, and that it is now time that we should have a separate day to mark that. But on this one particular day, we remember these particular innocents: those who were killed in the holocaust.

Every human life is equally valuable and I must recognise it as such, wherever or whenever it is lost. My action in remembering, and vowing that it should not happen again, is not contingent on the motives or responses of others. I carry out this action because it is inherently right.

Our decisions must be informed by truth, justice and compassion, and these decisions must direct our actions. If we make our actions contingent on the behaviour of others, then we all find that our humanity is compromised.

Assessing independently what is the right thing to do, is no easy task. That choice is just as difficult whether it is in the context of being a nation, or an individual. When our humanity is compromised then it is the responsibility of all of us, together, to state that this is Not In Our Name.

This article was recently published in The Muslim News

Update on Saudi case: the woman in question has 'confessed' that she was having an affair with the man in question. This 'confession' has come subsequently to the outcry over this case

Passive followers are just as responsible as bad leaders

The crisis of leadership in the Muslim community is also a crisis of followership. Leaders and followers both need to understand the etiquette of exercising their duties

One of my favourite stories from the Qur'an is the tale of the Prophet Ibrahim, known also in the Bible, as Abraham. He always struck me as a deeply discerning character, who found truth in the simplest and clearest ways.

Ibrahim watches the sun rise, and like his contemporaries considers whether it might be the lord of the worlds. As the sun sets and disappears to nothingness and oblivion, he concludes that it cannot be the Almighty. He watches the moon rise and set in the same way, and reasons that it too cannot be the Creator for the same reason. He concludes that the true Creator must be far greater, that the true Divine is one that must have created all these things that people believe wrongly believe are gods. Ibrahim declares that he is not of those who believe in many gods.

As a person of faith, this narrative strikes us as simple and obvious. Yet it does not seem so obvious to his peers. How is it that they cannot see the truth in front of their noses? The facts are so clear, we cry, waving our fists fervently at the verses recounting this inexplicable inability to see the truth.

When Ibrahim challenges his uncle - ironically, a man who carves idols - about how he can believe in all these gods, especially those who he himself has created, the answer is one that makes me stop dead in my tracks. For me, the uncle's response is one of the most telling and yet least pondered on in the whole Qur'an.

His answer offers us insight into the painful modern tensions of culture and faith, the thorny yet fundamental issues of leadership and direction, the stunting reluctance to admit the need for change. In ordinary lay terms, the man immortalised in the Qur'an shows us how drawing from misplaced authority can result in fatal and devastating consequences. To me, the response is a clear statement of the fact that blind following and literalism is a debilitating phenomenon of the human condition, and one which we continue to be crippled by today.

Ibrahim is a cheeky chappy, and one whom I admire for his ironic audacity, all of which are qualities in which we are severely deficient today. In engaging and challenging authority he uses a certain charm, and a well-defined adab, etiquette. He chops the heads off all the idols which the local community worship, except for the chief idol, and then places the axe on the shoulder of the chief. When he is challenged by the local leaders, he smiles wryly and says, why don't you ask the chief idol, he's the one with the axe. Cue cartoon steam flaring out of the leaders' ears and much communal anger at this anti-establishment upstart. Again, the truth of Ibrahim's narrative is obvious. The anger of the leaders is based on the simplicity of his exposition of the truth. They can see, yet they are blind. And what is the answer as to why they continue to believe?

"Because our fathers, and their fathers used to do this."

In our ringside seats at this historical debacle we jump up and down screaming, do you not have your own brains to reflect? Is it not possible, even obvious, that your fathers were wrong? Have you not derived the authority for your actions from an incorrect source? Ibrahim's gentle humour and irony force his community leaders to engage in dialogue and respond to their followers.

Stop for a moment and reflect. We are in the same situation. Muslim communities and mosques are upholding traditions because this is what our fathers used to. Women treated as inferior beings, not permitted in mosques or on mosque committees? Like our fathers... Imams preaching in languages other than English? Like our fathers... Marriages and matches based on caste and family rather than compatibility and choice... like our fathers...

But 'fathers' is also metaphoric, referring not just to those who precede, but also those to whom we give authority. And here, exactly here, are the Big Questions for the Muslim community. Who should have authority? What should be the nature of the relationship between leaders and followers? Most critically in what manner should followers engage with those in authority?

Those in authority should fully expect to be kept on their toes. They earn their stripes by engaging with those who challenge. They must show leadership through creating dialogue. Those leaders who insist on broadcast monologue and who cannot hear the questioning, enquiring, even challenging voices do not bear out the qualities required in a Muslim leader. Leadership in the worldly sphere is consensual. Even the Prophet asked his people "Is it not that I have authority over you?" Only when they replied "But of course you do!" did he proceed with offering them further direction. This is the etiquette of the leader.

Our leaders need to address these fundamental requirements. Communication - both in language as well as style and format - is critical. Being forward thinking and visionary in order to lead by example are also fundamental. Being open to new challenges, ideas and situations is also key. Underpinning all these is the concept of dialogue. Authority, like respect and trust, has to be gained, not simply asserted through history, culture or shouting loudest.

The Muslim communities are indeed in a leadership crisis. What this means is that we are also in a crisis of followership, because the relationship between leaders and followers is a symbiotic one. We abandon our responsibilities as followers and then whine when we are not happy with leaders. If we complain that we don't have the right leaders, it is because we don't know how to exercise our duties as good followers.

Good followers know when to challenge, but more importantly they know how to challenge. Healthy enquiry does not require mass anarchy and rebellion, but it does keep leaders on their toes. After all, the Prophet was often asked 'why', and the Qur'an is constantly referring to those who believe as people who 'think', 'reflect' and 'ponder', all qualities of a questioning mind.

Ibrahim does not raise his voice to his community leaders and shout them down, telling them brutally that they are outdated and engaged in shirk, polytheism. He does not call them names and humiliate them in public, asserting that they are wrong, and only he is right (even though in his case he actually is). Rather, with his uncle he uses gentle discussion and compassion, and even goes on to pray to Allah for him. With the community leaders he does not enter a slanging match but rather uses humour and patience in exposing the falsity of their idol worship. Even the Prophet spends forty years building relations with the community before even saying a word about the One God and the deen of Islam. And when he does start to spread the word he invites the leaders of the tribe to share a meal at his house.

We have forgotten that Islam was a challenger, an outsider that came to confront establishment. It brought revolutionary ideas - the equality of human beings, the rights of women, the unity of God, the peaceful co-existence of tribes and nations. It met with resistance from leaders because it challenged the status quo. Islam grew because as a challenger, its style and etiquette was based on the wisdom of manners. Courtesy, compassion and patience were its foundations.

The challenge for Muslims today is to discern to whom they should give authority, and to engage in constant dialogue with them, with the right Islamic etiquette. The leader must understand that gone are the days for monologues and silent obedience, and now is the time for interaction and engagement. Leaders must expect this and encourage it. The follower must understand that questioning and challenging are a duty, but must not to be engaged in with hostility and rebellion, but with enthusiasm for improvement and aspiration for the truth.

Ibrahim is asked to sacrifice his son at the command of God, to prove that he is willing to give up what he loves most. God replaces the intended victim with a sheep, a creature known for following blindly and unthinkingly. The choice of Ibrahim is always before us: to assess truth on its own merits irrespective of mass opinion, culture and history or to suffer the consequences of unquestioning and unthinking followership.

Recently published in The Muslim News

Five Things I Love About Being a British Muslim Woman

Who would have thought that there could be plenty to love about being a British Muslim Woman? ...

The media is smitten with bringing us bad news. It creates villains and demons and tells us the worst about humanity. And it does this in particular when it comes to Muslims, and oh-so-extra-specially when it is about Muslim women.

"Poor, oppressed, miserable, battered Muslim women!" cry the media harpies. They take lustful pleasure in oppression of their own kind, by misrepresenting us, by stifling our voices, by denying us our identities. "It cannot be that you love being Muslim!" say the politico-journo-lobbyist voices. "You must not partake of Britain and its values," say the Muslim voices that also try to own us. In true British style I say to all these voices, two fingers! I follow this embarrassing slip of emotion by a further display of British Muslim style which means I blush at the brazenness of that gesture.

I'm here to set the record straight. I like being a British Muslim Woman. In fact, I love it. Ol' Blighty is the place of my birth, and I am very much a child of the empire, my origins being in the far flung reaches of the reign on which the sun never set. Like all good British Muslim women, I love a good gossip, and a good moan. I am careful not to talk to people on the underground (except in a crisis). I talk about the whether and traffic in immense detail. I love fish and chips, with lots of vinegar. I am love-struck with the Britishness that venerates Stonehenge, despite its toy-sized pebbles when compared to the great wonders of the ancient world. I am besotted by the fact that we haven't won the world cup for forty years, and yet we are adamant that we will certainly win the next time we play. Hurrah for being a British Muslim Woman!

I can make the world a better place

Prophet Abraham was thrown onto a large fire when he challenged the establishment. Miraculously the fire didn't burn him. He was, quite literally, cool about it. Nor was his ardour to pursue the truth diminished. This Islamic parable of the fire makes me aspire to be a British Muslim woman Abraham. I too want to be a good citizen in the best of British and Muslim traditions. I too want to gather the courage to challenge what is wrong with the status quo. Despite the enormity of Abraham's fire, little ants ferried drops of water in their mouths to try and put out the blaze. They didn't expect to solve the crisis alone, but they wanted to do their bit. I desire to be a British Muslim woman who can also do her bit, who can make a contribution to the society I live in.

Despite my disagreements with the political views of the government, I am enamoured of the fact that I can protest about their loathsome views. I won't get arrested for lobbying, demonstrating, writing about my views or speaking out. Whether we Brits always live up to our values of fair play and justice is one thing, but I'm proud that as a nation we at least aspire to them.

The very best of British however, is being able to challenge stereotypes and having the opportunity to make Britain a better place. When Britain closes its eyes and its heart as it seems to be doing in understanding the issues of Muslims and of women, it is a disappointing and dark place to be. But Being British means I have hope that we can make this a great nation. Being in a country where I can have the good fight, and be proud that I am doing my duty as a citizen is why I love being here.

Pink hijabs are a fashion possibility...

... as are green ones, black ones, yellow ones or even Union Jack hijabs. As a Muslim woman living in Britain, I am joyful that I have choice to dress modestly, and that I can exercise that choice. I like the fact that hijab is a word that transcends into British culture. I am quietly proud to have a faith which is constructed around respecting my personality and my individuality rather than my vital statistics. It gives me pleasure to say that I have not replaced the corsets of yore, with the breast enhancements and liposuction of today.

My personality harbours a desire (like most women) to express myself through what I wear. I don't want to dress anonymously in black or grey. I like it that Britain is a place that gives me the space and creativity to express myself aesthetically.

Being superhuman is a choice, not an obligation

I admit that I'd like to have it all - career, family, fashion, fitness, domestic utopia and corporate success. I want to be perfectly attired, cook food that puts Delia to shame, and burn the dragons in their own den. The reality of being a woman means I'm likely to suffer discrimination in the workplace, be paid less than my male counterparts, and bear the weight of domestic duties and childcare.

Being Muslim gives me a new perspective - I can choose to have it all, but I don't have to have it all in order to be validated. But I retain the choice to try everything. My loyalties to the sisterhood, both Muslim and in wider society, mean that I share the pressures, pains and desires, and I too want to make life for women better. I too want to make society a more equitable place.

Diversity is a celebration of more than just food

Chicken Tikka Masala is the national dish now, and stir-fry noodles and hummus are not far behind. As a nation we love sampling food from other cultures and incorporating them into our cuisine. But diversity encompasses more than that. Multiculturalism celebrates cultures and respects them by understanding the equal value they offer. I am smitten with the principles of diversity that Britain has been trying to uphold, and have felt that sinking feeling with recent talk about belittling other cultures.

As a Muslim I support the principles of diversity, being expressed in the Qur'an with the words that "All human beings were created as tribes and nations so that you may know one another." Trying to live by the principle that we should respect others for who they are, not where they come from or what they look like stems from all parts of my British Muslim woman's identity. We don't always hit the bullseye with our policies, but at least we know where we are aiming.

My faith and my country push me to be a better person

I'm constantly challenged by my faith to improve. External standards do that - they pull you up and make you face the depths of your weaknesses. Religion is about thinking of others, fighting your childlike tantrums and greed to be free and happy in spirit, and to make those around us live better lives too. That's what our beloved "Land of Hope and Glory" does as well. In case you've forgotten the lyrics of this erstwhile national anthem, it refers to the nation as "Mother of the Free", an acknowledgement to us lovely ladies that keep the nation going, if ever I heard one. "Truth and Right and Freedom, each a holy gem," proclaims the song further. Such words are rousing to the heart, and if we dig deep into the essence of Britain, and what it truly means to be British, we will push ourselves to regain these values and make ourselves better people.

I can be sure that there will be people who feel sorry for the delusions they will claim I suffer from being proud to be a Muslim woman. And I am even more certain that there are those who will tell me that it is shameful for me to be proud of being British. "How can you be proud of a country that attacks the Muslim nations and kills innocent Muslims," they will reproach me ardently.

The following I say to all of you. All human societies have their strengths as well as their failings, whether they be Muslim societies or otherwise. It is my duty as a British citizen, and it is my responsibility as a Muslim woman to try and make the place I live in a better place. If I can practice my faith as I have understood it, if I can contribute to society and try to improve it, if I can express myself in that society so that I can be who I am and pursue my dreams, then that is a society that I can be proud of. My society may not be perfect, but I will support its aspiration to be a better place.