Perempuan: Muslim Women Speak Out

Managing Image

Body image also figures strongly in the anthology. In “You Have to Lose Weight”, Huda K. writes, “When you grow up heavy, you get very familiar with one phrase. ‘You have to lose weight’.” You will hear it from others before saying so yourself. In “Eaten Up”, Atifa Othman charts the various ways her struggle with body image leaks into moments in her life: during a scuba diving session, or brief moments when family members drop casual, hurtful remarks about her weight. The body is also policed on bases of modesty, whether it is the tussle between mother and daughter over whether her clothes are modest enough (Zarifah Anuar’s “Armpits, Breasts, and Vulva”) with the recognisable image of a mother tugging at her daughter’s clothes appearing in multiple stories, or realising that hair and how its worn can be infused with political and religious meaning (Fadiah Johari’s “A Hairy Situation”). Three writers even take on the topic of female circumcision, questioning both its necessity and scientifically disproven justifications of reducing libido and improving cleanliness. There is a kind of quiet violence in the extent that the female body is managed and controlled, not just by institutions and patriarchs, but even by other women. Muslim women are at times taken to represent the whole community when all they should be representing is themselves. This of course happens outside the community too. In “A Muslim Woman’s Guide to the Workplace”, Raudah recounts hilarious snippets of conversations with her non-Muslim colleagues who seem to enjoy dishing out stereotypes. Of course, these are moments of microagressions, and Raudah calls on Muslim women to carve their own space in an environment where others often speak for you, or have decided what your identity seems to automatically mean.

Doubly Marginalised Voices

LGBT issues remain a contentious topic in the community, with the dominant consensus being that it is unacceptable in faith. These personal stories reveal the consequences of this prevalent belief when it is sharpened into normalised prejudice and even hate speech. In “Allah Take The Wheel”, Joyene Nazatul, who introduces herself as a lesbian who dresses in a masculine way and often passes as a man, recounts a harrowing experience in a cab where the driver questions her in a hostile manner about the way she dresses. She also recounts a driving teacher who said that he would have put her through “corrective” rape if he was younger to ensure she would like men. These experiences made her fear for her life. She asks, “How many other people suffer aggressions like this, every day, and never say anything about it?” Violence is a common occurrence in the stories submitted by gay contributors, with Orchid Blue writing that she fears being open about her orientation due to expected violent backlash. Zuleiha in “Cover Up” tells of a classmate threatening her with blackmail if she does not change her orientation. Earlier, in a religious classroom setting, Zuleiha had sat silent as a teacher asked the students if they knew anyone who was homosexual — “No one raised their hand that day. Little did they realise that there was such a person sitting in the class”. This same shame and silence is also detailed in the story “Human” by Oman. What is common for these LGBT writers is the desire not even to be accepted, but to simply be regarded as equally human, and to not be recipients of hate. There is also in them a marked comfort that is derived from the faith. Oman thinks of God as a compassionate, supreme being that is more accepting than the followers. Zuleiha finds comfort in the act of wudhu (ablution), although it saddens her that each time it makes her feel like the waters are washing away the guilt and sin she feels for simply being herself. In these stories, we see how LGBT women try their hardest, while quietly taking in verbal violence and hatred, to foster the love in religion for themselves that has not been extended to them from others.

Exposure and Not Erasure

The importance of the book cannot be stated enough. For the women whose voices are so marginal that some of them have to use a pseudonym in their submissions, it is a brief relief from isolation and from having to silence one’s self within normative society. The demand of conformity, the punishment of any kind of divergence from the norm is a kind of violence that is inherently unjust, but some find to be sanctioned and therefore, just. Perempuan seeks not to theologise or propose a new way of understanding Islam. It is merely a collection of personal stories and experiences, revealing insight into what women go through when faced against the tide of expectation and demands to conformity. Many of these voices have known silencing and dismissal. Denying the existence of these voices will only perpetuate the kind of persecution we do not want for our daughters. So rather than punish their speaking, the community should come together, listen, and try to understand their experiences.