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I really liked what you wrote Grace and I just wanted to add a point. Considering Malcom's journey through Concord and Norfolk prisons we can say that this (the journey I mean) not only marked a physical confinement but became a powerful setting for intellectual and spiritual liberation. Norfolk, with its "intellectual atmosphere," opened doors for Malcolm that allowed him to critically engage with race, history, and identity. This shift—from the gossip-filled isolation at Concord to a haven of books and debates at Norfolk—helped Malcolm shape his voice, fueled by the intellectual rigor he found there. I also like to add that your mention of Silencing the Past, made me put this in my reading list!

The lived experience is what captivated me the most in this week’s readings. There is definitely a lot of theories and written content supporting the anti-racism spirit that seems to be very important in the Northern American countries. However, those are written from the ‘whites’ perspective. It is as their translation and understanding of how we should not be racists but the idea of lived experience is what comes to life here. How the colored have experienced living or in other words, their lived experience is what matters and that is what Yancy beautifully brings up in the article. Being the center of attention merely for the sake of color is per se a very huge burden that colored people experience living in these countries and other tags coming along I believe go under this same umbrella, being the object of gaze! No white can experience what comes along this specific objectification. The « look a white! » constructs a very moving dynamics with shifting the object of attention structure. It also shifts the attention of the whites and gives them a new perspective towards themselves which includes a novel and to some extent terrifying experience. Now, theory is not working anymore and they are going to live the experience they had just read about and this is when they feel the tension and the insecurity but still as they have the cover of being whites, the real lived experience of the colored ones is way ahead of them.

Throughout the course, I often reflected on the version of Islam that I grew up with. I even discussed this with my mom, and now, after reading For the Love of God, I realize that many Iranians—regardless of factors such as gender or place of living—share similar experiences. The text’s examination of Iranian trans people was particularly interesting to me, and there are some points I’d like to explore further regarding this reading.

Reflection on Islam and Identity
First, I want to address the version of Islam I mentioned at the beginning of this post. The first time I truly reflected on my Muslim identity was in the second grade of high school during one of my EFL (English as a Foreign Language) classes at the Iran Language Institute (ILI). The ILI has an interesting history. Initially known as the “Iran-USA Anjuman,” it underwent multiple name changes until 1979, when it became the ILI and was affiliated with the Ministry of Education. As a government-controlled institute, it embodies certain unique characteristics:

Boys and girls attend separate schools, and classes are strictly single-gendered.
Girls are required to wear proper hijab, despite the schools being gender-segregated (due to the presence of male teachers or admin staff).
Working there is considered prestigious due to higher salaries and benefits compared to private schools. Employees must not only be well-educated but also adhere to certain ideological or religious values.

One of my teachers posed an intriguing question during class: “Do you think we are Muslims or merely Muslim-borns?” This prompted me to think deeply, not only about the question itself but also about my classmates’ reactions. Some firmly believed they were Muslims, others saw themselves as only Muslim-borns, and a few, like me, had no clear answer. I found it thought-provoking that a teacher would raise such a question in that context, where being a practicing Muslim was often taken for granted. This question made me contemplate my relationship with Islam for some time.

I began observing my family and relatives and noticed a recurring pattern: religious mothers and atheist or agnostic fathers. This made me revisit the question—are we Muslim-borns? I also reflected on why grandmothers tend to be deeply religious while grandfathers often seem more "open-minded" (to borrow my high-school terminology). Within families, religion often became a source of serious conflict. It was common to see men mocking women for their prayers or religious practices, a dynamic I believe persists even today.

The Trans Experience in Iran
Another aspect of the text that resonated with me was its discussion of trans experiences in Iran. While gender-affirming surgery is legally permitted, societal acceptance remains fraught with challenges.

I recall a popular movie I loved as a child, around the age of 8 or 9. I rewatched it so many times that I memorized entire dialogues, reciting them alongside the actors. The main plot focused on a couple seeking therapy for their marriage, but embedded within the story was the narrative of a trans man pursuing gender-affirming surgery. Reflecting on it now, I see how the movie subtly depicted the complex relationship between Islam and trans individuals.

Key moments from the movie stand out:

• The trans character, referred to as “he,” insists, “I’m a she, not a he.”
• They express frustration, saying, “Everyone is imposing something on me—my mother, my family, everyone. Now you’re imposing something on me too!”
• They reveal bruises on their body and express their attraction to men.
• They recount their mother’s reaction: crying and cursing while praying, removing their scarf, cutting their hair while they sleep, and destroying items they purchased with their trans friends.
• In a pivotal scene, another man comments, “Men do not cry,” criticizing their appearance and gestures. To defend themselves, the trans character shows their surgery note, affirming their identity and intention to undergo surgery.

At the time, when we watched this movie, most people paid little attention to the trans narrative, often laughing at the character’s mannerisms and gestures. Now, after reading For the Love of God, I see how societal perceptions complicate the already challenging process for trans individuals, even when the government legally permits gender transition. This societal resistance adds additional layers of difficulty.

Progress and Remaining Challenges
Although Iranian society has made strides in addressing these issues, thanks to education and social media, there is still a long way to go. For trans individuals living outside Iran, it’s understandable that they may struggle to believe in this progress, given the deeply entrenched societal views they left behind. The fear of returning home and facing harm is rooted in the complex interplay of family dynamics, gendered Islam, and societal expectations in Iranian culture. This makes collective societal adaptation incredibly challenging.

I totally agree with you.
I would like to talk a bit more on the fact that people immigrated so that their next generations wouldn’t be in the situation they were before and wouldn’t struggle with those challenges and difficulties.
At least in case of Iranian migrants, and based on my lived experience, I know a lot of these immigrations happened with the phrases like “for the future of our children” or “I don’t want my child to live my childhood” etc. I remember when I was in the first year of my high school, at the same time my two best friends with whom I did grow up, immigrated to Canada. Their mothers were my mother’s best friends and I remember we went there to say goodbye and I vividly remember the words “oh dear, do you think I love leaving everything behind and go to Canada? No! I’m doing this only for my children. For their future.” Then I thought to myself “how inconsiderate my mother is! She is seeing her friends immigrating but doesn’t take any action!” Now, I look back and I see as a teenager how difficult it was for me to see my closest people leaving and in how much I was thinking of the BAD future that was going to wait for me as I didn’t immigrate then! (I think for the people who witness all the leavings a certain sense of melancholia starts its life at this very stage, the stage of being the witness of all the leavings and all the relations loosening!)
Now, I am here and I am seeing how my friends are living the lives differently and now we are all in that coming future.
We have immigrated with different paths and we all have one thing in common: the melancholia which was born in us with our moving away from the home to which we belonged. We are taking it to the new “home” and we try to make a meaning out of it.

To answer this question, I want to relate some of the readings to my lived experience:

This was not my first interaction with Edward Said’s text, but reviewing the first few pages, along with the class discussions and suggested questions, made me think about this subject differently. Most of my previous readings of Said were part of the literary criticism syllabi, so I always approached his work through an analytical lens, examining a text or something similar. However, this class has opened a new door for me—one that encourages me to reflect on my lived experience as a Middle-Easterner who has recently migrated.

Living in Iran, I share many of the experiences of Middle-Eastern people. I once remember a Lebanese colleague telling me, "This is the difficult responsibility of being Middle-Eastern! Whenever you want to travel home, you're thinking about the possibility of bombs and missiles—things that not many Canadians (as she put it) are familiar with." That day, I reflected on her words and on the contrast between the life we are trying to build for ourselves in this "whitened" space. There are experiences we've lived that others simply cannot imagine. It takes a huge effort to navigate this space as a Brown person, where there is little understanding of the burdens and difficulties that shaped our past.

However, this sense of displacement doesn't end when you're back home. There are moments when even your own home feels exotic, as if you're a foreigner in your own land. Speaking from my lived experience, this has often left me with a feeling of dislocation—a feeling that, at times, closely aligns with the notion of "disidentification" that we discussed in the last session. Suddenly, you find yourself in unfamiliar dimensions, lost in this "whitened" space, struggling to find—or create—meaning in life.

As Said states, "because of Orientalism, the Orient was not (and is not) a free subject of thought or action." I find it fascinating, yet unsettling, that this statement resonates on an individual level as well. Much like the systemic and individual racism we talked about last session, this Western-dominated framework has persisted for so long. The fact that European culture "gained strength and identity by setting itself off against the Orient as a surrogate and even underground self" makes the discourse between the Orient and the Occident even more complex. This is evident when such discussions occur on a personal level, especially among young adults.

There is an idealized version of Europe (or the West) that often takes center stage in these discussions, while the motherland is frequently blamed. At some point, you find yourself caught in a conversation with yourself, almost as if you're battling against your own identity. It’s as though there is no freedom of thought—you are compelled to obey what has been imposed upon you, that Western style of governance, even when you’re in your own homeland.

Hence, I assume the widespread "whitened" space does not merely concern you as the migrant but it is so widespread that even at home, in your motherland, there are instances where you find yourself fighting against the 'white' space which is being cast upon your life! And at some point you find yourself sacrificing and compromising even in your hometown which I find extremely complex.