The Heart Team

Addressing sexual abuse in faith communities can be particularly challenging given some of the cultural barriers, the stigmatization and blaming of survivors, and the social and emotional consequences that many survivors face by coming forward.

While it is easy for many in the community to pass the onus of justice on to law enforcement, the reality is that often is just not enough. According to the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN), nearly 70% of sexual assault goes unreported. Research indicates that this percentage is even higher in communities of color. Only 3% of sex offenders ever spend a night in jail. Taking these alarming statistics into consideration, how can we as community members support survivors and help them seek justice?

We can start by making a commitment to compassion. As beautifully and simply articulated in this brilliant khutbah by Sumaya Abubaker at the Women’s Mosque of America on April 24, 2015, we hear the story of a survivor and the challenges to addressing sexual assault and sexual abuse.  “So who do we blame,” she asks, “if we can’t blame the survivors for the very transgressions committed against them? The heart of the matter is that truly what makes us unsafe, is the illusion of safety that we have created. And we built this illusion with our silence. The silencing of our survivors. The silence of those who should know better and the silence that we have created around the perpetrators. The silence at its very essence, is the absence of compassion. But it doesn’t have to be this way…..Compassion and justice are inextricably linked. without compassion there is no justice, and without justice there is no compassion.”

This khutbah is worth every minute of your time. Listen, reflect, and commit to working to build safer communities for those who have been silenced, for those who’s agency was stripped away from them when the great transgression was committed against them. While law enforcement has its own trajectory, we hold great responsibility to one another as human beings to protect them, keep them physically, emotionally, spiritually, and socially safe, and to empower them as they begin their journey of healing.

For previous khutbahs at the Women’s Mosque of America, please click here.

originally published on patheos.com

by Key Ballah

He said my name like a ghost.
A whisper from behind.
A quiet wind
hot and hollow.
He said it lazily and slack mouthed,
not parting his full lips wide enough to let every letter through.
He said it without the sigh of relief at the end
that it needed to sound familiar,
like it was not so sweet it could make his eyes water.

I should have known.
I should have known what kind of man he was
when he held his tongue between his teeth and let his eyes off their leash
to roam unapologetically the holy plains of my body.
Eyes that didn’t deserve a single follicle of my hair
let alone the entire garden of my being.
With his hungry eyes and half smile,
he watched,
he looked,
he took something from me.
I should have known then,
that he was dangerous.

But they don’t teach you how to recover from feeling powerless in school, how to spot a wolf in the skin of a man. They don’t give you a step-by-step guide to claiming or reclaiming your voice, a how-to on finding your agency when you are scared and your skin is crawling. So, like the sticky-fingered boys in elementary school, I ignored his disregard for the boundaries of my womanhood, my humanity.

My father used to tell my sister and me never to let anyone touch us in any way that made us feel uncomfortable. He constantly reminded us that our bodies were our own and that no one was allowed to do anything to us or with us without our say so.

In grade six, my body sprouted overnight. I was eleven and in full bloom, full of parts that made me feel like I belonged in the circus, not a sixth grade classroom. The boys noticed, almost before I did.

I remember sitting in the back of class one afternoon as the boys in my class passed back and forth by my desk “sharpening pencils” so that they could take turns copping a feel of my “shiny new boobs.” I remember the heat that took over my face, the churning that grew in my stomach. I was embarrassed and ashamed, but I could not find my voice. I couldn’t say the words that were burning my mouth.

My lack of visible protest furthered my shame. The heat grew into a tingling sensation that swallowed me whole. As the final boy got up, to “sharpen his pencil” I heard one of the boys who had already passed by say, “Her boobs feel weird.” They all laughed in agreement. They laughed as if they were “titty connoisseurs,” as if in their one decade of existence they knew exactly what boobs were supposed to feel like.

It wasn’t their hands, their dirty palms and fingernails black from playing soccer in a muddy field that overthrew me. It was their laughter. I remember it like it was yesterday, I felt like I was going to vomit, but instead of vomiting I opened my mouth and I screamed. I lunged at the speaker, knocked him onto the floor and began to slap and kick and punch. I kept going until my hands hurt and my teacher, one hand around my waist and the other across my chest, pulled me off of him.

I sat in the principal’s office that day with a salty, tear-stained face and a bleeding lip from biting down on it from anger. They asked me over and over why I had attacked him. I couldn’t bring myself to say that it had been because not only did he and his friends take unwanted liberties with my body, but that they then proceeded to make fun of it.

I was suspended for three days while the titty connoisseur got sympathy for having a bloody nose and a chipped front tooth.

We don’t teach girls how to be advocates from themselves. How to respond to abuse. We tell them to tell, but not how to tell, and not always who to tell. We don’t tell them that we will support them through the process and after the process, help them heal, help them return to their lives.

We don’t tell them that victim shame is just another form of victimization.

I knew that those boys touching me was wrong because I felt uncomfortable, and my father had told me that anyone who touched me in a way that felt uncomfortable was wrong. What he forgot to tell me was that it isn’t my fault when someone oversteps my boundaries. What I wear, the colour of my skin, my age, my body are not invitations for abuse. He didn’t tell me that being scared is okay, that not knowing what to do is a normal feeling.

At the age of 18 I stood in a restaurant freezer pinned against a 300-pound door as my boss tried to convince me that touching me was part of my job description. I remember thinking the entire time I knew he was like this, asking myself why I had ignored the signs.

As it was happening, I was shaming myself for not taking the right precautions to avoid the situation. Between breaths of “this is wrong” and “please stop” I recounted every action and inaction that had passed between us, internally flogging myself for making him think that I wanted his hands under my shirt or attempting to undo the button on my jeans.

As women we shame ourselves for everything; what we eat, what we said, what we should have said, what we wore, where we are from, what we did, what we didn’t do, how we love, we shame ourselves for the actions of others and the violence that is perpetuated against us. Most of us were never taught not to.

We are taught to protect our bodies by covering them. But what happens when covering them isn’t enough? What happens when you are 5 or 11 or 18, or 54, what happens when you’re not drunk, or you are drunk, or walking home from school or sitting at home or at a party?

Shame is the heaviest weight one can bear. As women we have backs grown accustomed to burdens that even the universe struggles to hold. To our daughters we must say: come home, you are safe here, you are cherished, we believe you, and you are valued. It is not your fault, we will not tolerate your mistreatment, we will advocate for you, we will not silence you or shame you, you are more than he has made you, more than they have made you.

To my sisters who have borne the weight of shame and burden, I am here to tell you that you are more than your experience. It was not your fault, your body is not an invitation. If you were too scared to say “no,” silence is still not consent. You weren’t asking for it. If you decided against it halfway through, you were not asking for it. If you were manipulated or deceived, you were not asking for it.

I believe you,
I value you,
I love you.

—

Key Ballah is a Toronto-based writer and Hip Hop enthusiast. She is the author of the poetry collection, ‘Preparing My Daughter For Rain‘, she melts faith, love and her experiences of being a woman of colour navigating the western world in her writing. She believes in empowering the brown girl to reclaim her selves and her body, by connecting and healing collectively, over borders, oceans and time zones, through story telling and poetry. She is currently working on a new project due out this fall.

The Role of Mental Health Professionals

HEART Executive Director Nadiah Mohajir, in partnership with Muslim Wellness Foundation, Dr. Sarah Syed from Khalil Center, and Sarah Rashid, participated in a virtual panel on effectively addressing sexual violence in the Muslim community. The 90-min panel featured presentations from each of the panelists, including a short discussion afterward.

In light of the recent allegations of sexual violence against a prominent Imam in Chicago, the following questions were addressed: How can Muslim mental health professionals help facilitate conversations about shame, stigma and healing? How can mental health professionals and the community at large work toward promoting a victim-centric approach, that supports survivors and their families through the healing process?

Participants included Nadiah Mohajir, who spoke on HEART’s work, Dr. Sarah Syed who spoke from the perspective of a mental health professional that works with survivors, and Sarah Rashid, a writer and artist, who spoke from the perspective of a survivor.

The webinar was very well received, with a particularly moving testimonial from one of its viewers.

“First and foremost, I would like to thank you for the call last night. I really don’t know where to start, but I have been through so much in my life and finally recognizing myself as a survivor and not just a victim. I could relate so much to Sarah. Everything on the call was so beneficial. Please let those sisters know everything they said was spot on….we heard everything they said and showed and it was food for my soul.

After the call, I woke up this morning like my spirit has been a sleep for decades, it is now awake, knowing more about myself and wanting to do more for me and others… Please keep me in the loop of this because my work is only beginning, there is so much that I would like to do for this cause. May Allah reward you well. Thank you.”

Below is the full webinar, please do not hesitate to share your feedback with us! A big thank you to the Muslim Wellness Foundation for inviting us to participate.

by Nadiah Mohajir

The recent blog post of a young religious wife, Veronica Partridge, explains that she is no longer going to wear leggings in public because  they “create a stronger attraction for a man to look at a woman’s body and may cause them to think lustful thoughts.” This blog post, though initially intended for her personal circle of friends, has gone viral and her motivations are being celebrated, many applauding her for her commitment to dress modestly.

Upon first reading of this article, I approached this from the two hats I wear on a daily basis: that of a Muslim woman who deeply values modesty and takes great care to incorporate modesty in every aspect of her life, as well as an educator and activist in the field of sex education and sexual violence. As such, I find her motivations and inspirations to eliminate leggings from her wardrobe not only problematic, as well as offensive, but most importantly, further perpetuating a culture of violence against women. By committing to dressing modestly in order to “assist men with focusing on what’s important,” Ms. Partridge removes personal accountability from men to control their urges and their gaze and instead places all accountability on women.

To that point, promoting modesty as a way to protect men’s gaze encourages rape culture. As I mentioned above, by assuming responsibility of protecting men’s eyes from lustful gazes, Ms. Partridge removes accountability from men. If a man wants to objectify or sexualize another woman, he will do so regardless of what she is wearing.  As explained in this critique, “the idea that women must change themselves in order to appease the male gaze is directly related to the idea that men cannot control themselves around women.” This not only leads to creating a culture that lacks accountability when violence against women happens, but it also leads to victim-blaming and shaming when such an occurrence happens. Such a narrative creates a strong environment for silencing victims of sexual assault from coming forward, for fear of being blamed or shame for the horrific crime that was committed against them.

Furthermore, dressing modestly doesn’t actually prevent violence against women. Ms. Partridge’s reasons to dress modestly are flawed given what we know about sexual violence. While it is commonly believed that assailants target scantily-dressed women, the reality proves this belief to be a myth. Men and women who commit sexual assault against another individual do not do so because of the way they are dressed, but rather because of the power they believe they have over another individual. Victims often are fully clothed at the time of attack, and there is no common theme between how one was dressed at the time of attack and likelihood of attack. Moreover, despite the fact that women are dressed overwhelmingly modestly in much of the Muslim world, sexual violence continues to remain rampant and prevalent.

Not to mention, dressing modestly to help men lower their gaze is insulting to men. Men are not animals. They can and should have the discipline to resist their urges and temptations, and should be taught in depth during their adolescence years what consent is and how to honor and respect it in every relationship. If this consent is ever violated, we should not preoccupy ourselves with questions about what the victim was wearing or whether she did something to provoke him, but rather should focus on the assailant’s gross violation of another’s physical and emotional space. Let’s honor the men and boys’ in our life and credit them with having noble qualities of respect and self-control, instead of excusing them for their involuntary “lustful thoughts.”

Finally, dressing modestly should be a personal or spiritual preference, motivated by one’s self. In the many years I have been working with youth around issues of sex, sexuality, and self-image in faith-based communities, I have learned that often times, young people (and even adults) are motivated to honor certain aspects of their religious values, but not for reasons that are spiritually founded. Rather, they often honor them because they fear being stigmatized or shamed for not honoring them, or because their parents and family members expect them to, and not because of a spiritual motivation to please God. This is faulty because it often results in a lot of resentment toward the value, paralyzing shame in the event it is not honored and in the cases of many young women, poor self-image and body image. It is essential to reclaim modesty as a tool of personal and spiritual empowerment, and not as a personal responsibility toward preventing violence against women.

We live in a day and time that violence against women is systemic and prevalent in the very fabric of our daily lives, interactions, and relationships. It’s time to challenge the faulty narratives that promote and enable a culture of violence against women – which ultimately leads to enabling perpetrators and silencing the many victims out there – and instead, create new ones.

Community Resources: Responding to Sexual Violence in Muslim Communities

If you are a survivor or a community looking to support survivors of sexual violence, here are some resources for you. Coming forward about an act of sexual violence requires a lot of courage and support. You are not alone, there are trained professionals to support you. Always.

Hotlines

National Sexual Assault Line – 1-800-656-HOPE

Rape Crisis Hotline  1-888-293-2080

National Organizations

National Sexual Violence Resource Center

Peaceful Families Project

Community-based organizations (Chicago)

Rape Victim Advocates

IL Coalition Against Sexual Violence

HEART Women & Girls

Arab American Family Services

Hamdard Center for Health and Human Services

Turning Point

Khalil Center

Toolkits and Other Resources

Engaging Muslim Communities in Ending Sexual Exploitation

Unheard Voices: The Sexual Exploitation of Young Asian Girls and Women

Creating Safe and Resourceful Communities

HEART Women & Girls Virtual Peer Educators

HEART Women & Girls Sexual Violence awareness blog

For more information on the issue or resources in the community, please visit www.hearttogrow.org or email heartwg@gmail.com