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I was exempted from 4 posts due to the gencocide in Palestine. This is the 4th out of the 4 I am using.

I was exempted from 4 posts due to the gencocide in Palestine. This is the 3rd out of the 4 I am using.

I was exempted from 4 posts due to the gencocide in Palestine. This is the 2nd out of the 4 I am using.

I was exempted from 4 posts due to the gencocide in Palestine. This is the first out of the four I am using.

Requesting an exemption from this post as I was still catching up on all my classes after falling behind due to illness.

this was submitted late because I was still catching up after being sick for a week.

I was ill (see absence form).

I was ill (see absence form).

I submitted a discussion post for our last class "We Have Always Been Here".

The non-binary person interviewed on the BBC discusses the weight of representation. They talk of manifold expectations: the expectations that are not met regarding how queer people present/are in opposition to expected normative ways of being and presenting; but also of the heavy burden of being expected to always have the patience, willingness and openness to educate others on the meanings of their queerness. Regarding the first expectation, they note that queer people have always existed and have always attempted to articulate their queerness in some way or other, which is an important remark. As for the second expectation, it seems to be an issue that affects any person that stands out, is different from the majority. This goes not only for queerness but also, though perhaps manifested in different ways, for ethnicity, culture, religion. The issue of intersectionality also comes up in the interview: the latter expectation in such cases becomes thus multiplied.

I really enjoyed reading the excerpts from both Habib’s and Abdulkarim’s memoirs, not least for their artistic quality. Habib explores the same problematics as the person interviewed by the BBC (didn’t catch their name), regarding the lack of representation and acceptance of, as well as community for, queer racialised muslims - but also their erasure even from existence in the popular imgaination of Muslims. The figure of Shireen - the skaterhijabi Iranian Muslim, wearing and short skirts and showing off hairy legs - becomes one representation of such intersectionality that most if not all queers likely do not have around when growing up. It really does seem that Shireen courageously and unapologetically “made a mission out of proving there was no one way to be Muslim” (Habib, 160). It’s really interesting the way Habib choses to look at the relationship that develops with Shireen, not simply in terms of age difference, but more specifically of providing queer nurturing and care to younger queers such as Shireen while also seeing one’s younger self in young queers. Habib discusses also the experiences of feeling shunned from Islam by their own family and broader Muslim community and the pain and longterm consequences on them. Habib also discusses feeling like “an outsider within the LGBTQ community” and in fact feeling even more invisble, isolated and marginalised (166). However Habib’s recounting of their experience of the queer Unity Mosque is a life-changing moment for them, enabling them to reconnect to their faith in a very liberating, boundless, and deeply personal/individual way, without judgement. What ultimately stands out of Habib’s text is the lessons they learned in their journey of queerness, perhaps always in process like most journeys, and the importance of finding your people, creating your community.

Abdulkarim’s memoir is much bleaker (explicitly at least) than the previous works discussed, due to complex webs of family relations and places in a story marked by manifold abuses enacted on the author himself as well as on and by fellow family members among others. To keep this last discussion post short (-ish), I won’t go into this text, also because I didn’t quite follow with all the unknown characters and various family relations.

In “The Turban is not a Hat”, Puar engages in a phenomenological approach. Puar notes how the turbaned Sikh is perceived in a multitude of conflicting ways as hypermasculine, effeminate, or potentially emasculated. These conflicting perceptions of the turbaned body disrupt conventional understandings of gender and sexuality, thereby potentially aligning it with queerness. At the same time however, the turbaned body, both hypermasculine and potentially emasculated, is seen as both "too perverse to rehabilitate" and "too perverse to be read as queer" (perhaps something to discuss further in class because I am not sure I have understood completely what is implied here). These are the limits of "Respectable Queerness" discussed by Puar and which queer of color people must contend with simply because they aren’t white, these are the challenges of claiming a queer identity that does not conform to (mainly white settler queer) dominant norms. The conflation of the turbaned man with the terrorist and the "fag” furthermore reveals the deeply ingrained association of difference with deviance and danger. The turbaned man, by virtue of his visible racial and religious/cultural difference, is assimilated into this assemblage, becoming a target of violence and discrimination.

Exploring the role of pre-perceptive affective responses/visceral sensibilities (Massumi and Saldanha) in relation to racism, Puar builds on the ideas of contagion and stickiness. The turban is the “sticky” signifier which readily attracts fear and prejudice, being visually distinctive, amalgamated with Islam in the Western imagination, and associated with broader anxieties surrounding terrorism and immigration. She uses the idea of contagion to describe how fear and prejudice, particularly in the context of the "war on terror", spread and attach themselves to certain bodies and populations. Contagion operates beyond the realm of visual representation and rational understanding, working instead through the affective realm of feelings, sensations, and visceral responses. Building on the work of Sara Ahmed among others, Puar argues that fear itself is the primary agent of contagion. Fear, rather than residing in a specific body, circulates between bodies, attaching itself to certain individuals and groups based on perceived resemblances and associations. The fear of the turbaned body, for instance, is not necessarily rooted in any inherent characteristic of the turban itself but rather in the anxieties it evokes/triggers in the observer. This fear then spreads to other bodies deemed similar, creating a pool of suspect figures. While acknowledging the role of visual representation in racial profiling, Puar emphasizes the importance of affect and tactility in understanding how contagion operates. The visceral responses triggered by the sight of a turban, such as fear, disgust, or anxiety, contribute to the perception of the turbaned body as a threat. This goes beyond simply mistaking a Sikh for a Muslim; it's about the affective response the turban elicits. The act of "de-turbaning" highlights this: it's not just about visually verifying identity, it's about asserting control over the body and its perceived threat. Puar also critiques the limitations of relying solely on signification and knowledge-based approaches in addressing the problem of racial profiling. Even if people were educated on the differences between Sikhs and Muslims, the underlying “affective economies” of fear and prejudice persist, and the hypothesis of mistaken identity is based on false and even dangerous premises: “that the viewer (assumed to be white despite the proliferation of these attacks by people of color) is open to and willing to discern the visual differences between Sikh turbans and Muslim turbans; that the ideals of multiculturalism as promulgated by liberal education acknowledge that differences within difference matter; that violent backlash toward Sikhs is a displacement of hostility from the rightful object, the ‘‘real’’ Muslims” (167).

Reading Gada Mahrouse’s ‘Reasonable accommodation’ in Québec, I was reminded of the Peel Comission in Mandate Palestine which was meant to investigate the causes of the ‘disturbances’ (one of too many). Both the Palestinians during the Peel Commission (1937) and immigrants/minorities/Muslims during the Bouchard-Taylor Commission (2007-8) found themselves in double-bind situations regarding their participation. Though there are major differences (Palestinians being the natives, not the newcomers), in both cases, both groups of discriminated-against-peoples, the very structure of the commissions perpetuates existing power imbalances of a colonial , white supremacist, racist nature, and the onus is placed on the marginalized groups to defend themselves and assuage the anxieties of the ‘dominant’ group. Though to a limited extent both commissions may not have been entirely in bad faith, nevertheless they were inherently, intentionally and/or unintentionally, biased in favor of those who had control, geared towards their benefits and the perpetuation and expansion of their control over the marginalised. In both cases, it seems the commissions only worsened the conditions of the marginalised, failing to adress the material realities of marginalization to instead portray the favored population as open to dialogue and reconciliation when it is in fact all lipservice. In both cases, religion has at once everything and nothing to do with the matters at hand, when one considers the settler colonial and imperial origins of Quebec, Canada, Israel, the UK.

The emphasis on dialogue as a solution, as seen in the Bouchard-Taylor Commission's slogan "dialogue making a difference," is critiqued in Mahrouse’s text, and Bilge similarly argues that the focus on individual attitudes and cultural differences, facilitated by the "sexularism" discourse, obscures the structural and material factors that contribute to marginalization and exclusion. In reality, all these commissions are ultimately performative exercises that benefit the dominant group. The Bouchard-Taylor Commission's basically placed French-Canadian Quebecers in a position of judging the acceptability of minority practices, while immigrants and minorities were repeatedly expected to assuage majority anxieties. This echoes the dynamic present in the testimonies of the Arab Higher Committee to the Peel Commission, where the commissioners' dismissive and condescending attitude toward Palestinian witnesses effectively silenced their arguments and reinforced British authority.

Coined by Bilge, sexularism is rooted in a teleological view of history, where secularisation is seen as the inevitable path to achieving gender and sexual equality, and religion, in particular Islam, is cast as inherently oppressive and backwards. The "sexularist" discourse discussed by Bilge provides those advocating for stricter immigration and integration policies with a seemingly legitimate basis for enacting discriminatory policies and practices (such as opposing accommodations for Muslim religious practices), in the name of defending women's rights, gender equality etc. Quebec's past struggles with religious authority and its status as a "belatedly modernised minority nation" thus become the justification for the exclusion of and control over Muslim immigrants as a threat to the very survival of the Québécois society.
The hypocrisy of these discourses is striking: keeping the crucifix, an ‘ostentatious’ symbol, behind the Quebec National Assembly’s speaker chair but claiming to be secular when this secualrism is clearly selective and racially, ethnically biased towards non-white non-Christians (Muslims, Sikhs, etc.); or hiding behind a sexularist discourse that frames the West as being the land of the free when in fact queerphobia is rampant…

In I’ll Be The King, Neelam pushes back against Western social norms regarding women and dating, thereby asserting her Muslim identity and demanding it be respected. While refusing to conform to Western notions of femininity and more generally rejecting the male gaze and control, she empowers herself and fellow Muslims to remain true to Islamic values and traditions of courtship (“No we can’t date baby we can court,
Yes I am the judge yes you are in court”) and more generally of codes of conduct between men and women (“I’ll be the king… I am a queen”).

Thobani writes that “multiculturalism constructs communities as neatly bounded, separate cultural entities, unchanged by the process of migration and dislocation” (149). However, the very condition of the migrant is to be changed forever, never again fully belonging to the place of origin nor that of destination. Nimo and Swap address these hardships in their song “Blood Brothers.” Nimo goes to America for better opportunities because “there’s nothing here in India” and he doesn’t “want to remain poor.” The song explores the emotions and expectations surrounding migration, Nimo’s relationship with his homeland, and leaving behind family. Even before leaving India, Nimo is already accused of not remembering his religion, as in ‘what are you going to America for?’ The song ends with Nimo wanting to spare Swap all the hardships endured just to ‘make it’ in America, discouraging him from coming too.
Very similar themes are addressed in Amarasingam et al.’s piece, which finds that Canadian multiculturalist policy is a double-edged sword. While some say it enables them to maintain their cultural identity while feeling accepted, others say it leads to the formation of ‘racialized cliques’ and fails to address racism. Among interviewees, there is a sense that ‘cultural expression’ should be “quiet,” and alarmingly, they feel the acceptance multiculturalism affords is conditional on good behavior, leading to self-imposed policing to represent a model minority. This shows the limits of the freedom and acceptance multiculturalism claims to offer.

Thobani explains that multiculturalist policies are a response to an international legitimacy crisis dating back to the 1960s, which put the very notion of white supremacy under attack.
In Canada, this crisis was “sparked by the increasing demands of francophones in Quebec; the continuing struggles of Aboriginal peoples for self-determination; the class and gender-based political movements of the period; and the increasing demands of people of colour for full citizenship.” In Quebec in particular, this led to a different ‘brand’ of multiculturalism which placed French at the fore: ‘interculturalism.’ Canada’s multiculturalist policies attempt to mask a weak sense of national identity, and “in the absence of a strong sense of what Canadian national identity and citizenship mean, people consolidate their social relations along ethnonational lines” (Amarasingam et al., 133).

Having lived in Canada for the better part of my life, I still cannot say I have ever found an answer to what it means to be Canadian other than being a migrant among migrants in ‘a nation of migrants’ as Amarasingam et al. put it. One never really integrates into ‘Canadian society,’ which is rather a vast expanse of territory made up of micro-ethno-societies. But then the very idea of a homogenous sense of national identity is problematic, in that it is about as natural and real as the borders that have made up any nation-state throughout history. To this day, history classes in French schools often perpetuate the patriotic myth of a widespread French resistance, presenting Nazism as almost exclusively limited to Germany and Germans, with the exception of a ‘few French collaborators here and there.’ The case of France illustrates the need of western states to distance themselves the scientistic theories about race and biology associated with Nazism, going even so far as to deny any responsibility. Multiculturalist policies for western nation-states were a way of doing just this, in addition to distancing themselves from the American ‘melting-pot’ (particularly for Canada). This scapegoating of a ‘traditional’ overtly racist minority to carry the burden of the horrors of Nazism and its likes enables the new multicultural-tolerating majority to see itself as progressive and actually representative of the nation. This is how we end up with the world we live in today: western nation-states that pretend to be tolerant of and open to other cultures when in fact the only reason they are (to an already limited extent) is for their own benefit and profit. In some ways, I would say this insidious masquerade is much more dangerous and terrifying than overt racism and misogyny, because it requires the ‘other’s constant vigilance in distinguishing who can be trusted. (this sounds like a conspiracy theory, sorry)

sorry this is so long!!!

Reading about Kambiz being identified by white people as black in Maghbouleh’s text, I thought of South-African comedian Trevor Noah (former host of The Daily Show), who recounts being told by an American in South-Africa that if he were in the US, he would be considered black. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXje3oJ8T8o (the video in question). Interestingly, Noah also talks about how mixed people (like himself) only become black after becoming successful and jokes about himself practicing being black on his 18 hour flight to the US – which is of course further related to the scope of Maghbouleh’s text because race is manipulated by others or the concerned people themselves depending on context and convenience/interests, just as in the case of Iranian Americans who are inconsistently raced.
All three texts (on Iranian-Americans), in different ways, touch upon navigating multiple identities. Maghbouleh focuses on the tension of being legally white but socially perceived as non-white (and vice-versa), while Namazie explores the fluidity of identity for those who identify as queer and trans within the Iranian diaspora. As for Jadali, they delve into the complexities of identifying as both Iranian and Muslim, particularly when facing both Islamophobia and “non-Islamiosity”. Both Jadali and Namazie’s texts challenge simplistic categorizations of identity by highlighting the multiplicity, fluidity and adaptability of identity, faith, and cultural heritage within the Iranian American diaspora.
Jadali's interviewees, second-generation queer and trans Iranian Americans, often identify as “not really Muslim”, largely due to their parents’ "non-Islamiosity", which itself stems in part from negative experiences associated with the Iranian Revolution and the Hostage Crisis. The interviewees also grew up hearing anti-Islam commentary from family members framing Islam as the reason for Iran's perceived backwardness and oppression. Their consequent perceptions of Islam as a rigid religion requiring strict adherence to sets of rules and rituals – an understanding reinforced by the dominance of "modern political Islam" emphasising orthodoxy and prescriptive practices – leads them to reject Islam. They hesitate to call themselves Muslims as they do not consistently practice all Islamic rituals. However, their self-identification adapts and shifts depending on context, asserting themselves as Muslim when faced with white/Christian bodies, but hesitating to do so around visibly practicing (“actual”) Muslims. Jadali shows that individuals can simultaneously embrace and reject aspects of Islam, engaging in selective practices and holding seemingly contradictory beliefs, underscoring the individualised nature of faith and the inadequacy of imposing singular definitions upon it. Social and political contexts significantly influence how individuals define and experience their faith. This is particularly evident in the shifts in identification observed before and after Trump's Muslim Ban, which served as a turning point for many of Jadali's interviewees, prompting a shift in their understanding of and identification with Islam. It concretized their "Muslimness" in the eyes of the state, regardless of their personal beliefs or practices. Many interviewees and their families also faced direct consequences of the ban, such as travel restrictions and difficulties in bringing family members to the US. The ban therefore overall strengthened the interviewees’ sense of legitimacy to their Muslim identity and pushed them to defend Islam more actively, viewing it as a defense of their family and cultural heritage. This allowed them to overcome some of the guilt they previously felt in claiming it and effectively solidified their connection to Islam, even if they didn't fully embrace all its tenets.
I too have often feared that I am coopting something that is not mine to claim, though more in terms of my “Arabness” than my Muslimness. In the same way that they would claim themselves “not really Muslim”, but something like Muslim-adjacent, I would then feel not “really” Arab, rather Arab-adjacent, and even less so Muslim. I too grew up in a “non-islamious” environment, though perhaps to a further extent even then Jadali’s interviewees, because this “non-Islamiosity” dates back to my grandparents who were the first generation to openly claim whatever semblance of ‘atheism’ in the 1960s-70s Middle East. I am also half-white and grew up in multiple overlapping diasporic contexts, which created even more distance from both my “Muslimness” and my “Arabness”. There is for me a complete disconnect from Islam, yet it has also always been familiar and of course is inextricably linked to the ethnic-cultural identity which I am also struggling to claim for myself. Only since entering university did I begin openly self-identifying as Arab or Lebanese Palestinian, asserting that very identity of mine that was under attack and most needed defending, even to fellow Arabs and Muslims, despite feelings of impostor syndrome. This is interesting because when I first moved to Canada from Germany in 2012 and had to integrate the French (not Quebecois!) school system, my main frames of reference were Germanness and Berlin, and although I could not help but be as German as I was, I was the only German at the school, therefore I worked very hard at becoming a chameleon so as not to be othered. But upon starting McGill, for the first time I saw others who shared some sense or other of my non-whiteness and did not and/or could not hide it (in contrast for instance to the laïque French school’s which prohibits showing any ostentatious symbols).
In the beginning of Maghbouleh’s text, it is mentioned Leyla does not self-identify as white but is perceived as such by whites and fellow Iranians alike. I can definitely relate to this, not growing up around many other Middle Easterners like me, looking different from my visibly Middle Eastern grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins, and getting ambiguous looks by fellow Arabs/Muslims who seem to think I’m white. In such or similar conditions, you start believing you’re white, especially the more disconnected you are from home (in whatever sense it is understood).
But Namazie displaces vatan as a physical place of origin and belonging, suggesting instead that home is a state of being, a conscious choice and orientation towards the world: a “presence”. They reject the notion of passively inheriting a homeland and instead present it as a continuous process of negotiation and resistance. This redefinition of homeland as a layered entity continuously shaped by personal experiences, historical events, and ongoing struggles is of great comfort. It is soothing for displaced, exiled, and/or diasporic peoples because it returns to us the legitimacy to claim and negotiate our cultural heritage as our own rather than a fixed monolith of authenticity belonging only to those who never left the geographical homeland. The same is true for queers as we discussed on Monday, giving them back their claim to home that isn’t fixed in some past.

I’m requesting to pass on this post because I attended the Islamic Studies' Institute's graduate talk (Nov 8).

I’m requesting to pass on this post because I attended Francesca Albanese's conference.

I’m requesting to pass on this post because I attended Ussama Makdasi's conference (Overwriting Palestine).

I’m requesting to pass on this post because I attended the Jasmin Zine conference.

I’m requesting to pass on this post because I wrote a pre-add/drop post for the class on September 9.