Patriarchy in Colonial Australia and Guilt & Shame in Postcolonial Guyana
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Australianama
Patriarchy from imperial structures can work alongside patriarchy from South Asian and Afghan cultures to exacerbate oppression against women. Author of Australianama, Samia Khatun notes this convergence in the late nineteenth and early twentieth-century colonial Australia. At this time, many Indian and Afghan camel drivers were hired by Australians and they settled with their families into their own communities which were labeled “Ghan Towns”. At first, colonial Australia did not recognize Muslim Laws but through pressure and reference to Colonial India accepting Sharia, Australian courts accepted the Muslim legal system (however, Sharia was modified with colonial influence and relabeled as Mohammedan Law in Australian courts) which caused colonial and Muslim structures to intersect; often working together to oppress women, as Khatun outlines through telling the stories of 5 women in colonial Australia.
One of these stories is about Myrtle Mary Dee. She was born in 1899 in New South Wales and married Morbine Perooz, a Muslim camel driver from Peshawar, when she was just 14. After their son was born, Myrtle faced challenges fighting for Maher rights under Islamic Law and also settler laws for her marriage to be legitimized. Catholic priests refused to marry Myrtle with Morbine which I can imagine must have had bad consequences in both the Catholic and Muslim community for having a child out of wedlock. Likewise, under Sharia, Myrtle’s husband retained control over her sexual rights in exchange for her Maher. Both settler and Islamic laws were used against Myrtle to take her autonomy and her rights to choose her fate for herself.
A similar struggle against Australian and Afgan patriarchy happened to Shamsulnissa, a 17-year-old from a Afghan trading family, who traveled from Karachi to Australia in 1907. After her father passed, Shamsulnissa’s uncle attempted to gain control of her inheritance and guardianship. Instead of preferring Mohammedan Law, her uncle asked the Australian courts to use settler law as it gave him a better chance to acquire Shamsulnissa’s guardianship and inheritance. He then assaulted Shamsulnissa to get revenge on Faiz and Ghulam who Shamsulnissa was meant to marry as per her late father’s wishes. Not only did her uncle traumatize her, but his assault prevented Faiz and Ghulam’s legal claim of milk (the control or ownership of a relationship according to Islamic law). Women at this time were very vulnerable in property battles under both settler and Islamic law by the men in their lives. To make matters worse for this girl, Australian officials demanded to medically examine her body to confirm the assault, which must have retraumatized her. Patriarchy from both Afghan and settler cultures were used in tandem with each other and gave men better access to take away women’s right to property, marriage, and independence at this time.
Although there was patriarchy in Afghan and South Asian culture, as patriarchy is a universal object, the monolithic narrative that all Muslim men oppress Muslim women has “long been fashioned to buttress Anglo imperial regimes” (page 145). For example, although Maher is not restricted to the imperial understanding of ‘bride price’, Western ideas have labeled it as such—even a symbol for oppression against women, placing it “alongside narratives of ‘honour crimes’, ‘polygamy’ and ‘forced marriages’” (page 144). In many situations, a Maher can actually socially uplift women. By painting Muslim women as oppressed victims to their culture, imperial ideology seeks to justify their narratives that they must save Muslim women. In fact, Samia Khatun contends this narrative was what gave the US Western support for their 2001 invasion of Afghanistan. This is why Khatun argues storytelling from the perspective of Muslim women is crucial. I strongly agree with Samia, how stories are told is really important; they can change public perception and understanding, ultimately changing public policy and how we remember history.
Antiman
In Antiman, Rajiv said his interest in his Indo-Guyanese heritage is because “[he] wants to connect with [his] Indianness. [He] wants the things that [his] Aji taught [him], the things that everyone said were worthless, to be remembered” (page 34). I definitely relate to Rajiv’s desire for preserving his culture, tradition, songs, and stories. I also relate to this melancholia that Rajiv portrays through his Aji. He feels guilt for how the world treats her as well as her being so isolated from everything she loves such as her old neighborhood, friends, fruit trees, and pet parrots. “Being so isolated in this hostile and racist place must be difficult for her, those stares from people in her building, the sideways glances from white Canadians upset that she is benefiting from the welfare system” (page 18). This second-hand melancholia and wanting a return to her culture and a blissful life for his grandmother resonates with me deeply. This chapter of Antiman was filled with a lot of grief as well as hope that really moved me. I get the feeling that preserving Aji's Indo-Guyanese culture through songs and her Bhojpuri language felt like preserving her happiness. I have similar hopes for my mom and my mother tongue Sindhi as Rajiv does and I hope he succeeds.
On the other hand, Rajiv’s dad's revulsion towards Hinduism and Indo-Guyanese culture, as Rajiv insightfully pointed out, was an act of self-preservation for him and his family. When “the only way to get an education was to go to the Lutheran school”, “the only way to get scholarships was to mimic the British”, and the only way “to survive they had to create social distance between their Coolie home culture and the English world through mimicking the latter”, Rajiv’s dad was taught that proximity to whiteness means surviving and success (page 20). Ultimately, Rajiv’s father believes for his family to survive, be successful, and be happy, forgetting and losing their Indo-Guyanese roots is a necessity. One could say, because his culture has been associated with doom and shame for his generation in postcolonial Guyana, his Indo-Guyanese culture even brings Rajiv’s father a certain melancholia.
