Exponent II's Blog, page 284

Islamic Feminism in America with Amanda Quraishi

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Amanda Quraishi

In this episode of the Religious Feminism interview series, Amanda Quraishi, a Muslim feminist, talks about the unique challenges and opportunities for Islamic feminism in the United States, where more ethnically heterogenous groups attend mosques together than anywhere else in the world.  She also tells us why Islamic feminists are kind of sick of the hijab debate and that you can’t judge an Islamic feminist by her head scarf.

You can find episode notes for the Religious Feminism Podcast here at the Exponent website: http://www.the-exponent.com/tag/religious-feminism-podcast/

Links to Connect and Learn More:

Amanda Quraishi’s website

MuslimahMerican

Amanda Quraishi on Twitter 


Amanda Quraishi on Facebook  




Faithfully Feminist: Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Feminists on Why We Stay
Listen and subscribe below:

 

Too Little, Too Late

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Did any of you notice a news story last month? The one about Saudi Arabia finally allowing women to drive? As in cars. Well, in June 2018, Saudi women will be allowed to drive cars. Fawziah al-Bakr, a university professor, participated in the first protest against the driving ban in 1990. She is quoted in the New York Times saying, “We have been waiting for a very long time.”

There could be a variety of reactions to this news. One might be amazement that this is happening, because many people might not even be aware that women are so oppressed in a wealthy, supposedly sophisticated and advanced country. Another is along the lines of the ever popular victim blaming approach. “Why on earth do those women put up with this?!” Yet another option is to wonder how, in 2017, in a world with internet, an awareness of human rights, and general progress, there are so.many.men that still think it is acceptable to treat half of humanity like this.

As I was thinking about this advancement, not feeling heady with excitement because this is only a baby step towards equality, my reaction was a little bit “meh”.

I realized it was very similar to my response to news that women can now pray in General Conference. Or news that women who work in the Church Office Building can now wear pants. Really. PANTS. In 2017. Really. It is reasonable for people reading that news to react like I did to the end of the Saudi driving ban. Meh. Like Saudi women, LDS women have been waiting for a very long time.

Too little, too late.

A million mistakes

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When I was twelve years old, my dad’s job transferred our family to Mexico City, Mexico.  While my dad had served a mission in Argentina and regularly spoke Spanish as part of his job, the rest of us knew absolutely no Spanish.  I admit that I was terrified to move there and try to navigate in a world where I didn’t speak the language, and for the first six months (maybe more), things were completely disorienting.  I didn’t know where to find basic items at a grocery store.  I couldn’t buy a movie ticket without help.  I didn’t realize how much I used to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations until I realized that I couldn’t understand anything that anybody around me was saying!

I was able to start Spanish classes immediately, and had plenty of resources around me to learn the language.  I started at the most basic level (hello = hola, thank you = gracias, book = libro) and gradually started integrating words and concepts into my new vocabulary.  The scariest part of all, though, was speaking.  I was terrified of sounding like an idiot, of having a terrible American accent, or of completely butchering the language I was attempting to learn.  Thankfully, I had an excellent Spanish teacher who repeatedly told our class, “In order to become fluent in a language, you have to make one million mistakes.  So you’d better start now.”

Now, he wasn’t advocating that we go out and butcher the language purposefully.  But he did want us to practice using our voice and saying the words.  He wanted us to keep learning while we tried – I had classes at school.  I had friends who were patient and generous in explaining concepts that I didn’t fully grasp.  I watched movies with Spanish subtitles, I read books, and I immersed myself in learning the Spanish language.  And I made a lot of mistakes.  Some of them were even harmful mistakes – more than once, I unwittingly said something horribly offensive and made sure to apologize, learn from it, and do better the next time.  I don’t know that I ever got up to one million mistakes (since I’m not completely fluent), but as I gradually learned and spoke, I became increasingly adept at speaking Spanish.

I’ve been thinking about this learning experience a lot lately.  I’m a cis-gendered, heterosexual, able-bodied, financially stable, white woman.  I have a lot of privilege in my life.  And as I have to come to see and understand the various intersections of power and oppression in our society, I have wanted to use my privilege to speak up and fight racism, heterosexism, classism, ableism, and other -isms in our society.

But I am terrified.  I admit that I have said a whole lot of dumb stuff.  I sometimes think back on times that I have said something that reinforces those -isms, or times that I’ve taken up the oxygen in the room, or when I’ve made the problems about me instead of those who are actually directly affected.  I’m sure there are thousands of other things that I’ve said and mistakes that I’ve made that I don’t even remember.  But I also think that, as somebody who is trying to learn the language of allyship, I need to recognize that I’m going to need to make a million mistakes, so I’d better get started.

Just like in learning Spanish, I’m not going to make those mistakes purposefully.  I’m not going to go out and ignorantly spout off with the expectation that those around me will correct me and educate me.  I’m going to take classes, I’m going to read books, I’m going to watch movies, and I’m going to listen to people as they speak.  There are going to be many, many times when I will need to fight the urge to speak, and instead sit back and listen.  But when I see or hear people around me saying or doing things that are harmful, or that perpetuate damaging tropes or stereotypes, that will be my chance to speak up.  I may make a mistake.  In fact, I probably will.  But as I’ve tried to speak up, I’ve become a little bit more comfortable every time.  I’ve learned to say “I don’t think that joke is funny” and “Please don’t make comments like that around me and my kids” and, maybe most importantly, “I’m sorry that I did/said that.”

One resource that I have found to be incredibly helpful is the Southern Poverty Law Center’s “Speak Up: Responding to Everyday Bigotry” pamphlet.  It gives sample scenarios that people often find themselves in, responses that could be useful, and helpful role-playing examples that I’ve used with my friends and family.  The links found on our Facebook group guidelines offer several great introductions to intersectionality and having productive conversations.  Nancy’s post, “A Brief Syllabus on Whiteness” has links to several helpful articles, and many commenters added ideas as well.  It’s often daunting to put one’s own comfort, privilege, and knowledge on the line and to try to speak up as an ally.  But it’s so important.  We might make a million mistakes as we do it, but as we learn and do our best, we can become fluent allies and help to dismantle systems of oppression in our societies.

 

My Father’s Path, My Mother’s Path, and Mine

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I knew, throughout Primary and Young Women, that I was a child of my Heavenly Father, that my soul was one of the noble and great ones, and that I was on a path to become like Him. Sure, kind of arrogant, and it did lead me to be kind of self-righteous until I mellowed in adulthood, but I knew that Heavenly Father loved me at least as much as any other person. The Young Women theme affirmed to me every week that I would become like Him, and it was my sacred duty to live up to those values because I was blessed to become exalted.

I prepared diligently to attend the temple to receive my endowment. I wanted to be able to deepen my spiritual reserves, to see greater heights to which I could reach. I was a Gospel Doctrine teacher in my YSA ward, and I felt the spirit testify to me as I taught truth to this group of men and women — much of the time sharing the more complicated versions of events I was learning as I made studying the scriptures and church history a priority.

I had felt for some time that I was on a plateau, and was so looking forward to my endowment, that I was sure would open up the path to me to reach closer to my destiny of becoming like my Father. I paid close attention to people’s discussions about temple-related topics, and so there was a lot that didn’t surprise me. I was uncomfortable with the clothing, but mostly because I wasn’t familiar with how to place and tie everything (and the cheap, mass-produced textiles kept me thinking about consumerism and comparing that to Old Testament scriptures about women producing these items). The ceremonial things that many people find weird weren’t a problem for me.

The problem for me was that I saw that my path had nothing to do with my Father at all. And worse, I realised that my Mother wasn’t present. Not in the temple, not in the Young Women theme, not in Sunday School or Primary. The message I heard in the temple was that my Father did not want me, and my Mother either agreed or was powerless.

In the years since then, I have attended the temple few times – twice to attend sealings of loved ones. The second endowment session I participated in, I realised later I had spent the whole time apologising to the woman whose name I bore. The third, I prayed deeply beforehand to feel my Mother’s presence. I had a special experience in the chapel as people assembled before the session, but that feeling was gone as we took our places and the ceremony began. I spent the entire time as I do some sacrament meetings when I need to feel more grounded, and I counted the number of times the word “love” was spoken. It was zero, and if I participated in another endowment session, I don’t remember it.

[image error]I didn’t have another experience like that, regardless of my seeking for it. In time, I came to terms with my pain that I had imagined a connection to my Father that doesn’t exist. I buried much of my longing for a Mother, telling myself that happens in the next life will happen, whether I worry about it or not. Until I read Rachel Hunt Steenblik’s book of poetry in search of Her, Mother’s Milk, I didn’t realise that much of what I had submerged was anger.

I ached through the first section, The Hunger – I know that feeling well. I was hesitant throughout the next section, The Reaching. At the first poem of the middle section, The Learning, I had to put the book down as long-held-back frustration and anger swept over me.

Tired (p. 40)

The mother

loves us,

but She is

tired.

Why did She create me if I was going to be too tiring to care for? Or was that a surprise, and Her silence comes from regret? If I cannot know Her, how can I learn Her path? Or what if I do not want a path of silence, whether that comes from indifference or inability?

A State of Rest (p. 93)

The mother isn’t

tired anymore.

She sleeps when

Her children sleep,

dreams when

they dream.

I am not ready for hope. I would like that to be true, I would like to be able to feel that, believe that. But for right now, I can’t. I will keep Rachel’s book close in case that day comes for me, and in the meantime, I will forge a path that feels right for me.

No more rote messages for LDS Visiting Teaching! New guideline: “Do what she needs.”

[image error]Read about the change here:  Changes to Relief Society visiting teaching messages: ‘Do what she needs’

Jacinda Ardern, former Mormon is Prime Minister of New Zealand

“The former Mormon and Helen Clark staffer is the youngest woman in history to lead New Zealand…..”

About Ardern’s prime ministerial announcement:  https://www.theguardian.com/world/201...

About the longest serving female prime minister, Helen Clark: https://nzhistory.govt.nz/people/hele...

I don’t believe in prophetesses.

“Miriam, the prophet…” I read. It jolted me.

I was looking at one of the Dead Sea scrolls, part of a library of ancient documents discovered in 1947 which include the oldest known copies of the Bible’s Old Testament. At this exhibit, pages from the scrolls were on display and next to each page was an English translation.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t read that passage about Miriam before. The same story is found in my King James Bible, with one key difference. In that version, Miriam is a prophetess, not a prophet. (Exodus 15:20)

If course, that difference doesn’t mean anything at all. The word “prophetess” is just an outdated word for “prophet.” Back in King James’s time, and even in Joseph Smith’s time, the English language used gendered versions of the same word to differentiate between men and women. Emma Smith, for example, called herself “presidentess” of the Relief Society.

For the most part, the English language has since abandoned the “-ess” suffix. Mormons don’t have a Relief Society presidentess anymore. She is a president, like the Elders Quorum president. But when we talk about female prophets, if we mention them at all, Mormons tend to use the outdated word “prophetess.”

We should stop it.

Using a unique word to differentiate female prophets leaves the impression that they were something other than—and perhaps less than—their male counterparts.

The LDS Guide to the Scriptures, included as a supplement in online and printed Mormon scriptures, goes beyond impressions. Although prophet and prophetess are translated to Old English from the same word in the original text, the Guide provides two completely different definitions for the masculine and feminine Old English forms. The definition for prophet describes a person with a sacred calling, analogous to the modern calling of prophet in the LDS Church, with extensive authority and responsibility.

In contrast, the definition for “prophetess” is much shorter. A prophetess, according to this LDS reference, is a spiritually gifted woman. She has no particular calling or authority. Unlike male prophets, the Guide asserts, prophetesses did not hold the priesthood.

Again, we are talking about the exact same word here, just written differently because of an Old English grammatical rule that doesn’t even apply any more. The Guide offers no scriptural references to support its claims of gendered differences in the status and roles of male and female prophets in ancient times because there are none.

Denying that female prophets were prophets in the same sense that men were lends itself to certain kinds of scriptural interpretations. I was taught as a teenager in LDS seminary that when Aaron and Miriam committed the same sin—complaining against their brother, the prophet Moses—Miriam received a much harsher punishment because, as my teacher explained, while it is wrong for anyone to undermine the authority of a prophet and seek to elevate their own status in the church, it is particularly bad for a woman to do it, because women aren’t supposed to want the priesthood. (Numbers 12) (For a less sexist explanation, read Why Does God Hate Miriam? by EmilyCC.)

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My prayer for Jerusalem’s Western Wall

At the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit, I had the opportunity to participate in the tradition of placing a written prayer on a stone from Jerusalem’s Western Wall. I prayed for women to hold the priesthood and I was not struck down with leprosy. Phew.

Calling female prophets by a different name creates a distinction that did not exist in Biblical times and that we should not pretend ever existed. I believe women were prophets. I don’t believe we should keep calling them something else.

Weddings and Feminism

[image error]I got married recently and it was really really wonderful. Planning a wedding as a feminist, though, is a weird experience. Here are some things I observed during the process:

People make a lot of assumptions. This ranges from being about name changes to career choices. Most of those assumptions had to do with things I was supposed to do or not do now that we are married.
Another major assumption is that I was in charge of the wedding planning. Actually, my husband and I planned everything together. When we emailed photographers or caterers that we liked, they always responded just to me. When we met with people they directed their questions and comments to me.
My first thought was, “this must be how men feel at car dealerships.”
My second thought was that this is because we teach, through rom coms and Young Women’s lessons and a million other subtle ways, that a wedding is a high achievement for a woman, but we don’t teach the same thing about men.
My third thought was, “gee, great. More emotional labor for me.” Even though my then-fiance was trying to shoulder his fair share of the burden, outside forces made it difficult. It made me wonder how often that is going to happen in our marriage.
Most of the assumptions are well meaning, and the people making them are generally just excited. But does not make it less exhausting to explain that, no, I won’t be quitting my PhD. Or no, I will still use my maiden name professionally. Or yes, we actually both proposed.
There is a definite a common undertone that, while a wedding is an accomplishment for a lady, it is a trap for a man…that somehow I tricked my fiance in to giving up his freedom to get married. Don’t believe me? Just look at all the cake toppers that show a bride dragging a groom. Look at all the pictures of ring bearers carrying signs that say, “too late to run!” or similar phrases. This was really offensive to me, and even more so to my fiance. He is a man who knows his own mind. It is also limiting to men to say that they don’t want connection and commitment just as much as women.
Heterosexual privileged is a real thing, and heteronormativity is strong in the wedding industry. (I already knew this, but it really struck me hard how pervasive it is.)
It is really really meaningful to have all the people you care about in one place, even if it’s just for a few hours and even if you don’t actually get to talk to all of them one on one.
It is also really meaningful to make our commitment to each other explicit, even though we’ve been living together for almost 2 years, and even with all the ways weddings can be problematic. Although I also understand why some people don’t feel the need to do that.
My wedding to a non-LDS church member was just as meaningful, and just as full of God’s presence as any temple sealing I’ve ever been to. I also already knew this would be true, but I had this deeply hidden secret fear that it would feel less or like it was missing something. I don’t think I even realized it was there until the day of. But, on the contrary, I felt my Heavenly Father’s confirmation that we were doing the right thing. And our ceremony reflected both of us so well. We vowed to be equals. We couldn’t have had that in the temple.

 

Spiritual Practices and the Art of Saying No

[image error]I’ve been thinking a lot about spiritual practices recently. I used to do traditional Mormon prayer, lengthy scripture study, and journaling, but those aren’t working for me in the way that they used to. The Project Zion podcast has a lot of discussion about the different spiritual practices that people in Community of Christ use, but the ones that have been most important to me are a little less obvious. I’m interested in activities that encourage me to reflect, prioritize, and feel connected to my own story.  It is this sense of connectedness that makes me feel like God is leading me toward self knowledge and wisdom. These spiritual practices give me a big-picture perspective that helps me to see my life and choices more clearly and to fear the unknown less.  The three that I am currently practicing are writing poetry (quality is not connected to spiritual benefit), reading tarot cards (for narrative reflection – I don’t believe in divination), and practicing saying no.

Practicing saying no has allowed me to reclaim my life and move me away from feeling obliged to be a martyr. It was one of my first steps to making my time and effort align with my priorities. In one semester, I said no to a handful of things I wanted to do, but didn’t fit into my life in the ways that were most meaningful to me. It wasn’t just a process of trimming extra things out, but a way of putting my own goals first and keeping the best things. I created time and reserved energy for what I wanted and in the process I let myself know that I mattered to me.

This week I said no to two good things. One worthy activity was running my family ragged and the sacrifice was not worth the benefit. The other was beyond my time and energy at present. Maybe someday I will return to one or both of those things, but they do not align with my top priorities right now.

My spiritual practices help me create meaning through my choices and that kind of deliberateness is important to me. I feel that God wants me to search for and find God with intention, to keep my efforts in line with my goals, which God has led me to discern.

Been there, (was) done (like) that.

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What a week for Hollywood. I have my eye on my newsfeed, and every twenty-nine minutes, someone new steps forward and details yet another disgusting, humiliating encounter with a certain movie mogul.

It isn’t that people are shocked. Nobody in their right mind looks to the movie industry (in almost any country, I’ll hazard a guess) to get their ethical bearings. If you’d like to fish in a cesspool for your moral compass, that is surely your choice, but I don’t suppose you’ll have very much company. Does anyone really need The New York Times to make the case that Hollywood can be and often is, in a word, gross?

No, Harvey Weinstein’s transgressions against younger, vulnerable women are not shocking. The sheer magnitude of his bad behavior is bloodcurdling, and the fact that so many people covered for him is hideous, but people are not clutching their pearls and insisting that they are “shocked! shocked I tell you!”

Also not shocking: sexism itself, its ubiquity, the everlasting universality of it, the fact that I do not have a single girlfriend who has not experienced it in one form or another, at some point in her life. Big incident or small, nasty transaction, everyone has her* story. Everyone.

Do some of these stories happen within the context of the international LDS church? Oh yes, and it is heartbreaking. But again, it is not shocking. We have a system of church governance in which the power lies entirely with men. We are literally structured to ensure that a gendered power imbalance will exist anywhere the Church does, and that girls and women will be subject to a disproportionate amount of what I will not-so-fondly call unrighteous dominion.

This is quite a different issue than sex and the priesthood. Church administration can be peeled away from a male-only priesthood and discussed on its own merits, or lack thereof. In other words, we can address one thing without addressing the other, and that is what I’m doing right now. In the space of one General Conference to the next, the Church could address its own staggering gender inequalities, and (with nary a “thus saith the Lord” or doctrinal dictum) take radical steps to fix them. We’re great at radical change. We could do it.

My husband points out (and I fully agree with him) that it’s a very fallen world. But could we not be such a part of it?

*and sometimes his