Other People & Other Places

I seriously envy those who choose to remain unaware of the world’s current events. Following the news and the incidents that daily happen in different parts of the world often creates an overwhelming sense of pessimism in me. And understandably not many people are interested in hearing about your pessimism about this world and if you choose to go ahead and talk about this negativity that you feel, then they politely tune you out and tell you to live your own life and to find happiness. While I admire this conscious detachment from the daily happenings of the world—such as wars, deaths, rebellions, earth quakes, imprisonments, sicknesses and many other incidents— it makes me very sad that many of us choose or have to choose to live our own individual lives outside the context of this world that goes beyond our homes, neighborhoods and cities. Again, I am not saying all of this to complain about things. It is just that it makes me sad to feel part of a small crowd of people in this world who feel the need or have the freedom to follow the current events and if nothing to think about other places and other people!

The Prism of My Personality!

My close and distant friends often tell me that they think I have a complicated and “layered” personality. They tell me that at any given moment I could surprise them with my actions. A close friend has even told me that I scare him when all of a sudden I “switch personalities” unexpectedly.

Since many friends have pointed out this complicated characteristic of mine, I always find myself thinking and analyzing this phenomenon of multiple personalities and its role in my life. It seems to me that having multiple personalities is not necessarily a disorder, as long as it does not exceed a certain limit. A quick review of my friends’ personalities makes me realize that most of my friends who like me grew up in Tehran and have relatively less strict families tend to have complicated characters. While I do not want to blame having multiple personalities on having grown up in Iran, I do think that living under a strict political system and the feeling of being constantly watched by someone else could in fact, create such a phenomenon.

For instance, let’s go over a simple day that I would spend at home, in school and outside when I was still in Iran and was a teenager:

My father would wake me up early in the morning. Before that, however, I was already waken up by the sound of the morning prayer that could be heard from the outside (for those who know we lived closed to the Mossala of Tehran). I, however, did not care much about the morning prayer and had simply taught myself to tune out the very loud sound of the Quran and sleep. In my pajamas, I would go to the kitchen, have breakfast with my father and if I had time I would listen to my Western music until it was time to go downstairs and wait for the school bus to come. Then, I would quickly wear my garment and tight scarf (maghnaye) and run downstairs. In school, my friends and I would not cease talking about this and that Hollywood movie, American and European actors, actresses and singers. Meanwhile, we would pretend to be very religious and anti-West during some of our classes (i.e. Islamic studies and the Koran). We would say prayers in school and sometimes we would find some silly reason to burst into laughter while praying and that was when we were in serious trouble. After school, some of us would go to English classes and music classes. The environment of these extracurricular classes was fun and it was much less strict than the actual school. I remember one of the things I used to enjoy was to be able to wear some makeup for my English classes in the evening. Anyhow, as we got older, liking boys and dating were added to the list. Those of us who had relatively liberal families would manage to throw dance parties (where we would dance techno and Persian dance) and hang out with our friends and our ‘crush’ at the time. I remember that whenever I had a birthday party, for instance, my parents were very scared of the moral police breaking in the house and giving us trouble for having thrown a co-ed party and having consumed alcoholic beverages. We were the lucky ones, because some of my friends who had more conservative families, had to meet up with their dates out in the streets away from their houses. That by itself was a real adventure. They basically had to make up on lie after another in order to run the kind of social life that due to their age and desires they needed to have.

Many of us were constantly advised to never share what goes on at home with our friends and our teachers. Although we often failed to abide by this ‘privacy’ rule and would share our stories with some of our friends, most of the times we would manage to keep these stories among ourselves and not have them leak to the authorities of the school or our teachers. The funny thing is that later when I was old enough to see things more broadly, I realized that our teachers and the staff of the school would do the same exact thing. They would talk about their controversial opinions and lives at those teachers who were in touch with the authorities of the Ministry of Education and other governmental institutions.

All in all, while being a teenager in Tehran was fun, “fun” was not easy to achieve. In other words, whenever we were partying, dancing, drinking, talking with boys on the phone and in general doing things that were against the strict rules of the regime in Iran, we would feel as though we were real supermen and superwomen who had no fear of breaking the restricting rules. I must admit, later on when I came to the US, it took me a while to understand that the joy of partying, socializing and even drinking is simply because of getting together and having a good time. In Iran, I was brought up to think about these things(having a good time) as rebellious actions that showed our opposition to the strict rules were ordered to abide by all these different social institutions—starting from families to the government.

Anyhow, it is because of the kind of daily life that we(I am specifically talking about the middleclass, more Westernized middle class of Tehran) had during our childhood and teenage years that I think, many of us who grew up in Iran have developed more than simply one “face” with which we present ourselves to the society. We have learned from early on to be a certain way at home and to pretend almost the opposite of that in school and outside. This is why, I think, many of my non-Iranian friends or those who have not grown up in Iran tell me that I have many personalities and that I can easily switch from one “face” to another!

Our Dear Fatema

Fatema & my best friend Pilar

Last week our dear friend, Fatema Khimji, and her father passed away in a tragic accident. We miss them and they will always remain alive in our thoughts and hearts. It is a strange feeling to know that Fatema is not here with us anymore. It was such a sudden loss that it has left me in complete disbelief. I did not know Fatema well myself, but through the stories that her best friend(my best friend as well), Pilar, would tell me about Fatema, I became familiar with Fatema as smart, strong, religious, funny and extremely kind young lady. I wish I was granted the chance to get to know her well before she leaves us and flies else where.


I dedicate this poem by Rumi to Pilar who is understandably truly affected by this unexpected loss:

Our death is our wedding with eternity.

What is the secret? "God is One."

The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.

This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;

It is not in the juice made from the grapes.

For he who is living in the Light of God,

The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.

Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,

For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.

Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,

So that he may place another look in your eyes.

It is in the vision of the physical eyes

That no invisible or secret thing exists.

But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God

What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";

It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,

The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.

...Oh God who gives the grace of vision! The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.
Mystic Odes 833

And here is an article published in the Hoya, Georgetown University's Newspaper(where Fatema went to school):

A Life, Devoted to Friendship and Service, Cut Short

By Michele HongHoya Staff Writer Sunday, June 24, 2007

She would wear a hijab around her head along with a blue shirt, an orange jumper and brown shoes with glitter. She prayed five times a day and in between would listen to indie rock bands or watch reality television. She had just gotten pink streaks in her hair. She was learning to play guitar.
Fatema Khimji (SFS ?07) could not be defined by one word or expression. She would often spend her time actively involved in the Muslim Student Association, pulling together brightly colored ensembles that matched her headscarf and attending the speeches at Gaston Hall. All agreed that she was just beginning to live her life and showed no sign of slowing down.
But during the mid-afternoon on June 19, a month after she received her degree magna cum laude on Healy Lawn, Khimji, 22, and her father Naushad died in a car accident after their Honda Accord collided with a semi-truck on the Ohio Turnpike. They had just left the Cleveland airport, where Khimji had returned from a weekend visit with two of her senior-year roommates in Miami.
As family and friends, including more than two dozen members of the university community, mourned the deaths at funeral services in Ohio last week, Georgetown?s Muslim community worked to keep Khimji?s memory alive; Muslim Chaplain Imam Yahya Hendi organized a memorial service in Copley Formal Lounge yesterday, and MSA held a prayer service Friday evening in the Copley Muslim Prayer Room. Her friends have also considered starting long-term projects to remember her ? they spoke of scholarships, endowments or naming a location on campus after her.
?I still can?t believe she?s gone. I cried in the grocery store yesterday. No matter how many times I say it, I?m still so sure it?s impossible,? Krisztina Schoeb (COL ?07) said. ?She was an angel on earth.?
?A Beautiful Smile?
Khimji was more than just a friend to many at Georgetown; those who knew her best said she was like an older sister in many ways. Her friends were an important priority, as evidenced by her constant willingness to provide advice, lend a helping hand or chat late into the night.
Pilar Siman (SFS ?07), one of her roommates during their senior years, remembered Khimji coming downstairs from her room every night to ask her about her day. Heather O?Brien (COL ?07), who lived in the same house, recalled with a laugh the conversations the six roommates would have on their couches until 3 a.m.
Others said that the guidance and support Khimji gave friends would not be forgotten. Several friends said that they would remember fondly the down-to-earth and sympathetic shoulder that Khimji would offer when they were in need.
?Every time I saw her, she always smiled, and she had a beautiful smile,? Hafsa Kanjwal (SFS ?08) said. ?She also had a silent presence in your life. There are some people where you know they?re there. They kind of have a silent beauty.?
Mariam Abu-Ali (NHS ?10) remembered how Khimji would drop what she herself was doing to edit friend?s essays on short notice ? and would always do so with a smile.
And still more looked back on the many selfless deeds that Khimji enthusiastically performed.
?I will never forget how, every Friday for congregated prayer, she would arrive half an hour early to help me ? carry bulky rolls of carpet from third floor Leavey to the common room on first,? Farah El-Sharif (SFS ?O9), MSA treasurer, said. ?The selfless effort she put forward and her positive and kind spirit made the trouble worthwhile.?
While Khimji may have been like a big sister to many on campus, she was the actual big sister of one student: Faiza Khimji (COL ?09). While Khimji?s family members did not wish to comment, friends described her as a loving and devoted relative.
?I have never seen so much sisterly love, and to me that in itself echoed so much about her remarkable character,? Abu-Ali said. ?Even though they lived together, I still remember a time when she saw her sister walking ? she called out to Faiza and hugged her and said, ?I miss you!??
Khimji was also known to bring laughter to her circle of friends. Renowned for her unrivaled impersonations of teachers, friends and celebrities, she was always the one to lighten the mood.
?If she was telling a story, you could guess immediately who she was talking about because she could mimic voice and mannerisms so well,? Maryam Mohamed (SFS ?06) said.
A Culture and Politics major, Khimji took classes in both Spanish and Arabic and spent time abroad in Ecuador and Egypt. Although she took her studies and grades seriously, several said she quenched knowledge for its own sake.
Throughout all this, many of Khimji?s friends took special note of the humility with which she carried herself. To her, it was a personal choice about humility that caused her to wear her hijab every day.
?She was always humble about everything, whether it be a really great internship that she got or her ever-trendy fashion choices,? Jane Kim (COL ?07), another of her former roommates, said. ?In a place like Georgetown ? this humility was so refreshing and attractive.?
A Leader in Faith
A devout Muslim, Khimji was dedicated to keeping Islamic traditions in her life. She put her daily activities on hold for prayer and chose to wear a hijab in public. During Ramadan, her friends remembered her leaving her 34th and R townhouse every day to pray at Copley at five in the morning.
Khimji?s faith served as a model for those she was around. Not only did she regularly attend her religious services, but actively listened to the lessons they preached and attempted to apply them to her everyday life. Earlier this year she came home excitedly sporting a large yellow heart on a silver chain around her neck, according to several friends, but after attending a Friday prayer service during which the readings emphasized the virtues of a simple life, Khimji returned home having decided that her most recent purchase was unnecessary.
?She took faith and put it into practice, but not in a way that made other people feel uncomfortable,? Siman, one of her roommates, said. ?Her faith just made her care about being with others.?
Khimji spent much of her time on the Hilltop working with MSA, having served as community service co-chair and Ramadan coordinator. Aside from her formal roles in MSA, however, she played a much bigger part in the student group; members of MSA remember her as the social glue that bound together the incoming freshmen and the other students.
Kanjwal, an MSA member, remembered that during one of her first days as a freshman when she didn?t know many people, she went to the Muslim Interest Living Community in Alumni Square and knocked on Khimji?s door. ?She opened the door and was so happy to see me, so welcoming,? she said, noting that she did not even know Khimji at the time. ?She made the transition a lot easier for myself and a few of the other freshman girls that year.?
In the wake of her death, the Georgetown Muslim community to which she was so devoted has solemnly united in solidarity. Hendi, the Muslim chaplain, said that he received numerous phone calls and e-mails offering assistance for yesterday?s service, during which passages from the Quran were read and many, including Hendi, spoke about Khimji.
?She was never angry, never upset,? Hendi said. ?She believed that smiling is an act of charity.?
In the Service of Others
Although Khimji had not decided on any one profession by the time of her graduation, she did have five definite options lined up; the day after her death, she was to be interviewed over the phone by the Federal Trade Commission, and she had just been called by the National Zoo, where she was thinking of becoming a volunteer coordinator. She also was considering joining the Peace Corps, which had already expressed an interest in sending her to central Asia. Wide-ranging though her job options were, they all had one thing in common ? as she had done during her life up until then, Khimji wanted to put herself at the service of others.
Many of Khimji?s friends described her as a tireless advocate for tolerance and social justice. With her great-grandparents coming from the Gujarati region of India and her grandparents and parents from eastern Africa, Khimji herself was the product of several cultures, and she was known to be not only accepting, but genuinely interested in learning about other people?s backgrounds. After living in the Muslim Interest Living Community her sophomore year, she spent her senior year in a townhouse with five non-Muslim students.
?People all live with a certain lifestyle, raised with certain prejudices. She was a very observant Muslim, but she was always comfortable with someone who wasn?t a Muslim,? Minoo Razavi (SFS ?09) said. ?That was the most admirable quality that she had ? she made you feel comfortable.?
Khimji was raised as a Muslim but was always eager to learn about other religions and their traditions. Having attended an all-girls Catholic high school, a few of her Catholic friends joked that she knew more about the religion than they did.
?Sometimes people with different religions are uncomfortable with each other, but she was the bridge,? Siman said.
While in Miami last week visiting with Siman and O?Brien, Khimji was working on her application to be a Muslim liaison for the Buxton Initiative, which works to promote discourse and understanding between peoples of different faiths. In the application that she had been working on right before the accident, Khimji conveyed the accepting, curious and nurturing personality that her friends all remember.
?I have attended Catholic schools since I was eight years old. Since that age, I have worshipped, studied and volunteered with classmates and teachers of diverse religious backgrounds,? she wrote. ?My faith reminds me that I need to leave this world better than I found it; it gives me purpose and direction and reminds me that with privilege comes responsibility, and that I have a duty to use what I have in the service of others.?

Fatema, hear our voice:

We will love you and think about you and miss you forever!

TransFORM/NATION Exhibition

Dear friends,

please join us(IAAB) this Thursday, June 21 from 6-9pm for the opening reception of TRANSFORM/NATION: Contemporary Art of Iran and its Diaspora. There will be live music, food, and drinks and a chance to meet some of the artists.

http://www.iranianalliances.org/art/index.php

TRANSFORM/NATION
CONTEMPORARY ART OF IRAN AND ITS DIASPORA

Washington DC · Tehran · June 22-August 4, 2007

Join IAAB and 21 Iranian artists from around the world
to explore Iranian identity, tradition and stereotypes

Multi-media exhibitions in DC, Tehran, & online

Ellipse Arts Center · Arlington, VA (DC Metro Area)

Exhibiting Artists: Samira Abbassy, USA · Haleh Anvari, Iran · Kaya Behkalam, Germany · Mina Ghaziani, Iran · Pantea Karimi, USA · Bani Khoshnoudi, France · Haleh Niazmand, USA · Amir Rad, Iran · Afarin Rahmanifar, USA · Jairan Sadeghi, USA · Samineh Sarvghad, Iran · Farideh Shahsavarani, Iran · Samira Yamin, USA · Siamak Nasiri Ziba, Iran

Nikzad Gallery · Tehran, Iran

Exhibiting Artists: Ali Alavi, Iran · Nazgol Ansarinia, Iran · Amir Sabber Esfahani, USA · Bani Khoshnoudi, France · Farideh Shahsavarani, Iran · Maryam Shirinlou, Iran · Shadi Yousefian, USA · Mahboubeh Zadehahmadi, Iran · Shahnaz Zehtab, Iran · Siamak Nasiri Ziba, Iran

Curated by: Narges Bajoghli, Nikoo Paydar, Leyla Pope and Maryam Ovissi

Global Feminisms

Boryana Rossa (Bulgarian, b. 1972). Celebrating the Next Twinkling (Praznuvane na sledvascia mig), 1999. Single-channel video, Edition of 2, 2 min. 45 sec. Private collection. Photograph courtesy of the artist

March 23–July 1, 2007
Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art and Morris A. and Meyer Schapiro Wing, 4th Floor

In celebration of the opening of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, the Museum presents Global Feminisms, the first international exhibition exclusively dedicated to feminist art from 1990 to the present. The show consists of work by approximately eighty women artists from around the world and includes work in all media—painting, sculpture, photography, film, video, installation, and performance. Its goal is not only to showcase a large sampling of contemporary feminist art from a global perspective but also to move beyond the specifically Western brand of feminism that has been perceived as the dominant voice of feminist and artistic practice since the early 1970s.This exhibition is arranged thematically and features the work of important emerging and mid-career artists.

The Brooklyn Museum presents exhibitions that give voice to diverse points of view. Global Feminisms contains challenging subject matter that some visitors may find disturbing or offensive. Children 17 and under must be accompanied by an adult. Discretion is advised.

This exhibition is co-curated by Maura Reilly, Ph.D., Curator of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, Brooklyn Museum, and Linda Nochlin, Ph.D., Lila Acheson Wallace Professor of Modern Art, Institute of Fine Arts, New York University.

Global Feminisms is sponsored by Altria Group. Additional support is provided by the Elizabeth A. Sackler Foundation and the French Embassy Cultural Services.

Those of you who are in the New York area, should consider stopping by this new exhibition and watching this film. :) I heard it is a "crazy" film with an important message and that it is interesting to watch. Here is the website of the exhibition:
Click Here

And also if you are interested in watching or listening to some of the speeches of the opening of the exhibition, you can find them all by going to:

Click Here

Among these speeches, you could also find Parastou Forouhar's talk. Here it is:

Click Here

Enjoy!

Honor Thy Father

by Phylis Collier

She was dragged out of her house, her head held in a headlock. For just a second a close up of her face showed it distorted by fear, her eyes wild. There was shouting from the crowd. A sense of pandemonium. The raised fist clutching a rock dissolved in a blur of motion as the cell-phone video lost focus. You could only imagine the fury with which she was attacked. Imagine the impact of the rock on her skull, the screams. The rocks that followed. Blood streaming down her long dark hair. You had to somehow force yourself to imagine it because she had lived it, and had not lived through it. In the end there was only her body sprawled on the ground wearing a red cardigan sweater and dark pants. She had been kicked, beaten and stoned to death.

That morning, when 17-year-old Dua Khalil Aswad put on her red sweater, did she have any premonition of what lay ahead? When she heard the men outside her window did her heart sicken? When her cousin came into the house did she know then? When he grabbed her, holding her head in the crook of his arm like a cowboy dragging down a steer, she knew. But it was too late then to escape. Perhaps she saw the police looking on and thought they would save her. Perhaps she thought her mother would burst through the crowd and save her.Where was her mother? Was she in the house, screaming too, being held back from saving her by the father she had dishonored?

I wonder about the man who videoed the carnage with his mobile phone. Was it only a spectator sport? Did he have hopes of selling it to American television for a sum that would support his family for years? Or perhaps, as I like to think, he was the only hero in the crowd. He intended to show the world that medieval brutality still exists, knowing there was nothing he could do could stop it. Whatever his motive, Dua’s murder has been broadcast around the world. People are angry. Governments are appalled. Suddenly, it is as though nobody ever heard of honor killings and they are demanding both revenge and reform. Four people have been arrested in the murder of this 17-year old Kurdish girl in Iraq. They are still searching for four others and the cousin who was the main killer.

It hasn’t taken long for the media to uncover another photograph of Dua. This one is reminiscent of most school photos where you are told to look into the camera, and so her beautiful almond eyes gaze directly into our own. Except for the slight smile on her lips, her expression is calm, almost placid. It is a photograph taken light years ago.

Only when studying the photograph I notice that she is wearing one small earring. Is this acceptable? Or is it too modern? And the way her hair dips slightly over here left eye. Is this too suggestive for a religion that expects sensuality to stay in the recesses of imagination? Perhaps these were clues that led her family to suspect an independent mind was in their midst. Clues radical enough to worry a cousin to follow her, and to finally catch her with a Sunni Muslim man. But was she only talking to him? Did they touch? Did the cousin watch them smile into each other’s eyes? Nothing is clear. It is only reported that she was seen with this man. But for a girl who knew her Yazidi religion forbade mixing with other faiths, she had done the unspeakable. The minds of family members raced towards the inevitable: How could it have been anything other than lust that persuaded her to be seen with this vermin? Had she already had sex with him? Were they planning to elope? There was no time to think further, only to act.

Now they are hunting the cousin, but are they really looking that hard? Or when Dua’s face fades from the world’s consciousness, will their attempts to bring these men to justice fade as well? After all, this has been going on as long as men have tried to control a woman’s actions, thoughts and desires. It doesn’t matter that the United Nations and human rights groups have condemned honor killings. They still take place by the thousands around the world. Houzan Mahmoud, spokeswoman for the Organization of Womens’ Freedom in Iraq, will assure you that the religious and social climate in Iraq is such that people can do what they did to Dua in broad daylight and authorities will not intervene.

And so when women in Muslim fundamentalist families are raped, they bring dishonor and must be killed. Their brothers do it. Or cousins. Or any male relative macho enough to wipe the sin from the family‘s name with the girl’s blood.

Years ago, the voice of a Muslim father in Jordan was captured on tape. He was strangling his teenage daughter who was taking much too long to die. “Die, will you!” he screamed,” Eventually, she honored her father.

Two brothers gun down their sister in Berlin. They are Turkish Muslims who find her guilty of “living like a German whore” because she divorced the husband who was given to her in a prearranged marriage.

“A woman shamed is like rotting flesh, a Palestinian merchant says. “If it is not cut away it will consume the body.”

In some communities, women who have the temerity to refuse a marriage, ask for a divorce, survive a rape, or who simply talk to a man, are guilty of bringing shame to the family. If she has the misfortune to be born into an Islamic fundamentalist family she can be beaten, burned, strangled, shot or stoned to death. Her death is often ruled a suicide. She is often buried in an unmarked grave, her very existence removed.

The light and intelligence in Dua’s eyes looked out onto a poor village in Iraq. Would it have made a difference if she had been born into a Muslim fundamentalist family in another country? No. Although honor killings occur mainly in poor, rural tribal areas or among uneducated urban dwellers, they occur in every corner of the globe. Ignorance is the real killer and education is the only hope. Someone without education, acting on a primal level of fear and hatred, will not hesitate to kill his daughter, sister or his wife.

I go back to the videotape on CNN and watch it again. There seems to be more footage this time. It shows Dua on the ground trying to get up. She is kicked again and collapses again.

It is a small village where she lived. These men knew her, and had probably known her since she was a child playing with their own children. It makes me wonder if those men who watched her die are obsessing over these images as I am. Do the pictures of Dua’s bloody and blackened face haunt their sleep? Perhaps, like me, they can’t turn away because bearing witness is so little to offer her. We must force ourselves to watch this inhumanity because she lived it, and she did not live through it.

http://www.peacewomen.org

Organization for Women’s Freedom in Iraq

http://www.vday.org

Phylis Collier

phylisinmexico@gmail.com