Shoulder to shoulder, they stand in prayer. Khadija and Halima, both dressed in long cloaks, hands folded on their chests. Their hijab covered heads are tilted downwards as the words of prayer wash over them. They raise their hands in unison for dua, then turn and share a soft hug and smile, saying “Jummah Mubarak.”
Khadija picks up her shoes and walks home. She stays at the student accommodation near campus. She puts on her waitress uniform and goes to work. Khadija thinks about how little sleep she’s going to get tonight, because she still has an assignment to finish, and she’s working all weekend. All her family’s savings, and hopes, have been invested in her obtaining this degree. But she still has to work to fund it, and self-motivation isn’t cheap. It’s her final year, the final push.
Halima heads home too, to pick up her books, before heading to the library. She’s determined to study hard and finish this degree with excellence. She knows her parents are planning her marriage, but she’s not ready yet. She wants to get her degree and find a good job first. All her parents’ hopes of grandchildren are invested in her, as an only child. But she wants to flourish on her own too, and self-motivation isn’t cheap. It’s her final year, her final push.
On Monday, a yawning Khadija has a meeting with the university’s finance officer. She has defaulted on her fees payments, and even if she passes her exams, she won’t get her degree until she pays up. Khadija’s heart sinks deep into her stomach. How is she going to tell her parents that their life savings weren’t enough?
Halima also has a meeting, with the desk of her faculty. Her marks have slipped, and if she’s careful, she might not graduate at all. Halima’s heart sinks deep into her stomach. Her parents have told her that if she doesn’t finish this year she’ll be married off. Her husband can provide for her. She finds in herself new resolve to achieve her goals. How will she tell her parents that she wants her independence?
Khadija hears whispers of Fees Must Fall and stops to listen. They want to shut down the university until education is equally accessible to everyone, regardless of financial situation. Khadija finds herself agreeing, the years of pent up frustration at having to simultaneousltly work and study exploding into her march as she picks up a placard.
Halima hears whispers of Fees Must Fall and stops to listen. They want to shut down the university, even if it means preventing exams from taking place. Halima panics, knowing that if it happens, her entire life could go down a path she is trying to desperately to escape.
Khadija marches with the crowd through the city. She looks at the fires around her, watches as protesters throw rocks at the police and stun grenades are fired back. This violence, this is not what free education is about. She hangs back with the majority of students, demonstrating their peacefulness by standing still, but still firm in their demand for access to education. Khadija feels that the protest is justified based on the exclusion she experiences the to finances. Protest is her right as a citizen.
Halima watches the fires burn on TV, as the students toy toy through the streets. She feels tears welling up in her eyes as the vice Chancellor of the university makes a press statement declaring that universities will close indefinitely if the protesters don’t stop. Her mother tells her to get ready, stop watching TV, the boy is here to see her! Halima feels that the protest is preventing so many hardworking people from reaping the benefits of the countless hours spent studying. Dissenting is her right.
Friday comes, and the adhaan echoes, calling worshippers to prayer. Khadija and Halima pray side by side, both finding tears slip out as they wonder about their futures. They turn, seeing each other’s tears and comfort each other in an embrace. Out through the mosque doors they walk, and become strangers once more.
Shoulder to shoulder, they stand in prayer. Yusuf and Akim, both in clean white kurtas smelling of itr. Their topi-covered heads are bowed slightly, as the Imam leads the Friday salaah. At the end, each man greets the angels on his shoulders, then turn to one another and embrace with a soft “Jummuah Mubarak.”
Yusuf collects his shoes and walks to his Mercedes Benz. He can’t wait to get home. Friday lunch is his favourite occasion during the week. His family is all together at home, and his wife saves her best culinary talents for today. He reaches out of the window and hands the car guard a R2 coin. He doesn’t look at the man’s face, but acknowledges his gratitude with a small nod. At home in Greenside, his family is waiting around the dining room table, a steaming pot of biryani at the centre of attention. His children, still in their school uniform, are playing with Snapchat filters on their mobile phones. The family sits to eat, together reciting the dua before eating.
Akim puts on his sandals, and turns towards home. He walks for half an hour, passing through a side gate, past the main house to the room in the yard at the back. His children come running to greet him. Akim’s eldest is still at school. He hopes that next year he’ll be able to send the other two to school too. They just need legal documentation, but when he goes to home affairs to add them to his refugee application file, he can’t afford the bribes and ends up wasting his whole day there. The family sits to eat, reciting the dua before eating. Akim’s wife has made pap and vegetables for lunch, and today they have some chicken with their meal. Afterwards, Akim hugs his family and goes to his next gardening job. In Rwanda, he worked as a teacher but xenophobia in South Africa has prevented him from pursuing his passion.
On Saturday, Yusuf takes his wife grocery shopping. His wife complains that things have gotten so expensive that they’re spending nearly R800 every week to feed their family of five. The family go out for supper at Spur in Rosebank.
Akim, too, takes his wife grocery shopping. They carefully choose their groceries, unable to exceed the R200 they’ve put aside for this week. This week, the cost of their items comes to R130. That evening, Akim takes his children to McDonald’s, as a special treat.
It’s the end of term and Yusuf’s children bring home stellar report cards, dripping with A’s, and he’s exceptionally proud of them. It seems that the extra tuition has paid off. He will make sure to continue this support throughout their education. He has high hopes for them, to become engineers or doctors. On Thursday evening, Yusuf stops at a red traffic light. He picks his phone up to flick through Whatsapp. Suddenly, his window is smashed. Glass flies in all directions and Yusuf instinctively covers his face. A hand reaches through and grabs his phone. Before he can react, the thief is gone, disappeared into the night. Yusuf’s wife cleans his cuts and complains about the crime in South Africa, that no one is safe from these thieves from the township. Yusuf shakes his head. At least you have your health, she says. He makes the intention to thank God tomorrow, at Friday prayers.
Akim’s eldest child has achieved a B in maths this term, and Akim is exceptionally proud of her. The idea of leaving her home alone to study on Sundays has really paid off. He has high hopes for her; perhaps he can find a better job so he can one day send her to university. On Thursday evening, Akim and his family are held up by robbers. Akim pleads with them not to take everything, they barely have enough as it is. They ransack his little home and find the cash saved under the mattress. After they’ve left, Akim tidies the room while his wife comforts the children. His wife complains about the crime in South Africa, and how they target non-nationals all the time. Akim shakes his head. At least they didn’t hurt us, his wife says. He makes the intention to thank God tomorrow, at Friday Prayers.
Friday comes, and the adhaan can be heard, calling worshippers to the masjid. Yusuf and Akim pray side by side, bow together, and greet each other as brothers. Out through the mosque doors they walk, and become strangers once more.
I don’t usually do fashion posts, but women’s clothing has been all over the media recently. And I know how difficult it is to find the perfect outfit, as a Muslim woman. Here’s a basic guide on how to dress, based on trends across the world over the past few years, complete with links to newspaper articles telling you exactly how and how not to perfect the latest looks:
Perhaps you reject ‘Sharia’ dress code as an arbitrary concept. Careful, you could be next in line for a flogging.
Alright then, you just wanna cover your face because you have an unappealing zit or personal morals. Your zit or morals could cost you up to £8000 in fines.
Okay, but your hair is looking fly today, so let’s have it drift in the wind a bit. Try not to end up in jail, hey?
Whether you’re in the East, West or somewhere between, if you’re a Muslim woman, I’m sorry to say, but you have no say in what you wear.
Your modesty continues to be a subject dictated, controlled, judged, imposed by men, without including you in the design, marginalising you from the discussion, and without your consent.
Apparently, the way you dress can influence people to be immoral, or its a manifestation of how you have the wrong morals.
Apparently your clothing is the voice of an entire religion of 1.6 billion people.
Apparently, if you’re not white, your choice of clothing is not a choice that deserves to be protected by those who fight for women’s rights.
I’m sorry to say, but you will continue to be policed, even by those who say they are liberators of women. Your nakedness is unacceptable. Hiding your body is unacceptable.
What are they really saying? Your choices are unacceptable. As a woman, your choice is invalid and will be corrected – by extremists of terror and by extremists of law.
Woman, if you’re covered, if you’re bare, if you’re loud, if you’re silent, if you’re strong, if you’re weak, you are unacceptable.
I will never ever forget a conversation I had with a classmate, when I first started university in London. It was at a welcoming event for the first year law students. We were milling around outside the lecture theatre, making conversation in that awkward state between “OMG-I-need-friends” and “Geez-Play-it-cool.”
The population of England includes Indian, Pakistani and Bangladeshi immigrants as well as their first, second and third generation descendants. Most have kept their language, culture and traditions, even still referring to themselves as Indian, Pakistani or Bangladeshi, despite the fact that many were not born in those countries.
…it was not surprising to me that it was assumed that I too belonged to the Asian diaspora.
Now if you’ve met me in person, you’ll notice that due to my ancestry, I have brown skin, and features akin to those from the Subcontinent. I also have a strange accent common to third-culture kids (as one girl from my International High School described it, “It’s a mix of American and British, with a bit of wherever your parents are from thrown in”). I could have passed for someone born and bred in London. And so it was not surprising to me that it was assumed that I too belonged to the Asian diaspora.
So this girl I met asked me, “Where do you come from?”
I replied, “I’m from South Africa” and she looked confused.
“But you sound English” she stated, and I told her that I’d spent a significant part of my childhood growing up in London.
“But were you born in South Africa?” she asked, and I said, “yes.”
“So, where are your parents from?” was her next question.
“They’re also from South Africa.”
“And were they born there?”
“Yes, they were,” I replied.
“So… where are your grandparents from?” she asked.
“Well, three of them are South African and my grandfather was born in India, but moved to South Africa when he was 10 years old, and never left.”
“Oh, so you’re Indian,” she concluded.
I had sensed that throughout our exchange, the question she really wanted to ask was similar to what Karen Smith asked Cady Heron in the legendary film, Mean Girls:How could I, someone from Africa, look so much like her, someone born in India and living in England?
The point of this post is not to critique anyone’s innocent ignorance, but more to demonstrate a difficulty I have had with the term “Indian” as it is used in the South African sense. In SA, the use of the racial identifier “Indian” stems from apartheid, as a term used to separate people by their skin colours. Many Indians from India had come to South Africa over time, first as indentured labourers and thereafter as business-people. Fast-forward to today, South African Indians have developed into a social group on their own, with different culture, food and traditions than their Subcontinent ancestors. Many have held on to the languages, but other than that few similarities remain. Except, of course, skin colour and facial features.
I remember, in England, filling in an application form looking like this: And thinking, I fit in none of these boxes.
Living in Europe, “Indian” meant something completely different to what it meant in South Africa. At university, I came into contact with the term “brown” – and I felt like I finally found a term to describe my physical identity. It’s a term to describe my skin colour, but also I think it allows enough room to encompass my culture, which includes elements of Indian, but cannot be described entirely as such.
But yeah, when I’m overseas, being asked this question of “Where are you from” means that people who’ve just met me get a detailed history of my life story and ancestry. And in South Africa if I don’t refer to myself as Indian, it’s not because I am entirely rejecting that part of my identity, but rather because I feel that “brown” gives me the room to define who I am on my own terms.
How many times have you (as a South African Indian Muslim) been at a family function or a braai or just sitting at the supper table, and heard the words “It’s this government, they’re no good.”
That’s a phrase usually heard in relation to some negative aspect of our country, including service delivery, bad infrastructure and, the absolute ultimate favourite, corruption.
It’s no secret that misappropriation, misdirection and misuse of government funds is crippling our nation. From schools to the Presidency money is disappearing, limiting the effectiveness of government’s functions. And so, a favourite topic of discussion amongst South Africans, and particularly SAfrican Indian Muslims (SIMs), is how much of a disappointment our government is.
Oh, the irony.
So…. when SIMs fail to declare cash income thereby avoiding taxes
– it’s okay!
When SIMs slip R2500 under the table for a driver’s license
– it’s okay!
When SIMs have been caught speeding or driving without a seat belt and they choose to quench the thirst of the JMPD officer –
it’s okay!
Now what do all of these actions have in common?
a) They’re all things we often hear SIMs doing
b) They’re all very very illegal
c) If government officials were caught doing these things, I have absolutely no doubt we’d hear the Uncles making a big hoo-haa about it.
It’s funny that Muslims wanna preach honesty, and wanna say “Don’t follow false leaders” and “what has our government ever done for us?” But they kinda do the same things as our corrupt leaders. And above that, corruption is so so so haram!
I guess there’s nothing I can do except keep wearing out people’s ears telling them not to engage in corruption. And I think I need to be braver in pointing out people’s hypocrisy. But in the mean time, when those Uncles wanna talk about Nkandla while handing R500 to the Home Affairs Officer, I’ll be graciously generous with my “unimpressed” face.
Elections. The world over, this term has become synonymous with “farce” – a tool of democracy without impact, when those we are supposed to choose between no longer represent us. When candidates have no integrity, when they wave their Louis Vuitton shoes in our faces whilst preaching land re-appropriation, when they give tenders to family members, when they exploit the struggles of the poor for the votes, when they use our forefathers’ struggles to elevate themselves – I hear you asking, “how are we supposed to mark the ballot paper when all the faces staring up at us are smiling masks worn by power-hungry frauds?”
I’ll tell you how.
We are a country who has known freedom for a tender 22 years. For hundreds of years before that our peoples were enslaved, dehumanized and prevented from participating in the governance of their own land.
We are immensely privileged, today having the potential, the opportunity to mark an X.
Our privilege came at a deep cost – hundreds, thousands, millions fought for us to have this privilege. Some died from bullets, some lost their minds in prison, some were forced from their homes.
All for us, for our privilege to wait in line to express our political will.
I don’t care who you vote for. I don’t care if you spoil vote. I don’t even care if you draw your own box and vote for yourself.
But I know that I will be voting to respect and honour the sacrifices made by the true parents of our democracy. Not for Mandela, not for De Klerk, not for Biko, not for Mbeki, not for Hani, not for Tambo, not for First.
But for the nameless forgotten men, women and children who sacrificed everything for their dream – our reality – of the privilege to have their voices heard.
There’s a scene in the movie Material where a group of young Muslim Indian men are having a smoke outside a family function. An elderly family member walks by and comically, the men start blowing away the smoke, hiding their cigarettes behind their backs.
I always thought this practice, of not letting elders see you smoke, was a simple and tasteful demonstration of the respect for elders that young people have been taught in this South African Indian Muslim community.
A few days ago, I was walking past the Standard Bank HQ in Rosebank, when I saw a woman in hijab, drawing on a cigarette, deep in conversation with a colleague or friend. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had ever seen a woman in hijab openly smoking in public! Both men and women smoke, yet in our community it is an unspoken taboo for women to do so in public.
Women are not expected to engage in activities that take away from the gentle, clean, pure nature they’re supposed to have. For a woman to smoke is a horrible violation of the imposed expectation of how women are supposed to behave. I wonder why the same expectation is not placed on men – shouldn’t they be gentle, clean and pure too?
Smoking is thus reserved as a male activity, when in reality it has no gender at all. It’s a habit of both men and women.
Furthermore, women are forced to hide their vices while men are allowed to practice them in public . This is a universal double standard, where women are shamed for what men can get away with. Women will be shamed for smoking in public but men can do so without fear of disapproval.
I do not condone smoking. But I condemn the unequal treatment of men and women. And so, to you female Muslim smokers, violently challenge the ingrained patriarchy by taking your smoke breaks outside for the world to see. Clear the smoke on the double standard.
Last week I think we were all shocked to hear about yet more young Muslim people in South Africa turning towards violence in their attempts to prove their dedication to religion. Media outlets reported that four young adults from Newclare and Azaadville had been planning to travel to Syria to join Daesh (Also known as ISIL/ISIS). Lawyers for the Thulsie brothers had rejected this, saying that the twins simply wanted to emigrate to Syria.
I lived in Europe for several years as a young adult, immersed in the post-9/11, post-Daesh climate. Moving from that context to the South African one, I am left confused when I think about why young Muslims find themselves attracted by the rhetoric and actions of Daesh. In Europe, the backlash since the Twin Towers attack in 2001 resulted in the sharp rise of Islamophobia. Generalised dislike and even contempt towards Muslims has created a society of normalised marginalisation. Young Muslim people in the UK and mainland Europe are usually those who have either immigrated there with their families, or are first, second, third generation born European citizens. Their roots are mostly in North Africa or Asia. Already, they are un-welcomed for occupying space in white communities and have faced discrimination as immigrants and people of colour. And now they are subjected to the misplaced anger of people who fear Islam as a result of a minority of violent people, resulting in various factors pushing them towards Daesh.
1. Marginalisation From (Western) Society
Immigration has resulted in a generation of young people trapped between Western culture and the influences of their countries of origin. Particularly in Europe with its Islamaphobic post-9/11 climate where Muslims are pushed to the peripheries of society because of the generalised connection between Islam and terrorism, young Muslims may feel that they do not belong. In fact, Daesh specifically targets these marginalised individuals.
2. Seeking An Identity
Feeling marginalised from society means that young people are looking for a place where they can belong. Religion can provide a “Pre-packaged transnational identity” and Daesh as an organisation that makes use of religion as a tool for unification, is attractive to those seeking identity.
3. Finding Hope In Religion
The British Council writes that declining economies and untrustworthy political systems may cause young people to “view religious activism as a means of achieving positive change for their societies and communities.”
4. Backlash Against Perceived Attacks on Islam
It may seem to many young Muslims that the West continually attacks Islamic countries, and on a smaller scale, Muslims are often attacked through Islamophobia. This pushes young people to join Daesh when it is perceived that their “community is over-policed or treated as suspect, or if your society expresses hostility toward Islam or religion generally.”
5. Social Media Recruitment
Young people are undoubtedly the dominant users of social media, making this a most effective tool for Daesh to recruit. Further, young people participate in politics mainly through online social media. So Daesh is smart to be getting the attention of young people thisway.
But South Africa specific?
It is tough for me to understand, in the South African context, why young Muslims would join Daesh considering our widely protected freedom of religion. Perhaps it is the increasing influence of stricter sects of Islam (e.g. Saudi Arabia recently sponsored a mosque in Houghton). Also, I have heard from my own family members of clerics preaching against other sects of Islam including Shiism. Furthermore, I’ve realised that young Muslims in particular feel a connection to the struggles of Muslims across the world (a case in point is the enthusiasm for supporting Palestine). And, of course, social media allows people to learn about Daesh, and Daesh creates propaganda videos glorifying their violence.
Clearly, our young South African Muslims are at risk too. I believe an enormous responsibility lies on our religious leaders to prevent our youth from going astray, through preaching that social justice can be obtained without resorting to violence. It is also important for them to debunk Islam as preached by Daesh, educating young Muslims about the true peaceful message that Islam was meant to spread.
I woke up, performed my wudhu (ablution) and dressed in my abayah and hijab, and sat down for tea with my family. Everyone was dressed in new, smart clothing, full of joyful anticipation of the day ahead.
My father began reciting takbeer (a sort of chanting affirmation of God’s greatness that is traditionally recited on Eid day before the prayers), and the whole family joined in, continuing as we walked to the mosque.
Upon entering the mosque, there were smiles and sweet smells all around as people greeted each other with Salaam, “peace.” The Imam picked up the takbeer and the mosque swelled with an almost tangible sense of collective spirituality as male and female voices joined together with in proclaiming God’s greatness.
There is so much beauty in community worship.
My local mosque is Masjid Al Islam, in Brixton, also known colloquially as the “Politics Mosque.” It already has a reputation, across Johannesburg, due to its controversial choices. Whilst men and women do not mix freely in the prayer space, women are not shoved in a closed corner. The gendered spaces are separated by a simple wooden screen and should a man or woman move to the other side, out of necessity or whatever reason, it is not the end of the world. Women are invited to give talks before Friday prayers, and topics of discussion are almost always related to politics and current events.
It’s one of my favourite spaces in Johannesburg.
Women.
At most mosques in Johannesburg, and indeed in South Africa, my very existence as a woman attempting to exert myself in that space is perceived as a threat – a threat to the power that men have historically claimed over religion and religious discourse. Many mosques do not have space for women to pray at all (for details, see Falooda With A Side of Feminism) and in those that do, the space for women is so hidden away its as if having women in the mosque is a shame.
At Greenside Mosque, the women’s section is up a flight of stairs, a long room with opaque glass so that the women cannot even appreciate whatever beautiful architecture may be in the main section. The last time I was there, a sign had been put up in the women’s section that said “Please keep children quiet.” At the Houghton Mosque on West Street, the women are also hidden away in an upstairs room. In both mosques the space for women to pray is about 25% or less of the size of space allocated to men. Clearly, this place was designed by men, and clearly this is incredibly problematic.
Firstly, having the women’s section upstairs is extremely exclusionary. My grandmother, who lives in Greenside and who has always had a habit of attending mosque for Friday prayers and the Ramadan Taraweeh prayers, was unable to be a part of her religion that way when she started having health issues with her knees. People with physical disabilities are completely excluded from participating as members of their religious community.
It is baffling, therefore, that in our local places of worship, we want to enforce strict gender separation.
Secondly, women are, through patriarchal architectural design and spatial planning, excluded from equal access and enjoyment of religious space. Having such a small space for women sends a clear message: “women, there is not enough space for you in our religious space.” As far as I understand it, places of worship in Islam should be places open equally to anyone – men, women, children, Muslims, non-Muslims etc. In fact, the most holy site of all for Muslims, the Ka’bah in Makkah, is a site where genders mix freely with no physical separation, no hiding away of women. It is baffling, therefore, that in our local places of worship, we want to enforce strict gender separation. If you ask me, it’s because there is a strange inherent fear that the mosque will become a place where women and men will not be able to control their desires resulting in the establishment of haram (forbidden) relations. I would have thought that people attend mosque with clear hearts and good intentions, and to put the women away as if they are magnets for haram-ness is discriminatory – it allows men to blame their desires on the mere presence of women, but men should take ownership of their own moral shortcomings.
Thirdly, to ask that children are kept quiet is a problematic, passive aggressive demand for what is, quite frankly, impossible. There are several hadiths (traditions of the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him) which narrate that children are more than welcome in the mosque, and their comfort was even a priority for him as he led prayers. One such hadithreported that “The Prophet said: “When I stand for prayer, I intend to prolong it, but on hearing the cries of a child, I cut it short, as I dislike to trouble the child’s mother” (Reported by Bukhari).” So where did this rejection of children in the mosque space come from? And since when is childcare only the obligation of the women? It is yet another way in which women are uninvited from attending the mosque.
So where did this rejection of children in the mosque space come from?
The inclusive nature of Brixton mosque is a welcoming contrast. And over and above including women, it’s a space where our intellectualism is celebrated, recognised and respected. It is a space where we acknowledge that women can also teach and have opinions on religious, political and community matters.
Politics.
At Masjid Al Islam, politics is not a subject which speakers shy away from. Current events imbibe the talks with political messages, calling the congregation to engage because it is our civic and even religious duty to understand the context of our country and our world. The speakers encourage listeners to beware of false leaders, to protect each other from the evils of capitalism and colonialism. They teach attendees about the religiousness of speaking out against racial and gender injustice. They speak out against corruption at all levels.
And I often wonder, when did religion become apolitical, particularly in the current context of our world, where Islam is at the centre of political discussions thanks to ISIS and immigration and Islamophobia. Historically it was never apolitical – during the Prophet Muhammed’s (Peace Be Upon Him) lifetime he was required to engage in political collaborations to ensure Islam’s survival For me, it is extremely important to learn from my religious leaders about how to navigate the world’s changing climate when my religion is such a target.
Furthermore, if our religious leaders are not talking to their people about politics, Muslims might get their guidance on such topics elsewhere. And we are well aware of the unsavoury influences on the internet. We want out community to have credible positive guidance from religious leaders so that the vacuum is not filled by voices of disunity and violence.
The messages that our mosques send out through structure, architecture and talks are extremely influential. They tell us how we are perceived by religious leaders – how important we are as members of the congregation. They give us a sense of what our leaders feel are important issues for us to be engaging with.
And all of this speaks to how our mosques are developing as centres for communication, critical dialogue and human progression.
So that’s why I feel at home in the “politics mosque.” I feel that my gender does not result in my exclusion. I feel that I am recognised as an intelligent and capable human being. And I feel that its a space in which I am able to contextualise my political views, and reconcile them with my religious beliefs and international affairs.
The time has come for us to engage in one of the most widespread social diseases across this planet. The dreaded P-word. Patriarchy. This is not an attack on men. The purpose of this post is to recognise the existence of patriarchy and the effects it has on both women and men.
Bell Hooks defines patriarchy as “a political-social system that insists that males are inherently dominating, superior to everything and everyone deemed weak, especially females, and endowed with the right to dominate and rule over the weak and to maintain that dominance…”
Believe it or not, patriarchy is the norm under which the majority of people in the world live. It penetrates our leadership structures, business, education systems, communities and even family. Sometimes it happens and we don’t even realise it. Sometimes we are guilty of it without even knowing. It is definitely prevalent in the South African Indian Muslim community.
Yet many people fail to understand how fundamentally it is ingrained in our societies and how thoroughly it affects both men and women. So I thought I’d help you out by pointing out a variety of social norms or situations, and explaining the patriarchy in them.
Girls play with dolls and boys play with cars
In toy stores, the difference between the “girls’ toys” and the “boys toys” is unmissable. The girls’ section is usually indiscriminately pink, with toys ranging from dolls to mini kitchens, from shopping baskets to make-up sets. The boys’ toys are decorated in blues and browns, tough action figures, trucks and cars. Often the boys’ section also hosts the ‘sciency’ and mechanical toys, such as science experiments and Mechano.
These are settings that we’re used to seeing. It’s the norm. But what is the effect on young minds and children’s futures? Girls are made to believe that their role is as home makers – taking care of the baby, doing grocery shopping and preparing meals. But we are well aware of the fact that both genders are in fact capable of all these things – in fact, think of famous celebrity chefs and the first names that come to mind are male: Gordon Ramsay, Jamie Oliver and Heston Blumenthal.
On the other end, boys are growing up believing that they have to be tough and dominant, playing with violent tough characters such as Iron Man and G.I. Joe. This can be damaging, as it implies that males are required to be tough, and perhaps that it is okay for them to be violent, creating issues in future where men may be seen to be “weak” if they do not fight. Boys often also have greater access to the toys that encourage them to explore science and build things, not only developing their skills but also their interest in possible future careers in this regard. It took a long battle before Lego introduced female scientists to their range of educational toys.
So in terms of the toys children are encouraged to play with, gender roles are already imposed by the ingrained patriarchy in our society and commercial sphere. Girls are pushed towards softer more nurturing roles while boys are directed towards being tough, and pursuing “manly” careers.
“You run like a girl”
This video explains it all:
See how the older women have been indoctrinated to believe that women are weaker, more whimsical, more flimsy. Yet as children, the girls have full confidence in their ability regardless of their gender. What can be to blame, other than a patriarchal system which externally influences us to think that the fragility of women is the norm?
Catcalling
I’m not sure why it is deemed socially acceptable for men to shout “Hey gorgeous” or whistle or say “Mmm baby, are you an ice cream ‘cos I’d like to lick you” or hoot at women walking down the street. For the record, every one of these things has happened to me. Some of these things happen on a daily, no matter what I happen to be wearing (for more details, see this post I wrote).
This phenomenon is a result of the patriarchal notions that men hold more power than women, power to express their desires in public spaces. Now I hear you people saying, “But those are compliments, the girl should be happy to hear that.” Well excuse me if I want more than to feel like the object of a man’s desire, excuse me if I want to be recognised for more than my looks, excuse me if I want to feel free and comfortable in public spaces. When men make such comments, it makes a woman feel lesser, dirty, like she is doing something wrong by walking through or occupying public space. As a human being, she should feel like she too owns that space, that she is worth more than her physical appearance. She should have the respect she deserves as a person with more than outward looks, she should not have to feel dehumanised as an object of sexual attention. It is more of a compliment for a man to engage in dignified conversation with a woman, appreciating her intellectual capacity over her physical appearance.
And yes I hear you saying “But men can’t help it when they see a pretty girl, they have desires.” I get that. But there’s a time and place and manner in which to express such sentiments, and catcalling her in the street in the middle of the day when a woman is rushing to work or going shopping is not the right context. So sure, look at the pretty girl, but not as if she’s a piece of meat for your dinner table. Endeavour to not make her feel uncomfortable. If you want to talk to her, I assure you she’d appreciate a more respectful conversation, perhaps beginning with “Hello, I couldn’t help but notice you as you walked past. I would like to get to know you, would you like to get a cup of coffee with me some time?”
You’re not like other girls
This is perhaps a more subtle form of patriarchy, but a damaging one nevertheless. This simple statement from a man to a woman implies superiority between females based on male approval. The kind of women I know of, who have been on the receiving end of this phrase are ones who don’t subscribe to what is perceived to be the norm for women – for example women who like sports or video-games, women who aren’t jealous or clingy with their significant others, women who have ambition etc. It essentially promotes the idea that women are better if they subscribe to traditionally “male” habits or inclinations. We have been taught since childhood to be subordinate to male views, and that being female in itself is shameful and weak (i.e. being told to ‘sit like a lady’ covering our female parts, being taught to hide our periods, being taught that we must cover ourselves lest we tempt the menfolk). Patriarchy makes us feel that if we are told that we’re not like other girls, we’ve somehow risen above our shameful average counterparts by gaining the approval of men while maintaining enough femininity for their liking. It is so incredibly subtle, but it creates in women the desire to be told that they are better than other women.
As Mia Morgan put it, “I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself.“
What should be the norm is the acceptance that all women are different, that women do not have to live for the approval of men, and that all women are queens in their own right.
Women are prevented from acquiring property through divorce
In second year, I studied property law as a unit of my law degree. Imagine my shock, my my horror, my disgust, when I learned that in real cases heard before courts in the UK women had been denied property in divorce settlements, despite having contributed for years and years to the home, simply because none of those contributions had been financial. This is a fault that goes hand in hand with capitalism – the damaging notion that human beings are measured by their economic output rather than their social value. Women, in these cases, had raised children and kept home, yet their invaluable contributions to the livelihoods of their family and society as a whole went unrecognised and unappreciated. It means that years of hard work were not valued because their husbands had been the ones buying the property. It means that women were left destitute, with nothing to show for 5, 10, 20 years of their lives.
The patriarchal expectation of men to be the breadwinners and of women to be home-makers is to blame. Men, traditionally, would be the ones contributing financially to the household as the spouse with the job and were therefore by law entitled to property.
The inequality of slut-shaming
Why is it that when women sleep around, they are shamed as ‘sluts’ but when men do it, they’re congratulated as ‘studs’ for the amount of women they can get? This is the harmful patriarchal practice of policing the sexuality of women. It is as if women need to remain chaste and faithful to one man, otherwise they are ruined forever. It is caused by the notion that women must be subordinate to standards for behaviour set by the patriarchy. Women are somehow of less value if touched by many, but men somehow increase in value for how many they’ve touched. It simply does not make logical sense in terms of equality.
Furthermore, a woman who is more sexually active is somehow seen as more deserving of sexual assault. I mean how many times have you heard it being said: “She was asking for it – why was she sleeping around with so many men/wearing such revealing clothing/behaving in such a promiscuous manner?” This is ‘slut-shaming’, and victim-blaming, rife in conversations, on social media and even in court judgements. It is when women are blamed for having been victims of sexual assault or abuse due to their own actions, and not the actions of the perpetrator. See, for example, the Brock Turner rape case where on the one hand, the victim was blamed for being intoxicated, but Brock the Rapist was given leniency for being intoxicated. The argument implies that the victim should have been more responsible in terms of her alcohol consumption because it left her vulnerable, but for the perpetrator his intoxicated state absolved him of responsibility because he could not have been fully aware of what he was doing. Like…. what? How does that make sense?! Where is the logic in that??
Let’s be clear about this. The cause of sexual assault or rape is not a woman’s sexual habits, or the clothing she was wearing, or her behaviour. The cause of sexual assault or rape 100% of the time is the assailant or rapist. No further arguments, your honour.
Reaction to violence against women vs reaction to violence against men
Peoples’ reactions in the above video clearly demonstrate a widespread unconscious subscription to patriarchal values. Women are supposed to be the weaker gender, to be protected from harm at all costs. We are taught by the patriarchy that, for this reason, men must not hit women. The patriarchy also teaches us that men must be strong and tough, and God forbid a man gets hit by a woman. That just makes him weak and lesser.
This is an incredibly harmful norm that must be destroyed. Men, more often than we think, experience violence from women and this is not okay. Men are not weaker for submitting to violence, nor should they be shamed for it. Violence against anyone, regardless of gender, is something to be universally condemned. Yet the patriarchy makes us maintain that status quo.
Patriarchy in the workplace
It is well known that women are paid less than men. This still perplexes me, I simply cannot understand where such a practice would stem from except for the reason that women are seen as lesser than men. Other than that, women are deemed as financial liabilities for their potential of falling pregnant – yet another destructive notion that goes hand in hand with capitalism. Companies that are all about profit do not want to invest in a person that may fall pregnant and be entitled to paid maternity leave. This is an evil of capitalism, because the woman’s social value is not being appreciated in that her child will ultimately add value to this world in one way or another, her child might even become the person to cure cancer. In the same breath, paternity leave is only now being recognised as a necessity. A father has just as much interest in his child’s upbringing as a mother does and therefore deserves time off too.
Another way in which patriarchy manifests in the workplace is in the kind of roles that are traditionally associated with women. When one hears the word “nurse” or “secretary” one has been brainwashed to picture a female. Women are seen as traditionally suited to meeker jobs, often in assisting or nurturing roles. The main show, the doctor or CEO, is usually a man. But when a woman is assertive in the workplace, in the same manner that men are, she is often shot down as overstepping her role, coming across as angry or demanding – a perception which damages her career prospects.
Sanitary products are classed as taxable luxury goods
Women are taxed for the inescapable fact of their gender. Women menstruate, an occurrence which is both regular and unpreventable. Women require products to maintain cleanliness – tampons and sanitary pads. Yet these items are classed as luxury.
I mean… are you telling me its a luxury to get my period? Bitch please.
The UK parliament recently held a vote on whether to untax sanitary items. But parliament is made up of majority men, who have no idea how essential these items are, and the vote failed. It was a small win that some of the female MPs managed to convince their male colleagues to say the word “tampon” out loud. The patriarchy has taught us that our periods are shameful and to be hidden, yet patriarchal capitalism allows us to be taxed for daring to menstruate. The patriarchy is so uncomfortable that it wants us to hide our periods, yet makes us fork out more cash to do so. The unfairness on women is difficult to deny.
Speaking of buying stuff, have you ever noticed that women’s clothing is often made of thinner fabric than men’s? This has two effects: one, it means that our bodies are more on display (approved by the patriarchy as a means of objectifying women); and two, it means that women have to buy more clothes for the same amount of coverage as men – yet another capitalistic exploitation of females.
This short list of examples is but a taste of the ways in which the patriarchy dominates. The sad reality is that men and women face these patriarchal issues on a daily basis. More often than not, we aren’t even conscious of the effect that the patriarchy has on us. The patriarchy sets out unfair, harmful standards for both genders to comply with and even subjects women to control by men. It is present in social, professional and communal spheres. It is damaging, archaic and needs to be stopped. Armed with knowledge of how patriarchy manifests, we all have a moral duty to strive for equality by defeating it. F*** the patriarchy.
How could I, someone from Africa, look so much like her, someone born in India and living in England?
And thinking, I fit in none of these boxes.
ng and preparing meals. But we are well aware of the fact that both genders are in fact capable of all these things – in fact, think of famous celebrity chefs and the first names that come to mind are male: Gordon Ramsay, Jamie Oliver and Heston Blumenthal.
deserving of sexual assault. I mean how many times have you heard it being said: “She was asking for it – why was she sleeping around with so many men/wearing such revealing clothing/behaving in such a promiscuous manner?” This is ‘slut-shaming’, and victim-blaming, rife in conversations, on social media and even in court judgements. It is when women are blamed for having been victims of sexual assault or abuse due to their own actions, and not the actions of the perpetrator. See, for example, 
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