Muslim women speak of strength

Oct. 12--Last Friday, I sat in a circle with seven Muslim women.

It was the end of the first week of Ramadan, the holy month when Muslims fast from food and drink from dawn until sunset. We had gathered that night with the rest of the Muslim community to pray and break fast together.

After a potluck dinner, these women let me ask them questions about being Muslim and a woman in La Crosse.

To understand a people you have to start with a person. In a 45-minute conversation, I could not demystify what I and most Americans have encountered in words and flash-images more than in flesh. But the four women who spoke (three listened) offered inroads and insights into their experiences that start, not end, a conversation.

Fatin Abdullah, a 20-year-old Saudi Arabian who has been in the U.S. for 9 months, answered a simple question with a tough, five-word response.

"Why do you wear the hijab?" I asked, a bit embarrassed because asking about the headscarf Muslim women wear is the obvious way to begin.

"It makes me feel strong," she said.

Her response stays in my mind not only because it defies the widespread idea here that Muslim women are oppressed. You can believe, not believe, or argue with Fatin's words. But the power in her eyes and the force of her voice leave no question.

Fatin is strong.

The first reason for wearing the hijab, like the first reason for doing anything in Islam, is to obey God. But as the women explained, a purpose lies behind the command.

The hijab "protects me," said Fatin, who is a freshman at the University of Wisconsin-La Crosse. "It makes me feel like it's me, my personality, my education, and it's not only my appearance."

That's a countercultural statement in a country where women empowered themselves, in part, by burning bras. It had me asking who is oppressed: the woman in the advertisement wearing a bikini and lying in front of a pickup truck or the woman in the hijab?

But to reduce a conversation about Muslim women to the hijab is to approach it from the non-Muslim mind. As a non-Muslim, that's OK to do. You ask first what you see first. But as Mona Rasool, who moved from Pakistan to the U.S. 16 years ago and to the

La Crosse area 21/2 years ago, pointed out, to be modern, Muslim and woman is much more.

"Go to a Muslim country and see how the Muslim men are respecting the Muslim women and that's the woman the world doesn't know," said the 40-year-old nonpracticing physician.

Rawan Muneer, 21, from Saudi Arabia, has been in

La Crosse for a year.

Americans think the "Muslim woman doesn't do anything," Rawan said. "She's just there to marry and get children. But I think that's not true. She's a very active member in the family. They have all the rights. They study. They graduate from school. They get married. They get children. They have all rights. They always say that we don't have rights. What's the rights that we don't have? I want to know that."

Rawan talked about difficulties that sometimes come with being who she is where she is. Getting off the bus once in downtown La Crosse, a man in his 40s asked her if she was Muslim. She said yes. He shouted and yelled at her, called her a criminal and told her to leave the U.S.

"Here I'm not respected and I'm always looked at like a strange person," she said. "Not strange because I'm international, I think, (but) because I'm Muslim and they don't like us as Muslims. They don't accept us."

Mona pointed out that the experiences of Fatin and Rawan are different than hers or her daughter because of the length of time they've been in the U.S.

Jawairiya Rasool, 17, is Mona's daughter.

"I don't think people are afraid," she said. "They just don't know how to deal with us."

A student at UW-La Crosse, she attended part of her high school years here after moving from Alabama. Her mother said it was her daughter's decision whether to wear the hijab. Two weeks before Sept. 11, 2001, she put it on and continues to wear it.

Jawairiya said she doesn't mind people asking her about the hijab, as long as they are genuinely curious and not being mean. "I don't believe in discrimination," she said. "I don't believe in hatred. I believe in misunderstanding. I believe in not knowing."

There was much more said and much more to learn. But most of the people had left. The men were finished cleaning up and it was time to go home.

Joe Orso can be reached at (608) 791-8429 or jorso@lacrossetribune.com.

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Copyright (c) 2006, La Crosse Tribune, Wis.

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