This donkey won’t save your day

How is it that when the protection of black women comes at the expense of a black man’s reputation, the black woman is AUTOMATICALLY discredited and thrown under the bus when black women are too ready to cape for black men? Black lives matter is a movement created by black women in response to the oppression and persecution of primarily black men and boys.

I’m disappointed by the culture’s tepid reaction to the rape case. I really am. It’s the same circular arguments when it comes to black women. It’s like people don’t WANT to believe the hurt and tragedy of a black woman, so that’s why it’s so easy to take a pseudo objective stance as if now people are so concerned about legality and absolute truth. The doubt in black women becomes apparent in times when there’s ambiguity involved. What’s NOT ambiguous is the proven track record of CTG and at the very LEAST stick his irresponsible and reckless behaviour to him instead of immediately deferring to withholding judgment. In wait for what? The proof is in the pudding. You just need to look for the consistency in the context to discern the validity of this. Black women can have their experiences and feelings validated without that necessitating blame or prosecution of someone.

I’m not advocating for saying Charlamagne absolutely did it. But at least acknowledge what’s irrefutably true and have empathy for the countless victimized women who are watching this play out in the public and are internalizing the public’s attitudes. What will the complete truth contribute when we don’t even acknowledge the truth that already is obvious?

And it does black men no good to evade accountability in favour of getting ahead or getting white people money. White men are accruing their karma plus interest and you don’t want to be in the same boat as them when the iceberg comes for them. So don’t obscure the moral waters in the name of progress. If financial progress and career advancements did anything substantial, the presence of millionaire and billionaire black entertainers, CEOs, athletes, entrepreneurs etc, would have changed the overall structure of black America. But it hasn’t. It absolutely hasn’t. If anything it’s created morally dubious people who’ve lost touch with their spirit and culture. So.

Underneath your vitriol

You who judges me are more affected by the judgement you pass, than I am by being judged. The shadow you wish to cast over me with your invalidating remarks aren’t going to last an afternoon, but the darkness that expelled such shadows is engraved in you.

 You, you who hates me for my covered curls, my two syllable foreign name, my golden complexion – attempt to strike fear in me by letting off the roar of a lion in whose cage you are. The roar might startle me for an instant, but my steps will soon remove me beyond the reach of your hysterical screeches as the lion turns against you, devouring you. You drum up the appetites of demons you cannot feed, and cannot let loose on those you hate. You were duped by your ignorance and sold into slavery by your fears. 

You seek refuge in a maximum prison from the dangers of others not knowing that the biggest danger of all is your cellmate.

An old Somali proverb says : Fulay hooskiisa ka diday 

A coward fleeing from his shadow 

Sink, don’t swim

The only time Muslim men seem supportive and accepting of Muslim women is when we get lauded and celebrated in the West for our achievements. E.g. Ibtihaaj Mohamed, Malala Yousufzai, all other Muslim women with impressive track record. L  I don’t know, but it seems like many men like to bask in the shadow of our hijaab which is the only distinguishable indicator of a Muslim. 

So reppin Islaam lies on our shoulders, as does the responsibility to hold Muslim men’s hands – figuratively of course lol- in walking a straight path by hiding ourselves, so as to eliminate ‘temptations’. 
Let me give you an example: When a man is told of his Islaamic obligations and duties, the motivation and reason given are tied to obeying Allaah. 
But when a woman is told of her Islaamic obligations and duties, the motivation and reason are usually tied to a man. 

Case in point: Wear hijaab to protect yourself from men. Don’t go out as much to keep yourself chaste from men. 

And this is especially pronounced when married women are addressed; reminders to obey the husband and bend over backwards pleasing him is spoken of void of a spiritual context and agency. She’s not told : ‘do this because Allaah told you and He’s testing your obedience to Him by making you yield to your husband.’ 
No no. Patriarchy is presented as an intermediary between the woman and her Lord. The man and Allaah are put on equal footing, and this is done so subtly it’s scary. 
Just listen to any Somali lecture geared towards women and you’ll see that the only topics broached are to do with marriage, hijaab, child rearing and backbiting. As if that’s all women are about; why not encourage their autonomy by mentioning the illustrious female Islaamic scholars throughout Islaamic history? Why not empower them instead of telling them what NOT to do, what NOT to be?
Women have contributed a hefty amount to the Islaamic sciences, and in fact they were more upright in it. Out of the thousands of female muxaddithaat ( hadeeth scholars/transmitters) not ONE was a fabricator. 
Many commanded large audiences of male students. They would teach and correct their husbands on narrations and fataawa, and the men wouldn’t get defensive or insecure. Why? Because they were humble and keen on purifying their own Islaamic knowledge from errors and misunderstandings. 
When ego overshadowed the Muslims, when appearances and lipservice to knowledge became a thing, Muslim men went down and took women with them by marginalizing and tone-policing them. 

The last major female scholar lived in the 1800s. That’s during the era of my grandmother’s grandmother. 
Most women keep quiet out of fear. Muslim women, Somali women. That’s why we don’t have too many Somali thinkers and writers and critics who are women. Not because they don’t exist, but because the level of harassment and vitriol they receive from men makes it a steep price to pay.
Men have fallen victims to their egos and they are too arrogant to ask for a hand. So they cut off our hands, in case we try to help them up. And then when confronted about this they say ‘it’s xaraam for man to touch the hand of a woman, so it’s xaraam for me to try to get up. I’m trying to be patient with the fitnah of this ground that made me fall. The ground is so uneven, the sun is so blinding, the women are so seductive – no wonder why I fell. ‘

Rediscovering Ramadaan#5

When misogyny rears one of its many heads

Ya hear that? The sound that went ‘pop’ in your head, the neurons coming to a screeching halt, your breath held in a nanosecond longer when you read ‘misogyny’?

I’m not going to bash anyone. Don’t worry.

I bash everyone 😠😈

Just kidding 😝

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And Still I Rise

Being a (hijabi) Muslim black woman is the lowest rung of the Western society. My very existence is the embodiment of everything society shits on. I’ve never known the connotation of the proverbial a walk in the park. Even the walk in a park feels like I’m being scrutinized. My skin colour, my dress, my womanhood are screaming car alarms in a funeral, or snow storm on a June wedding day. I’ve never had the luxury of being relaxed. I feel like a thug when I walk into department stores. I feel like a terrorist in the airports, with a ticking bomb in my shoulder bag that ironically holds a  copy of ‘1984′ by George Orwell, a pack of gum and the latest edition of the New Scientist. I try to keep eye contact, smile, think happy thoughts in case the NSA are sitting somewhere reading my thoughts. I watch my words when I’m on the phone so I don’t say stuff like ‘ man you’re the bomb’ and have my ass scooped off to a blacksite by the FBI.I feel like I’m at a pageant every time I walk outside. And being a native of Sweden where up until maybe 35 years ago, the only blacks that stepped a foot here were the travelling circus of Somali niggers in the early 20th century, things are even worse! Much worse. The racism isn’t as institutionalized as in the states, but the general opinion of blacks is rather primitive.


All that just made sure that I had to be alert, that I had to learn to defend justice for any human. It taught me to not give racist whites the power by making me believe the system is rigged against me. It taught me to take what’s mine, and keep trying until I chip away at the old system. It taught me to not accept a dirtbag’s imbecile thinking. It taught me that humanity has always been prone to oppression and resisting progress. I get it; it’s not a personal thing. Governments need their scapegoats, people need their bogeyman. Today it’s me, tomorrow it’s someone else, just like in yesteryears there were others in my place. The rotating axes of human vices.

The true enemy isn’t the evil man who’s doing reflexively what’s imbedded in his rotten heart. It’s the apathetic bystander who lets him.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

– Maya Angelou ( Still I Rise)

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