For as long as I can remember, my brother and I have been wearing the classic black and white keffiyeh that my uncle brought back from Saudi Arabia when he went on hajj many, many years ago. And we always topped it off with an appropriate dose of itr, which is probably the most powerful scent in the world. It reminds me of those sleepy, sunny afternoons at the mosque, and the smell of the carpet when you go down for sajda.

For many Israelis, Europeans and North Americans, the keffiyeh has come to represent terrorism. It brings to mind home-made cave videos; Pashtun men holding Kalishnakovs, their threats to the West muffled by black-and-white checkered cloths covering their faces and necks. Knowing the implications of wearing a keffiyeh, many Muslims choose to do so anyway, to show that that not all Muslims are suicide bombers-in-training. They mean it to be seen as a symbol of Islamic solidarity.

The keffiyeh has represented the Palestinian fight for self-determination since the 1960s. It was made popular in the media by the late Yasser Arafat, the Chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization, President of the Palestinian National Authority, and leader of the Fatah political party. He was rarely ever photographed without it.  

In 1967, after the Six-Day-War, Israel occupied the West Bank and the Gaza Strip; heavily Palestinian-populated regions of Egypt and Jordan. The state of Israel subsequently banned the Palestinian flag, and anybody caught waving it could be arrested. So, the keffiyeh became even more iconic as it attempted to fill the important social role that the national flag could not.

After the tragic death of Aqsa Pervez (allegedly killed by her father for refusing to cover her head), wearing a hijab became a kind of joke. People believed most girls only wore the garment because their parents forced them. The keffiyeh then became an alternative way to show that we were not ashamed of Islam. I wore the keffiyeh with my hijab when I went to school; and I wrapped it around my neck so many times I looked like a little bandit with a backpack. There was no room for misinterpretation: it showed confidence, and it demanded respect. 

That is… until the keffiyeh became "cool". Suddenly, everyone was wearing it: white kids, black kids, hip-hoppers, punks, gays, Jews, Christians… everyone. When I saw it on sale at H&M one day (in purple, hot pink, neon yellow and blue), I was shocked.  Some time ago, somebody stopped me on the streetcar to ask me where I got my keffiyeh. “Saudi Arabia,” I said proudly. His eyes widened: “oh my god, they sell it in the Middle East too?”
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There is something disturbing about the fact that hundreds of people wear it with little understanding what it stands for. Last spring, I was at Greenwood Station when I heard several pre-teen girls behind me on the bus mutter something about “a paki terrorist.” I turned around to glare at them… and I noticed that two of them were wearing shrunken keffiyehs around their necks; one in red and another in baby blue. It was pathetic: they were indirectly insulting my religion… while wearing a sad copy of one its most ubiquitous logos. 

 I urge everyone to take a look at the video link I’ve attached. It’s a video by French journalist and filmmaker Benoit Faiveley, for Monocle magazine. It’s a heartbreaking piece about Yasser Mohammed Jood Hirbawi, a 76 year-old Palestinian businessman and the owner of the last keffiyeh factory in Palestine; located in Hebron, West Bank.

During the first intifada (a popular uprising against the Israeli occupation in the late 1980s), Hirbawi used to make and sell about 1,000 keffiyehs a day. He would fill orders for the entire West Bank and the Gaza strip. Even Israelis who were against the occupation would buy keffiyehs from him. And now, partly because of the military checkpoints in Israel, Hirbawi is having trouble selling abroad. But, what’s even worse is that he is being outsold abroad and in Palestine by Chinese makers of the keffiyeh.

There is something so wrong about this. The wearers of keffiyehs, like us, are actually supporting Chinese exporters… not the Palestinians. 

What an epic fail.
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Muhammad al Saafin, a student at the Birzeit University in Ramallah is disappointed: “we’re getting screwed over by globalization… I think it’s sad that a lot of people are benefitting… economically from our suffering and our struggle.”

And certainly, nations all over the world have, at some point, felt the burn of globalization, and have sought to protect their precious sectors. Canada was a major player in the "United Nations UNESCO Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions". It entered into force in 2007, and enabled countries to enact measures that protect industries unique to their nations. This is especially important for us Canadians, bombarded with media content from the south.

The Americans too enacted the Berry & Kissel Amendments, which compels the Department of Defense and Homeland Security to use American materials, metals and textiles wherever possible. This protects jobs in the United States during a recession but it is also an issue of pride: American soldiers ought to be wearing domestically produced uniforms.  

Hirbawi and other such business people are at a disadvantage here. Their biggest problem is probably the simple reality that people rarely dress, act or buy consciously/ethically /patriotically, unless they are legally compelled to do so. Not being a real and recognized state, they lack the means to enforce this in any significant way.

The film closes with black and white shots of Hirbawi’s machines whirring away in his factory. “The Palestinians should wear their own symbols”, Hirbawi says stubbornly, like a senior lecturing his wayward children. The sad fact is that the factory may not outlive its owner. And, in the meantime, the keffiyeh will become little more than an outdated Western fashion accessory. A symbol becomes a trend, and then the trend becomes a joke.

I am struck by the fact that we are constantly flooded by news of this monolithic identity we call the “Middle East.” And perhaps we have become totally desensitized, for we are mostly unaffected by the political and economic goings on.

But these small glimpses into the everyday lives of the common people… they can be the most tragic stories of all.  
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Ramadan is bearing down on us and the community is bustling! Well, that might not be the most accurate description for the entire community (who am I to generalize the people’s frame of mind right now?), but I know the people closest to me are preparing themselves in all sorts of ways. Many are trying to get a final fix on comforts and amend their shortcomings before the conventions of the holy month completely envelop them, inshAllah (God Willing). This year might prove to be more complicated than some past years of Ramadan; especially for first year students. The holy month coincides this year with the start of school. Promoting the transition into this religious month are many MSAs across Ontario, many of whom are facilitating Iftars (evening dinners) for froshers.

One such event taking place at the University of Toronto is Frosh Halal Meat: A Muslim Orientation of University of Toronto.
According to the official Frosh link this is what students can look forward to:

“The Muslim Students’ Association has organized an excellent week of activities to compliment your college’s orientation. Sign up today for this FREE program and get the low down on how to survive and have fun at UofT!”
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A few of the activities planned are: a Center Island Trip, an Amazing Race Muslim Edition, a Picnic Iftar, and an Awards Ceremony for exceptional students/volunteers/participants.
Check the link above for a complete schedule of planned activities.

If you aren’t from UofT and want to know more about what your local MSA may be doing, check out the MSA National website and locate your University according to its designated Zone. MSA National has done an excellent job of rounding up all of the different East Zone MSA's and their Frosh/Ramadan programs for the 2009 school year. Check out the preceding links to see an extended list of activities and events pertaining to Ramadan & Iftars or general information pertaining to religious affairs on campus.
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find your msa @ www.msafrosh.com
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All that congestion, countless smog alerts and heavy traffic got me thinking. Why don’t we make public transit free? “Public transit systems currently take in about $2.5-billion in passenger revenues each year — equivalent to about two-thirds of the excise taxes Ottawa now collects on gasoline sales” (Globe and Mail*). Why don’t we channel these funds towards public transit?

Just picture it now. Free transit for everyone. You would think twice before taking your car out. You would park it as soon as you reached a subway station. You might even get rid of your car with its high maintenance, insurance and parking fees. 

We would quickly start noticing the savings once we started using the free public transit and start leaving the cars behind. All that extra money. Hmm.. where would  we use it all?

The environment and the air would be cleaner and would become easier to enjoy.  Traffic would be dramatically reduced. Our roads would last longer.  There would be fewer accidents.  Emergency services could respond faster!

Don’t you think it’s about time this happens?

Me and my commuter thoughts think so!

* JIM STANFORD, The Globe and Mail, Monday, August 15, 2005, Page A13
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When exams rapidly approach to take over our lives,  most of us, many a times, lose track of our faith, our belief systems, and who we are as individuals. We are able to pull all nighters for a simple pass or fail, yet we lose sight of the ultimate pass that we need to achieve for our life in the hereafter. In order for us to make the most of Ramadan, we should - and I’m sure we can - dedicate some time to encouraging one another to come together, and have an amazing imaan rush.

Abu Hurayra (may Allah be pleased with him) related that the Prophet (SAW) said, “ A group does not gather in one of the houses of God Most High reciting the Quran and studying it together, except that the tranquility descends upon them, mercy envelops them, the angels encompass them, and God mentions them to those in His presence.”

So, if we can find time to have group study sessions, and we have time to update each other about the latest professor we hate, we can definitely find time to meet up and study the Quran; even if it is with just one other person. The hadith mentioned above is enough to describe how rewarding such an experience will be. Just imagine: angels encompassing you all around, reaching up all the way to the heavens, as you dedicate a mere ten or fifiteen minutes to the One who created us from the mud, and blessed us with all that life has to offer.

If we can’t do this much, then we need to stop and think, and reconsider our lives and our positions in this world. What is the point of having a university degree, wanting to get that Benz, if we can’t even do the bare minimum?

This is a reminder, first and foremost to myself, and then to everyone else, to make the most of this life so that it will serve as a witness for us in the Aa’khira. May Allah (SWT) guide us all on the path of Siraat al-Mustaqeem, and may He make us among those who succeed in this life and the next.

Ameen.
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“Mariam was five years old the first time she heard the word harami.” 

This is how Hosseini’s masterpiece begins, and it sets perfectly the entire tone of the novel.

Harami is the term in Afghanistan (and in Pakistan) for “bastard child.” Its meaning is especially filthy in these traditional countries: it implies a kind of illegitimacy, and unworthiness.

Hosseini is a master writer. In the span of 300 pages he is able to tell the story of two women and their lives over three decades. One is Mariam, the unlucky illegitimate Herati child of a rich businessman and the lowly and unhappy maid who lived in his mansion. The other is Laila, a Kabuli girl who was raised by her educated father to believe that a woman ought to have the same rights as any man.

This story hits close to home in more ways than one. It tells the story of our families and friends back homes. These people have become accustomed to lives wasted in war, and yet they remain, as ever, resilient. It is saddening to see their hopes raised by every coup d’état, by every peaceful election: only to see them again dashed by corrupted leaders and bad intentions.

How the streets of Afghanistan had once shouted with joy when the mujahideen, funded by the CIA and General Zia-ul Haq in Pakistan (among other nations) booted the Soviets out of Afghanistan. And look at the situation now: how they weep at the very sound of the word Taliban. As one of the characters in the novel comments: at least under the communists, women could be educated. They were seen as being equal to men. Though the right to practice religion was taken away, there was a certain satisfaction for women; in that they were able to work and live among men without fear.

A radio crackles in Mariam’s home: a Taliban general reads out the new rules of the nation. “An eye for an eye.” And with that, Afghanistan goes blind.

There are no hospitals for women. One mother in the novel is forced to put her precious daughter into an orphanage, since she is not allowed to work to support her family. She cannot even leave the house to visit her daughter at the orphanage. Without a man present, she is beaten for being on the streets alone and sent back home. She makes four or five trips, each time taking different routes. She layers herself in sweaters so that she doesn’t feel the bat against her body. Anything to get to her daughter.

Hosseini’s characters are beautifully written and so real. Even Mariam’s mother, the character who first called her a harami, is endearing. Her depression is not uncommon. The way she attacks Mariam is heartbreaking, but her reasons for doing so somewhat redeem her.

The story hits close to home in another way. Laila is not unlike many Canadian immigrant women. A modern lady, she is confident that one day she will make a name for herself. So, when readers see that war, marriage, and gender discrimination have forced the beautiful Laila into a life unlike the one she planned, we are devastated. She is us, and we are her! If this could happen to her, can it happen to us?

It can, perhaps.

In our Toronto lives, the Canadian Charter taught us about inalienable rights that we could claim against anyone. And the global human rights movement of the last fifty years convinced us to disregard age-old notions of natural social hierarchy. On the other hand, our home lives instilled in us the concept of inalienable responsibility; to our families, our husbands, our elders, our religion, and our fellow community members.  Like Laila, have we learned ambiguous concepts of right and wrong from incongruous socializing agents.

So it comes to us to decide which path ultimately brings us joy. Unfortunately, it’s a Catch-22; a rock vs. a hard place. No decision comes without sacrifices. We can’t just run away, or “do what makes us happy”; for there is no one path that brings that outcome. We were told we could have it all; it’s not easy to accept when we cannot.

Hosseini walks us through the decisions made by these two women; and the decisions forced upon them as they too struggle with these conflicting compulsions. The best part about this novel is that he doesnt create a perfect, happy ending. In the end, the characters do what they feel is right for them, not necessarily what is right in our eyes. Hosseini makes us see that in Afghanistan, the rightness and wrongness of even life and death can be viewed in a subjective manner. This level of subjectivity is not something North Americans are greatly accustomed to.

In some ways, the characters settle for second place. But in other ways, they break free of a life full of delusions, and accept the bitter pills of reality.
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