Sexual Violence

Community Resources

December 8, 2014 by The Heart Team 1 Comment

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

The Religion of My Rape

November 6, 2014 by The Heart Team Leave a Comment

by Jennifer Zobair

originally published on the Feminist Wire

Whenever the epidemic of rape in Egypt makes the news, I am destined to think of Joyce Carol Oates.

Last summer, the author took to twitter to question whether Islam was responsible for the widespread incidence of sexual assault in Egypt, an argument people continue to make today. As a Muslim woman, I desperately wanted to respond to Ms. Oates’ tweets. I held my cursor over the “reply” button countless times. But I’ve been silent about the things I would have said, about why I follow Dennis Rodman on twitter, and why Pearl Jam is my favorite band, and how my heart shattered forwomen in Syria who felt like they had to be silent, too.

I have been silent.

I have, of course, told a few close family and friends. When one of them asked why I, a writer and feminist, had never written about the things I have been silent about, I said because if I talk about the ways I’m affected— how stairwells and wooded areas and workers in my house scare me—people will say I am so sorry, and maybe a lot of people will say it, and then I’ll be the thing that happened to me instead of being me.

But I’ve been haunted by Joyce Carol Oates’ tweets about rape in Egypt, even though she eventually backtracked, because they were lazy and bigoted, but mostly because they reflected such a narrow reading of the facts. There are other facts, of course, things I would have said if I had not been silent. For example:

No Muslim teacher ever put his hand on my thigh in the eleventh grade after leading me, distraught, to his office when I learned that a friend committed suicide.

No Muslim police officer ever showed up at my law school apartment after I reported harassing phone calls and told me that his day got a lot better when he saw me, and then made himself comfortable on my couch, looked me up and down, and asked if I lived alone.

No Muslim law partner ever gave me a bad review when I rejected his sexual advances.

And no blond-haired Muslim poet ever gave me a roofie on a date and took me to his home and raped me.

No Muslim man stuffed my nylons in my pocket and let me take a cab home alone in Washington, D.C. in the middle of the night, high on a drug I didn’t know I’d taken, only to wake up the next morning with memories that surfaced in jagged pieces after I discovered that I couldn’t sit without wincing and that there was blood.

My rape and the culture in which it occurred were very non-Muslim affairs.

My survival, however, is not. It is a half-breed: It is part Catholic, like I was at the time of the rape, and like the church I walked into afterwards to say I was sorry. I’d sat for twenty-four hours with the kind of coming-out-of-your-skin sensation that will burn you up or out, or both. I thought if I owned it, I could get rid of it. I have no idea what the priest talked about at that morning’s service. I was too busy dumping my shame in the aisles and on the pews and all over the vinyl-covered kneelers. I tried to leave the shame there, but it followed me home to my apartment where I holed up long enough to risk flunking out of law school.

I was saved by a bad boy NBA player and a 90s grunge band.

Because I’d been a Bulls fan, I owned Dennis Rodman’s autobiography,Bad as I Wanna Be. I didn’t read it until I found myself locked in my apartment, unable to focus on my schoolwork. I opened the book and fixated on the quote from Pearl Jam’s “Alive” in the front matter. Eventually, I turned the page and read about how Rodman once sat in a truck with a gun and thought about killing himself, and about how he decided to survive.

I played Pearl Jam’s “Alive” over and over until I decided to survive, too.

I returned to my Jesuit law school, stoically told my professors the reason for my absence, and made up my work. I graduated. I started my job at a New York City law firm. I functioned at a high level. I figured no one outside of my closest circle ever needed to know.

I got married and converted to Islam, which means that the past sixteen years of my survival have taken place within the Muslim community. Conservative Muslims believe they are protecting and respecting women with strict rules about women’s bodies. But the logical conclusion too often is that bad things happen when women step outside of this paradigm. I have sat silently while Muslims said these things to me.

This is what happens to bad girls.

I didn’t tell non-Muslims about being raped because I feared being pitied. I didn’t tell Muslims because I feared being condemned. I was on a date, and that means some Muslims will be sure the religion of my rape—something other than Islam—was to blame, and that if I’d been a “good Muslim girl” none of this would have happened.

But just as Joyce Carol Oates’ original tweets failed to account for the one in four American women who are sexually assaulted, most of whose attackers are presumably not Muslim, too many Muslims fail to consider the large number of Muslim women—many practicing, many covered—who are raped as well, often by Muslim men.

This is the sad, damaging chorus of the point being missed.

There is no religion that protects us from rape. There is no secularism that protects us from rape. There are no clothes that prevent it. There is no level of sobriety that keeps us safe.

Recently, I read about Syrian rape victims who weren’t getting help because they, as Muslim women in a conservative society, would not admit to relief workers that they were raped. Their reluctance does not surprise me. Ms. Oates was wrong to blame Islam itself for rape—even though sexual violence is a problem in Muslim societies just as it is in other societies—but Muslims and other conservative religious communities need to own the ways they often shame survivors into silence.

And I need to own this: If a woman like me living in a fairly liberal society cannot speak about what happened to her, how can we expect women in Syria to speak about what happened to them?

Years after my rape, I sat alone, staring at the phone. Finally, I dialed information and asked for the rape crisis number. The male telephone operator paused before connecting me and gently said, “You take good care, okay?”

I hung up and burst into tears at the compassion of a stranger who didn’t need to know anything else about me—not what I’d been wearing, or whether I was on a date, or what religion I was—but who seemed to understand that something catastrophic had happened and it required care instead of shame.

It has taken me nearly two decades to say it publicly. I was raped. It’s not my fault. It’s not Islam’s fault. It’s not western dating’s fault. It’s not even a date rape drug’s fault. It is the fault of the man who raped me. And dear women in Syria, you who are my sisters not because you are Muslim but because you are human beings, it is not your fault either.

Religion isn’t to blame for rape, and it’s not a panacea for it either. The practice of religion does, of course, encompass cultural meanings, including misogyny, which cuts across many faiths. Sexist and opportunistic interpretations of religious texts and tenets are one part of the larger social context for sexual violence. But we must never forget this: Ultimately, rapists are to blame for rape. Until we get that right, there will be enormous pressure for women to stay silent. And it’s in the quiet, dark spaces that shame takes root.

This is my rape, without creed or sect, praying for more light.

Jennifer Zobair is an attorney and the author of the debut novel, Painted Hands (St.Martin’s Press, 2013) and the co-editor of Faithfully Feminist: Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Feminists on Why We Stay (forthcoming from White Cloud Press, 2015). Her essays have appeared in The Rumpus, The Huffington Post, altmuslimah, Feminism and Religion, and elsewhere. Follow Jennifer on twitter at @jazobair or connect through her website at www.jenniferzobair.com.

Creating Safe & Resourceful Communities

September 15, 2014 by The Heart Team 1 Comment

by Nadiah Mohajir

The recent news of Ray Rice and Janay Palmer has sparked much conversation around domestic violence, and what we as a community can do to address it and effectively support our survivors. Our last guest post, by Rabia Chaudry, explored the challenges many survivors face when dealing with intimate partner violence and why many cannot find a way out. She challenged us to start thinking about how we as a community can begin supporting our sisters through this. Yes, we have numerous legal and social services available to us in this country, but that is just one piece of the puzzle, and often sought out much later in the situation. This piece is a follow-up to Rabia’s post, about what we can do to start creating safer communities – communities in which our women are not blamed, communities in which they feel safe and supported, and most importantly, empowered not just to help themselves, but to be a resource for each other.

Domestic violence is a reality in all our communities, and is not limited to only one racial, ethnic, religious or socioeconomic community. 1 in 4 women experience domestic violence in her lifetime, and over 1.3 million are victims of physical assault by an intimate partner. Despite these large numbers, most cases of domestic violence are never reported to the police. The reasons that survivors do not leave abusive situations or do not seek legal or social services are many and quite complex. In addition to barriers such as financial dependency, shame and isolation, Rabia and others have pointed out the numerous cultural barriers, including but not limited to:

love for their partner and not wanting them to face legal consequences such as jail time
fear of being separated from children, or taking their children away from their father
religious and cultural pressures to stay married
believing that they deserve to be treated that way
believing that its their husband’s right to be controlling
no support from family and friends

That being said, it is likely that there are survivors in our immediate social circles and families. Often, we may even notice something is not right, but look the other way in order to honor the other person’s privacy. Many times, we hesitate to get involved or ask questions on matters between a husband and wife. Other times, someone may reach out to us, but simply handing them a business card for a therapist or the hotline for domestic violence isn’t enough. We must do more to empower our sisters, as many don’t seek professional services until they find themselves very deep in a bad situation. Rather, we should be doing our part as community members to support these survivors and create spaces for them where they feel safe, and empowered to do what they need to take care of themselves and their families well before the professional, legal and social services enter the equation. Our role in the community is to offer support and resources, not to offer advice or issue fatwas (legal rulings). Everyone’s situation is very different, and the challenges they face in such circumstances are very complex, and it is essential for our community members, religious leaders, and others to be equipped to deal with this situation with delicacy, sensitivity, and expertise.

Below, I have included some steps we can all start to take to create these environments and safe spaces that welcome those in need to reach out to us. The underlying attribute as we practice the tips below should be that of mercy and kindness.

Practice reflective listening. This is a very important skill and first step to building healthier communities and relationships. Reflective listening involves being present when the other person is talking to you, not interrupting them, and then repeating what they said to you, so they know you heard and understood them. It also helps you clarify from them what they are looking to get from you – whether it’s just a listening ear, or whether they need you to do something specific. Finally, validate and affirm what they are feeling. Simple statements such as “it is normal and not surprising you feel scared” or “you’re doing the responsible thing by speaking with someone, and know you are not alone” can seem like insignificant gestures on your part, but are incredibly important for a survivor to hear and internalize as she works through her situation.

Affirm and validate. If someone reaches out to you about an abusive situation, the worst thing you can do is not believe them. As mentioned earlier, there are so many barriers a survivor faces when seeking help – stigma & shame, re-traumatization, risking family relationships, and many more – that doubting their story dismisses the bravery and courage and fear they must be feeling as they reach out to you. While often times society has responded to abuse situations as “alleged” and “innocent until proven guilty” and accused the survivor of embellishing or fabricating the story, this is typically not the case. Research shows that false allegations of rape and domestic violence are far and few between – only about 2-10% of cases are due to false allegations.

Free yourself of blaming and shaming the survivor. Often, people are quick to pass judgment on a woman who hasn’t left an abusive situation. This results in further increasing the unnecessary guilt the survivor may be feeling, and does not empathize with the numerous possible reasons she is trying to make her relationship work. While there are numerous reasons women may not leave abusive relationships, one of them may be because they are in a premarital relationship and will further compromise their own reputation in a community that does not approve of premarital relationships. Remain objective and remove your personal judgment. Remember, everyone has a unique story. You may not agree with the path they may have taken, but nonetheless, they took it and you can only encourage them to make informed decisions and feel supported.

Maintain their privacy (and your own!). This goes without saying, but often time people are hesitant to reach out to others because they don’t trust that their privacy will be maintained. Unfortunately, when situations such as domestic violence incidents do get exposed, there are many who discuss the situation and make numerous assumptions that are likely untrue or embellished, and more importantly, don’t respect that privacy is something that is crucial to maintain in this situation to avoid shaming, blaming, or re-traumatizing the survivor.

Be resourceful. Familiarize yourself and your family with the legal and social services in your community, should you need to direct someone to them. Have conversations with the members of your family on what they can do should they have someone reach out to them on a certain issue. Teach your children to be resourceful for their peers. Of course, one person can not be all-knowing of everything that is out there, so acknowledge your limitations but be willing to help them find the resources and information they are looking for using your contacts in the community and the wealth of information on the internet.

Assess your privilege. Often times we are surprised when someone reaches out to us for help. Numerous assumptions may cross our minds, including a disbelief and judgement about why this person hasn’t removed themselves from the situation. This is where it is important to check your own privilege. It is important to remember that there are plenty of factors and experiences in an individuals’ life that can impact their ability to access information and resources in safe and empowered way, and that you may have certain privileges that may facilitate you to operate in a different way in that circumstance.

Don’t ask why she hasn’t left. Ask why he’s being abusive. How we respond to situations of domestic violence has a significant impact on the environment we are creating and whether survivors feel safe and empowered to seek help. We are also setting an example for the people around us, especially for young boys, on how to hold the perpetrator, who is often male, accountable. Whether we hear of a domestic abuse situation through the media, or whether it is something closer to home, a situation of a friend or family member, it is crucial to continuously hold the perpetrator accountable, and ask why they are being abusive, and not focus on the survivor’s response (or lack of response). By asking the right questions, we not only hold the perpetrators responsible, but we also free the survivor of guilt and blame, which may be exactly what they need to feel empowered and validated to seek help.

Honor cultural and religious context. There are numerous cultural and religious experiences that often contribute to a survivor’s ability or inability to leave an abusive situation. The reason that a survivor may be reaching out to you is because they might feel as if you understand their cultural and religious context yet can relate to their experiences, even if they operate differently from you. There are also numerous cultural myths and misinformation that are rampant in the faith-based communities that not only perpetuate uninformed communities, but may also contribute to violence, misogyny and patriarchy. While it is important to address these myths and misinformation and offer accurate information, the manner with which you do it is key. Addressing these issues with great understanding, mercy, and empathy is essential. Remember, as much as you may dislike a cultural value or attitude, it may be something the individual holds on to and deeply respects. Whenever you are addressing a question that an individual has asked, always ask yourself the following questions: What is your role in this process? Is it ethical for you to challenge and question their cultural understanding? What would be the impact of you doing so? Raise awareness about the issue and correct misinformation, but without making the individual feel judged or stupid for holding such a value or belief.

If you see something, say something. Too many times, we may know something about a perpetrator’s past but won’t say anything to anyone as they embark on a new marriage or relationship, perhaps out of fear of getting involved in a private matter, or perhaps out of respect for the Islamic tradition that encourages Muslims to cover their own sins as well as others. While it is true that we must protect our fellow community members and not expose their sins, it is important to note that this does not need to be honored if someone else may be harmed by this information. In other words, if you know that a member in your community has a history of being the perpetrator of abuse in past marriages or relationships, then do not keep this information to yourself, especially if you are consulted about this person’s character. There have been a number of domestic violence incidents in the past that could have been prevented had the community members not stayed silent about the perpetrators. Of course, speaking up against something like this requires much courage and can also be dangerous, so involve the right people if you need to, such as an imam or another community leader. There are a growing number of imams who are refusing to perform the marriage ceremony of a known abuser.

Creating safe communities and supporting survivors is not easy, and can be incredibly intense work. In working actively to create these communities and take care of others, it is crucial to remember to practice self-care. Do what you need to take care of yourself as you take on the important task of supporting others, and remember that this is a collective effort, and should never fall on the shoulders of any one person.

When Abuse Happens

August 11, 2014 by The Heart Team 1 Comment

Trigger warnings: self-harm, rape and sexual abuse

originally published on loveinshallah.com

by Sarah Cassim

It was becoming a little routine by now. Every day after work, I would listlessly make the rounds of the kitchen, not daring to cook anything lest my resolve broke and I took a knife to my skin. I would wait for my roommate, who came in half an hour after me. We’d cook dinner together, her unawareness of my inner struggle a relief of its own.

When Ramadan came, the cutting urges gripped me in a vice. Wrecked by hunger and exhaustion on the one hand and battling self harm urges on the other, I came back from work every day and fell into my bed sobbing, terrified of what I would do to myself if I got up. My entire body screamed. It was like a food craving, except my body did not want to nourish itself. Falling headlong into depression, my body only saw self-destruction as a way out.

I fasted day in and out living out an internal terror. My roommates were all non-Muslims. There was really nowhere I could go for spiritual support or guidance.

————-

My rape was a childhood story. Grappling with the trauma was an adulthood truth.

The truth is, our community is afraid of speaking on matters which don’t present us as a perfect organism. Mental Health. Depression. Suicide. Abuse – domestic, sexual, emotional or otherwise. We do this (as has been stated by many Muslim brethren of mine) many times because we don’t want to give “Islamophobes more fodder”. Those who dare to broach these topics often stop at condemnation. Islam does not stand for abuse. Abusers would suffer mightily. End of story.

But, when abuse happens, it is not enough to say Islam and the beloved Prophet would condemn it.

I’ll tell you as a survivor that because my rape was committed by a “religious teacher”, I struggled with my religion. I’ll tell you that I often thought about Hazrat Aisha, youngest wife of the Prophet Muhammad, who is thought to have consummated her marriage around the same age as I was when my rape happened. I’ll tell you that there were days that I’d sit on my prayer mat, unable to pray.

It is the single biggest reason I stopped coming to Friday congregational prayers. I never knew when I’d be able to pray, and when I wouldn’t be able to, and what reactions I might have to deal with. I searched on Google in vain for Muslim resources that adequately dealt with helping survivors cope in a religious context and came up with almost nothing. At that time, it was like a double whammy of loneliness, grief, and hurt all in one go. I’ll tell you that as I went through this, various commentaries about how Islam does not stand for abuse, for rape, etc., did nothing to help. The statements felt empty.

Coming to terms with trauma is difficult. It is a journey that renders the person fragile, because harmful coping mechanism once employed are now made obsolete. There is constant pain, physical pain, as much as emotional pain as trauma is relived, dealt with, survived. The first part of the journey, where the survivor is constantly reacting to the trauma long after the trauma is over, is called the “crisis stage”, and sometimes is as long as decades.

In my inexpert opinion (I read a lot of psychology, but that doesn’t make me a psychologist), it is probably the stage where the survivor needs the most resources, the most support, the most patience. It is also where I would say that religious institutions and leaders should step in and provide resources and support as needed.

However, most of our clergy are inaccessible, especially to women. Those who are accessible tell us that the ways out of our afflictions are patience, and strengthening our Iman by praying or reading the Quran. I am not denying that spirituality for many is a cornerstone of their healing.

All I am saying is that empty spirituality for many is not enough.

————-

I reasoned with myself for over a week. In Islam, one is allowed to make up fasts later if one is sick, but illness is usually defined in physical terms. Did my depression count? My self-cutting urges? Countless studies prove that hunger often exacerbates depression so I wasn’t making this up. But was I being a bad Muslim by forgoing fasting? Was there a way to be stronger?

In the absence of access to real Imams, I Googled and checked for Certified Muslim Websites. Suffering purifies our humanness, and hunger is suffering. Fasting is used as a way to strengthen my Iman. A single event does not bring on depression or happiness. Depression or happiness is a mindset. I should change my mindset. Develop a stronger Iman.

But I could not change my mindset. My nerves screamed at me.

In the end, I decided that depression counted as a bona fide illness even if no Muslim website would say it. Somewhere in mid-Ramadan, I stopped fasting.

The night when I came to my decision, I begged Allah for forgiveness and mercy. I wasn’t strong enough for this, I couldn’t go on anymore.

He must have heard, because gradually, the self-harm urges lessened.

Engaging Muslim Communities to End Sexual Exploitation

April 30, 2014 by The Heart Team Leave a Comment

A collaborative effort between the Chicago Alliance Against Sexual Exploitation, HEART Women & Girls, the Rahma Network, and Karamah, Engaging Muslim Communities in Ending Sexual Exploitation: A Toolkit and Resource Guide targets groups within Muslim communities and any other individuals of faith who are passionate about ending sexual exploitation. This toolkit provides background information on issues surrounding prostitution and other forms of sexual exploitation and can be used to raise awareness and mobilize your community to join the fight to end sexual exploitation.

In this first-of-its-kind guide, you will find information on the following:

Information on sexual exploitation – definitions, statistics, and difference between human trafficking and prostitution
Background on sexual violence and exploitation in the Muslim community – definitions, statistics and barriers to addressing the issue
Quranic passages and other textual evidence opposing sexual exploitation
Call to action – tips and strategies to raising awareness in the community and ending sexual exploitation
Activist spotlights – short background on activists currently working in the field
Resources to learn more

To download this useful resource, please click below.

Engaging Muslim Communities in Ending Sexual Exploitation: A Toolkit and Resource Guide

Was it abuse? Addressing Sexual Abuse in the Muslim Community

April 14, 2014 by The Heart Team Leave a Comment

by Nadiah Mohajir

originally published on altmuslimah.com

******trigger warning*******

Just having returned from an intense karate class, Rania* reflected on her anger, and how tired she felt upon the release of her anger. “I just hate him,” she thought. “I really just hate him.” She sighed, and her gaze fell upon on the mug he gave her that she had used daily for more than a decade. “But part of me loves him too. Is that wrong?” Rania was 13 when it began. He was her 36-year-old-married-with-children uncle. The relationship began slowly, with just a few inappropriate comments here and there.

Then, it was a hug. Later, it became a more lingering hug, in a more private space. Before Rania knew it, she was in what could only be described as a romantic relationship with her uncle. Once she relocated and removed herself from the relationship, Rania had time to reflect on the 11-year emotionally intense and physically intimate relationship. “Was it abuse? Am I responsible because I let it happen?” This article will discuss the Rania’s struggle and will explore just how common similar situations are in the Muslim community. The unfortunate reality is that Rania’s struggle is not uncommon, nor is it properly addressed in the Muslim community. Moreover, young women, who are neither informed about their bodies nor educated on what constitutes as a healthy relationship, remain ill equipped to identify when they are being abused or who they can turn to for help.

According to the Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network, 1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of attempted or completed rape in her lifetime. Fifteen percent of sexual assault and rape victims are under the age of 12. Seven percent of girls in grades 5-8 and 12 percent of girls in grades 9-12 report having been sexually abused. This number does not include the many more who do not report their abuse, or who are unable to determine that they are, in fact, being abused. More than 90 percent of victims know their attacker, with family members constituting approximately one-third of all attackers. Victims are more likely to suffer from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder as compared with those who have not been abused. Among the most chilling of statistics is that abuse victims are thirteen times more likely to abuse alcohol, and four times more like to contemplate suicide. As much as we may like to think that our religious or cultural values render us immune to these numbers, the Muslim community in the United States is not invulnerable to these issues. They just simply have not been exposed as often as they need to be.

I had the opportunity to speak with Rania, who refers to herself as Neighborhood Muslimah. She contacted me a few months ago, having come across HEART Women and Girls’ website, and wanting to raise awareness for her blog, which chronicles her musings on her experience with sexual abuse. Just a few minutes into reading her blog entries will take the reader into a relationship fraught with subtle coercion and sexual manipulation. Rania’s reflections are the first step to raising awareness about the importance of honest, candid dialogue coupled with sexual health education as a means to empower women and girls to identify when they are being abused, and how to respond.

As I spoke with Rania, she recalled how she was very young when the relationship with her uncle first became questionable. He was her maternal aunt’s husband, and both families were close. Rania’s parents would often allow her to spend her summer holidays in his home with his family. As their relationship progressed, she became dependent upon the attention and praise he lavished on her. They would engage in long conversations about history, politics and culture, and all the while Rania’s uncle would praise her for her maturity and insight. “He allowed me to feel stronger than him, and elevated me in my own eyes,” she explained. “He made me feel that I was special and superior compared to everyone else. He would talk to me as if I was his wife, and would tell me how I was so strong and pious; I would be a leader for all Muslim women.”

Rania learned the tricks of maintaining a secret relationship as many teenagers do. She lied excessively about where she was going, snuck out of the house, and even invited her uncle to her parents’ home when they were out of town. While they never engaged in intercourse, their relationship consisted of extremely intense and physically intimate moments. Guilt and confusion would overwhelm Rania, but if she questioned her uncle about how God would judge this relationship, he would quickly assuage, at least for the time being, her doubts. He would assure her that if God saw them as sinners, He would have exposed them, but instead they were able to continue the clandestine relationship. Never once though did the thought cross Rania’s mind that her uncle was taking advantage of the situation and abusing his niece.

Rania proudly told her friends about her “boyfriend.” They all had someone special they bragged about, so she felt obligated to do the same, changing his name and his age, even pulling out a picture of another younger boy so that he became real to both her and her friends. “I had convinced myself I was in love with him,” she explained. “Once in sex education class, the teacher asked if the victim of an abusive relationship can feel pleasure. When the class unanimously said no, I was convinced I wasn’t in an abusive relationship because I liked being in his company, even if I was uncomfortable with being physically intimate. He didn’t beat me. Instead, he praised me and showered me with gifts. How is that abuse?” she had reasoned.

For her entire adolescence, Rania lived a dual life, even creating a nickname for her uncle so that the duality of her uncle’s role – that of her doting uncle publicly, but of her significant other privately– would not be as glaringly obvious to her. Guilt, sadness, and supplication became her companions, as she didn’t believe she could confide in anyone. “I couldn’t turn to family because we were all so close,” she explained. “And I couldn’t turn to the community, because not only was I in this inappropriate relationship, but I was a respected member of Muslim youth in my city, always asked to give speeches and serve as a role model for other kids. People thought I was an angel. How could I tell them that their angel was actually a devil in disguise?”

As Rania related her story, I couldn’t help but think of all the various factors that allowed this situation to persist, and what we could have done as a community to prevent it. Was this in fact a case of abuse, despite Rania’s continuous consent?

Sexual abuse remains a shameful, cloaked reality affecting many young girls and boys in the Muslim community, and no matter our uneasiness with the subject, and anecdotal evidence suggests that Rania’s story of her eleven-year long relationship with her maternal uncle is more common than we think. In my conversation with Rania, she explained that at the age of 24 she decided to end the relationship that had been an everyday part of her adolescence.While traveling with her friend, Lubna, Rania described the kind, adoring man she had felt compelled to leave behind because their families would not approve of the relationship. Rania had believed that distance would help clear her mind and ease her into life without her uncle, but in the first few months the separation only exacerbated her confusion. She missed him terribly, and finally gave in to her loneliness, reconnecting with her uncle through phone and email.

Months later, after ending their relationship once and for all, Rania met Lubna again, who asked about her significant other. This time, Lubna heard a much different story. Rania’s tone and words were laced with acrimony, prompting Lubna to ask what had brought about the change of heart. Rania explained that the distance apart allowed her the time and space to reflect on the past decade. She began to recall experiences she had long buried, similar to selective amnesia. “I even forgot that he was my uncle,” she said. She continues to explain this further in her blog post about coping strategies – she describes the love and affection she developed for him over the years as a coping mechanism- “It’s what we do when we see no way out…when we have lost all hope.”

Rania felt she could not go anywhere for help. A simple literature and Internet search confirms that there are no culturally appropriate resources for young Muslim women who are survivors of sexual abuse. The community has not created any safe spaces for these women – the mosques, Islamic schools, and community centers do not have professionals and leaders equipped to address and counsel survivors. Moreover, the cultural barriers that exist to addressing these issues for Muslims prevent Muslim survivors from pursuing or trusting the secular resources and professionals that do exist. The instances in which she thought her family suspected that there was something peculiar about her relationship with her uncle did not evolve into honest dialogue, but instead remained uncomfortable silences.

Rania did not trust that her family or community would help her untangle herself from the relationship; she felt certain that if she did come forward, she would be the one to shoulder all the blame for the relationship. “If I felt I could have told a member of my family that I am in this relationship, and they would not reprimand me for it (maybe you shouldn’t have been so friendly, maybe you should wear hijab), perhaps I would have said something. But my fear was if I opened my mouth, I would be the aggressor, the cause of fitna.”

Rania didn’t have open discourse with her mother about the challenges of being an adolescent— feeling attracted to boys or finding a balance between her Muslim values of modesty and the Western culture in which she was being asked to practice them. Rather, Rania opened up to her uncle, who she thought listened to her with compassion and gave importance to her concerns and her point of view as though she was his peer. Once the relationship graduated from a friendship to a romance, Rania didn’t have the self-confidence to trust her instinct that something was wrong. Rania’s uncle had likely spotted this insecurity in his niece from the beginning, and began to manipulate her vulnerability in order to persuade her to fulfill his inappropriate desires. “Even though he was always in the driver’s seat in the relationship, he made me feel like the driver,” she recalled.

Our community has a responsibility to our young women. We have a responsibility to trust our daughters enough not to point the finger at them, even if they come to us with a nightmare of a situation. We must find the context and reasoning behind why these frightening situations happen, and reign in our reflexive desire to immediately judge and assign blame. As Rania told me, “The worst thing is to feel that you won’t be accepted if you speak up.” We have a responsibility to protect our girls from men like Rania’s uncle, who saw an opportunity and chose to abuse it. Open and honest dialogue about sexual health and sexuality, no matter how difficult or uncomfortable these conversations may be, is key. There is no doubt that the Muslim community needs to develop a culturally-sensitive approach to sexual health education, because if women remain uninformed about their bodies, they are unequipped to identify an abusive relationship or know where to turn for help. Moreover, we have an obligation to hold the aggressors in our community accountable for their actions, regardless of their position in society, and without compromising the survivors’ future and reputation and allowing them to become collateral damage in the process.So, he never hit her. In fact, he treated her like a princess and elevated her in the eyes of everyone, including herself. But she was 13 and he was 36 when their relationship first began. I ask you the same question Rania repeatedly asks herself in her blog: Was this abuse? If so, did we do enough to protect Rania, and all the girls who have the same story?* Names have been changed

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

April 10, 2014 by The Heart Team Leave a Comment

By Sameera Qureshi

originally published on muslimsistah-sq.blogspot.ca

I woke up suddenly at 6:00am from a bad dream, wondering how men could do this, trying to understand the twisted psychology behind their behaviour. No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t come up with an answer. After an hour and a half of tossing and turning, I finally woke up and came back to my reality…a safe and sound home with a loving husband. But unfortunately, there are many girls and women here and abroad who aren’t blessed with the same fortune as I am.

About a month ago, I came across a 126-page document titled Unheard Voices: The Sexual Exploitation of Asian Girls and Young Women. It was published by the Muslim Women’s Network UK, and details approximately 30 cases of sexual abuse and violence against Asian girls and young women. How such innocent females were sucked into a ring of drugs and alcohol, gang rape, and prostitution. I read the majority of the document and it’s been on my mind since then. I think this morning, it was on my mind more than before.

I really don’t want to recount some of the stories I read in this document, partly because they are already re-playing through my mind and also because I want readers of this blog to read the document themselves.

All I can think is that such practices are not solely limited to the UK…They are just as often happening in North America and absolutely overseas as well.

I want to do something about this, but I don’t know what.

While there are agencies in the UK working to educate young girls, and the police force are criminalizing such acts, the thoughts justifying these acts (i.e. misogynistic thoughts, etc) are perhaps deeply seeded within the South Asian community. The majority of the victims in the case studies described are South Asian, coming from Pakistan, Afghanistan and Bangladesh. Over 95% of the victims in this study were Muslim. The perpetrators are teenage boys and adult men, often recruiting their family members to pay them before violating these girls over and over again, while she’s unconscious in someone’s house. The following paragraph demonstrates this (graphic content and trigger warning):

“My mate called me and said ‘Bro I have a surprise for you, come over to this house.’ When I got there 15 of them were sitting in the living room. My mate told me to go upstairs for my surprise. When I went into the bedroom, another friend was doing this girl (she was a 20 years old of Pakistani background). The lads went up one by one and took turns and while they were waiting they were calling their mates, cousins and uncles to come over and join in and showing off. Others turned up too including two older men who were taxi drivers, who went straight upstairs. One older man said I am going to call my son over so he can practice on her and later his 15-year-old son arrived in his uniform. Everyone took turns and it took 6 hours. I did get concerned and said, ‘the girl is going to get broke, who will marry her?’ The girl is not paid but she gets looked after, she is given food and the boys make sure she gets home safely if it gets late. There are set days Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays but some of my friends don’t like doing stuff like that on a Friday because it is Juma (holy day) and they go mosque.”

I can’t get this scene out of my head, and it’s to THIS dream I woke up this morning. I felt as I was there, floating around as an invisible witness, trying to figure out who could do this and how many men could let this happen to a girl. Tears well up in my eyes every time I think of this happening…it’s violent and repulsive…how can they do this?

How many of us know this happening within communities around the world? Did you know that in India, a woman is raped every 20 minutes? In the US, an American is sexually assaulted every two minutes. The statistic from India is alarming especially since only 10% of rapes get reported while in the States it’s just above 25%. Most sadly, it’s brutal gang rape more often than not, in ways that are unimaginable. How can we not pray for these women? How can we not pray that we find a way to STOP these men from committing such crimes?

It’s not just Muslims who are involved in rape and child sexual exploitation. It’s happening all over the world. Millions of boys and girls each year are sold into child prostitution, yet it doesn’t seem to get the attention it deserves.

I’m starting to think of ways I can contribute to this cause. Building awareness is one step, but it’s not enough. Most people will read this blog post, feel sad that this happening, and move on with their lives. I don’t think I can do that. I think there’s a reason I am this impacted by what’s happening…I think it’s a sign and perhaps the direction I am supposed to go towards. I am not sure, but it’s something I am going to look into.

And perhaps for us folk in Canada, we can work to educate young men and women here as a means to prevent this sort of violence from ever happening among our youth. We need to teach young men how to respect young women, the importance of consent, and how saying nothing is NOT consent for sexual activity. We need to teach young women about the power and control wheel and how to identify healthy and unhealthy relationships, and we need to teach families how to protect their children from such abuse. It’s not an easy task and there’s no easy prevention curriculum…but we need to start somewhere.

And for those of you who are reading this, please take the time to read or even skim the document I mentioned above. It’s not an easy read but the first step to raising awareness is to understand yourself what’s going on.

May Allah guide us all and protect us all from any form of exploitation or violence.

Sameera Qureshi, MScOT (c) is an Occupational Therapist and currently manages a mental health promotion project that is school and community based, in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Her work over the past six years has been primarily with Muslim populated schools and their families. Since 2011, Sameera has been working to implement Islam-oriented sexual health education programs both within these schools and the greater Muslim community. Her work includes developing the curriculum for both genders and teaching the curriculum to girls in grades 5-9, running parent sessions, collaborating with multiple Calgary agencies around sexual health, and making her work available to interested community member and professionals. She also maintains a blog called Muslim Sistah and can be found on Twitter @muslimsistah

Brainstorming for Sexual Assault Awareness in Our Communities

April 3, 2014 by The Heart Team Leave a Comment

by Sarah Hasan

The other day I was looking up local Sexual Assault Awareness Month events and thinking about ways to get people from our (‘our’ in this case = Muslim) communities to come out and participate. I started to imagine people who came to my mind first and their responses if I were to make a suggestion, instigate involvement. The aunties and/or their daughters and the looks I projected on their faces in my mind were discouraging images.

As I continued to indulge my faulty expectations regarding an imagined conversation with community members, a parallel (and far more positive) train of thought began to brew: I wondered how we could spread awareness in our communities that were specifically tailored to Muslims? Surely we could at least hold an event such as handing out ribbons, spark dialogue. What could we come up with on our own? I mean, in the (hopefully not so distant) future I would think it would be cool to have one of these tailored towards our own community, but there is a long way to go before that comes into fruition. I was curious to see what kind of resources were easily/google accessible to me now- as a Muslim woman, if I were searching for help, answers, counseling, anything.

While I found some interesting links, some directing me to neat organizations such as a Directory of Programs serving Muslims, I also inevitably encountered a lot of misinformation. What piqued my interest was a campaign run by Canadian Muslims called Muslims for White Ribbon. This was a neat although short campaign that ran this past winter; their motto: “Never commit, condone, or remain silent about violence against women and girls”. It made me really happy to see this initiative pop up in my google search even though this was specifically about women and girls, and it is important to keep in mind that when we talk about Sexual Assault Awareness we shouldn’t just refer to assault against women; 1 in 33 American men have experienced rape or attempted rape – that’s 3% of the men in this country that have been able to report it. I wonder then if there are similar initiatives American Muslims have taken or are working on. And if we haven’t yet started, when do we plan on getting something together? Would this be a difficult initiative to take? What are your thoughts?

Sarah Hasan is HEART’s Program facilitator and is passionate about helping to raise awareness about neglected issues in the Muslim community.

Sexual Violence

Community Resources: Responding to Sexual Violence in Muslim Communities

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