Shelina Zahra Janmohamed's Blog, page 9
December 30, 2012
Why Muslim men need to be part of the debate
The Qur’an describes the relationship between men and women as complementary, not oppressive. We need to uplift each other and aim for higher standards, otherwise both will suffer.
Regular readers will know that one of my interests is writing about Muslim women. The joys, the despairs, the challenges, and the triumphs. There is never a moment in the media or in our communities when the subject of women loses its currency. Simply sharing experiences and conveying them to a wider audience who may be unaware of what it is like to be a Muslim woman and how we feel are actions that in themselves can be ground breaking.
There is no doubt that we need to improve urgently the difficult and discriminatory situation facing many Muslim women. However, for me, the subject of Muslim women has an ever-wider importance than just highlighting our plight and offering insights into how we can improve our situation. This is because work on improving the situation of Muslim women (as part of the work towards improving the real-life situation of women in general) challenges us to think as Muslims about much bigger questions which impact our very understanding of human society, faith and the nature of the human being. What is the nature of equality? What kind of society does Islam envisage? And why have we not achieved that? Why are our societies so at variance with Islam’s aspirations? What does it mean to be a Muslim woman, and by extension, what does it mean to be a Muslim man? What does it mean to be a real human being?
I feel a constant pressing need in any discussion around Muslim women to state what ought to be obvious: this discussion is not for women only, and this discussion does not affect women only. Muslim men: you need to step up and get involved. What is the point of women talking only to women about the issues affecting women? Whether it is about discrimination, violence or marriage, women cannot fix the issues alone; it takes two to tango.
A change to the status and situation of women de facto means a change to the situation of men too—but that is a good thing. If women are suffering violence from men, that means some men are perpetrating violence, which is bad for men too. And it will not only be women being abused and attacked; anyone seen as weak or less powerful will also suffer, which includes men. And of course, there is the trauma of the children who witness the violence.
Before you think I am blaming the world’s woes on men, stop! Muslim women are not the only ones suffering from discrimination and inequality. For every stereotype held against a Muslim woman that she must be brainwashed, there is one that holds that Muslim men are brainwashing them. For every monolithic pronouncement that Muslim women are weak and submissive, one paints all Muslim men as violent, uncouth, even capable of mass terror. Even in the relatively mundane sphere of marriage, men must live up to a cultural gold standard of having to be virile, hunter-gatherer, undomesticated, unemotional oafs with no sense of tenderness or intimacy with their wives or children.
We need to change the burden of stereotypes on men, and Muslim writers are trying to do so. But we need to hear more voices from men. With women, the typical narrative is the ‘misery memoir’, which narrates their story of liberation from an oppressive family or culture. For Muslim men, the typical narrative foisted on them and which forms the watermark of the public discussion about them is to fall into extremist or terrorist ways, and then through an epiphany find liberation into more reasonable ideologies. This narrative of Muslim men has become as entrenched—and as unenlightening and stereotyped—as the ‘misery memoir’ genre for Muslim women.
So come on Muslim men, let’s hear it from you. What are the pressures you face? What would you like to say about the reality of being a Muslim man? And how can we work together to make our community and society a better place?
Genocide: Why never again must not mean just one more time
My EMEL column from April 2012
We must be serious about the promise made not to massacre people or commit genocide.
In 1948, in the aftermath of the WWII, the member states of the UN General Assembly unanimously approved the Genocide Convention. People who targeted a particular national, ethnic or religious group would be punished.
In seeking to understand how the horrors of WWII happened in the heart of Europe, and to prevent a re-occurrence, the promise that echoed loudly was “Never Again”. Yet the truth is that instead of “Never Again”, genocide has happened again and again since then, in places such as Cambodia, Rwanda and Iraq under Saddam Hussein.
For those of us in the West, these are horrific incidents, deeply troubling for the collective human consciousness. But—and this is a shameful truth we must admit—they all seem rather far away, as though the West can say they were out of their hands. This is no excuse at all. But with Bosnia, even this pathetic defence does not hold. Here, in the heart of Europe, the promise of ‘never again’ became shameful lip service.
We constantly hear that if immigrants to Europe want to be accepted, they should assimilate and try harder to be more European. Yet Bosnian Muslims, European by ethnicity, who even ‘look’ European (whatever that means) and many of whom by their own accounts were Muslim by name only, were in fact entirely assimilated and still faced such atrocities.
These occurrences give lie to the myth that if you ‘assimilate’ then you will be accepted. This should be a sobering lesson as extremist voices like Geert Wilders in the Netherlands and Douglas Murray in the UK are given airtime. Murray has previously said that “Conditions for Muslims in Europe must be made harder across the board,” and Wilders is well known for stoking up anti-Muslim and anti-immigrant hatred.
Most worryingly, these are not fringe views; rather they are part of a mainstream call for either assimilation or rejection of Muslims. We must recognise the danger of these calls given they come with a backdrop of European history between WWII and Bosnia, a history that does not seem to have lived up to its promise of “Never Again”. Both these events show us that, in the worst-case scenario, the extreme conclusion of such calls can be gruesome.
When we remember the Holocaust, we must remember all the other genocides. We must address them all with respect and gravitas. It is when we join the dots between them that we have any hope to understand the causes of why they happen again and again. It also helps us to avoid reducing the value of any one people who have been killed, and instead create equivalence in human worth of all victims and all losses.
Thus, the greatest tribute we can offer to the victims of the Holocaust is to recognise that the blood-curdling genocide of Bosnia more than fifty years later means we still have lessons to learn. To remember the former, without acknowledging the latter, along with the many other genocides around the world, simply means that we prefer not to face the horrific truth that the promise of never again has in fact been broken many times. It means that we cannot pretend that whatever darkness lay at the heart of the horrors has been erased. It is a difficult and unpalatable truth to face, and so no wonder it is overlooked.
What we must take steps to avoid is another half-century elapsing with more of these shameful events taking place. That is why commemorating all genocides and promising that for all of them ‘never again’, with a clear look at their roots is so very vital. This is the action that must accompany our deepest most heartfelt prayers for all those who lost their lives, homes and loved ones in these inhumane massacres
Muslim mothers and fathers and the path to paradise
A belated posting of my March column for EMEL coinciding with International Women’s Day on March 8.
In March, mothers and women come under focus. But the Qur’an has been singing their praises for centuries.
March is the month of International Women’s Day, and in many countries the month of Mother’s Day too. They have got me thinking about how we deal with both motherhood and parenthood within Muslim communities.
We all know the famous sayings from the blessed Prophet that is commonly quoted, “Paradise lies beneath the feet of the mother.” Another story is about when the Prophet was asked which parent to obey, he replied “Mother”, then “Mother”, once more “Mother” and only then “Father”. And the beautiful saying in which God expresses His love for human beings in the way a mother loves her child, describing His love as seventy times greater than a mother’s love. It gives a divine shimmer to the care with which a mother nurtures her child. These religious edicts weigh heavily on children, but they are just as much a responsibility on mothers to ensure they convey the Divine message to their children. If Paradise is beneath a mother’s feet, then the duty to provide a peaceful environment that offers contentment and joy is part of our responsibility. I speak as a new mother here, reflecting in the very first instance on my own home and my own child’s upbringing. If my child is to flourish under the shadow of my love, then I need to explore what that love means, and how to deliver it to my child. There are no easy answers.
However, it is important to stress that a mother is not alone in bringing up a child. No father today can shirk his parental duties; no father can, as in times past, say, “that is the mother’s job.” Children are hugely influenced by the father, and the best role model of this is of course the blessed Prophet himself. His relationship with his daughter Fatima offers us clues on the softer skills of parenting. He referred to her affectionately as, “the mother of his father”, thereby elevating her status and ensuring his respect for her was clear to her. He would stand when she entered the room. How many fathers do you know would do that? Would they, instead, dispatch her off to the kitchen and berate her if the house has not been tidied?
It is enlightening to explore the parent-child role models we have in the Qur’an. Prophet Noah feels deeply that his son is going astray and attempts to save him in the Ark, but is commanded by God to leave him to his own fate. It is understandable that parents wish to employ their wisdom to guide their children away from what they perceive are mistakes. That is why these stories are important for parents, crucial in explaining that parents must make best efforts to guide their children, but must ultimately allow them to make their own choices.
In an environment where parents may find themselves in a new culture, a culture which their children, however, feel at home in, parents may wish to tightly control their child’s decisions, but this is not the Islamic way. Prophet Muhammad advises, “The child is the master for seven years; and a slave for seven years and a vizier for seven years.” This indicates that by the time the child reaches the mid teenage years they became a parent’s advisor, support, ally, and friend. The Prophet continues, “If he grows into a good character within 21 years, well and good; otherwise leave him alone because you have discharged your responsibility with God.”
It is a hard lesson for parents, especially after a lifetime’s sacrifice. However, this trust in our children and their choices is of utmost importance. Ultimately, this trust that we have brought up our children as best we can depends on trust in God — tawakkul. We can return to the Qur’an to see the trust that Moses’ mother places in God as she sends her baby in a reed basket along the Nile, into the very arms of Pharaoh. Yet God reunites them.
Our children live in different times to our own, and therefore need different skills to succeed materially and spiritually. The best we can do is love them, guide them, and prepare them not for our world, which is passing, but for the world in which they will live.
Reclaiming Valentine’s Day
Belatedly posting my February column for EMEL magazine.
Love has a more defined place in our faith, than mere present-giving.
Every year Valentine’s Day brings a discussion about whether Muslims should participate in this increasingly consumerist celebration. I’m one of those that believes that it should be reclaimed from its current tacky representation of love as red roses, staged meals for two, and mandatory present-giving.
The roots of Valentine’s Day should give us pause to rethink our approach to love and its celebration. First, let me say this: love should be celebrated. It is one of the greatest gifts we have been given from God. It is what brings joy to life, binds parents to children, holds families together, creates the threads which unite Muslims; and love is what gives us compassion and connection with all other human beings. Being lost in pure love for God is our ultimate goal as human beings. So why do we look so sour-faced when it comes to talking about love? Let us rejoice in love! Let our love for those around us be an expression of our love for the Divine.
In the early Christian era it seems that there were some Christians called Valentine who were persecuted by pagan rulers for their belief in God. We can empathise with that, right? Another Valentine performed secret marriages for Roman soldiers who were forced to remain single by an Emperor who believed unmarried men made better soldiers. We support marriage too, right? We could reclaim Valentine’s Day as a celebration of marriage, or of love for the Creator.
It’s possible that the date for the feast of St Valentine was chosen to coincide with some Roman celebrations linked to fertility in a bid to ‘Christianise’ the pagan celebrations. In a similar way, there was talk a few years ago by Muslims in Egypt to rename February 14th as Prophet Muhammad’s Day. This year, their wish may come to be realised. Due to the lunar nature of the Islamic calendar, the birthday of the Prophet will also fall in February, not too far awa from Valentine’s Day. These are two wildly different events that carry huge signifi cance, albeit in different ways, across the world.
Yet they have more in common than we might think, the key point being a recognition that love for other than the self underpins the quest to be human. In Valentine’s Day this quest meets its destination in romance. For the Prophet, and in Islam, this journey reaches its home in God. In fact, God often refers in the Qur’an to the fact that “to God is the final destination.” In colloquial parlance when we fi nd a partner to love, people may describe the feeling as finally feeling ‘at home.’
This feeling of rushing towards God out of pure love needs more emphasis. The feelings of joy, contentment, peace and wisdom are born from tasting this love.
And so I’m using this talk of reclaiming Valentine’s Day for love, marriage or belief in God to fl ag up a much bigger, more significant discussion. It’s not really Valentine’s Day I’m interested in or even care about. What we need to flag up in the Muslim community is a need to talk more about love—human, romantic, Divine, humanitarian, parent-child. Islam is not about fear, it is about love. God’s Compassion and Mercy which we talk of so often are expressions of His Love. So if God talks constantly of His Love, why are we so loathe to do the same?
Whilst formality, duty and ritual are important in Islam, they only take on real meaning when we talk of the love that inspires them, and is inspired by them. We can’t just talk about rules and regulations and expect human beings to live regimented lives. The modern trends of lists of harsh dos and don’ts totally miss the spirit of being Muslim which is to create a Divine connection. After all—that is the very purpose of the Holy Prophet being “sent as a mercy to mankind”.
So this year in February, we can of course tell those around us how much we love them. But let us also thank God and express our love for Him, and all He has given us. And let us thank Him for the Prophet who He sent as a guide and a mercy. After all, God says in the Qur’an, “indeed God and the angels send blessings on the Prophet”. If they can send their blessings, surely we can do the same.
Muslims, Britishness and volunteering
Belatedly posting my column for EMEL magazine from January 2012.
A report published at the end of last year in the UK considered the place of national pride. “Patriotism has become a dirty word to some and a nostalgic exercise for others,” it wrote. “For many on the left, it is a problematic concept, seen as the gateway to jingoism, nationalism and arrogance. For the right it is equated with outdated symbols of Britishness like the battle of Trafalgar and the Union Jack. On both sides of the spectrum, patriotism has been misconstrued, misrepresented and its significance undervalued.”
The debate around this concept has been particularly difficult for Muslims because they are usually scapegoated as the source of diluting or even sabotaging ‘Britishness’. There is constant paranoia and inflammatory talk of ‘creeping Islamisation’ or the threat of shariah law being imposed by stealth on the UK, chipping away at ‘our’ way of life.
The report looked at a cross section of British society and their attitudes towards the nation to see what national pride and patriotism actually mean. This is a good question since politicians over the last decade have struggled to come up with a robust answer. There has been much talk of shared values. But when it came to defining what exactly those values are, the answers tended to be generic universal truths such as freedom, justice and respect. Which country, nay which person, wouldn’t say those were it values?
The report found that British patriotism is “founded in a profound, emotional connection to the everyday acts, manners and kindnesses that British people see in themselves. [...] Those who love their country most are shown to volunteer more and to trust their neighbours more than those who are either ambivalent or ashamed about Britain.”
Those who have better neighbour relations, and volunteer in their local communities show greater pride at a local and a national level. So it should come as no surprise (not to Muslims anyway) that Muslims showed more pride as well as optimism in the nation, than their peers, 83% compared with the average of 79%.
Community participation is one of the foundations of Muslim life. Belonging to the ummah and taking an active role are key elements of mu’aamalat, the ‘action’ part of Islamic obligations. You have to roll up your sleeves and get stuck in.
On the one hand Muslims need to nurture ‘belief’, called ‘imaan’. Side by side with this must go ‘amal us saalehaat’, good actions. This pairing is familiar to us from the verse from Suratul Asr. But a similar pairing that is repeated often in the Qur’an is the encouragement to ‘establish prayer and to give zakat.’
Zakat of course refers to charitable giving, giving away of the wealth that we have at 2.5%. This giving of wealth is obligatory. But since we are not expected to just write a cheque and then sit idly by, I suggest that there is one further form of wealth that we have that we must give of, and that fits straight into the discussions of showing pride, loyalty and contribution to our communities.
The commodity that we rarely think to proactively donate is our time. It is rare and precious. Our personal time is a true sacrifice, and also is unique because it brings our skills with it. Money is not a substitute for the love, skills and dedication that a personal donation of time makes.
If a week is 168 hours, then 2.5% means only 4 and a quarter hours each week. That’s about half a day – perhaps a Sunday morning teaching young children. Perhaps an afternoon helping elderly people do their shopping. Maybe it means volunteering on a charity drive once a week. Or you could go to a local charity and help with fundraising or admin. Or maybe it’s a phone call every day to someone housebound who could do with some social interaction.
Giving away our money is indeed noble and we must do it. But we also need to give of our time. This ‘hands-on’ contribution is good for our own souls and selves. As the report shows, it grows our love for our communities. And it makes us more humble and insightful of the world. More importantly it is crucial for those around us. If we want to grow our communities, money is important, but time is even more necessary. Each week when we plan out our schedules, we need to factor in that 2.5% of our time should be given in zakat to the community.
November 17, 2012
Why I see no moral difference between Islamophobia and intra-Muslim hatred
This is my weekly column published in The National today.
There are 1.8 billion Muslims around the world; of course they are heterogeneous. And yet the myth of the violent Muslim monolith persists with a vengeance.
This myth is one of the targets of the current Islamophobia Awareness Month in Europe.
In my mind there is a clear link between negative portrayals of Islam in the media and hate crimes against Muslims. Portraying Muslims as all the same creates a stereotype; when the stereotype is negative, violence becomes easier.
However, there is also a similar and equally corrosive idea, in certain sections of the global Muslim community, that pushes for unwavering uniformity.
This growing movement holds that there is one and only one way to be a Muslim. Any Muslim behaving in any other way – even ways accepted by the heterodoxy of the broader Muslim world – is seen as a legitimate target for correction, sometimes forcibly.
Of course, we all have the right to believe that the way we choose to live and practise our faith is the right way. It would be baffling if we didn’t. But inherent in Islam, based on the Quran and Islamic tradition, is that there is diversity, as well as inclusivity and respect.
Take the recent case in Indonesia, where the homes of Shia Muslims were burnt down, and where they were forced to sign statements that they will be converting to the “right path”. This forced Islam is not the Islam I know or accept, and I suspect it is alien to the majority of Muslims who see their religion as compassionate and the ummah as welcoming of diversity.
Such intra-Muslim prejudices extend to launching attacks on the “wrong kind” of mosques, or destroying heritage sites in the name of avoiding “shrine worship”. Schools are burnt down on the ludicrous, incorrect claim that educating girls is against Islam.
Sometimes it is simple verbal harassment. Sometimes it’s not being the wrong kind of Muslim but having the wrong ethnicity. Let’s not even begin on the endemic intra-Muslim racism.
Aside from raw violence, there are also subtle persisting prejudices against “lower class” Muslims. And people who have converted to Islam are somehow seen as being of “lesser” value because they are new to the faith.
Muslims in Bangladesh refuse protection to Burma’s persecuted Rohingya Muslims, seeing them as “other”. And too often around the world, Muslim women are deliberately stripped of their rights and persecuted. The attack on young Malala Yousufzai is an iconic recent example.
I see no moral difference between Islamophobia – that lumps together all Muslims based on the identifier of their faith – and the virulence that points fingers at others within the ummah, preaching violence and hatred against them.
Next week I will be giving a speech in Denmark about the idea that there are many ways to be a Muslim. As someone who worries about the growth of anti-Muslim hatred, especially on a continent that pledged “never again” about genocide, I find that speaking in the home country of the controversy about cartoons seems both apt and ironic.
To me, the problem of the cartoons was not about offending Islam, but about the fact that respect and tolerance of others is valued less than the right to offend. There are many ways to be Muslim, and we must understand and respect that.
If only the Islamophobes, and Muslims too, could accept this.
Praying for protection: In this undated file, a Shia follower prays in her shelter at the Sampang stadium in East Java. Most Shiite refugees who were forced to flee their compound in Nangkernang village, Sampang said that they were exhausted and that they wanted to return home soon to resume their lives. Their compound was set ablaze by a group of Sunni Muslims on Sunday. (JP/Wahyoe Boediwardhana)
October 27, 2012
We can learn lessons on how to protest from the hajj pilgrims
This is my weekly newspaper column published today in The National (UAE).
Today the Haj pilgrims shelter in the vast tent city of Mina, having passed through the plains of Arafat, and yesterday celebrated Eid Al Adha.
courtesy abcnews
They are in Mina to throw pebbles at the Three Satans representing the purging of their inner demons. It’s an exorcism of the ghosts of the past that haunt all of us and from which we must be free to move forward and change our lives.
But the throwing of stones also has an external dimension. It is an act of protest, an annihilation of external devils, freeing the pilgrims to move forward and closing the door on the past.
Despite the heterogeneity of the world’s global Muslim population, these Haj rituals bind them together, shared in both action and spirit, with esoteric as well as worldly meanings. What then, if anything, should pilgrims and Muslims around the world learn from today’s events in Mina?
Most obvious is the spiritual meaning of the rituals, the destruction of inner bad habits.
The long journey to Haj and its difficulties teach patience while keeping an eye on the long term goal. The slaughter of an animal for Eid represents the sacrifice of something dear to us. The completion of the Haj heralds renewal and rebirth. In this are lessons for Muslims and others alike.
But being the Earth’s most diverse Muslim gathering, this is also a moment to think about the protest, attack and communal movements that have electrified the Muslim world this year.
Protest across the Muslim world has been fiery, and unhappily it has been long lasting and violent.
It’s certainly been a year of drama. Drone attacks in Pakistan, the provocative film Innocence of Muslims and subsequent protests that spilt over into violence, the uprising in Syria, the persecution of the Rohingya Muslims, the continuing assault on Muslim women; the list goes on. The political and social temperature in Muslim countries is often hot.
The three columns at Mina offer advice: that rage should be properly focused, not a blur of uncontrolled emotion.
People do get carried away at Mina, and start hurling their pebbles and other objects into the crowd. One woman next to me got a pebble in her eye, others were trampled as pilgrims crowd-surfed to get closer to the columns. And this reminds me of the protests against the film Innocence of Muslims which turned violent in some places. Successful protest, we learn at Mina, should be targeted and focused.
Sadly, the pebbles in Mina also remind me of the stones that children throw in Gaza. How else can they protest at those who persecute them? Paradoxically, their pebbles remind me of David’s only – and winning – weapon against Goliath.
But Mina has its moments of humour too. I remember impassioned pilgrims throwing anything to hand – mostly leather sandals.
But most memorable about Mina and the Haj itself is the sense of egalitarianism. Pilgrims wear the same white clothes, carry out the same rituals, experience the same journey; equality of intention, spirit, action and treatment.
For a Muslim world in turmoil, whether contending with external forces, internal disputes or addressing minority protection, this equality of justice and treatment is the most powerful lesson. After all, getting rid of the demons is only successful if the outcome is one of equality and justice.
October 14, 2012
International Day of the Girl Child: A letter to my daughter
This is my weekly column published yesterday in The National.
Thursday was, by United Nations resolution, the first-ever International Day of the Girl Child.
Tragically, there is a penalty for being born female. Girls are three times more likely than boys to be malnourished. Of the world’s 130 million out-of-school youth, 70 per cent are girls. Each year roughly two million girls between the ages of five and seven are trafficked in human slavery, sold or coaxed into the sex trade. Girls are the victims of early and forced marriage, prostitution and female genital mutilation.
This awful list continues, but I cannot bear to detail it further, as each word makes me dread what the future holds for my own little girl.
She will turn two in the new year. At her age when every moment is a discovery, every smile demonstrates pure joy. Her eyes are clear and innocent, her skin unblemished. She is perfect, untouched by the vagaries of life.
Whenever I look at her, I am immersed in the vision of a utopia where feisty, joyful women – no matter their background, wealth or geography – enjoy full respect, dignity and agency and share equally in global resources.
My daughter is abundantly blessed: she has her parents, an extended family living nearby, a home, toys, books. She has health care readily available, and a full education awaits her.
Like any parent I have both aspirations and worries for my daughter. But my fears are increased by the fact that she is a girl in a world where the odds of safety, affluence, well-being and equal treatment are stacked against her gender.
I would be foolish and cold- hearted to imagine that my baby’s first-world problems compare in any way to the life-threatening poverty, disease and war that affect other girls so disproportionately.
A mother could never do that. When you hold a daughter in your arms, you hope she will never suffer, but you also hope that all the innocent and vulnerable girls around the world will be nurtured, too. The issues women face manifest themselves differently in different places, but are all connected. That is why this week’s news that a courageous Pakistani girl has been shot by the Taliban for daring to want an education resonated around the world.
While I worry about my daughter’s well-being and safety, I worry just as much about how she will connect to all those other women. I despair about what those girls will suffer, and their lack of opportunities. Despite my fierce urge to protect my girl, I can’t keep her locked at home. That would deny her the freedom I will encourage her to embrace.
But I can race to make the world a more just, equal environment for all girls of her generation.
In the meantime I must work hard to build her skills and character by opening for her as much opportunity as I can. She will need an unbreakable moral compass and an indefatigable sense of self-worth, so that she will be absolutely certain that as a female she has a right to be a valued and equal human being, and to never accept any treatment that suggests otherwise.
Apparently my generation will not be the one that resolves the plight of girls – despite all our best efforts – and so my daughter must be my legacy. I have to fill her with conscience, skills and sense of justice. This investment will have a clear goal: to make her an active participant in the struggle, so that hers will be the last generation where girls face these challenges.
August 25, 2012
Toys don’t need to have a gender
This is my weekly newspaper column published today in The National.
During Eid celebrations, I watched little boys and girls play with their toys. The most popular were a pink buggy for wheeling around dolls, a toy vacuum cleaner, and of course a football.
I watched the children with a sense of pride as they obliviously disproved gender stereotypes about which toys to enjoy.
I too used to break stereotypes. I loved racing my Scalextric cars through the chicane. But I also had dolls to cuddle. I was desperate for the one you feed water, who then wets her nappy. (I have a real one of those now.)
Toys are important to children for both enjoyment and cognitive development, and different kinds of play develop different abilities. So it’s crucial that children are exposed to as challenging a range of toys as possible.
Today, girls’ toys are princess-y and pink, while boys’ toys are blue and about construction or explosions. Toys that cross the divide and appeal to both genders are rare.
However, there is now a great push among feminists – and some parents – to erase the division. This campaign for toys to be less divided into “pink” and “blue” is slowly gaining momentum. Harrods recently followed Hamleys in dispensing with the traditional gender separation, sorting their stock of products by themes instead.
Given such trends, I’ve been flummoxed by the news from Lego – a toy clearly capable of crossing gender divides – that a range they brought to market last year, aimed just at girls, has far exceeded their expectations.
Lego Friends
Lego Friends is all pastel colours and fashionable figurines, curvier, thinner and with back- stories – one of them, for example, is a fashion designer. One item in the line is a beauty salon. The boxy little yellow Lego man I grew up with – remember his clip-on hair? – is no more.
I’m keen for my young daughter to avoid the “pinkification” of toys. I want her to build complicated Lego airplanes, not take a curvy character to have her hair done. I want her to get the full technical challenge of Lego.
The company developed the range after extensive cultural studies, they say, to meet the needs of the way young girls play. But if “pink” is all that girls are exposed to, no wonder this is what they seek out. It is this entrenched expectation that we need to change.
If boys are more exposed to mechanical toys, careers in science become a boys’ thing. And girls limited to caring for dolls or playing in a toy kitchen will become nurses, carers and cooks.
Toys are part of a child’s invisible trajectory to adulthood. Let each child be free to discover her, or his, own potential.
Shelina Zahra Janmohamed is the author of Love in a Headscarf and blogs atwww.spirit21.co.uk
July 31, 2012
BBC Radio 2 Pause for Thought 25 July: the purpose and pleasures of difference
This was originally broadcast on BBC Radio 2’s Vanessa Feltz show on 25 July.
As the Olympics begins in London this week, I’m finally feeling excited. What I’m most looking forward to is watching both visitors and athletes from around the world interacting with each other, whether that be just milling in the open air, or engaging in sporting challenge.
The Olympics is one of those exceptional occasions where the differences between nationalities and ethnicities manage a rare balance between being overlooked in favour of common human endeavour, while at the same time as being noted and even openly discussed. Usual ethnic and national stereotypes are generally put to one side, and there’s an attempt to judge people on their merits.
We are able to do this because the baseline for participation is shared humanity, and the aspiration to push the limits is also shared. The differences are a positive: highlighting the many ways that human beings can approach the same challenges to achieve results.
The ritual of the hajj has similar underlying themes. For Muslims the pilgrimage is the opportunity to gather in Mecca to complete one of the obligations of Islam. The pilgrims who number more than 2 million people come together from different cultures, ethnicities and geographies with the common goal of performing specific religious rites at the Kaba and surrounding areas. The shared purpose is even more emphasised as indicators of class, wealth and provenance are eradicated by all pilgrims wearing the same white clothes.
In both situations, people are put into close proximity with each other, forced to look past difference towards their common goals. This combination of closeness and shared purpose eliminates our fear of difference and the prejudice that all too often results from it.
The Qur’an talks very pointedly about differences between people and the purpose of this difference. “We created you from male and female and made you into nations and tribes” it explains, and then says why: “so that you may know each other”
Difference is a good thing, a helpful thing. There’s a purpose and a pleasure to difference.
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