Somewhere in China, a little
girl talks to her father on the
phone. He is in the United
States. She tells him he is a bad
person and that the Chinese
police are good people. That’s
the last he hears from her for six
months. His wife soon divorces
him, because being married to
him puts a “target on her back.”
He is left hopeless, posting
on social media in hopes of
finding his wife and daughter.
Unfortunately, the reason for
this separation is this man,
Tahir Imin, and his family have
been diagnosed with a deadly
disease. It’s very contagious,
a “virus of the mind” the
government calls it, and it has
infected over a billion people
worldwide. The disease is called
Islam.
What’s happening in China is
rarely talked about, but it’s real
and it’s terrifying. China has
deemed the religion of Islam
a “contagious disease” and an
“ideological illness” and has
sent about one million Uighurs
(a
predominately
Muslim
ethnic minority in northwest
China) to internment camps to
be brainwashed and forced to
denounce their own thinking.
According to The Atlantic,
when parents are sent to these
camps, “younger children are
sent to de facto orphanages
known
as
child
welfare
guidance centers and older
children are sometimes sent to
state-run vocational schools.”
The conditions in these camps
are horrible, described by a
worker in Xinjiang — a name,
which means “Muslim Frontier
Land,” the Han Chinese gave
to the Uyghur Autonomous
Region — as a place where
children are “locked up like
farm animals in a shed.” The
little girl, Imin’s daughter, has
been trained to despise her
religion and express loyalty to
the Chinese Communist party.
Families are being ripped apart
as the Chinese government
attempts to erase generations
of traditions, beliefs and ideals.
The government is so strict
about this surveillance that
citizens are afraid to even say
Islam-related words on the
phone. The party has even
gone to the disturbing extent
of initiating “home stays,” in
which “officials temporarily
move
in
with
families
in
Xinjiang to surveil and report
on them.” Muslims detained
in these camps are also forced
to eat pork and drink alcohol,
which is against the tenants
of their faith. Among some of
the punishments for failure to
denounce their religion and
identities include starvation,
beatings
and
solitary
confinement. One can only
imagine
the
psychological
damage that ensues from this
type of treatment.
Islam and Muslims have
been the target of hate and
bigotry since 9/11, but this
bizarre phenomenon of treating
the religion like an actual
disease and sending Muslims
to be quarantined is absolutely
outrageous. Referred to as the
“the largest mass incarceration
of a minority population in
the world today,” the lack of
attention and concern for this
issue baffles me. My heart goes
out to all the Chinese Muslims
who live in fear, who are being
tortured
and
brainwashed,
who are being stripped of
their faith and their families
and their identities. Uighurs’
unique religious and ethnic
traditions are being replaced
with
manufactured
Chinese
communist pride. I pray we see a
day when Muslims of every race
and country can freely practice
and be rid of the life sentence
of scrutiny that the world has
inflicted upon us. I pray we see a
day when the world understands
the real “ideological illness” is
hatred and the inability to allow
humans to exist as humans and
not targets.
Don’t ask why we came.
Ask why we left.
Some say the story ends in
liberation,
but there was no end,
only the horizon.
In the distance,
a military ship.
Men dove into the water
like fish eager for home.
But I,
who had learned to escape,
not swim,
remained onboard.
Safety was already far
behind us.
And in front,
a soldier.
One finger on the trigger,
the rest clawing through
my bag.
Our compass buried at the
bottom
of a rice bowl.
Your father, a boy of
seventeen
with a twist in his leg,
passed the time
in the nape of my neck.
No one could know us now.
I was so hungry for a new
life
that I had swallowed the
paper trail.
There are no heroes in this
version,
only survivors.
I’ve always been that kind
of person,
the kind to remember the
way things were
yet still forget to be afraid.
Don’t feel bad, my dear.
These aren’t tears —
just the ocean left in my
eyes.
You
could
never
love
Vietnam,
for you are a December
child,
and to return to that
country
is to step into summer
forever.
But do not think you could
come
from anywhere else.
You look like me
after all.
I’ve
never
really
cared
about or followed the latest
trends. Instead, I’ve always
thought
of
myself
as
a
trendsetter. But on Monday, I
stumbled upon Seek Refuge,
a clothing company that uses
its platform and products for
female empowerment, Muslim
representation and refugee aid.
They’re branded as the first to
make streetwear for Muslim
women
regardless
of
their
personal modesty choices.
For me, my wardrobe is an
extension of who I am. My style
is a reflection of my personality
and my commitment to be
unapologetically me.
Like my wardrobe, I don’t
neatly fit into one box or
category.
I
am
boho-chic,
professional and daring. I am
Nigerian-American,
Muslim
and progressive.
Like my personality, my
closet
is
overflowing
with
vibrant colors, patterns and
fabrics. I am as bright as my
favorite coral dress, as unique
as my African attire and as
strong as my leather handbags.
Like the way my outfits
change as the seasons pass, I
am adaptable, reliable and a
little unpredictable.
Yet, I have always struggled
to find a balance between
expressing
myself
through
fashion and staying true to
my faith as a Muslim woman.
I see Muslim women cloaked
in beautiful robes and tightly
pinned hijabs and yearn to
look as beautiful as they do.
Yet, when I pin up my hair and
look into the mirror, I don’t
see me. It’s taken me so long to
feel comfortable and beautiful
in my own skin and now I’m
proud to show it off. I’m finally
starting to find a balance
and defining my own type of
modesty. Seek Refuge gives
Muslim women a way to define
modesty for themselves.
The best part is a portion
of every purchase is donated
to refugee aid organizations
overseas. Lately, I’ve felt pretty
frustrated with my inability
to aid in the growing refugee
crisis across the globe. I feel
guilty at times knowing I
have two homes when about
11 million Syrians have been
forced to flee their homes, but
companies like Seek Refuge
give me a way to do something
I probably would have done
anyway while giving back.
I personally cannot wait
to get my very own “Refuge
Jacket,” their feature item. Its
oversized fit and the Arabic
script on the back perfectly
embodies
Seek
Refuge’s
mission. It’s quite literally a
fashion statement. The Arabic
script on the back, handwritten
by a Muslim calligrapher, is
a poem written by a Syrian
refugee. It reads:
Once we were at least happy.
There once was peace where
we resided
In
our
land
of
birth;
our
homeland.
We
never
anticipated this
That war would tear us apart
and leave us miserable this way
We witnessed so powerlessly
our
brothers
and
sisters
brutalized
Our homes and properties
burnt, and then came our
displacement
We
have
hopes
but
in
despair. We cried peace but in
bloodshed
That oh, we’d better seek
refuge. We ran for our dear
lives
Hunting for safety across the
borders our dreams seem direly
shattered
As we seek for a new
homeland, in a land where no
one wants us.
What’s
your
fashion
statement?
October 1, 2018
Expressing identity through fashion
MAYA MOKH
Assistant MiC Editor
A virus of the mind:
Justice for the Uyghurs
HALIMAT OLANIYAN
MiC Contributor
Boat People
ELIZABETH LE
MiC Columnist
“Kuch Kuch Hota Hai,” “Dil
Chahta Hai,” “Kabhi Khushi
Kabhie Gham,” “Mujhse Dosti
Karoge!”, “Kaho Naa… Pyaar
Hai” - I grew up watching the
sappiest romance movies ever.
My first celebrity crush was
a Bollywood actor and I’ve
always cared more about the
newest Hindi movie than the
latest Jonas Brothers album
(my worlds have been colliding
a lot recently … ). When I was
younger I’d get teased for not
having seen “Toy Story” or
not being able to quote “The
Parent Trap.” While my friends
debated the spelling of “sup
ercalifragilisticexpialidocio
us,” I was singing, “chanda
chamke cham cham chikhe
chaukanna chor, chiti chate
chinee
chatoree
chinikhor”
from “Fanaa.”
When I was younger, I
watched
Bollywood
movies
because that’s what my desi
parents watched and it’s all I
knew. As I got older, I continued
to watch them for a multitude of
reasons.
When I would visit my
cousins abroad, they made fun
of my weird American accent
and how I couldn’t really
communicate
with
anyone
outside of our family. My
cousins in Mumbai learned
Hindi and English in school as
well as our family dialect. I, on
the other hand, grew up in the
United States, where the only
additional language I learned
was English. I used to visit India
confused about everything and
with zero communication skills.
So, I watched Bollywood movies
in the hopes of learning Hindi.
I
continued
watching
Bollywood movies in the hopes
of learning about customs that
weren’t mine. I didn’t like the
astonished reactions I would
get when I told people I didn’t
know the answer to their
question about Hindu rituals
that they assumed were Indian
traditions, or when my non-
Muslim desi friends mentioned
holidays or ceremonies that my
family didn’t participate in. I
wanted to be part of the desi
community around me and
watching
Bollywood
movies
was how I tried to decipher all
the things that to an outsider I
looked like I would know, but
just didn’t.
Now, I watch Bollywood
movies because these movies
are a connection to my South
Asian roots. I’ve spent so much
of my life internalizing racist
ideals and distancing myself
from my parent’s heritage that
Hindi movies have become
my way of learning to love my
culture.
As much as I love the
Bollywood film industry and
Hindi-language films, I can’t
help but feel some cognitive
dissonance every time I sit
down to watch one. Bollywood
movies are SO problematic. This
is, of course, a reflection of the
society that creates these movies
and the audiences that consume
them. Yet, while I recognize
the problems in these movies,
I haven’t been able to bring
myself to boycott them the way
I will Hollywood movies. How
can I cut myself off from the one
thing that’s keeping me rooted
in
my
culture?
Ultimately,
I’ve decided that I can still
appreciate a typical Bollywood
blockbuster for its filmy drama,
while acknowledging that some
of the jokes, and sometimes even
the entire plot, is extremely
problematic.
This
column
will
be
a
space for me to talk about my
problematic favs. The biggest
Bollywood movies always have
questionable
elements
and
I want to think about them
critically while still being able
to appreciate the reasons that I
bother watching these movies
in the first place. Stay tuned for
movie reviews, rants about the
many messed up parts of the
Hindi film industry and some
celebrity buzz too.
Bollywood films: My problematic fave
ZAINAB BHINDARWALA
Senior MiC Editor
“Like my
wardrobe, I don’t
neatly fit into one
box or category.
I am boho-chic,
professional and
daring”
“As much as I love
the Bollywood
film industry...I
can’t help but feel
some cognitive
dissonance every
time I sit down to
watch one.”
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Michigan in Color
Monday, September 17, 2018 — 3A