Part 2

His name was Wayne (I know- sounds like a stupid name now but, trust me, it was a cool name back then). He was in his final year at a private boys college which would have made him 17 years old. He was blonde, blue eyed and a surfer- everything I thought I would never have.

I knew, with all my heart and every cell in my brain, I knew that after that night he would pretend he didn't know me. I knew but I didn't care. For one night he did want to be with me. For one night he looked at me as he looked at all those other girls. For one night, I could know what it felt like to not be different.

So I took that step. I plunged actually- full on- head first- no thinking. The next day my friend's mother took a photo of my friend and I together. Two 15 year old girls in jeans and sneakers and matching pink t-shirts. I looked so different- so changed. It was quite striking actually and i felt my face redden as I imagined that everybody else could see what I could see. I imagined that strangers were looking at me and seeing this change and knowing what I had done.

As I write this now it sounds so silly and immature-embarrassing almost. I keep telling myself "what were you thinking" and I have to remind myself that I am not writing this as I am now- but as I was then- as a 15 year old girl, not as a grown woman with the clarity of hindsight who has learnt to love herself and who, for a long time now, has found her place and embraced her difference.

I told only one person. I told my sister. It only felt natural that I should- we shared everything- our hopes, our dreams, our secret crushes, our mad passionate love for the members of KISS. Her reaction was neither here nor there- or perhaps I just didn't see it. She did not judge, she only asked "why?" and I said "because he wanted me". That was it- nothing more was said of it. She wasn't curious as to what happened, what it felt like, how it happened, if it hurt- nothing. She only wanted to know why and then she walked away.

Then he arrived. The stranger. The son of one of my mother's friends from Egypt. A doctor, no less. My mother made it clear that she hoped one of us would please him enough that he would approach my father and seek marraige. For months I put up with his obnoxious presence. I hated him- he was rude and arrogant. Once he asked me to make him a cup of coffee and I told him that I hadn't noticed that he did not have legs and arms to do it himself. Perhaps, I suggested, he was a doctor who did not know how to make a simple cup of coffee? My mother took me aside and scolded me like she had never before- it was like I had insulted her.

My sister and I would lock ourselves away in her bedroom whenever he was around and make fun of him, laughing all the while at the ridiculous thought of either of us marrying Dr Dickhead.

Despite my obvious distaste for the man, he approached my father and requested his permission to marry me. Was he mad? Did he honestly think I would willingly marry him and submit myself to a life of depravation and oppression- a life of making endless cups of coffee at his beck and call. I protested loud and clear but I didn't need to because my parents weren't interested in forcing me into marraige. Besides that, I had just turned 17 and was entering my final year of school with plans to become Sydney's top criminal lawyer.

One night, my mother was looking especially pleased with herself. Dr Dickhead had decided that my sister was agreeable enough to be his wife. And she had said yes.

My sister was getting married- to Dr Dickhead no less. As much as I tried to be happy for her, if this was indeed what she wanted for herself, I could not fathom why on earth she would make such a choice. She had told me she hated him, had led me to believe that she would not ever conceive of marrying him. I kept my reservations and concerns to myself and tried my hardest to support my sister (she is still married to Dr Dickhead and I still hate him).

Then it happened. Why wouldn't it? I had been kidding myself all along thinking that my actions did not have consequences- thinking that I could control my own destiny. The path was winding its way along and there was no stopping now.

My parents were visiting my sister at her new home. For some reason I was restless and sleep did not come easily that night. I couldn't explain why but I was overcome by an uneasy feeling- a feeling of impending doom or sorrow or something ugly and dark.

When my parents arrived with my sister and her husband that night they headed straight for my bedroom- my mother screaming like a woman in the throes of childbirth:

"Where is she? Where is the girl? She's not a virgin. She's not a virgin."

I looked to my sister for some kind of explanation, without any emotion she looked straight at me and said "I told them everything".

Why? Why? Why would she do that? Why would she betray me like that?

The moments that followed are hard to express- there was a lot of noise, a lot of commotion, a lot of screaming. I could not take in what was going on around me- the tears, the yelling, the occassional fist in my stomach and kicks to my side, the frequent slaps, the insults, the degradation- it all seemed a million miles away, like it was happening to someone else in some alternate universe and yet it was happening, it was happening to me.

All the while I just stood there- not moving, not flinching- my eyes fixed only on one thing, one person, my sister. I tried to speak but my voice made no sound so I looked at her and mouthed the word that was consuming every thought in my mind: 'why?'. She never answered.

I can imagine now how the conversation might have gone that night. My sister had just received notification of her high school leaving score- she hadn't passed. I can imagine my parents sitting there, facing my sister and her new husband across the table and saying something like "Thank Allah she got married because she's failed high school- she's not like her sister you know- her sister is the smart one- her sister...her sister...her sister".

I can imagine that my sister would then have broken her silence, that all the years of pent up resentment would have rushed forth and exploded as they had wanted to so many times before: "You think she's an angel? You think she's perfect? Wait till you hear what she is really like."

The screams grew louder. My mother was inconsolable. She was hysterical. And my father?My father kept his head down afraid to look at me. Perhaps he wanted to keep that image of his little girl for as long as he could- even if it was just a few moments longer.

Having rid themselves of their initial reactions of rage, my parents took me into their bedroom, locked the door and began the inquisition. Who was I with? What was his name? When did it happen? How many times had I done it? What else had I been hiding? A million, zillion, trillion questions.

Then a period of calm. Like the eye of a storm.

Quiet, peace, silence.

Were they done? Was it over? I started to come back to reality- to feel the pain in my head and stomach and the bruises on my legs.

Then the storm raged again.

"She has dishonoured us."
"She does not deserve to live"
"She needs to die"
"We must kill her"

And my father's hands- those hands that once had gently caressed me, those hands that had introduced me to the joy of art, the wonders of Gaugin and Chagall and had nurtured my love of painting.

My father's hands gripped my throat.


I'm sorry. I have to stop now. I promise I will write Part 3 soon.

Memorable Moments #2

This one is going to take a while so please bear with me.
It's a long story but it is a story that I promised myself I would write a long time ago. Until now, it just didn't want to be written...



We, my brother, sister and I, grew up as typical Sydney wogs. By that I mean that our parents as immigrants to a new land, worked long hours to make ends meet and I was often left only in the company of my siblings. This explains why I never learnt to speak Arabic until later in life.

My sister and I were close. We're only about 18 months apart in age (she's older) and, with our parents often working shifts, we spent most of our time together and were often mistaken for twins. As we grew older our personalities and interests developed in different directions but the bond we developed as young girls remained strong. I had an inquisitive mind and would spend my time reading and studying. Not surprisingly, I excelled academically. My sister was a dreamer who would rather spend her days lounging in the sun and listening to music. She exasperated my parents, who placed a strong value on education, with her average performance at school. While I often won their approval with my glowing reports and perfect marks.

It was not that I tried to overshadow my sister or to make her look bad. It was just that I had found something that I enjoyed and that I was good at. My biggest regret is that I never noticed the pain in my sister's eyes whenever my parents yelled at her "why can't you be more like your sister".

When we started high school, my parents insisted on sending us to a posh Anglican ladies college. I didn't belong there among the girls with their shiny blonde hair that glistened in the sun. I, with my dark curls, dark eyes and dark skin which I wore like a hideous birthmark. They with their perky breasts, lean hips and big houses in Sydney's upper class suburbs. I with my breasts already so large that they strained against my school uniform, my round hips and parents with thick accents and middle class jobs. Oh how I longed to be like them. To start each school week with exciting stories of parties and boys, a first kiss, a first date. How I longed to be a part of their world.

It's not that I was unpopular. My penchant for acting, my class antics and my academic achievements made me very popular at school- but I was always an outsider. My parents were very traditional and I was not permitted to attend parties or outings with the girls from school. I would never, not in a million years, get to experience what they experienced. My world was the shadows. Theirs was the light.

We maintained Muslim traditions in our household- we always fasted Ramadan and celebrated Eid- but my parents never taught me what it meant to be Muslim or what was expected of me. I knew one Surah- the Fatiha- which my father taught me when I was 10 and one Arabic song- Mama Zamanha Gaya- which I remembered from my early years (funny how we all seem to have one song that stays with us through life). Apart from that, I knew nothing else of what it meant to be Egyptian or Muslim- I only knew that it was what I was expected to be.

As time wore on my parents softened a little in their strict restrictions on me, mainly as a result of my sister's insistence- the elder child must always pave the way and the younger ones must always enjoy the fruits of that labour.

The year I turned 15 was uneventful in most respects. I was in year 9 (Junior High) and was starting to enjoy some level of freedom. I attended a few school parties where I got to know some of the boys from the neighbouring schools. We were friends but they would never entertain the thought of seeing me as anything more than that. I was too different- and when you're a teenager, different isn't what you want to be. No, they reserved their affections for the girls who were like them.

You know how sometimes you make a conscious choice to do something and you have no idea where the consequences will lead you? You kind of take one step along a path and then it is like you are at the mercy of destiny and nothing you do can change your path- you can't go back but you can't go forward either because it is not you who is in control anymore. One night I made a conscious decision. I stepped onto a path without giving a single thought to where it might lead. I saw a way that I could be like them- like those girls- even if just for one night- and I took it.

The real reason my kids think I'm cool...

... is that my friends look like this:

PS: I'm the handsome one!

Why is this happening?

I've just watched a television interview (I've linked it here) with Wassim Doureihi the young spokesman for Hizb ut Tahrir in Australia.

The group, clearly an Islamist organisation with strongly wahabi influenced views, is running a conference right here, right in Australia, where the guest speaker Ismail Yusanto from Indonesia went on about the responsibility of every Muslim to undertake training and fight the 'enemy'.

Doureihi defended Yusanto's calls to arms stating that Muslims needed to prepare for the return of the Caliphate and that it was the duty of all Muslims to learn self defence in the case of an "agressive" attempt by the enemy against Muslims- he used Iraq as an example. Hmmm- funny that he doesn't mention the acts of agression by Muslims against Muslims- perhaps he has not heard of Darfur.

My question is...
What the fuck is the Australian Government doing? If the Egyptians can manage to keep a fairly tight lid on extremists to the point that people like Zawahri have to flee Egypt and head to Afghanistan; to the point that Islamists have actually called on the UNHCR to assist them seek asylum in countries like the UK and France because the Egyptian government does not allow them to breathe- then what on earth is the Australian government doing allowing them to come here and attempt to steal the minds of our young with their warped ideologies?

What am I supposed to do as a mother of young boys to protect them and ensure that they do not succumb to the mindset of the extremists when my own government won't lift a finger?

This is just ridiculous. How can this be allowed. If Yusanto and Doureihi want to blow themselves up because they have some kind of warped idea that Allah wants this from us- then go right ahead- do it- blow your own fuckin brains out and have a great time as you head to straight to hell in a bucket. BUT LEAVE US ALONE. LEAVE OUR CHILDREN ALONE.

Honestly, I just don't know what to do anymore. How do you fight something like this? How? When is the Australian government going to realise that dealing with terrorism is not just about 3D blast modelling and CTV and identity cards and police raids- it's about winning hearts and minds. It's about stealing back from the jihadis what they stole from us- peace, harmony, the beauty of Islam, and the minds of thousands of dead young men who believed in their "jihad".

My Big News

I have just accepted an invitation to teach a 3rd year unit at the University. The topic is....

Sex and Intimacy in Cinema

The coordinator said that she had heard about my interactive style of teaching and thought that I would be perfect for this unit. Not quite sure what she meant by that! In any case, it sure will be an interesting semester!

I decided to share my big news with my family- husband (H), 16 yr old son (B1), 14 year old son (B2) and slightly younger step son (B3) over dinner tonight. Little did I know that the conversation would end like this...

Me: So... I've been invited to teach a special elective unit at the Uni. It's on Sex and Intimacy in Cinema.

B1: Sounds like a fancy shmancy term for PORN

Me: Where do you learn these things?

H: Ha ha ha, 'porn', that's a good one!
*high 5s B1 and they laugh their stupid 'we are the masters of the universe' laugh*

B1: So Mum will you have teach them about the clitoris?

B2: What's a clitoris?

B3: Yeah what's a clitoris? We saw it on Southpark. It's a big huge pink thing that looks like a hat.

Me: It's not huge OK. Where do you learn these things? Who's letting you watch Southpark?

H: ha ha ha, Southpark, yeah that was funny.

B2: Yeah and it has magical powers or something. What is it Dad?

Me: Don't ask him, he doesn't know.

H: *shoots me a look and suddenly gets all serious*
Well boys... when you have sex...

B3: Ewww gross. I'm getting out of here

B1: Man, our family put the 'DIS' in disfunctional

Me: No son. Our family put the 'FUNK' in disfunctional


So much for my big news!

Egyptian Mum Part 2- The Sex Talk

One day, while chopping carrots, it suddenly dawned on me that I had been remiss in my motherly duties and had neglected the ritualistic sex talk which all parents must endure at some time in their lives:

Suddenly overcome by an urgent sense of parental responsibility, I ran upstairs to where B1, B2 and B3 were playing...

Me: Ummm...boys do you need me to give you the sex talk?

Boys: No Mum, we know everything

B2: Yeah, we know about the penis and the vagina

B1: *giggles like a little girl* You said vagina

Me: Cool, then my work here is done *moon walks out of the room*


OK. So maybe I didn't do too well on the whole sex talk thing. But it's not like I had a good role model....

Egyptians love analogies. They have an analogy for everything. Nothing is what it is, it is always what it is like- men are like walls, women are like cat meat- you get the picture. Not surprising really when you consider what a flowery language Arabic is compared to English.

Consequently, my Mum's version of the sex talk did not involve a penis, or a vagina or birds and bees. In fact my Mum's sex talk did not involve sex at all:

" A woman is like a flower. The first time a man smells a flower, it
smells so lovely. He wants to keep smelling it. But the more he
smells flower the less he can smell until he can no longer smell
the flower and then he doesn't want it anymore and he
looks for another flower."

I first got the sex talk when I "became a woman". Until I got married, the sex talk was an annual event- always the same, never wavering. Without fail, my mother would sit me down and repeat the sex talk word for word (and she NEVER moon walked out of the room when she finished- that was my little innovation!)

I could be forgiven for thinking that I was actually getting a lesson in the fine art of flower arranging, or that sex was something that involved sniffing or that my mother's sex talk was an, albeit obscure, caveat against unpleasant body odour.

It did, infact, take me quite a few years to decipher my mother's coded message about sexual relations between a man and a woman. But by then it was too late... I'd already been sniffed and discarded in favour of another more beautiful flower with an alluring and hedonistic perfume that no man could resist.

My mother's analogy is not completely lost. With a few minor amendments I could really make it work. How's this:

Life is like a rose bush. Watch out for all the pricks!

*moon walks out of the room*

Getting Old

My son started shaving this week. Add to that the fact that he is at least 15 cm taller than me, wears a monstrous size 11 shoe and can stay up longer than me at night- it's official- he is now a man. Which makes me the mother of a man, which makes me old!

So what do I do now?

Do I start wearing purple?
Do I adjust my car seat so that I'm sitting up against the windscreen when I drive?
Do I abandon any hope of perfect abs and shapely arms and instead take pride in the way my upper arms flap in the wind when I wave goodbye?
Do I hang up my stilletos and start wearing ugly flat shoes?
Do I talk about "my day" as if it was 100 years ago?
Do I start carrying around one of those wheelie shopping bags with pink flowers on them?
Do I start wearing three layers of clothing even in the heat of summer so my kidneys won't catch cold?
Do I throw out my sexy lingerie and buy myself some nanna knickers in a sensible beige?
Do I take a belly dancing class so that I can get in touch with my inner vagina?

BUT WAIT... wait just a minute... I don't FEEL old...

I'm still in my thirties
I still have body issues
I still get pimples
I still check my butt and thighs in the mirror everymorning for cellulite
I still complain about how long it takes to do my hair and how much product I need to make it look decent
I still can't apply eyeshadow correctly
I still have at least 5 different mascaras in my makeup bag of which at least 2 are waaaay past their use by
I can still pass the pencil test ;) (ladies- you know what I'm talking about)
I still get hit on by foetuses (ie younger men)
I still catch up with the girls every Friday to talk about men and their appendages

So... when am I officially over the hill?

Memorable Moments #1- The Day my Boys Reconnected with their Father

I separated from my first husband when my two sons were just 3 and 1 years old. It was not a happy marraige. Having reached the age of 21 and thinking that I knew everything, I naively got married despite many of my friends warning against it. My parents were happy though, relieved that their 'wild child' was choosing to settle down. It lasted 6 years.

For the first year or so after we separated he kept in contact with the boys. He still pulled his usual tricks- promising to take them out and then not showing up- leaving me to comfort and console their tiny little hearts. Then he moved to Sydney. He still sent birthday presents and cards but within a year he had stopped all contact.

Many times I tried to contact him, to find him and let him know that his son had had major surgery, that his other son was top of his class, that I worried about the bullying at school, that his son, at just age 7, had read his first novel in 2 days- but to no avail. I was a struggling single Mum (he has never paid a single cent in maintanence) but I managed to scrimp and save for a private investigator to try to find him. No luck.

So I brought up my boys as best I could and, despite their Mum, they are fine young men who make me proud. My eldest is in his final year of school and is set on being a human rights lawyer. The youngest is a math wiz and wants to be a doctor or robotics engineer. But they have seen so much heartache for such young lives.

After 7 years of being on our own with no contact from their father I found my eldest son walking around the house clutching a photo of himself as a baby with his dad. I asked him if he wanted to talk and took him into the bedroom for some privacy. He sat on the edge of the bed silent for a long time until he could no longer hold back his tears. Still clutching the photo of his father he turned to me and asked "Mum, is my dad dead?". My son was just 10 years old but in his eyes I saw a pain that I had seen in lonely old men who had said goodbye to children, friends and family.

To say that it broke my heart is an understatement. It was as if my heart had shattered into a million pieces. I am fighting back the tears just writing this now. I wanted to yell and scream my anger at the man who had caused my babies so much pain, who had left them and forgotten them and refused to share in their achievements, their joys and their sorrows. I wanted to take a knife and find him and pierce his heart a million times for each time he had made them hurt. But instead I smiled at my son, wiped his eyes and said "Son, I don't know where your father is, I have tried to find him and I failed. But I do know that he loves you and your brother very much and that every moment of every day he thinks about you both and that he wishes he were here and that he is very proud of you."

It was the hardest but also the easiest lie I had ever told in my life.

Small miracles do happen. The next morning as if by God's merciful hands, I was woken by a phone call. It was their father. He was coming back to see them and to stay for good. Just like that. Just out of the blue like that. I was skeptical but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The day he arrived, I dressed my beautiful angels, who were now 10 and almost 8 years old, in their best clothes and told them that their father was coming to see them. When his car pulled up in the driveway I went out first to meet him.

I stood there, face to face with the man who once held so much power over me that I thought I would surely die by his hand. No more fear- just rage and anger. "You have hurt these boys so much, you have been the cause of their suffering, you have let them down, you have made them cry. Today you are here and in a minute you will see them again. But I am here now to tell you that if you ever let them down again, if you ever make them cry again, if you ever break their hearts again- you will be dead to them. Do you understand me? I will do everything in my power to make sure that you are dead to them- that you never ever ever see them again and that they forget your name and who you are. Do you understand me?"

The man who once wielded such power, stood helpless, a shadow of the man I had married and shared a bed with and from whom I used to cower in fear. To me he was nothing now.

I went back in the house and got the boys. Clutching their hands tightly for fear that he might once again break their hearts. My eldest, who had memories of his father, immediately recognised him. He let go of my hand and ran into his father's arms, smiling like I had never seen him smile before. But my youngest, my little talkative angel, who was just a baby when his father left stood behind me, clutching my skirt and staring at me with his big beautiful brown eyes, looking bewildered and confused. His father stood at the end of the driveway, arms open and tears in his eyes, beckoning his youngest son to him. But he would not go.

I bent down and looked him in the eyes. "It's OK son. He is your father. Go, go say hello to your father and give him a hug." My little angel touched my face with his tiny hand, he looked over at his father and then back at me. Then he let go of my skirt and ran towards his father grinning widely, he jumped into the air and straight into his arms and held his father tightly.

I cannot say that my thoughts and feelings were noble right then. I was damn angry and felt cheated. Cheated that I had endured the long sleepless nights, the nappies, the illnesses (my eldest son has one kidney), that I was left alone to hold their hands and see them through their vaccinations, their scraped knees and broken arms. I felt cheated that I had given everything to them, that I had struggled, put my own life on hold- for this day. For the day that he could return and feel their arms around him and see their smiles and feel their love- 7 years worth of love pent up inside their tiny bodies- all at once overflowing into HIS arms- the man who had done nothing for them but cause heartache.

And so that was the day that my boys reconnected with their Dad. A day they and I will remember forever- each of us for our own reasons.

Hilaly's Dark History

Conversation with my Dad today:

"I can only tell you what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own
ears. This man has a dark history. He is a liar and a boaster.

Many years ago he got into trouble because he made some comments comparing Australian women to exposed meat- some very offensive comments. The Government said that if he didn't like Australia he could go back to Egypt and he was facing deportation. He didn't like this. He was pissing himself (my Dad actually said "pissing himself"), walking around like a lost man- he couldn't even make his prayers.

He went to the Lebanese community and asked them to stand up for him. A
group of them went to Canberra and protested against deporting Hilaly. The
government gave in and let him stay.

Then when the Iraq/ Iran war started he got involved with the Iranians.
There was a Mosque where the Iranians would go and he would meet with them every so often. They would tell him what to say and who to target.

His sermons at Friday prayers became political. He rubbished the Arab
states, rubbished Egypt and supported the Iranians.

It was then that I spoke up. I said that what he was doing was wrong, that he should be focussing on leading us in prayer and in preaching about Islam- not politics. His supporters hit me like this (my Dad shows how they hit him). They told me to be quiet- they said not to question the Sheikh.

If anyone spoke out, they would send around his heavies to knock on their
door and tell them to keep quiet. This is how they operated. Like a mafia. His
heavies kept people in line. People were afraid to speak out.

He even tried to send some young men to Syria to carry out terrorist
activities. I heard this with my own ears. This happened in front of me. I can
only tell you what I heard and what I saw. He tried to recruit some young ones.
I cannot say what happened because I don't know but I don't think anything came
out of it- I only know that he tried.

This man has a dark dark history. He is only interested in increasing his
own profile. Every Friday he would tell worshippers at the Mosque "What will you
do without me? Muslims in Australia will be lost without me as Imam". Eventually
he convinced them to give him the role of Mufti.

This man is a liar and only cares about himself. He is supported only by
people who want to increase their own profile as well- that's why they attach
themselves to him.

There is more that I can say. But I will only tell you what I heard and
what I saw with my own ears and my own eyes. There are other things that are
said about him- but these things I cannot verify- but I know what I heard and
what I saw."

PETITION- CALLING ALL AUSTRALIAN MUSLIMS

Recent coments by Sheikh Taj El Din Al Hilaly (often referred to in the Australian media as Mufti of Australia) have again caused a media and public furore.

Sheikh Al Hilaly has openly demonstrated on Egyptian television his incapacity to lead Australian Muslims.

Australian Muslims cannot allow this situation to continue. It is up to us to do something about it and to show the broader community that we are peaceful, law abiding and loyal Australians.

If we do nothing, we only have ourselves to blame.

PETITION

We, the undersigned Australian Muslims, reject comments made by Sheikh Taj El Din Hilaly.

We consider that these comments are offensive to all Australians and are not representative of the views of Australian Muslims.

We call upon the Australian media to desist in referring to Sheikh Hilaly as the leader of Australian Muslims.

We call upon the Australian National Imams Council to remove Sheikh Hilaly from office and to relinquish him of the title of Mufti of Australia.

Three ways you can sign this petition:

1. Go to:

http://www.gopetition.com.au/online/10779.html

2. Send me an email and I will forward an email petition which you can send on to other email contacts

3. If you would like to assist in collecting names for the petition, send me an email and I will email or post a hard copy of the petition to your nominated address.

If you want to do more:

Contact your local media. Write a letter to the newspaper, call talkback radio, send an email to your local paper, write to your local MP- you should state clearly and unequivocally that:

-Sheikh Al Hilaly does not represent Australian Muslims

-Australian Muslims do not share his views

-Sheikh Al Hilaly does not have community support as a leader of Australian Muslims in any capacity.

If you need assistance in drafting a letter, please email me and I will offer some suggestions on how to ensure that your letter is published.

Enough is Enough

Right, that's it. I've had it with Sheikh Taj El Din Hilali and his embarrassing, degrading and harmful comments. The man needs a muzzle.

I'm sending out a Petition to all Australian Muslims denouncing his comments and stating once and for all that he DOES NOT represent Australian Muslims, he IS NOT our 'leader', he WAS NOT elected into any position and we DO NOT recognise him.

I'll post it on here when I'm done and I'll send it to my contacts in the media and in government. We live in a democracy- so let's take democratic action to STOP THIS ONCE AND FOR ALl.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Dialogue between Jews and Muslims

I have a Jewish friend with whom I see eye to eye on many issues. But there is one issue that we always debate and that I do not agree with her on.

My friend insists that you cannot have dialogue between Jews and Muslims without talking about the Israel/ Palestine situation. I disagree.

Firstly, there are a lot of Muslims in the diaspora who have never engaged with the Israel/Pal situation and who have no indepth knowledge or interest in it. Over a third of Muslims in Australia are Australian born. The largest ethnic groups after that is Lebanese in the East and SE Asian Muslims in Western Australia. For these people there are other issues that are much more salient than ME conflicts. Does this mean that we should exclude them from interfaith dialogue and debate? Or should we be forcing them to engage with an issue that they feel has no immediate relevance to their lives?

Secondly, what about Palestinian Christians? If we are going to base interfaith dialogue on the conflict, then shouldn't Christians have an equal say and participation? In that case then, why restrict dialogue to Muslims and Jews at all, bring in all faiths and include athiests as well.

I'd be interested in what others think- especially Jews in Israel and elsewhere. Do you think that dialogue is impossible without talking about Israel and Palestine? Why or why not?

Common Ground

This may seem a bit simplistic but sometimes when you stand back and look at something that seems complex, it really is quite simple:

I've been having a bit of an exchange of Sandmonkey's blog with an anonmymous poster who identifies himself/herself as a Christian and who insists that:

• Islam wants to take over the world
• Sharia is the absolute antithesis of Western ideals and values
• Muslims hate the West so the West must hate Muslims
• All Muslims are the same
• There is no such thing as a moderate Muslim. Muslims who are moderates are not really Muslims and do not understand their religion.

Seems to me that this is very much what the Jihadis think:

• The worldwide Nation of Islam must unite
• The West is the absolute antithesis of true Islam
• The evil West and their Zionist co-conspirators hate Islam and want to destroy it so Muslims must hate them
• Islamic ideology is not flexible
• Muslims who are moderate and who live in the West are Kafir and do not understand true Islam.

Then there are Christians who take this view:

• Christianity preaches love and tolerance
• The best way to deal with Muslims is on an individual basis and to show them love
• Jesus taught us to forgive and to turn the other cheek

And there are Muslims who take this view:

• Islam preaches tolerance of all races and religions
• Islam is the religion of peace- violence and agression are un Islamic
• The best way to deal with the current situation is to engage in dialogue with people of other faiths

Do you see a pattern here? Can you see the common ground?

Looking at it this way, the schisms are not between Islam and the West or Christianity but between those who have a rigid, fundamental, unbending view of their religion and the world and those who do not.

Just my opinion.

Fearing Fear

I'm in the middle of writing an article on the fear of terrorism based on my research and I find myself reflecting on my own feelings here.

Just to put it into context: the project that I'm working on looks at how people are responding to the new era of increased security and global terrorism. We've found that people are adopting both preventative and protective behaviours. Preventative behaviours means that people avoid circumstances that they think are dangerous such as air travel or using public transport. Protective behaviours means that people are taking measures to protect themselves in circumstances that they are dangerous. For most this means being more wary and taking more note of their surroundings on airplanes, buses and in public places.

So I started thinking about myself. Have my behaviours changed? Do I now avoid certain situations? Am I more suspicious of people on airplanes? Do I get nervous around unattended baggage?

To be honest- I really can't say that I have done any of those things. And now I'm wondering why.

For a start, I don't believe that there is a huge terrorist threat to Australia. I guess for me that terrorism is still something that happens in other places. I often joke about the fact that if the terrorists were to launch a 9/11 style attack on my home town they would probably fly a plane into the Bell Tower and that most people here would welcome the destruction of such an ugly eyesore.
See for yourself:

Looks like a cockroach hey!

The Bell Tower is the legacy of one of our former Premiers (head of State Government) and each time I look at this phallic symbol I cannot help but think that he must have a very very small dick!

I also think that because I'm an unrecognisable Muslim (in the sense that I do not wear hijab) that I also don't have a sense of fear of backlash or vilification from some members of the broader community that some Muslims have. I know a few people who stopped going to public places because they were worried that they might be attacked after 9/11, Bali and London. Won't catch me doing that. Actually there is almost nothing in this world that would prevent me from going shopping.

But perhaps the biggest reason why I haven't changed my behaviours in any way is that I've never really been one to avoid situations that others might see as dangerous. I have a strong belief that when it is your time to go it is your time to go- whether that is in a car accident, through terminal illness, plane crash, or while bungee jumping. There's nothing that you can do about it. I was on a plane once with a friend who got really nervous and scared when we hit some turbulence. I mean she was really panicking and I just couldn't understand it. I kept thinking 'well, if this is it, this is it. No use wasting my energy on panicking about it."

I'm more worried about my kids being in a dangerous situation than myself which is I often tell them "don't try this when I'm not looking because I promise you I will find out and you will be grounded for life".

Don't know if any of that makes sense. Perhaps I need to think some more about it. Perhaps I really do have a subconscious fear that I'm not aware of. Perhaps I need to get in touch with my inner fear!

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Happy goodbye 2006 and hello 2007 to all.
Hope you have all prepared for the new year with your resolutions.

Here are mine. Add yours if you like.

1. I will be more organised

Not really, but I always add this resolution. OK I might tidy my desk or clear out my wardrobe to make room for new clothes but those things usually last a couple of weeks before chaos sets in again!

2. I will give up smoking

OK- not really. I'll certainly try. Last year I gave up for a full 5 weeks. Twice.

3. I will control my road rage when driving

Ummmm- not really. In fact, no, I don't see this one going anywhere at all to be honest

4. I will say "no" when my boss asks me to work overtime, work from home, work on my days off, answer emails while I'm on holiday, work late, come in early, look over a document sent to my email at midnight etc etc etc.

He's gonna cry...

5. I will stop my addiction to handfuls of chocolate covered peanuts after dinner

That one's gonna hurt- really hurt

6. I will not yell at my kids and I will try to treat my 16 year old like an adult

Yeah right!

7. I will spend less money on useless items. I do not need another pair of stilletos even if they do go just perfectly with my dress/handbag/skin/eyes/mobile phone/purse/lipstick/pen/curtains.

Another one that's gonna hurt.

8. I will try to spend more time with my family even if it means that I have to do yucky boys stuff with three smelly teenagers and my husband who think that driving a car round and round in a circle is fun or that hitting a tiny ball with a club and then trying to find it in a huge field while wearing ugly clothing is sport!

I don't know why we can't all just go shopping together, then maybe have a coffee before heading off to the beauty salon for a much needed facial. Why can't we do that as a family? Why does family stuff have to involve me having to wear ugly flat shoes?

9. I will be nicer to the dog.

I am nice to him but it's just that he smells and he does that licking his balls thing and then comes yapping around my feet and sniffs my crotch and stuff. And he shits everytime I take him for a walk and I have to pick it up and carry it around in a little bag like it's something precious.

10. I will seek help to overcome my fear of chickens.

Don't laugh- it's a documented phobia OK. Lots of people have it. Trust me, a chook will peck you to death if you let it and have absolutely no remorse. They are evil, evil I tells ya (except for the roasted ones- they're yummy).

Egyptian Mum Part 1

My mother travels to Egypt much more frequently than I. Each year when she returns she spends hours lamenting the loss of values and growing immorality among Egypts youth- much to my amusement. My mother could have written the book on middle class morality, which often prompts people who meet her to turn to me and say "you're the black sheep aren't you."

I have become very good at pretending to be interested, showing surprise and nodding my head in agreement as she prattles on about the "fasad" that has overcome Egyptian youth.

But nothing could prepare me for this...

A week had passed since my mother had returned and I knew that the time was fast approaching when she would sit me down and begin her rant. She proceeded in her usual way "you would not believe what the youth in Egypt are getting up to these days". As usual I nodded my head in agreement and shook my head in dissaproval as she continued...

"Would you believe" she said, "that it has become common for the young girls and boys to perform a disgusting act where the girl actually puts the boys penis in her mouth!"

What could I do? I had to think quickly! I had to pretend that I shared her utter abhorrence of such lewdness and maintain my virginal status in my mother's eyes (yes, I have been married twice and given birth to two kids, but to our mothers we are always virgins, OK)

Meanwhile part of me was still coming to terms with the realisation that my mother had just used the "P" word, while the other part of me wanted to burst into laughter.

I feigned a look of disgust and then uttered a half arsed "ikhs" (the Egyptian equivalent of ewwww). I dared not look at my mother lest she look into my give away eyes and expose me for the fraud that I was!

All was silent.

A silence that seemed to last forever.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my mother's face, her teeth clenched and her lips pursed and right then I knew exactly that she was thinking... 'the dirty little bitch has done it!'

The incident was never spoken of again and I must say that my mother's annual morality reports have never been the same!

The Year That Was

As 2007 is almost upon us, it's timely to reflect on 2006.

The year started with my marraige in crisis. I was ready to leave after almost 7 years marraige and close to 11 years together. He could not understand why and I could not tell him. It was difficult at the time to know the exact nature of my discontent, but as time passed it became much clearer and eventually I was able to accept it, embrace it and work through it.

I have never been a romantic. Fantastical notions of soul mates, star-crossed lovers, Prince Charmings and the like have never convinced me. I do not believe that there is such a thing as Mr or Ms Perfect. I am far too selfish to give wholly of myself to another human being and far too self absorbed to want the same from him. And so, any union would only ever be a coupling of our physical lives. But deep down lingers the little girl with dark skin, big eyes and dark curls, who was always the outsider and who each night dreamed of being Cinderella.

My husband and I cohabit, we fulfill eachother's physical needs very well, we provide companionship for eachother and share in the care of our respective children (we do not have children together) and our mutual assets. But I also have my own world in which he features minimally if at all and in which he has very little interest. Once I learnt to accept this, and to understand the limits of my relationship, I was able to appreciate my marraige for what it was instead of being unhappy at what it wasn't.

I went to Egypt for 5 weeks in July and used this time away to come to terms with the fact that while I love my husband deeply, I will never share with him an intellectual or soulful intimacy in the same way that we share a physical intimacy. And that's alright, that's OK, because I really don't think that I am capable of sharing more than that- I have always known this to be who I am.

In 2006, I gave 9 public lectures, 3 radio interviews and 2 television interviews. I completed 2 and a half chapters of my Doctoral Thesis (I started in 2005), started writing my book and wrote 2 major journal articles for publication. I started and almost finished my data collection amounting to over 300 pages of transcribed interviews and focus groups. Of the 9 public lectures, 5 were invatations from people or organisations who had heard about my work and the rest were conference presentations. I spoke at two anti-war rallies and a Union rally against the government's introduction of industrial reform legislation. I also continued my job with Government two days a week. I maintained my voluntary work with a community organisation. I became involved in campaigning against domestic violence, not of my own will, but by the burden of knowledge. And I started this blog!

Am I tired? Yes, yes, I am exhausted. And yet there persists this wretched yearning to do MORE, to be MORE, to achieve MORE. A sense of urgency that burns like a fire in my being and that I fear will never subside. Why am I cursed with this need to want change? Why am I burdened with an urgent and nagging desire to make things different?

2006 was a year of dreaming. Not day dreaming but sleep dreaming. I cannot recall a night when I did not have the same dream of climbing. Climbing infinite stairs, mountains, hills, rock piles, ladders, anything and everything. Each morning after these dreams I woke both physically and mentally exhausted. Why was I always climbing? When will I reach where it is I need to go?

And so, in a few short days, we will bid farewell to 2006. I think I grew 10 years in that one year (thank God for botox!). I learnt a lot about myself in 2006. And so, in light of that, I will always remember 2006 as a year of self enlightment!

Now... bring on 2007 because I can't wait to see what that has in store for me!

Darfur

Courtesy of Drima

We need to keep raising awareness of what's going on there and combatting denial and the refusal to accept that this is happening.

You can download this banner from here or from Drima.

Together we can make a difference.

Run for the Hills- She's BAAAAAACK

Oh dear, Pauline Hanson is threatening a return to politics- this time at the Federal level.

Yes, the woman whose maiden speech in Parliament referred to Australia being "swamped by Asians" who refuse to assimilate is back with a vengeance.

True to her nature, ol' Pauline is back to targetting some of the most vulnerable people in our society. This time she's decided to lay off the Asians (ofcourse since she didn't get elected last time with her ridiculous diatribe about the "yellow peril") and the Aborigines (ofcourse because her ridiculous claim that Aboriginal Australians were getting too much has been quashed by numerous reports about how they are, in fact, the most disadvantaged in Australia).

This time Pauline has decided to go for the jugular of.....

Africans and Muslims

Not one for checking up on her facts, Pauline claims that "diseased" Africans are coming into Australia with all kinds of cooties. As for Muslims, well we all know they will take over Australia by the year 2050 even though we are less than 3% of the population now. Do your maths people. It doesn't take a genius to work out that it's just impossible.

Says Ms Hanson about Africans:

"Why shouldn't Australians know that the people we bring in to this country
are there for the right reasons, and we bring them in for the right
reasons?
"We're bringing in people from South Africa at the moment, there's a huge
amount coming into Australia, who have diseases, they've got AIDS,"
"They are of no benefit to this country whatsoever, they'll never be able to work."And what my main concern is, is the diseases that they're bringing in and yet no one is saying or doing anything about it." (what disease? Does she mean the disease that turns you into a red-head, foaming at the mouth, ranting racist with the brain capacity of a gnat?)

Says Ms Hanson about Muslims:

"Our governments have bent over backwards to look after them (Muslims) and
their needs, and regardless of what the Australian people think," she
said.
"You can't have schools not sing Christmas carols because it upsets
others, you can't close swimming baths because Muslim women want to swim in
private, that's not Australian." (Newsflash Pauline, the Muslims aren't the ones complaining about Christmas carols and the government aren't the ones who ban them- do your homework)

You could take one of her fantastical rants about Asians or Aboriginal Australians from 2 decades ago and replace the words African and Muslim with Asian and Aboriginal.

Pauline, you little fiery red head you, you've had your chance and the Australian public gave you a big fat PISS OFF! You've been to jail for fraud, you've owned a fish n' chip shop, you even enjoyed a stint as an E (as in ewwww) grade celebrity when you flaunted your tush on Dancing with the Stars (stupid show that!).

So come on, just admit it. You're over. Nobody believes you. The Australian public are much smarter than you make them out to be and you just have no facts to back up your claims.

So do us all a favour and go back to making fish n' chips!

Merry Christmas

We put up our tree a couple of weeks ago. I decorated it in a theme of blue, pearl and silver (because the colour scheme goes well with my carpet) and had much fun adorning our humble tree.
As a Muslim, I've been getting a few remarks about it from other Muslims. It hasn't been too bad I have to say- most just say "well it's your house and what you do in it is your business".
I tell them that the tree signifies peace and that we are celebrating the Christmas tradition of peace on Earth- isn't that what all religions are supposed to be about? Peace and unity and good will. To me the tree symbolises an opportunity for Christians and Muslims to come together on common ground. After all, Jesus is also a prophet in Islam.
As Christmas day is a public holiday, we'll be having some friends around for lunch. A Muslim family- refugees from Iraq who have never experienced the Christmas tradition, some Catholic friends and a couple of athiests as well.
I wish everyone peace, prosperity, happiness and health. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Eid Mubarak (for Eid ul Adha coming up on 31 Dec).