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Reading Thangaraj's analysis of Cultural Blackness in Indo-Pak basketball makes me think deeply about how culture is consumed, appropriated, and transformed. It shows that Cultural Blackness isn't simply about Black culture itself, but rather how certain elements of Black culture, especially style, aesthetics, and expression get commodified and repurposed by other groups.

What I find particularly interesting is how Cultural Blackness emerges as something distinct from Black identity and politics. Through Thangaraj's research, we see South Asian American basketball players adopting what he calls "Jordan-esque flair" - the clothing styles, the basketball moves, the urban aesthetics associated with Black basketball culture. Yet this adoption is selective, they take the "cool" elements while deliberately distancing themselves from actual Black communities and politics.The concept becomes even more complex when considering how it intersects with masculinity and citizenship. These players use Cultural Blackness as a way to claim American identity and challenge stereotypes about passive Asian masculinity. However, as Thangaraj points out, they do this while maintaining clear boundaries from Black identity itself, often through exclusionary practices in their leagues.

What strikes me most is how Cultural Blackness becomes a kind of cultural currency - something that can be consumed and used to signal certain qualities (like athletic prowess or urban "coolness") while being stripped of its deeper political and social meanings. The article made me reflect on how this selective adoption of cultural elements can simultaneously challenge some power structures while reinforcing others.I find myself wondering about the broader implications of this phenomenon. How does this kind of cultural consumption impact both the communities doing the consuming and those whose culture is being consumed? What does it mean when resistance to one form of marginalization happens through the appropriation of another marginalized group's culture?

Reading Habib's memoir really made me think deeply about how we all search for spaces where we can truly be ourselves. What struck me most was her experience at Unity Mosque - that powerful moment when she sees a trans woman giving the call to prayer. It's amazing how a single moment like that can show someone they belong, when they've spent so long feeling like an outsider. I find it inspiring how Habib turns her own struggles into something meaningful through her photography project. Instead of just accepting that queer Muslims weren't represented in media, she decided to create that representation herself. This shows how personal healing can become a way to help others too. Her relationships, especially with Alex and later with Shireen, reveal how we often need others to help us discover and accept ourselves.

The part about her traditional mosque experiences compared to Unity Mosque especially resonates because it shows how the same faith can be practiced so differently. It's not about rejecting religion entirely, but finding a way to practice it that honors your whole self. I appreciate how she captures the complexity of holding multiple identities without feeling the need to oversimplify or choose between them.The line that really stays with me is "We have always been here, it's just that the world wasn't ready for us yet". It makes me think about how many other stories and experiences might be hidden simply because society isn't ready to hear them.

Al-Saji's article really hits home in exposing how Western society has completely misunderstood and misrepresented the hijab. What frustrates me most in the reading is how they completely excluded Muslim women's voices from conversations about our own choices and practices. Like that French law in 2004 - they interviewed only two Muslim women before making huge decisions about our religious freedoms. How can you claim to "liberate" women while simultaneously silencing them?

What Al-Saji points out about Western feminism using the hijab as this "negative mirror" is so spot on. They've created this narrative where they get to be the "saviors" while completely ignoring our agency and the various personal, spiritual, and cultural meanings the hijab holds for us. The way she breaks down how this type of thinking actually reinforces both racism and sexism under the guise of "women's liberation" really exposes the hypocrisy.

The most powerful part of her argument is when she discusses how this Western view completely fails to understand that for many Muslim women, the hijab isn't a prison - it can actually be a means of creating identity and exercising agency. What's particularly frustrating is how this attitude affects our daily lives. When Western society frames the hijab solely as oppression, it makes it harder for us to be taken seriously in professional settings, to access education, or even to have basic conversations about our faith without being seen as victims or threats. They claim to want diversity, but only on their terms - only if we conform to their ideas of what liberation looks like.

Thobani's analysis of how Canadian multiculturalism policy constructs "difference" reveals something fascinating about how power operates through seemingly progressive policies. Drawing on Bannerji's work, she argues that rather than simply managing existing cultural differences, multiculturalism actively produced difference as the primary lens through which to view social relations.

What's particularly interesting is how this shift allowed Canada to maintain systems of inequality while presenting itself as tolerant and inclusive. Instead of explicit racism, the policy marked people as culturally different - a more palatable form of othering. This wasn't just semantics - it fundamentally shaped how people could understand themselves and organize politically.Think about how this played out practically: state funding went to cultural organizations rather than groups organizing around economic inequality. People became defined primarily by their "cultural difference" regardless of how long they'd been in Canada. Meanwhile, English and French culture remained the implicit norm against which this difference was measured.

The genius (or perhaps insidiousness) of this approach was how it seemed to celebrate diversity while actually constraining how difference could be understood and expressed. It's not that cultural recognition isn't important - but by making it the dominant framework, other axes of difference and inequality became harder to address.This relates to what scholars like Sara Ahmed have noted about how institutions can use diversity initiatives in ways that actually preserve rather than challenge existing power structures. The celebration of difference can become a way of managing and containing it.

The French dealt with Baldwin in a notably different way from how they treated Algerians in Paris, creating a deliberate distinction that revealed their colonial mindset. When they became uncomfortable with his skin colour or when he showed solidarity with Arabs, they would quickly point out that he was "different," saying "le noir Americain est très évolué" (p.4). This differential treatment wasn't actually a compliment - it was a tactical move to justify their treatment of Algerians. The French would praise Baldwin's "civilization" while insisting that Arabs "were not civilized" like him, revealing an interesting contradiction: if America, which the French considered unrefined, could produce someone they deemed "civilized," why couldn't the supposedly superior French civilization do the same with Algerians? Their response that "the Arabs did not wish to be civilized" exposed their colonial mentality (P.4). They used Baldwin's presence as a way to validate their prejudices, trying to create a wedge between different marginalized groups. However, this "compliment" of civilization was, as he notes, "delivered too late" - he saw through their attempts to use him as a prop in their colonial narrative (p. 4). Their treatment of him versus Algerians highlighted how colonial powers use racial hierarchies to maintain their dominance, praising some minorities selectively while continuing to oppress others.

This differential treatment also highlighted the French's inability to confront their own colonial violence and racism. They maintained they had "excellent relations with their natives" and cited hospitals and schools they built, yet Baldwin witnessed their brutal treatment of Algerians, like when police beat "an old, one-armed Arab peanut vendor senseless in the streets" while French café-goers watched with unconcerned faces (p. 3-5). This contrast between their claims of benevolent colonialism and the reality of their violent treatment of Algerians, together with their attempts to separate Baldwin from this violence by labeling him as "civilized," reveals how deeply rooted their colonial mindset was. They couldn't see their own contradictions or acknowledge their role in perpetuating a system of oppression, instead choosing to maintain their myths of civilizational superiority through selective praise and strategic violence.

The Canadian points system introduced in 1967 was not truly non-discriminatory, despite its claims. While it appeared fair by using criteria like education, work skills, and language ability to evaluate immigrants, it actually created hidden barriers for many people.The text clearly states that "the emphasis on skills and education continued to discriminate against applicants from the developing world" (Muhammedi, 2022, p.79 ). This means that even though the system didn't openly discriminate based on race or nationality like earlier policies, it made it harder for people from developing countries to immigrate to Canada in other ways.

A key example from the readings shows how immigrants from India and East Africa faced significant problems. Even when these immigrants were well-educated and experienced, Canada often didn't recognize their qualifications. Many had to work in jobs below their skill level because their education and work experience from their home countries weren't accepted. This situation demonstrates how the points system favored people with Western education and work experience.

The system was particularly biased because it emphasized factors that people from developing countries often had less access to, like Western-style education and professional credentials. As the text explains, this created indirect discrimination. Even though Canada had officially removed racist policies and introduced multiculturalism in 1971, the points system still made immigration easier for some groups and harder for others based on where they came from. This discrimination is further highlighted in the case of Ugandan Asian expellees. While Canada accepted them partly for humanitarian reasons, the government emphasized their potential economic contribution and ability to integrate into Canadian society. The text mentions that they were viewed as "the most desirable type of immigrants" because many were well-educated and had business experience (Muhammedi, 2022, p. 78 ). This shows how the system continued to prioritize Western standards and economic benefits.

Therefore, while the points system was better than previous openly discriminatory policies, it wasn't truly non-discriminatory. It just changed how discrimination worked in the immigration system, making it less obvious but still effective in limiting opportunities for many potential immigrants.

Gualtieri argues that for Syrian migrants to America, becoming "white" was a strategic and deliberate effort shaped by the racial, legal, and social structures of the time. At the time, American law restricted citizenship to "free white persons" or individuals of African descent, placing Syrians in a precarious position as immigrants of Middle Eastern origin. The critical George Dow case highlighted the community's legal battle for recognition. Dow, a Syrian immigrant, had his citizenship application denied twice because he was not considered white. In a final appeal in 1915, the court ruled in favor of Dow, establishing a legal precedent that classified Syrians as white and therefore eligible for naturalization. To make their case, Syrians emphasized their Caucasian ancestry, their Christian religious identity, and their cultural ties to ancient civilizations like the Phoenicians, presenting themselves as part of the European and Judeo-Christian lineage. This strategic alignment with whiteness allowed them to gain access to legal rights, and economic opportunities, distancing themselves from non-white groups and the systemic discrimination those groups faced.

However, the pursuit of whiteness came with significant contradictions and moral tensions. Although Syrians achieved legal recognition as white, they often continued to face societal discrimination due to their Middle Eastern appearance and cultural practices. This inconsistency created a gap between their legal status and their lived experiences of radicalization, leaving many to lead an ambiguous position in American society. Additionally, the alignment with whiteness often required complicity in the racial hierarchy of the United States, reinforcing anti-Blackness and exclusionary practices that disadvantaged marginalized groups. Younger generations of Syrians, born in America, often questioned the value of whiteness, recognizing its exclusivity and the sacrifices it demanded in terms of cultural heritage and solidarity with other racialized communities. Gualtieri’s analysis highlights that becoming white was not an automatic process but a negotiation, driven by both survival and aspiration, that demonstrated the enduring influence of race on immigrant experiences in America. This struggle shows how whiteness, as both a legal and social construct, shaped notions of identity, privilege, and belonging for Syrian immigrants and their descendants.

At the start of the 20th century, Canadian immigration policies were shaped by economic needs and racial and cultural priorities. The government aimed for immigrants who could populate rural areas, work in agriculture, or contribute to industrial growth. Immigrants from Western and Northern Europe were given preference, as they were considered racially and culturally compatible with Canada’s predominantly white and Christian identity. These groups were believed to assimilate easily into Canadian society, adopting its language, values, and customs.

Immigrants from the Mashreq, including Syrians, faced significant challenges. They were classified as "Asiatics" and subjected to exclusionary policies like the 1908 "Continuous Journey" rule, which required migrants to travel directly from their country of origin, and a financial requirement of $200 (later raised to $250). These restrictions, along with racial prejudice, severely limited their ability to immigrate. Despite their financial stability and strong community networks, Syrians were denied the privileges afforded to European immigrants. In response, they actively resisted through petitions, highlighting their shared Caucasian heritage and Christian values to argue for reclassification as "Europeans." These efforts were aimed at demonstrating their compatibility with Canada’s cultural ideals and their potential for assimilation and contribution to society. However, systemic racism and policies preferring European immigrants continued, reflecting a vision of Canada as a racially homogeneous nation.

This struggle for inclusion and identity reminds me of a concept discussed in one of my other course , where marginalized groups negotiate their identities to fit into dominant cultural norms. For example, Syrian immigrants’ efforts to highlight their shared cultural and racial traits to gain acceptance reflects the idea of how identity is shaped and constrained by external forces, like laws and societal perceptions. This is similar to what I learned about Canada’s assimilation policies for Indigenous peoples, where cultural conformity was enforced. While the contexts differ, both cases highlight how marginalized groups resist and adapt under systemic pressures. The resilience of these immigrant communities, fighting for inclusion despite significant barriers, illustrates a universal pattern of negotiating identity and belonging in a discriminatory system.

According to Arun Kundnani, the discourse around immigration in Britain evolved into a means of indirectly blaming British Asians, specifically Muslims for societal problems, even when these issues were unrelated to actual immigration status. This shift emerged prominently after events such as the 9/11 attacks and the 7/7 bombings in London, which intensified the perception that cultural differences, especially within Muslim communities, led to crime, extremism, and a supposed lack of integration into "British values." Kundnani explains that many British Asians were born in the UK, meaning they were not immigrants but second- or third-generation citizens. Despite this, political and media narratives increasingly associated them with foreignness, positioning them as perpetual outsiders. Integrationism, which encourages assimilation into British norms, served as a structure to address these communities as if they were still adapting to British life rather than fully British citizens. This view masked their legal and social status, turning cultural or religious differences into markers of "otherness" and targets of suspicion.

This narrative of blaming immigrants or associating British-born Asians with immigration issues was further driven by incidents, such as the riots in Northern England in 2001. Politicians and commentators argued that Asian communities were self-segregating, which created the perception of enclaves resistant to British values. As a result, political discourse began to shift from supporting multiculturalism to promoting community cohesion policies that implicitly targeted these communities for their perceived failure to integrate. Kundnani emphasizes that this shift allowed extensive societal concerns about cultural change and economic shifts to be directed at visible minorities, particularly Muslims, who were often described in racialized terms. British Asians, many of whom had long been part of British society, were lumped together with recent immigrants and held accountable for various social problems.

British Orientalism created a fascination with Eastern cultures but framed them as inferior and mystical, which impacted how Indian servants and lascars were represented and treated. This outlook positioned Indian workers as decorative assets rather than as equals or skilled professionals. Servants were often praised for their exotic looks, and their "loyalty" was seen as inherent rather than earned through fair treatment. British employers enjoyed showcasing Indian servants in distinct clothing to emphasize their own social status, treating these individuals more like symbols of wealth and power than people with agency or dignity. This view reduced servants and lascars to tools of British grandeur, ignoring their individuality and contributions.
For instance, Indian servants were often displayed to visitors or guests as exotic novelties, creating a narrative of submissiveness and dependence, which further justified keeping them in subordinate roles. The labor and hardships faced by lascars in the shipping industry were overlooked, as they were valued primarily for their low cost and reliability. Ultimately, British Orientalism promoted an image of these workers as perpetual outsiders, reinforcing a racial and cultural hierarchy that denied them social mobility or respect

In the post-World War II period, Black Islam, particularly through the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community, had a notable influence on jazz, shaping both the music and the spiritual identity of several African American musicians. The Ahmadiyya's international outlook, emphasis on universal brotherhood, and Pan-African ideals attracted many African American jazz musicians who were disillusioned with systemic racism in the United States. Jazz musicians, influenced by the Ahmadiyya’s call for racial equality, found in Islam a pathway for self-affirmation, solidarity with the global struggle of people of colour, and an alternative to the racial discrimination associated with Christianity in America. Many jazz artists embraced Islam as a spiritual foundation that resonated with their desire for self-determination and liberation. Musicians like Ahmed Abdul-Malik, Yusef Lateef, and Art Blakey embraced Islamic names, symbols, and teachings, blending these elements into their music. This spiritual transformation influenced not only their musical style but also helped create a unique Afro-Islamic identity within the jazz community. The jazz scene adopted a language of “coolness” infused with Islamic symbols and ideology, becoming a space of cultural and political resistance against racism.

This influence of Black Islam on jazz was also political. Jazz musicians aligned themselves with anti-colonial movements and racial equality causes, often inspired by Islamic leaders in Africa and Asia. Figures like Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser, who advocated for pan-African and pan-Islamic solidarity, further reinforced jazz musicians' sense of connection to a larger struggle against Western imperialism. This era saw jazz evolving not just as a musical genre but as a medium of Black consciousness and a way to build bridges across African, American, and Islamic identities.

In Elizabeth Buettner’s essay, the increasing British taste for so-called "Indian" food is explained through the concept of "boutique multiculturalism," where certain cultural elements (like food) are celebrated as part of Britain’s identity while other, more challenging aspects of diversity, such as the presence of ethnic minorities themselves are met with resistance. This popularity grew partly due to colonial nostalgia; British diners desired a taste of the empire through “Indian” food, which they viewed as exotic yet familiar. Robin Cook’s famous claim that chicken tikka masala had become a "true British national dish" symbolized how Indian cuisine was adapted to British tastes. The dish itself was modified with a creamy sauce to suit British palates, illustarting how cultural integration sometimes relies on reshaping rather than fully embracing the original.

This process also involved notions of masculinity and colonial nostalgia. Early Indian restaurants in Britain often catered to former colonial officers, who found comfort and even status in revisiting the food and cultural aesthetics of their colonial past. The restaurants offered a space for these men to perform a version of masculinity tied to their former roles as imperial administrators and “masters” of Indian servants, as they returned to what they saw as “authentic” colonial experiences in Indian eateries back in Britain. Buettner shows that this practice extended colonial attitudes, with diners consuming the “exotic” while maintaining a distance from the people behind it.

Through food, such British diners aspired for an experience of colonial dominance without engaging with the diversity and complexities of South Asian cultures, or the struggles of immigrant communities within Britain. This authenticity was selected and adapted, even as Bangladeshi and Pakistani restaurant owners modified dishes to British tastes, strategically marketing “Indian” food as an exotic yet comfortable option for white Britons. Thus, Buettner suggests that while food allowed for a certain cultural acceptance, it also highlighted the selective and superficial nature of multiculturalism in Britain, where cuisine could be embraced while deeper issues of integration and tolerance remained.

Indians on the east coast, particularly Bengali Muslim men, contracted marriages with African-American, Caribbean, and Latina women for a variety of social, economic, and legal reasons. One of the primary factors was the strict immigration laws that prevented the possibility of bringing wives or families from India to the U.S. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882and the Immigration Act of 1917 created significant legal barriers for South Asians, making it difficult for Indian men to bring over women from their homeland. Isolated from their communities, these men turned to the local populations for companionship and stability. In cities like New York, they often found shared understanding with African-American, Puerto Rican, and other Caribbean communities who shared experiences of racial marginalization and economic hardship.

Cultural and social closenesses also played a role in these unions. Harlem, where many Bengali Muslim men lived, was a multicultural neighborhood where African Americans, Puerto Ricans, and other immigrant communities coexisted. Living and working alongside these groups created opportunities for interaction, friendship, and eventually marriage. Many Bengali Muslim men married African-American, Caribbean, and Latina women because these communities, like them, were dealing with the challenges of discrimination and exclusion from the white society. These marriages, though born out of necessity, helped form unique multiracial communities that blended South Asian, African, and Caribbean cultures. By the 1930s, about one-third of the Indian men in Harlem had married within local communities of color, which helped them build familial ties and secure a sense of belonging in their neighborhoods (Bald, Ch. 5, p. 166).

I personally remember visiting a diverse neighbourhood, where many small businesses were run by couples from different ethnic backgrounds. The blend of cultures was evident not only in the food, clothing, and products they offered, but also in the way they interacted with each other and their customers. These communities, perhaps shaped by different histories and circumstances, continue to reflect how people from various cultural and racial backgrounds unite, building something new while maintaining strong connections to their heritage. It was inspiring to see how these families, like those in Harlem, manage the challenges of blending traditions, overcoming societal barriers, and creating unique spaces that celebrate their diversity.

Ghanea Bassiri argues that Orientalism was predominantly disadvantageous for enslaved African Muslims, as it reinforced both racial and religious biases that deepened their marginalization and exploitation. Orientalism portrayed Islam as a backward, exotic, and threatening religion, positioning enslaved Muslims not only as racially inferior Africans but also as part of a dangerous foreign culture. This double perception increased their vulnerability, as they were seen as both ethnically and religiously incompatible with European and Christian norms.

One significant disadvantage of Orientalism was how it radicalized enslaved Muslims in a unique way. While all enslaved Africans were subjected to radicalized treatment, Muslims faced an increased level of marginalization due to their Islamic identity. This identity made them appear more culturally distinct and, in the eyes of their enslavers, less assimilable into the dominant Christian society. Ghanea Bassiri points out that even though many enslaved Muslims were literate and adhered to a monotheistic faith, their refusal to abandon Islamic practices, such as daily prayer and fasting, was viewed as a form of defiance. This persistence in their faith only reinforced their portrayal as outsiders and further justified their harsh treatment.

Orientalism’s roots were not only cultural but also geopolitical and economic. European powers, such as Spain and Portugal, aimed to bypass Muslim-controlled trade routes and gain direct access to wealth from Africa and Asia. This centuries-long competition with Muslim empires, particularly the Ottoman and Mamluk Empires, increased negative perceptions of Islam that extended into the Americas. GhaneaBassiri explains that enslaved African Muslims were often viewed as remnants of these rival powers, further intensifying the justification for their enslavement. This geopolitical rivalry meant that enslaved Muslims were not just seen as labourers but as part of a broader Islamic threat, making them targets of both racial and religious prejudice.

Furthermore, even though some enslaved Muslims demonstrated literacy and intellectual depth through their knowledge of Arabic and Islamic texts, Orientalism distorted these attributes. Instead of being seen as signs of humanity or potential integration, their cultural and religious distinctions reinforced the idea that they were fundamentally different and dangerous. Ghanea Bassiri notes that this perception contributed to their isolation from both other enslaved populations and the broader society, as their education and religious practices set them apart. This cultural alienation, combined with their radicalization, increased the justification for their continued subjugation.

The legal cases of Jawala Singh/Julio Jubala and Don Sing highlight how patriarchal norms and racial biases were deeply rooted in early 20th-century American legal systems. These cases highlight the complexities of how patriarchal structures within Western and South Asian contexts intersected, sometimes working against one another, to determine the legitimacy of marriages and moral standing in court.

In the case of Jawala Singh/Julio Jubala , the core issue revolved around determining the legitimacy of two marriages : Jawala’s earlier "Hindu marriage" to Nami Singh in India, and his subsequent "Christian marriage" to "Soledad Garcia" in the United States. Soledad’s attorneys strategically used the argument that Hindu marriage, with its practices of child marriage and polygamy, was fundamentally at odds with American values of Christian monogamous marriage. They argued that Nami’s marriage to Jawala, which occurred when they were children, was "repugnant to the established public policy" of New Mexico (Shah, p. 124). This argument reflected larger societal beliefs that viewed non-Western cultural practices as inferior or deviant, reinforcing the idea that only Western norms of marriage were legitimate.

The court, swayed by these arguments, ruled in favor of Soledad despite the fact that there was overwhelming testimony supporting the legality of Nami’s marriage to Jawala under Indian law. Judge McGhee, in his 1934 ruling, acknowledged that "the testimony is overwhelming that the claimant, Nami Singh, was lawfully married to the deceased in India" (Shah, p. 123). However, the broader principle of monogamy, as framed within Christian moral frameworks, took precedence. The decision reflected the patriarchal and racial hierarchies of the time, as it discredited Nami’s legitimate claims in favor of a marriage that aligned with Western, Christian values. This demonstrates how patriarchal structures within the legal system worked to uphold the dominance of Western norms over other cultural traditions, positioning Christian marriage as morally superior while discrediting non-Western practices such as Hindu marriage.

In Don Sing’s case, P. L. Verma , serving as his defense attorney, took a different approach. Rather than dismissing Hindu marriage as deviant, Verma used it as a means to construct a defense based on "moral respectability". Don Sing had been accused of sodomy, and Verma argued that as a married man, Sing was unlikely to engage in such behavior. Verma emphasized that sodomy was "a great and unnatural sin among Hindoos" and that "married men do not like things like that" (Shah, p. 127). In this way, Verma used the concept of Hindu marriage to suggest that Sing’s status as a married man, who adhered to moral and religious norms, made him morally right and incapable of committing the crime.

Verma’s defense relied on the greater patriarchal idea that heterosexual marriage reflected respectability and moral standing on a man. By portraying Hindu marriage as a mechanism of sexual restraint and moral responsibility, Verma reinforced the patriarchal belief that marriage, in any cultural context, served to regulate and legitimize male behavior. This argument, in turn, helped to position Don Sing as a morally responsible individual whose marriage reflected his good character, contrasting him with the image of a deviant or criminal. Verma’s use of "expert knowledge" of Hindu morality ultimately played an important role in securing mercy for Don Sing, as it helped to challenge the radicalized suspicions placed on South Asian men at the time. Both cases highlight how "marriage" was used as a central legal and moral tool in determining whose relationships and behavior were considered legitimate or deviant.

Recently, the assassination of Iran’s military leader has sparked significant debate, particularly regarding Western justifications for the act. Many commentators in the West have framed the assassination as justified, not only for geopolitical reasons but also in the context of “protecting” Iranian women from oppressive policies. This rhetoric brings to mind the colonial narratives that Samia Khatun critiques in Australianama, where she discusses how colonial powers misrepresented non-Western societies to justify imperial control. For instance, Khatun references how British colonialists invented terms like "brideprice" to depict Muslim women as being bought and sold, reinforcing the idea that these societies were backward and in need of Western intervention.

In the case of Iran, there’s a similar narrative at play: the West often portrays itself as the savior of Muslim women, whether through sanctions, military intervention, or, in this case, assassination. This narrative suggests that by removing oppressive leaders, the West is somehow liberating the women of these nations. Khatun’s critique is relevant here when she says, “The cry to ‘save Muslim women’ comprised a key strategy to mobilize Western popular support for the US-led invasion of Afghanistan in 2001” (Khatun, p. 144). Just as the U.S. justified its invasion of Afghanistan under the guise of protecting women from the Taliban, we now see similar reasoning applied to the killing of Iran’s leader, suggesting that his removal will somehow benefit Iranian women.

This raises an important question: Can the assassination of a leader truly be justified as a means of liberating women, or is this just another instance of the West imposing its narrative of "rescue" on cultures it doesn’t fully understand? The idea that military action or assassination can advance women’s rights highlights the colonial mindset Khatun critiques, where interventions are framed as necessary to save oppressed women, without considering how such acts may actually harm them in the long run.

For example, Iranian women’s rights activists have expressed concerns that this assassination, along with increasing tensions between Iran and the West, might make life harder for them. Just as in Afghanistan, where the U.S. invasion led to years of instability, women in Iran might face greater repression as a reaction to Western intervention. So, are these acts really about helping women, or are they more about advancing geopolitical interests, with women’s rights being used as a convenient justification?

This brings us to the broader issue Khatun touches on: How do Western powers continue to justify violent interventions in the Global South by framing them as moral acts, particularly in the name of women’s rights? Are we repeating the colonial mistake of imposing Western values under the guise of "protection"?

while it’s easy for Western commentators to frame the assassination as a victory for women’s rights, Khatun’s work reminds us to be critical of these narratives. We need to question whether such actions actually empower women or whether they perpetuate the same colonial dynamics of imposing external solutions without truly understanding the cultural and political complexities at play.

When we think of iconoclasm, destroying religious images, we might imagine it as a straightforward rejection of faith. But Cook's account of Morisco iconoclasm forces us to think outside the box. This wants just about smashing saints and crucifixes; it was about something bigger: power, identity, and survival. By breaking religious images, the Moriscos weren't just rebelling against Catholicism, they were challenging the entire colonial system that sought to strip them of their heritage, their beliefs, and their autonomy.

What if the destruction of these icons was more than an act of defiance? what if it was a powerful way to reclaim space? In colonial Spanish America, religious imagery wasn't just about worship; it was about control. The church used these icons to fill the space in which people lived and treated with symbols of dominance. When icons were shattered, the space they occupied became open again, open to being filled with something else, something that belonged to the Moriscos and Indigenous peoples. It was more than a physical act, it was symbolic, a way of creating room for their own beliefs in a world that was trying to erase them.

This reveals a fascinating contradictions: while the church tried to enforce absolute authority through conversion, the persistence of iconoclasm showed that their power was never complete. The more they tried to force religious conformity, the more they created cracks in their own authority. Every destroyed icon was a reminder that Catholicism didn't own the hearts and minds of the people as completely as they wanted. In those cracks, Moriscos and Indigenous peoples found ways to reassert their cultural identities and resist colonial rule.

Iconoclasm wasn't just a religious rebellion, it was a cultural revolution. It wasn't about rejecting faith; it was about reimagining it. Think of it as a kind of spiritual recycling; taking the broken pieces of one stem and using them to build something new. Moriscos, even under intense pressure, found ways to blend their islamic beliefs with the Catholic practices forced upon them, creating a hybrid faith that resisted easy categorizations. This blending confused the colonizers, who were desperate for clear line between "us" and "them." but maybe that's the point, perhaps these acts of resistance were about showing that identity itself is fluid, adaptable, and resistant to control.

Now let's consider the church reaction. Their panic over iconoclasm wasn't just about preserving religious purity, it was about maintaining order in a colonial society built on control. Every destroyed icon was a challenge to the very foundation of their authority. The church knew that religious imagery was one of the strongest tools they had to enforce their rule. Without it, they feared the entire colonial project could unravel.

So, iconoclasm, in this context, becomes something more: it's a weapon of the powerless, a way for Moriscos and Indigenous peoples to chip away at the colonial machine, piece by piece. Cook's account invites us to think beyond the surface, iconoclasm isn't just destruction; it's creation. It's the act of building new spaces, new identities, a new form of resistance in a world that desperately tried to lock them out. In breaking the old, the colonizers were carving out room something radically different, something that the colonizers could never fully understand or control.

Islamophobia presents a serious challenge because it operates at the intersection of religion and race, making it difficult to address through traditional approaches to racism. One of the core issues is how Islamophobia targets people not just for their beliefs, but for visible cultural and religious markers, such as wearing a hijab, sporting a beard, or having a South Asian or Middle Eastern appearance. This blurring of religious and racial boundaries creates a dangerous environment where people are singled out based on their perceived identity, regardless of their actual religious affiliation.

For example, Kamal Arora’s account of anti-Sikh violence in the aftermath of the Wisconsin Gurdwara shooting demonstrates how Islamophobia extends beyond Muslims to anyone who looks "different" in the eyes of those holding xenophobic or racist views. This indicates that Islamophobia isn’t just about religious intolerance but also about enforcing rigid social boundaries that punish visible signs of difference. It shows that racism today is often rooted in cultural and religious perceptions, not just physical traits like skin colour. The treatment of Sikhs as targets of Islamophobia reveals how superficial and generalized these forms of hatred have become.

Another problemetic aspect of Islamophobia is how it is framed as a legitimate response to national security concerns. Since 9/11, the perception of Muslims has been deeply attached with fears of terrorism, resulting in policies and rhetoric that treat Muslim communities as inherently suspicious. As Junaid Rana points out, this radicalization of Muslims as dangerous “others” has roots in colonial histories and the labor migrations that fuelled them. Today, this radicalization operates through global narratives that link Muslims to terrorism and violence, further rooting Islamophobia as part of state policies and societal attitudes.

This systemic nature of Islamophobia makes it difficult to combat, especially when governments themselves contribute to these narratives through policies that disproportionately target Muslim communities. The resistance to Iqra Khalid’s Bill M-103 is a clear example of how deeply embedded these fears are. Critics of the bill claimed that it would censor free speech, but these criticisms reflect an unwillingness to acknowledge how Islamophobia functions as a form of racism. The underlying issue isn’t whether people can critique Islam as a religion but whether society is willing to confront the way that Muslims, and those who are racialized as Muslim, are systematically marginalized and discriminated against.

What becomes clear is that Islamophobia is a structural problem that surpress individual prejudice. It is embedded in legal systems, media representations, and public perceptions, all of which contribute to a climate of fear and hostility towards Muslims and other radicalized groups. Addressing Islamophobia means recognizing that it is not simply a matter of religious intolerance but a broader system of exclusion that affects anyone who is perceived as "other" based on cultural or religious markers. The challenge is how to dismantle these structures when they are so deeply rooted in societal institutions.

One of the key issues that stands out in these readings is how exclusion operates not just through obvious structures like borders or laws, but also through emotional and social expectations, particularly for migrants and marginalized groups. Sara Ahmed's discussion of "melancholic migrants" offers an important look at how national identity is often built around an idea of happiness that implicitly excludes those who don't conform to this version of social sameness. Ahmed highlights how migrants are often seen as disrupting this ideal, especially when they hold onto their cultural roots. But what Sara Ahmed doesn't fully explore is how the demand for emotional conformity, such a the expectations to be "happy" and assimilate, affect younger generations of migrants. In my own experience as someone who migrated during adolescence, this pressure to fit into a society while maintaining your own cultural identity can create a sense of emotional conflict. It's not just about being excluded from institutions but also feeling emotionally distanced from both the society you are in and your own cultural roots. There's a constant feeling of not being in either context.

Nisha Eswarans's analysis in "Mississipi Masala" further expands on how this emotional burden builds within diasporic communities themselves. The anti-Black racism within the Indian community depicted in the film is a result of both colonial trauma and an attempt to align with white supremacy, but what stands out to me is how this also represents an internal emotional fracture. The community's racism is tied to their need to protect a fragile sense of identity that has been shaped by displacement and exclusion. This protectionism doesn't just come from prejudice but from a fear of further fragmentation. Nitin Sawhney's audio "Nostalgia" adds an important aspect to this theme. The audio brings out a sense of longing and loss, not just for a homeland but for a coherent sense of self. The emotional landscape of the song resonates with the idea of the melancholic migrant Sarah Ahmed discusses, it captures the in between space of belonging to two places and yet feeling at home in neither. Listening to "Nostalgia", I was reminded of how, as a migrant, you often long for a past that doesn't fully exist anymore and simultaneously feel alienated in the present. This is something both Ahmed and Eswaran touch on, but the emotional depth of this longing and its impact on identity construction deserves more attention.

The theme that connects all of these works is the emotional complexity of belonging for migrants and marginalized communities. It's not just about external structures of exclusion but the internal emotional conflicts that come with trying to hold onto one's identity while navigating a world that constantly tries to redefine them. Today, society claims to value diversity, but there is still an unspoken demand that this diversity should be framed within limits of what is comfortable and recognizable to the dominant culture.

One of the keys issues that ties these readings together is how society places label on people and forces them into boxes that don't reflect their full identity. Whether it's queernees, race, or religion, we see that dominant systems of power create narrow definitions of who people are supposed to be. These readings push back against that idea, showing that identity is much more complicated and that people who don't fit in those boxes have to find ways to navigate and resist them. For example, José Esteban Muñoz idea of "misidentification" really captures this issue. Misidentification is about not fully rejecting or fully accepting the labels society gives you but finding your own way to exist between them. It's a form of resistence that allows people to survive within a system that doesn't recognize them. I find this concept important because it acknowledges that marginalized people can't always just "opt out" of the systems of oppression around them. Instead, they have to figure out how to work within those systems while still holding on to their own sense of self.

This ties into what E.Patrick Johnson talks about with the term "queer". He points out that "queer" can sometimes feel too general, flattening the experience of people who are both Black and queer. He introduces the term "quare" to better reflect the specific struggles of Black queer people. I agree with Johnson's critique because the mainstream LGBTQ+ movement has often centred whiteness, leaving out the particular issues faced by queer people of colour. For people who face both racism and homophobia, a single term like "queer" doesn't always capture their lived reality. I think Johnson is right to call for more specific language, because without it, we risk erasing the experience of people who live at the intersection of multiple forms of oppression.

Then we have the issues of the veil, which is discussed by both Jasmin Zine and Homa Hoofer. Zine talks about how veiled Muslim woman is seen as a threat to national identity in places like Quebec. This is because she doesn't fit the idea of what it means to 'belong" in a secular, Western country. The state claims to be neutral, but policies like banning the veil show that certain identities are still seen as a problem. I think this is a clear example of how state power is used to control marginalized people, especially women of colour. The veil becomes a symbol that the state wants to regulate, claiming it's about "liberating" Muslim women, when in reality, it's about restricting their freedom to choose how they express their faith. Hoofer builds on this by talking about how veil is misunderstood in Western society. Many people see it as a sign of oppression, without ever considering that for some women, it's a choice and a form of residence. This really resonates with me because it shows how deeply ingrained stereotypes are. people often don't take the time to listen to what muslim women actually say about their own lives and choice. Instead they project their own fears or assumptions onto the veil. Hoodfar's work highlights the need for us to move beyond these simplistic views and actually engage with the complexities of identity.

All these readings make the same basic point: identity is never just one thing. People, especially those from marganalized groups, are constantly negotiating their place in a society that tries to simplify and control them. Whether, it's queerness, blackness, or being a veil Muslims woman, these authors show that identities are layered and require a deeper understanding. What strikes me is how much this applies to the world today. We see these same issues playing out in politics, media, and everyday life. The push to force people into boxes, whether it's through laws, languages, or cultural expectations continues, but so does the resistance against it.