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I am requesting a pass from this post as Prof Khan approved an exemption for me. Thank you so much

I am requesting a pass from this post as I attended the War on Terror talk. Thank you

I am requesting a pass as I completed the Race and Class discussion post pre add/drop. Thank you

After having attended the incredibly heartwarming and eye opening talk given by the Saathis this past Thursday, this class couldn’t have come at a more perfect time (or maybe it was in fact very cleverly planned by Prof Khan). The Saathis so generously and openly spoke about their experiences as racialised queer folks living in Montréal in the 90s, and as a racialised queer person myself, now living in Montréal too, it is safe to say that they left their mark on me in the best way possible.

In her work, Puar explores how Sikh and Muslim men, who are often conflated in Western imaginations, especially after 9/11, are marked by “queer” perversity in the sense of being positioned as outsiders to normative citizenship. According to Puar, “the turbaned Sikh victim and the related figure of the Muslim terrorist, both of whom are seen as conservatively heteronormative and anti-queer, yet in the perverse sexualities ascribed to them are almost too queer to rehabilitate” (170). In relation to this, she coined the term “homonationalism”, which serves as a concept that describes the alignment of LGBTQ identities with nationalist projects, such that queer subjects gain acceptance or legitimacy within the nation-state by supporting and reproducing its hegemonic ideologies.

Particularly for gay American Desis after 9/11, “homonationalism” revealed a complex interplay of race, sexuality, and nationalism whereby the intersectionality of their racial and sexual identities meant that they were often left behind by “mainstream queer anti-violence organizations, such as the New York Anti-Violence Project”, who failed to see the “relationship between queer bashing and what were narrowly defined as racist hate crimes” (168, Puar). The frameworks of “homonationalism” acted as a way for them to achieve conditional inclusion within American society as an attempt at distancing themselves from the stereotypically “perverse” or “backwards” representations of Muslim and Sikh communities. By doing this, South Asian queer diasporic subjects were able to align with the dominant narratives of US queer exceptionalism, by producing themselves “not necessarily as heteronormative but as homonormative” (Puar, 169).

However, this “homonational” inclusion came at a cost; the framework of “homonationalism” reinforced stereotypes about Muslim and Sikh bodies, framing them as inherently perverse and unassimilable. By participating in these dynamics, queer South Asians inadvertently upheld the racialised and sexualised othering of their own communities. Puar argues that “this queer exceptionalism may mimic forms of (U.S.) model minority exceptionalism”, so much so that “many activists and community members from SALGA in New York have voiced sentiments” in relation to “a rehashing of intersectionality as a viable framework” (173). This made me think of Priya’s presentation on Thursday afternoon at Concordia - the Saathis collective was a way for her to be able to explore and celebrate the intersectionality of her racial and sexual identities, which she had never previously had the space to be able to do. This speaks of the complexity of navigating homonationalism or queer exceptionalism for South Asian queer folks after 9/11. Although this was not the context Priya was sharing her experience in, it is worth noting the links that can be drawn between the two; the concept of “homonationalism”, according to Puar, upheld and reinforced these negative stereotypes attributed to Muslim and Sikh communities, however the Saathis did the opposite, with the creation of such an incredible, loving queer South Asian group, they were able to support and unapologetically celebrate this intersectionality despite the high political tensions, especially in relation to racialised groups, at the time.

(Please keep in mind that the South Asian queer experience in the US after 9/11 compared with in Montreal in the 1990s after the Québec referendum presents very different political and social climates. This is not a criticism of the decision of South Asian queer folk to adopt “homonationalism” as a means of inclusion and survival. All love and respect <3.)

Mahrouse explores the dynamic between Québec, which sees itself as a minority in the larger context of North America due to its Francophone identity, and immigrant populations/minority communities within the province . These complicated dynamics of inclusion and exclusion are perpetuated by the idea of French-Canadian Quebecers who believe that “as a minority culture under siege in Canada as a whole, they simply could not afford to be too tolerant, lest they be swallowed up by Anglophones and immigrants.” (Mahrouse, 91). This tension is evident and is further perpetuated by the interculturalism model which Québec adopted in contrast to Canada's multiculturalism. While promoting some level of cultural diversity, interculturalism prioritises the preservation of Québec’s French-language culture, with Mahrouse also suggesting that this mindset allows for French-Canadian Quebecers to act “as the judges of what was tolerable and what was not” (89). Put simply, if the majority in Québec (who view themselves as the minority so therefore the victim) deem certain immigrant cultures or practices to be a direct threat to their identity, these immigrants must become more assimilated and in line with what Québec society sees as acceptable. It is unsurprising then that Québec has opted to adopt policies that subtly favour cultural assimilation.

An interesting argument that Mahrouse brings up in relation to Québec nationalism, whereby their fight for recognition and self-identity, and supposed fear of the threat to their culture is in direct “conflict with the nationalism of the First Nations” (88). In other words, the “recognition of Aboriginal claims would undermine the very foundations upon which the province has sought to build its special stats within Canada” (Mahrouse, 88). That is to say that Québec sees themselves as a society with a distinct, minority culture that is actively at risk, but I believe that this is frankly just representative of their victimhood within Canada. This is supported by the Bouchard-Taylor Commission (2007-08) which concludes that the belief that “Québec identity is under threat was mistaken and that ‘collective life in Québec is not in a critical situation’” (Mahrouse, 88).

This dual status as supposed minority and simultaneous majority fosters a polarised narrative: immigrants and minorities are expected to demonstrate loyalty to Québec’s values, while the majority retains the power to define and enforce these values. In an article by the Montreal Gazette about the Bouchard-Taylor Commission, this narrative is clearly supported as “the Commission was ‘a good-faith effort’ in which minority groups were being called upon to ‘defuse the angst’ of the majority.” (Mahrouse, 89).

A similar idea of the exclusion of the “other” is explored by Bilge through the notion of sexual nationalism, which refers to the use of gender equality and sexual freedoms as markers of national identity, often to exclude minorities, particularly Muslims, by portraying them as threats to these values. This dynamic, evident during Québec’s reasonable accommodation debates, frames secularism as essential to gender and sexual emancipation, while constructing “religious others” as “assigned to pre-modern temporality”, with Muslim men, “whose accommodation becomes doubly interable for jeopardising women’s hard-won gains and recalling Québec’s traumatic past with religion”, being seen as patriarchal and Muslim women as victims needing liberation (Bilge, 310).

MC Solaar’s absolute tune Lève-toi et rap speaks not only of his life growing up as a West African immigrant in Paris, but also paints a picture of the racism and violence that shapes the lives of many in the city. Through his genius rap lyrics, the song is able to highlight discriminatory attitudes and systemic oppression, hinting at the daily challenges faced by those targeted by racism. The line “dans les quartiers où la hain règne” captures the tense and hostile atmosphere in marginalised urban areas, where violence often stems from social and economic exclusion, usually causing many to resort to joining gangs, to which MC Solaar rejects the idea; “tes ouf ou wak”. The lyrics also highlight the pervasive nature of police brutality, such as the line “on est coupable avant d’être jugé”, which underscores the unjust racial profiling black men often fall victim to, reflecting systemic issues within law and enforcement and the judicial system.

Additionally, the title of the song itself is a sort of call to action, rallying people to resist violence and injustice through non-violent means such as art and expression. It is clear that this was a common theme throughout his life, with his mother who “sait que le savoir sera mon seul allié”, meaning that in this environment where violence and injustice is very prominent, his only “ally”, or means of survival, would be his education and culture. The lines “On m'en voulait parce que j'avais ce qu'ils voulaient / Un style qui m'était propre et le verbe au plus-que-parfait” stood out to me as MC Solaar uses a grammatical play on words as a way of asserting his linguistic superiority and talent in rapping. People are jealous of his abilities and would not peg him, as a black West African immigrant, as someone who could maîtrise le français to such an extent that he has more success in the industry than them.

Baldwin also speaks of police violence towards Algerians in the first chapter of this book No Name in the Street, in relation to colonial nostalgia as a root cause of hateful attitudes towards Algerians by the French. In this chapter, Baldwin characterises French attitudes towards Algerians in Paris as a toxic mix of disdain, fear and colonial arrogance. He highlights the economic exclusion experienced by these Algerians as “they appeared to spend most of their time sitting around, drinking tea, in their cafés”, rather than freezing in their overcrowded homes, but were seen as lazy by French society (Baldwin, 2). He underlines the systemic marginalisation of Algerians, as “they were mostly unable to find work”, as well the underlying insecurities of the French, particularly as their colonial empire crumbled following the fall of Dien Bien Phu. It is therefore clear that Algerians are portrayed as embodying both the visible failure of French imperialism and the resistance to its cultural domination since “the Arabs did not wish to be civilised” and were supposedly allowed, through French generosity, to maintain their “their customs, their dialects, languages, tribes, regions, another religion, or, perhaps, many religions” (Baldwin, 4).

Baldwin also draws attention to the escalating hostility of the police by connecting this aggression to the psychological toll of the empire’s decline: “The challenged authority, unable to justify itself […] simply increased its force” (3). The French police’s actions reflect a broader national anxiety about identity and power, channelled into violence against Algerians. This ties closely with the time Baldwin witnessed the police “beat an old, one-armed Arab peanut vendor senseless in the streets” while he had “watched the unconcerned faces of the French on the café terraces” (5). This exposes the contradictions of French self-perception and identity. While priding themselves on their supposed lack of American-style racism and their “civilising mission”, they simultaneously failed to “civilize” the Arabs, whom they regarded as inferior and untrustworthy. What struck Baldwin was the absurdity of this hypocrisy and double standard as they labelled him, a black African-American as “civilized”, while the Algerians, who were victims of the same colonial logic, were vilified and uncivilisable (4).

Das’ article reveals the differing migrant experiences and the impact of the Francophone/Anglophone “two solitudes” in a Quebecois environment that is so deeply entrenched in linguistic rivalry, such that it adds an extra layer of challenge for Tamil and other South Asian immigrants in Montreal. These migrants often arrive with limited proficiency in English and French, with Das splitting them up into “four generational cohorts” with varying levels of proficiency depending on age and when they migrated, for example, the third cohort is “mostly youth between the ages of six and twenty-five, speak in Tamil with their parents, though many cannot read or write it, and converse with their friends in French and English.” (64).

The phrase “estranged conditions feed into the ambient linguistic rivalries shaping migrant subjectivities in Montreal” stood out to me as it speaks to the complex dynamics between Indian Brahmins and the dominant Vellālar and Karayir castes of Sri Lanka, not only in relation to the alienation they experience in a context shaped by deep-seated linguistic and cultural tensions, but also when navigating caste identities and histories as a basis of self identification after migration (Das, 64). In Montreal specifically, the interplay between these groups reflects long standing social-ritual hierarchies that have been relocated in the diaspora. It presents itself as a source of internal rivalry, each group with its distinct historical and cultural claims to dominance and likely to lean more to either English or French within Quebec, which further causes frictions and overlays these intra-community dynamics.

Das also underscores Quebec’s prioritisation of French as a marker of cultural and political identity, so much so that many Tamil migrants found themselves marginalised in a system that demands linguistic adaptation not just for day to day communication, but as a means of belonging. This reflects the broader intersection of language, culture, and power in Quebec’s national identity given that the French-language laws position migrants as outsiders. Additionally, in Quebec social mobility and economic opportunities for Tamil migrants is synonymous with French language proficiency, “since learning more prestigious varieties of French facilitates greater mobility within the circumscribed francophone world, people who command standard Quebecois French or International French enjoy better career and life opportunities” (Das, 74).

In Narayanan’s short essay about teaching English in a small town in rural Quebec, he also speaks of the use of the racial slur “tamoul” which “originated in the mid-1980s, following the exodus of Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka” (1). As Das points out, it is a racial slur that “has become a generic racial epithet [...] equivalent to “animal,” “camel rider,” “fucking Arab,” and job stealer” (65). Narayanan calls attention to the fact that this slur reflects the “cultural ignorance” of those around him, as well as highlighting Quebec’s culture of “protectionism of anything French” (2, 3). It is interesting to note that this culture of ignorance and protectionism in relation to the “other” when talking about immigration is very prevalent in Quebec; the nationalist and xenophobic rhetoric often seen in the Quebec government’s policies stems from a place of fear of the “other” because they are seen as a threat to their self-identification.

In this chapter of his book titled Muslims of the Heartland, Curtis initially paints a somewhat peaceful picture of life for Syrian immigrants who were recruited by industrialists such as John H. Barker who “believed that the more ethnically diverse the local labor force was, the easier it would be for him to prevent labor organizing” (89). We quickly learn that this supposed progressiveness or acceptance was conditional; at the beginning of the 20th century, the racial climate was marked by significant discrimination, causing high racial tensions between the white people of Michigan City and non-white people, particularly Syrian immigrants.

We can see this through the example of the use of Washington Park in 1907, which with police enforcement, was only to be reserved for the “right kind of people” in order to “protect the life and liberty of white, Christian, and respectable middle-class people” (Curtis, 90). This meant that “African Americans were not welcome” and nor were Syrians as they “were also seen as a danger to white people and their pursuit of happiness” (Curtis, 90). Recurring ideas surrounding the unwelcome immigrant were present in Michigan City, with white people perpetrating unjustified harassment and violence towards Syrians, as well as newspaper headlines proclaiming that they were “potential carriers of eye disease” (Curtis, 91). A similar sentiment was also seen on the West Coast of North America, however it was animosity towards the Chinese, Japanese and South Asian immigrants of the area who were seen as diseased and a threat to public health, as we read in Ward’s fifth chapter of White Canada Forever. It is clear that for Syrian immigrants, their value in society only ever equated with what they could contribute to the economic development of the area - in this case it was in the industrial sector.

In his chapter on the Liverpool Muslim Institute (LMI) established by Quilliam in Victorian Liverpool, Gilham explores British Christian converts to Islam, their motivations, and the nature of their practices. Quilliam was said to have been a “charismatic leader” who provided an “institutional structure such as the LMI” as a “place to nurture belief and sustain commitment” (Gilham, 102). What I understood the practices to represent was a sort of Christian-Muslim hybrid since LMI would put on Sunday services and substitute reading from the Bible with English translation of the Qur’an using “many suitable hymns, eliminating objectionable verses from them and making their whole tone Unitarian and Islamic” (Gilham, 91). This was a way of attracting “a steady stream of intrigued nominal and practising Christians”, who were mostly working class people, at a time when Church attendance was in decline. Many converts were attracted to Islam’s clear monotheism and “found the principle tenet of the Trinity perplexing” (Gilham, 105). Others were women who converted after marriage. However, according to Gilham, some were persuaded to convert after meeting Quilliam as there is “strong evidence of the ‘affectional’ mode of conversion in the cases converts”, which has been attributed to his charismatic nature (102).

It is interesting how the anti-Muslim discrimination experienced by white British Christian converts to Islam could be argued to have parallels with racism drawn to it. The Muslims of the LMI and British Muslims more generally were increasingly silenced through intimidation and discrimination” and they saw their meetings interrupted as members of the public would “shout and stamp on the floor […] to try to drown out the speaker’s voice” (Gilham, 109). This is a narrative we have seen all too many times before where the victims of the discrimination, perpetrated by the majority, are portrayed as the antagonists who, in this case, were “blindly regarded as [...] , ‘an uncultivated barbarian and heathen, and as filthy, ignorant and most vicious’” (Gilham, 107). Although there didn’t seem to be any explicit racialisation of the Muslims of the LMI within Liverpudlian society simply based on external appearance, the nature of the discrimination they received is very similar to that experienced by non-white Muslims. The intense discrimination of this minority group, reflects the ignorance and bigotry of British society during the late Victorian era as “many people believed that the Liverpool Muslim community aggravated the situation by ‘flaunting’ their alien religion” (Gilham, 109). Oftentimes, as we have seen in past readings for class, the white man seeing someone as “alien” or “other” presents itself as justification enough for discrimination or racism, thus supporting the argument that these British Muslim converts could be considered as “off-white”, despite technically being very and truly white. As Prof Khan puts it, “off-whiteness" is the state of being proximate to whiteness; claiming whiteness; being white, but not quite”. This is exactly the case for the Muslims of the LMI - they are white and British, some even previously Christian, thus the epitome of white Britishness, but they are “not quite” white to the rest of British society because of their faith. Furthermore, I would argue that the fact that white presenting practising Muslims were seen as such a threat to the white Christian population of Liverpool ties closely to fear; the white Muslim is a threat to the understanding the white Christian man has of his own identity, so he therefore cannot consider them as white.

Contrastingly, in the Gualtieri reading, she argues that the Syrian immigrants’ journey to being classified as “white” was a deliberate and active choice, motivated by social, legal, and practical advantages that accompanied whiteness in American society. At the time, Syrians; eligibility for citizenship depended on their classification as “white”, and so following the case of George Dow, the efforts of Syrian immigrants resulted in the judge ruling that “Syrians “were to be classified as white persons,” and were eligible for naturalization” (Gualtieri, 29). This differs from the white British Muslim’s experience, whereby their active choice in converting to Islam by consequence caused them to be considered as non-white in the eyes of British society, therefore reflecting the common theme of whiteness, or not blackness in the case of America, being the only true route to acceptance in society. For Syrian immigrants, emphasising their Christianity was crucial in aiding their own racialisation as white, as the Christian identity aided them to be seen as more aligned with Western civilisation, and should therefore be distinguished from other “off-white” groups. This can be seen through the example of H.A. Elkourie, who responded to claims that Syrians belonged to “a distinct race other than the white race” by “invoking a religious argument” that Syrians were Semites and were therefore “within a branch of the “white race””(Gualtieri, 41).

As Kundani recounts, “the anti-terrorist legislation of the ‘war on terror’” has lead to the institutionalisation of anti-Muslim racism, which has been further normalised by integrationism as a “political culture” (126). In the eighth chapter of his book titled The End of Tolerance, Kundnani argues that anti-Muslim racism transcends religious prejudice and in fact aligns more closely with racial discrimination. He raises an interesting point here which I find ties in with our previous readings by Rana and Arora where they too speak of this racialisation or grouping together of people perceived to be Muslim simply based on external appearance. Kundnani asserts that “religious belonging has come to act as a symbol of racial difference”, emphasising that faith, like race, “is something that someone can observe about you from your appearance” (127). Through this racialisation, underscores that “in blurring the distinction between faith and ethnicity, the already impoverished language for describing racial, ethnic and cultural differences is further deprived of substance” (127). It is clear that we can therefore support the argument that British integrationism supports the institutionalisation of anti-Muslim racism, as opposed to religious prejudice. According to Kudnani’s analysis, contemporary anti-Muslim racism is a form of racialised hostility, rather than religious prejudice, which seeks to isolate and marginalise Muslims based on their assumed sets of ideals which supposedly do not conform to the British ‘core values’.

A phrase that stood out to me in the reading was “the fault-line of this new agenda is the perceived incompatibility between British society and Muslim communities in which supposedly alien values are embedded”, in reference to Gordon Brown’s New Labour and David Cameron’s Conservative Party, both preoccupied by the integrationist agenda (Kundani, 126). It seems characteristic of UK politics to call and urge for a set of ‘core values’ that is supposedly “the glue that must hold Britishness together” in an attempt to integrate all members of British society, while simultaneously blaming cultural diversity for problems to do with “segregation, immigration and terrorism” (Kundani, 122, 125). In other words, as Kundnani critiques, under integrationism, being “British” is increasingly defined by conformity to an idealised set of values which are conveyed as being completely incompatible or at odds with Muslim identities.

It is worth noting that not only did politicians reinforce a false association between cultural diversity, social instability, and extremism, but also media figures especially since 9/11, would regularly “harangue Muslims for supposed failure to share in the values around which Britishness is thought to coalesce: sexual equality, tolerance, freedom of speech and the rule of law” (Kundnani, 126). This aided the normalisation of anti-Muslim sentiments across British society, and although Kundnani argues that covert racism has become less acceptable, such media, along with the integrationist discourse, has rendered far right political narratives, like that of the BNP and Reform UK, more tolerated (135). What has become alarming but definitely not surprising is the rise in popularity of far right political parties in the UK, and Europe more generally, which I believe to be the result of such damaging discourse and false narratives broadcasted by media outlets, disguised as an attempt at integration/assimilation of the ‘other’.

As a Brit, it is still baffling to me that Britain so unapologetically claims chicken tikka masala to be its national dish. It's quite ironic really. British consumers embrace the “acceptable face of multiculturalism” through food, which reflects the limited form of tolerance that Brits have towards South Asians; they will happily eat their food (or what is considered to be their food), but the people making it are supposedly stealing their homes, jobs and preventing “real” Brits from receiving the healthcare they claim to be so very entitled to (Buettner, 144). Even more ironically though is the fact that the “Indian” restaurants/curry-houses in the UK, “between 85 and 90 percent… are owned and staffed by Bangladeshi Muslims” while “Pakistani Muslims run most others” (Buettner, 147). This highlights the “standardization” that Buettner speaks of, which “proved decisive to a food’s gaining wider acceptance beyond the migrant group”, so much so that “within Britain’s culinary landscape, curry houses took on an instantly recognizable stereotyped image” (156). This “standardization” of “Indian” food was a way of making it more palatable to white Britain, by creating a standardised menu, restaurant decor, and omitting certain key ingredients to dishes as a way of making the food cheaper and more attractive, all while losing authenticity and elements of subtlety of the original recipe.

In true British fashion, politicians will gladly celebrate the multiculturalism that they claim so accurately represents the country, as Britain’s late foreign secretary Robin Cook maintained that Britain “absorbs and adapts external influences”, while simultaneously passing laws that actively try to prevent immigration, such as Rishi Sunak’s recent racially discriminatory anti-migrant legislation. The creation of an “undifferentiated Asian population” in Britain served as to simplify and control perceptions of South Asian migrants, reducing them to a monolithic "other" that allowed British society to selectively embrace aspects of their culture while sidelining their full identities (Buettner, 148). In other words, as Buettner underscores, the separation of South Asian food, which was increasingly “accepted and celebrated”, from the migrant communities who produced it “remained closely intertwined in the white British imagination” as the “other” (155). I believe that this homogenisation allowed for white British consumers to see “Indian” restaurants as fitting within a “standardized” mould, rather than having to engage in the complex realities of the communities behind them, rendering “Indian” food more acceptable.

When answering how anti-”Hindoo” sentiment in BC and California was related to racism against west-coast Chinese and Japanese, Orientalsim comes strongly into question; it was the result of already well-established stereotypes surrounding the Orient and its people, and because of this, “white perceptions of East Indians were framed by the community’s fixed assumptions about previous Asian immigrants” (Ward, 82). In other words, as Ward points out in the fifth chapter of his book entitled White Canada Forever, the anti-”Hindoo” sentiment shared parallels with the Sinophobia and Japanophobia that preceded it, though it manifested itself in its own particular forms of hostility and to varying degrees. That is not to say that this racist fear was anything new, in fact it simply presents itself as a recycled reason for imposing racist hierarchies on a new influx of immigrants who pose a threat to the white and civilised "destiny" of the west-coast. This sentiment did not arise in isolation, but drew upon existing animosity towards the Chinese and Japanese immigrants of the west-coast. Since East Indians were seen as “merely another dimension of the province’s longstanding Oriental problem”, such that they were “unclean, diseased, and a threat to public health”, it is clear that these fears regarding the new arrivals to BC echoed similar fears that were once directed towards the Chinese (Ward, 83).

Additionally, it is worth mentioning that although the racist stereotypes attributed to East Indians on the west-coast stemmed from those already existing related to the Orient, the Chinese, and Japanese, this was only a starting point as “a distinct image soon formed in the minds of the west coast whites” (Ward, 82). The preconceived stereotypes that white Canadians had of East Indians aligned with colonial depictions, such as India being framed as a “land of teeming millions, of filth and squalor, of exotic, peculiar customs, and therefore differed slightly from those of the Chinese and Japanese. Nonetheless, both groups were seen as fundamentally unassimilable, which reinforced the racial hierarchies already present on the west-coast. This strong sentiment perpetuated politics and Labour Councils in the province, with the Secretary of Victoria TLC affirming that East Indians were “found to be both unwilling and incapable of assimilating with the people of the western races who have settled and developed this country” (Ward, 83). It was believed that the admission of East Indians would be detrimental to the future of a civilised society in BC since they were seen as being “outside the mainstream of life in the province” (Ward, 83). This fear of a cultural and racial divide reflected the same anxieties that had fuelled the resistance to Chinese and Japanese integration - this was clearly nothing new and white Canada's oppressive tactics were clearly lacking some creativity.

Throughout the first half of the 20th century, Harlem increasingly became a cultural melting pot with the steady arrival of immigrants as a result of Southern migration to the North, as well as Indian seafarers, forming a space of “overlapping diasporas”, as historian Earl Lewis puts it (Bald, 163). New York City, especially East Harlem, had a very diverse racial makeup, such as Puerto Rican, Jewish, African-American, Caribbean, and South Asian populations. As Bald puts it, this racially diverse and heavily multicultural environment would deem to be very attractive to Indian immigrants “not just because of its low-rent tenements, but also because they could disappear into its dense population of immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe” (166). In other words, Indians were able to merge into the larger immigrant landscape of New York City, where racial and ethnic differences were more fluid. They even sought to “disappear into the communities around them, to pass, or even to gain new legal identities as Puerto Rican” as a way of fighting the institutionalised racism that they endured under US law, such that they used racialisation to their advantage in making use of the already repressive racial hierarchies that existed within the marginalised community (Bald, 166).

Another attractive aspect of the diverse racial makeup of New York City, and East Harlem specifically, to Indians is the formation of a new community and sense of solidarity within racialised and marginalised groups of people. An example proposed by Bald in his fifth chapter of Bengali Harlem and the Lost Histories of South Asian America was the interaction between the Jewish communities of New York City and Indian communities as they would often be “drawn to the neighbourhood because of its kosher butchers, who, in the absence of a local Muslim community, provided the closest available approximation of halal meat” (166). This presents itself as a sort of home away from home for these South Asian migrant communities, as they started to establish themselves within new communities and adapted to the society that they were becoming a part of.

In chapter 14 of her book titled Australianama, Samia Khatun explores the concept of “brideprice” and its various understandings within Western contexts. She argues that “‘Brideprice’ is an anthropological category invented in British colonial texts about colonised people” as to be able to shape a certain narrative surrounding their religious practices as a way of justifying the dehumanisation of Afghan/South Asians in “the period that Australian troops were deployed to Afghanistan in 2001” (Khatun, 142, 144). The hypocrisy here, however, lies in the fact that the concept of “brideprice” was also prevalent in European societies, but “from the late nineteenth century” it “became one of a constellation of indicators that colonised societies languished at the stages of ‘tradition’ or ‘savagery’ far behind British arrival at ‘modern’ and ‘civilised’ marriage” (Khatun, 144).

Through the telling of the story of a 17 year old Afghan girl named Shamsulnissa, Samia Khatun also speaks of the creation of “White Australia” in 1901, whereby “six separate British colonies federated into […] a settler dominion independent from British rule” (152). Laws were implemented in order to “restrict the movement of Asian merchants, workers, and their capital”, out of fear of racial mixing and in the name of the protection of white labour from non-white immigrants such as Afghan traders (in the case of Shamsulnissa and her family) (Khatun, 151). In spite of the oppressive policies put in place by “White Australia”, South Asians and Afghans made use of legal pluralism, in other words the simultaneous use of “Mohamedan law” (shari’a) and “English law”, to counter the restrictions imposed on them. This did, however, cause some conflict in Australian courts when Abraham Mohament was trying to plead against the “estates Shamsulnissa, Kamernissa and their mother Bibi Ismat” being “invested into the Australian camel business” (Khatun, 151). That is to say that the Australian courts were clearly trying to use the wealth and capital of non-white traders by bending the policies for their own benefit. Fortunately, by pursuing legal challenges against the government and insisting on using “Mohamedan law”, which was what was used to initially bind the contract, after facing restrictions when importing camels to Australia, Shamsulnissa’s younger brother managed to sue “the Western Australian government for ‘breach of contract’” and “claimed damages of £13,463” (Khatun, 152). It is clear that the Afghan camel traders would not be passive victims of discriminatory policies, but active agents in resisting them.

It is also worth mentioning that Afghans and South Asians navigated Australia’s racial restrictions through cross-cultural marriages, which we can see in the case of Adelaide, who “was engaged to camel merchant Moosha Balooch” (Khatun, 154). This union between a South Asian man and an aboriginal woman, organised by Adelaide’s father, ensured that her livelihood was secured, but it also meant that Moosha would be able to evade the “nationalist legislation” that had “erected racially exclusive borders” (Khatun, 155).

Diouf’s assessment of Ayuba Suleyman Diallo not only allows us to better understand the racialisation of Muslim slaves in the Americas, but also to truly grasp the resilience of Islam for enslaved Africans who were oftentimes forcibly made to convert to Christianity or risk severe punishment. It is clear from this week’s readings that African Muslim slaves were not willing to let go of their faith for it to be replaced by another, alien one without some reluctance. The fact that African Muslims’ knowledge of Christianity had only come from what they had “learned in the Qur’an or the New Testament, not through any contact with Europeans” was a strong indicator as to why “they were not aware of the antipathy that their religion inspired on the other side of the ocean” (Diouf, 73). Furthermore, Diouf affirms, through the use of various cases, such as that of Ayuba Suleyman Diallo, that due to the high level of religious education that the West African slaves had previously received from “numerous Qur’anic schools dotted around Senegambia”, they were not only “strong believers” in the Islamic faith, but it also very aware of other religions and were thus firm in their religion in congruence with their high level of understanding of other faiths (73). This meant that “when confronted with an unknown, potentially dangerous situation”, as was the case for Ayuba, rather than surrender himself to the desire of his slave owner to convert to Catholicism and turn away from his faith, the strength of his belief in Islam and its resilience among African Muslims more generally, meant that in such a precarious situation “he simply affirmed his Islamic faith” (Diouf, 73). I find that Diouf explains this very well later on in this chapter of her book Servants of Allah when she asserts that “African Muslims remained attached to their faith, and their enslavement was itself a good reason to be even more devout. Faith meant hope, moral comfort, and mental escape. It was also linked to the past, to a time when they were free, respected, and for some, engaged in intellectual pursuits, not menial labor” (86).

It is interesting to draw parallels between GhaneaBassiri’s theory regarding the racialisation of Muslim slaves and the cases of Ayuba and Yarrow, as both cases seem to be consistent with the presented theory. It is said that Ayuba was caught praying in the woods in secret and was subsequently arrested, but upon gaining notoriety when it was found out that he was able to “write Arabic and was thought to be of high lineage”, “this new game may have contributed to his owner’s good disposition, for he gave him a place to pray and lightened his workload”. In other words, by simply finding out Ayuba’s educated status and noble ancestry, he was then automatically more worthy of respect and better treatment. This aligns with the theory of “de-negroficaton” or “de-Islamicization” proposed by GhaneaBassiri whereby he describes it as a process of the “disassociation” of African Muslims from “Negroid stereotypes”, such that in this particular situation, Ayuba has been “de-negrofied” by his owner, and as a result he is viewed as a person worthy of better treatment because, in his eyes, he is “less black” or not like the other slaves (22).

Similarly, the freed slave Yarrow Mamout also underwent the process of “de-Negrofication” or “de-Islamicization”, as, through his notoriety among the people around him in the community, where “his Islamic dress and his economic success made him a celebrity”, “he had been able to retain his Muslim African name and to have others respect his faith and his right to express it publicly” (GhaneaBassiri, 87). Once again, this is a clear example that the stereotypes associated with economic success, amiability, and humanity do not align with what are believed to be the stereotypes of African Muslim slaves, and as a result, Yarrow benefited from this specific racialisation as he was able to practise his religion and live (more) freely in peace. It is also worth mentioning, although these were thought to be rare cases, many African Muslims used the process of de-Negrofication” or “de-Islamicization” to their advantage, as they “were painfully aware of the oppressive linkage slavery reinforced between one’s color and humanity” (GhaneaBassiri, 21). In other words, they “sought to disassociate themselves from Negroid stereotypes and complied with whites’ de-negrofication of them” for their benefit, much like how African American men used Orientalism to their advantage in order to pass as “East Asian” or “Hindu” to protect them from danger when “the stakes of movement across the South’s dividing lines were high” (GhaneaBassiri, 22)(Bald, 52).

The experience of the Morisca Maria Ruiz, as recounted by Cook, is one that I imagine to realistically reflect the experiences of many Moriscos who recently moved from Spain to New Spain away from their families during the Inquisition. Moriscos/Moriscas were Muslims and their descendants in Spain and New Spain who held a range of individual beliefs in relation to the Islamic faith, as well as representing “a spectrum of beliefs and practices that ranged from adherence to Islam to considering themselves “good” Catholics” (Cook, 85). It is clear that the high risk environment that Moriscos/Moriscas found themselves in had a strong influence over what they believed to be the correct way to observe their faith or even changes in their beliefs themselves. Imperial powers in Spanish America sought to indoctrinate indigenous communities into converting to Catholicism as the only correct faith, thus Islam was seen as a faith that was in direct conflict and a threat to the colonial project with its differing belief system, such that the two were “deemed by the Catholic authorities to be mutually exclusive” (Cook, 85).

There are many possible explanations that we could present when imagining what Ruiz’s motivations may have been when she “denounced herself to Mexican inquisitors”, however one that sticks out to me most is a combination of a physical and emotional detachment from her parents who taught her her faith and the constant fear surrounding being a Morisca under Catholic authority causing her to search for a way out. That is to say that by being so far from the people who instilled the Muslim beliefs in her perhaps meant that she also felt a detachment from the faith itself, especially considering she lived in a place where she had to fear being denounced and punished for practising her faith. It is also probable that her beliefs were moulded by her environment as a result of the repression of outwards signs of Islam in which Moriscos had to “practice Islam in the privacy of their homes”, as well as the indoctrination society was subjected to whereby Catholicism was the only right religion (Cook, 82). I believe it possible that Ruiz’s religious beliefs did in fact become a mixture of Islamic and Catholic beliefs because of the “charged environment and increasing inquisitorial persecution” that positioned the Qur’an’s teachings as “critical differences in belief and as dangerous” (Cook, 84).

The game of football is integral to UK culture and our sense of shared national identity, but I kind of hate that. Football itself is an exhilarating sport to watch; going to the pub with friends on the night of a major international game creates an atmosphere and a connection between all pub goers that I can’t quite describe. Even though I myself am only a recently naturalised Brit, the connection between football and freedom/acceptance, particularly in a migrant context, is undeniable. In chapter 4 of The Promise of Happiness, Sara Ahmed speaks of the role of football, according to Trevor Phillips, as a road to integration and happiness in the face of the threat of multiculturalism. In Phillip’s view, multiculturalism “is presented as a threat to national survival” such that integration and therefore happiness are impossible simultaneously with the existence of multiculturalism as we know it since it would force people “who are “unalike” to live together” (Ahmed, 122). This notion of happiness, according to Phillip, is closely tied to football in the sense that it is a shared activity that can act as a way of building bridges, through interaction between different cultural groups, with the purpose of encouraging integration and “happy multiculturalism” (Ahmed, 122). In this context, happiness denotes loyalty to the nation since a love of football has long been “established as a national ideal” (Ahmend, 122). Ahmed argues that by equating football to loyalty to the nation, and this loyalty representing happiness, “happiness is still used as a technology of citizenship, as a way of binding migrants to a national ideal” (133). In the same vein, “citizenship provides a technology for deciding whose happiness comes first”, meaning that in order to be integrated into British society as a migrant and to achieve the happiness that the British colonial project pushed for so long, you have to swear your loyalty to the nation to be in with a chance of achieving such happiness. However, “for those who “come first”, their happiness “comes first”, which Ahmed describes as “conditional happiness” (133).

I would agree that football is central to the feeling of national identity in the UK, as well as acting as a way of building bridges between people from varying backgrounds. That is, until England miss out on the Euro 2020 finals on penalties taken by children of immigrant parents. Young players such as Marcus Rashford and Bukayo Saka received racist abuse online from fans who placed the blame for missing their penalties and losing the game, and subsequent national outrage and heartbreak, on them. Much like Jess’ story in the 2002 movie Bend It Like Beckham, which is used by Ahmed to analyse the connection between football, migrant cultures as “other”, and the freedom to be happy, the “national fantasy about football as the “playing field” which offers signs of diversity, where “whoever” scores will be cheered”, we can see that the value of a migrant in British society is solely reliant on what they can offer when they succeed in the name of the nation(135). Football is synonymous with the British identity and therefore freedom from a restrictive “other” culture, in Jess’ case, where “freedom takes form as proximity to whiteness” through the supposed liberating new relationships she forms with a white girl and white man, Jules and Joe (Ahmed, 135). When one does not integrate themselves and continue to show up in relation to their loyalty to the nation, the way that a white Western society wishes them to, in the case of Rashford and Saka they were no longer considered to be British. Instead they are seen as lousy immigrants responsible for the downfall of the nation’s happiness, and so are no longer worthy of their British citizenship and therefore are no longer worthy of happiness.

In her work, Junaid Akram Rana explores the racialisation of the Muslim in relation to Islamophobia and the ever changing definition of race. Rana seeks to tackle the redefinition of Islamophobia as anti-Muslim racism through an examination of the “complex variations of the concept of race and the history of how and when “Muslim”became a category of race” (25). Islamophobia can be understood “as a gloss for the anti-Muslim racism that collapses numerous groups into the single category “Muslim””, which suggests that Muslims have been categorised into their own group, often based on visual markers, and not so much for biological or ethnic reasons (Rana, 30). In other words, this redefinition includes “customs and costumes” as well as “skin color and phenotype” as visual markers that groups Muslims together as a race (Rana, 28). According to Rana, the reframing of Islam as a religious category into a racial one relies heavily on the fact that racism, at its core, is a social construct, thus Islamophobia needs to be analysed and understood as a conceptual framework and “a kind of racism that developed in relation to the history of the concept of race” (28). That is to say that the interactions of Islam with the West throughout history constitutes a vital piece of the puzzle when understanding the development of the racialisation of the Muslim.

Due to this reframing, it could be argued that the West/America have developed their own tight “criteria” to be able to identify potential terrorists with drones, as President Obama puts it in his interview in Heems’ Soup Boys music video. This aligns with Rana’s argument that the Muslim body has been “constructed within a number of discursive regimes, including those of terrorism, fundamentalism, patriarchy, sexism, and labor migration” (26). Heems plays on this criteria throughout his music video and demonstrates the collapsing of many groups together mentioned by Rana. However, in this context, the grouping of all people who may be perceived as Muslim simply, because of their external appearance, is a result of the West’s preestablished stereotypes surrounding Muslims. I would argue that what Heems conveys in his music video suggests a reflection of implicit biases, or even explicit ones (in relation to the government’s use of drones during the war against terrorism), that the Western society has surrounding brown people who could fit the criteria of the Muslim. The end of the song, in which we hear Obama saying (in relation to the drones) that his “criteria for using them is very tight, very strict”, presents some irony: in the mind of the white American, it is Muslims who are the terrorists, but Heems is in fact Hindu. This, once again, links closely to the complex nature of the racialisation of the Muslim and the subsequent grouping together of people who may be perceived as Muslim.

Kamal Arora also explores this grouping together of brown people who present visual religious markers. In her article, following the the Oak Creek Gurdwara shooting of a Sikh temple in 2012 by a white supremacist, Arora speaks of her childhood experiences growing up in a predominantly white space in which she was subject to indiscriminate racism, for example being called an “uneducated Hindoo who couldn’t speak English”, despite herself being a Sikh (2). She describes her experiences, and of those of other brown people/her family, particularly in a post 9/11 context, as an extension of Islamophobia; the Sikh visual markers are often mistaken for Muslim ones. Islamophobia is therefore rooted in white supremacy and prejudice towards people considered “Other” or mistaken for Muslims regardless of whether or not they actually are Muslim.

In response to Saarah’s discussion post, I would like to start first off by saying that I strongly agree with her definition of “innocence” that she presents in the context of Yancy’s Look, a White, such that the white boy’s pointing finger is a reflection of ignorance and not an absence of guilt. Additionally, Yancy argues that the white boy is experiencing “white subject formation”, which I understand to be the active and ongoing development of his views, prejudices, and fundamentally his sense of identity in relation to the black Other (3). In this context, the white boy pointing at him is nothing without Fanon’s black body as he, and his white identity, are “fundamentally linked to the object he fears and dreads”, as Fanon is considered something to be looked at in opposition to this “innocent” white boy (Yancy, 3). The white child is therefore not innocent of racial prejudice due to an absence of guilt since he is “learning”, in an active sense, “the power of racial speech” and “the power of racial gesturing” (Yancy, 3).

Similarly to Yancy, in his letter to his nephew James, in which he advises him on how to navigate a white world without believing the stereotypes that will inevitably be imposed on him throughout his life, Baldwin speaks of the “innocence” of his “countrymen”, suggesting that they are absolved of any wrongdoing due to their ignorance (18). I like how Saarah describes this, although in reference to Yancy (but I think it still applies), in the sense of the white body having a perceived neutrality; they are seen as the norm, whereas anything Other is a threat to their white identity, while simultaneously being a sort of vehicle in the solidification of whiteness. This “innocence” and purity of the white man justifies their racism, and acts as a disguise for the continued perpetuation of racist tendencies. By calling it “innocence” rather than ignorance, it could be detrimental to the hope of any sort of progress or change since white people will not be inclined to check their biases or prejudices as they will continue believe themselves to be innocent.

As with last week's readings, I find that this “process…where the white embodied subject is intimately linked to the black embodied subject” ties very closely with Muñoz’s surrounding disidentification and the notion of white as “lack”, or that white identity is nothing without people of colour (Yancy, 3). Without the Other (people of colour), white people are nothing; their culture and identity is solidified through the existence of the Other and the contrast that it presents. The belief that “black men are inferior to white men” supports the positionality of white people in society and highlights that, in order for the white man to be something, the black man must be irrational or a “peculiar thing”, drawing from the white man’s perceived neutrality (Baldwin, 22)(Yancy, 1). Baldwin comments that “the danger, in the minds of most white Americans, is the loss of their identities”, implying that, by viewing black Americans as equal to them, white people are putting their identities at risk (23). They are only who they are in stark contrast with black people, so by calling their supposed innocence out for what it really is (igorance), in turn the validity and certainty of their position in society is undermined and their sense of identity becomes threatened.

From Said’s multiple definitions of Orientalism, I understand it to be an umbrella term for various discourse and academic research and theories surrounding what we know as the “Orient”, as well as more concrete, material evidence of its influence within European/Western/Occidental culture, institutions, and academia. According to Said, the simple fact that this supposed “Other” part of the world is referred to as the “Orient” is Orientalism, since Orientalism is considered “a style of thought based upon an ontological and epistemological distinction made between “the Orient” and (most of the time) “the Occident”” (2). Through the Orientalist lens, the European identity and culture has been solidified due to the strongly established distinction between the East and the West, or the “Orient” and the “Occident”, however I find that Muñoz’s ideas relating to disidentification and white being considered as “lack” further solidifies this notion (Muñoz). That is to say that Europe would have no culture, nor a stable presence in and as part of the “Occident”, without the existence of the “Orient” and their strongly contrasting existences. I find it interesting that Said argues, through his definitions of Orientalism, that the West is defined by the existence of the “Orient” since it is viewed as the “Other” (lack), but it is simultaneously considered the West’s involvement with or in the Orient, which creates a sort of circular relationship between the two.

In a similar vein, Bald’s recounting of African American men passing as “Hindu” or “East Asian” supports Said’s definition of Orientalism since they were using their assumption or understanding of the “Orient”, at a time when “the stakes of movement across the South’s dividing lines were high”, to their benefit (52). The belief that these African American men could use the stereotypical “politeness, servility, and self-exoticizing airs” of the Bengali peddler validated and accentuated the preconceived ideas that Americans had towards the “East” or the “Orient” (Bald, 52). This ties closely into Said’s definition of Orientalism, such that the African American men passing as “East Asian” were indeed making a statement and arguably restructuring the perception of the “Orient” within the “Occident” based on their own assumptions of it. By doing so, they benefited from Orientalism as the Western ideas and stereotypes surrounding the “East” were perpetuated by African American peddlers and they used the contrast between the two parts of the world to their advantage as it “allowed them greater safety and mobility” when selling their goods in other segregated cities, but only temporarily (Bald, 52).