I opened All-American: 45 American Men on Being Muslim, the second publication in the recently unveiled I Speak For Myself series, fully expecting to roll my eyes at trite complaints about airport security or defensive rants against terrorism. Instead, I was quickly humbled by the realization that I, myself an ‘All-American Muslim man,’ was just as in need of an introduction to these 45 men as the presumably intended audience, non-Muslim Americans.
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The overwhelming success of the dystopian young adult novel, The Hunger Games, and its film adaptation calls into question the amount of violence we expose Muslim adolescents to without a second thought. If we exercise such careful discretion over sexually explicit material, why not at least show a fraction of concern about violence in a film like this one?
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The Dictator is nothing more than silly comedy with crude sexual content and a regurgitation of a century old anti-Muslim depictions. In my community advocate role of liaising with the entertainment industry, I attended an advanced screening of the new Sasha Baron Cohen film last week. Afterward, I was glad I saved myself 12 bucks and a trip to the theater. Following the historic Arab spring, Cohen makes a film about the ever-despised Middle Eastern dictators.
Read MoreToday is Mother’s Day and I have given serious thought to what I want as a present. I have pointed out things that I need and things that I don’t, but want anyway, to my progeny and their father. And I have a gorgeous white lace dress and a beautiful pair of five inch platform pumps hidden away in my laundry room – my Mother’s Day gift to myself.
Read MoreI am someone who defies convention. I converted to Islam shortly after 9/11. But that didn’t mean I would become a conventional Muslim. I wanted to know God in a way that made sense to me. Every time I pick up the Quran, I’m in awe and feel even more sure that this revelation is how God wanted me to become closer to Him. But that epiphany is far from beautiful and inspiring for the majority of non-Muslims and Muslims I meet. There’s a simple explanation: I don’t wear the hijab (headscarf). My decision not to wear it is not out of defiance, but because it doesn’t work for me.
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Written by Tahmima Anam, The Good Muslim is the story of an educated, “modern” woman who loses her brother to Islamic fundamentalism. And perhaps this storyline is why the book has garnered so many rave reviews and literary awards—because Western critics and audiences enjoy literature that confirms their worst suspicions about Muslims. Its premise, a young woman’s struggle to find meaning in a post-war, newly-independent Bangladesh that had emerged out of one of the darkest periods of the Indian subcontinent’s history, intrigued me.
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She’s been called the “Ice Princess in the Hijab.” And I think she rocks. Zahra Lari is a 17-year-old Olympic figure-skating hopeful from the United Arab Emirates. And you can’t miss her because she wears a black hijab instead of sparkly hair clips and nylon pants instead of the characteristic shiny nude tights. I love seeing a Muslim woman as a competitive athlete. I just love it. I was crushed when the Iranian women’s soccer team was disqualified from the Olympics because of their headscarves.
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Khadija, The First Lady of Islam, is a recently published jewel of Islamic historical fiction that eloquently
narrates the entire life of one of the most honored women in Islam–an exquisite testimony to her life
and her contributions to the religion. Delicately crafted by Maxine Meilleur, this comprehensive, well-
researched work is a must-have for Muslim and non-Muslim history buffs, book lovers, and Khadija
admirers.
It is not often that we get to hear a Muslimah, dressed in hijabi chic, sing about relationships and life without self-censorship and it is equally rare to see such an artist featured on late night American television. So last night, Conan viewers got a treat as Malaysian singer/songwriter, Yuna, made her American television debut with a performance of her latest song, “Live Your Life.”
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<< From the AltMuslimah Archives >> Looking into the mirror, I stare at the reflection of my chai-colored forehead; I pause and consider the shades of color slowly descend down my face. Peeking through the brown, a soft pink highlights my cheekbones and the dimples around my crooked smile. The protected skin around my eyelids is the much coveted milky cream color that incites the unwelcome thought of discontent at the shade of my skin.
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