Amplifying the Voice of Muslim Women: A Review of Brigid Maher’s “Veiled Voices”

“Veiled Voices” is a film filled with loud, bright stories that enlighten an audience in need of authenticity about Islam in general and the lives of Muslim women in particular. Brigid Maher, director, cinematographer and editor, shows sensitivity and skill in bringing these critical-yet-simple stories to light.

Simple? Yes. They are stories of the woman next door: a neighbor who is a mother and wife; a professional who teaches and travels; an individual facing challenges and disappointments who does not yield to inaction but rather overcomes and inspires. These stories unfold gradually as they weave together across borders.

Maher profile s three women: Huda Al Hasbash from Syria, Suad Saleh in Egypt and Ghina Hammoud of Lebanon. These stories are woven together, each round deepening the contours of their lives. We meet them first as professionals, then as wives or divorcées, then as mothers and cooks, balancing the many duties women have worldwide. We meet their husbands, mothers and children. Each round widens the panorama of women’s experience in these Arab and Muslim-majority countries.

Syrian mother and educator Al Hasbash defends wearing a headscarf and goes on to demonstrate that there need be no conflict between wearing a scarf and living a modern life. She teaches dozens of women not only to read Qur’an, but to know their rights. And she sizzles up a fine looking meal for her family while she’s describing her views to camera.

Dr. Saleh is a very public person, teaching at Cairo’s Al Azhar University and appearing on television call-in programs. “We have reduced Islam to a veil and a beard,” she laments, when there is so much more. Having reported on Islam and Muslims for 20 years I confirm her complaint. This is a problem perpetuated in part by Muslims themselves.

Hammoud bravely sticks with her career in spite of betrayal by her husband; she keeps the affection and respect of her daughters who lived with their father after the parents divorced. Students deeply appreciate the model she provides.

Relationships between women and men are good examples of ongoing stereotypes. Due in part to mainstream media, pop culture, and ignorance, a prevailing view is one of oppression of women. We read of “honor killings,” of girls forbidden to go to school, and women prevented from divorce in unacceptable situations. None of these is permitted in Islamic law, even if culture in some Muslim-majority countries turns a blind eye. We feel for Ghina Hammoud who suffered years in an abusive marriage. In contrast, Huda Al Habash’s husband Samir Khalidi is the picture of an ideal partner. He appreciates and supports her calling and is helpful at home, clearing the table and going over homework with one of their sons. Dr. Saleh notes that while she may be qualified to sit on Egypt’s higher Islamic council, the reality is that the men who have the vote will not receive her. Susan B. Anthony had to struggle, too. Without a cudgel, Maher hammers home the point that Muslim women have rights, can be self-expressed, and like their sisters around the world, must overcome hurdles in their lives to accomplish their goals – even if that means redefining their goals along the way.

Some of the footage in this hour-long documentary will surprise viewers. There are rooms full of women studying Islamic law and leadership. They refer regularly to early examples of female leadership in the Muslim community, including the example of Aisha, youngest wife of the Prophet Muhammad. At 17 she was already an acknowledged scholar and teacher. The filmmaker does not impose heavy control on situations, allowing the natural interruptions of life to play out on videotape. A child fussing off camera is not quieted and the interview continues; when a particularly personal question is posed and the subject cries the crew cries too. This is noted and we, the audience, are privy to a behind the scenes moment.

Brigid Maher teaches in the Film and Media Arts Division at American University in Washington D.C. “Veiled Voices” builds on her favored genre: issues of cultural identity and discrimination.

Muslim and non-Muslim women from Malaysia to America are actively engaged in educating themselves and others, leaning on religion as the primary tool in an unwavering call for equality and opportunity. Like the efforts of Azizah al Hibri in Richmond, Virginia and Zaina Anwar in Kuala Lumpur, the women in “Veiled Voices” are part of a necessary and natural movement to amplify understanding of Islam in the 21^st century.

Anisa Mehdi is a Fulbright Scholar in Jordan. She is a journalist and filmmaker. Mehdi produced and directed the National Geographic Special “Inside Mecca,” and was executive producer of the PBS Frontline documentary, “Muslims.” www.anisamehdi.com

Letter XXII: Notes From the Field (with unrelated photos)

15 March 2010

On Taxis

Seven months into this adventure it’s no big deal to ride a taxi in Amman. I take one or two a day, it seems, getting from home to the balad (downtown) or taking Katie to City Mall (the new fancy one in town, just a step down from Dubai). A cab’s a cab once you can tell the driver where you want to go, and I can. I can even give short cuts and scold them for going the long way around or heading straight into traffic at a certain time of day. Everyone knows Shmeisani bottles up after three pm. Many of our Ammani cabs are shabby. The upholstery is torn, seats ripped, seat belts don’t work and the space reeks of cigarettes.

But there are advantages to cabs here over the cabs back home. In addition to the unreasonably low fares, there is no barrier between you and the driver. There is no slot through which you side your money and awkwardly wait for change to pass back. You hand the guy the dinar. He hands you change. Today I even offered the driver some fresh hot “taboon” -- bread I watched bake at a smal shop near Jordan Television and now carried in bulk home to share with Katie. As a good Jordanian he said “no” the first couple of times. But at the end, just before I hopped out, I tried again. “T’faddal.” He smiled and broke some for himself.

On Coffee-to-Go

Most of the time here we sit and drink our coffee. We sit and drink our tea. We sit for most of our meals. “To-go” is not a going MO. Frankly it’s a civilized approach to food consumption. I like it.

But just in case you haven’t the time and you gotta have java, here’s how drive-through works in Jordan. You pull up to the side of a street near a coffee stand set back from the curb. Roll down your window and shout to guy “I want one black coffee and one medium.” A few moments later someone comes to your car, cups in hand. You hand the guy the dinar. He hands you the change.

On Beauty Salons

Every day is prom day at the beauty salons of Lebanon and Jordan. (They are the only ones I’ve been to on this sojourn so my reporting is limited.) On the outside they may look differently: some have entrances off dusty streets, some are in sleek, marble hotel lobbies. But inside, salons sound and smell alike. They hum. They reek of spray and lotions. And they share an intense commitment to vanity.

Driers, blowers, curlers. Wax, sugar, thread. Gels, shampoos, and conditioners. Polishes, files, and scissors large and small. Clients conspire in a Cinderella compact with male fairy godmothers turning us into princesses or vixens with bone straight hair or hives teased high with flouncing, flowing ringlets.

“Make it a deeper black.”

“Make it a tawney brown.”

“I want streaks and lights,” as if to brag I’ve been in the sun -- “haven’t you?” -- when it’s the dead of winter.

These days I primp myself before going to get my hair cut -- just to have a little dignity on the playing field. Sometimes I think I’m ready to go, even pretty, with my hazel eyes, curly hair, and very present eyebrows. Add a touch of lipstick and voila! Then I walk into, say, Tareq’s Salon in Abdoun, a shop buzzing with blow driers, pulsing with funky music, and filled with real Arab women. Dark eyed black haired drop dead beauties with L’Oreal locks and come hither curves topping spiked heels and tight jeans. Suddenly I’m plain, unkempt, and common: the only adult woman in the room with natural eyebrows and flats on her feet.

And just about the only one with a smile.

Letter XXI: Missing my dad

Here in Amman, Jordan I meet people every week who ask a question I’ve heard since girlhood: “Mehdi? Are you Mohammad Mehdi’s daughter?” From ministers to media

professionals, doctors and non-governmental activists comes admiration for this man who didn’t back down when times got tough. “I knew him in Beirut,” said one newsman. “He spoke for all of us,” admits a successful banker, “when we were too scared to speak up.”

When I was a little girl being known as Mehdi’s daughter had some unwelcome consequences. A teacher would ask “Are you –“ and then dock my grade because he didn’t like my father’s politics; the parent of a friend would say “Was that your father on television last night?” and warn her daughter I wasn't the kind of girl to play with.

Today is the 12^th anniversary of my father’s sudden and untimely death. I was with him outside the Consulate of Saudi Arabia in New York City, picking up my papers for permission to cover the Hajj for PBS, when he was struck with massive coronary failure. It was over in seconds. But the impact of his passing continues daily, as I meet people who remember him, and as all lament the absence of his voice on the issue of Palestine.

Mohammad Taki Mehdi came to the United States from Iraq in 1949 to study at the University of California at Berkeley. “I was born in Baghdad and reborn in Berkeley,” he repeated to all who would listen. It was easier to say "Baghdad" than Karbala -- at that time rare indeed was the American who'd heard of Karbala. At least those who'd heard of Scheherezade knew of Baghdad. Now, one blessing of the cursed war against Iraq is that more Americans have heard of Karbala. Either way, back in the 1960s most everybody only heard my dad's criticisms of Israeli policy and thought he was anti-Semitic.

In truth he was born in Karbala, Iraq – a city nearly unknown to Americans until the all-out offensive on Iraq in 2003 -- and graduated first in his class from Baghdad's High School of Commerce. He was spared seeing his homeland blatantly destroyed although he suffered watching nine years of punishing aerial bombardments on Iraq and heavy sanctions that left its people impoverished. He was also spared the tragedy of September 11, 2001 and the horrific aftermath for Afghanistan. He came to the US full of hope and trust in its promise of free speech. Eventually he wielded the First Amendment like a cudgel, daring those who would silence him to read the fine print – and all concomitant Supreme Court rulings. Although his full Iraqi government scholarship for study in the United States stipulated a specialty in accounting, he chose political science. The scholarship was rescinded. Dad washed a lot of dishes to get to his Ph.D.

Dr. M. T. Mehdi is best known for his strong pro-Palestinian and anti-Israeli stance. He was a one-man public relations machine to whom all the New York press turned whenever violence broke out in the Middle East. He commented on Munich, Ma’alot, and the Marine barracks bombing in Beirut. He played a role in getting American hostages released from Lebanon. In 1988 he wrote Terrorism: Why America is The Target – five years before the first World Trade Center bombing.

He is less well known for running for the US Senate in 1992, becoming the first Arab American Muslim to run for federal office. He won 5% of the vote in New York State. Dr. Mehdi was the first American to petition the US Post Office for an Eid Stamp. He got the Empire State Building to go green in honor of Ramadan. He was the first to encourage other major public institutions, including the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey to acknowledge the accomplishments of Muslims by raising a crescent and star flag annually in December. In fact, the Port Authority raised this banner at the World Trade Center at his behest. A crescent and star is on the White House ellipse every year during the holiday season alongside the National Christmas tree and menorah representing the Jewish festival of Hanukah. He was the first Arab American to publish an English-language newspaper (ACTION) focused on American and Middle East issues, influencing the career choices of young Arab Americans. He was the first to face unfair deportation based on his pro-Palestinian politics and national origins.

In the time that’s passed since my father’s death, progress has been made in the vital mines of politics and culture that he forged nearly single-handedly. Today, Arab American and Muslim American organizations plow forward, holding conferences, raising funds, challenging the status quo. We hear annual Ramadan greetings from the White House and can purchase the beautiful blue and gold calligraphic Eid stamp. There’s still a long way to go in balancing American policy toward Israel and Palestine and in supporting the growth of democracy in Southwest Asia, but at least it’s on the agenda. Congressman Keith Ellison and others are urging President Obama to “ensure that the legitimate needs of the Palestinian population are met.” But people forget on whose broad shoulders they stand.

There’s no replacing the voice that always came on the radio and television after an explosion, kidnapping, hijacking or killing: a voice that came to put context and reason where only conflict and rage prevailed; a voice with rolling “r’s” and an accent echoing a boyhood in Baghdad and a manhood in Berkeley. A man who suffered for his convictions but never lost heart. He survived beatings, arson and threats to his family. He created a movement which lives on now in structured Arab and Muslim American organizations.

“Are you Mehdi’s daughter?”

Today that question raises unmitigated pride.

Your family misses you, your colleagues miss you, and so do the people who counted on you to speak the truth about so many Arab and Muslim issues. No one has filled your extra wide shoes, dad … but you sure started something.

One of those is the annual M. T. Mehdi Courage in Journalism Award. Last year’s $1000 prize went to Ray Hanania.

Letter XX: Taxes and Times

14 February 2010

February is tax time because Janna wants to transfer from Temple and all those college application documents are due March 1. Doing taxes, stressful as it may be, is always interesting. It's better than New Year's Eve for reflecting on the past and dreaming what's next. It's a chance to see how different one year was from the year before ... from a place in the next. From my rooster listening post in Amman, I see that numbers this year are different from last but also my ambition, lifestyle, productivity and opportunity. 2009 held a few consulting gigs, a few lectures, and the Fulbright. 2009 -- nice and quiet compared to the chaos and tumult of '08's Dubai escapade, and the Jordan TV documentary training program. The latter was prequel to my Fulbright work at Jordan TV this year. Fortunately Internet access is intermittent today and my tax documents are in a file in Maplewood so I'm on hold and in this break I can write to you.

It's been quite a while since I've posted. January was flush with family: Peter and Janna, then

my cousin's daughter, Nadia from London, and my niece, Maeve from Canada. I'm not complaining about Petra twice in one month or revisiting Amman's non-tourist hotspots, like El Quds Restaurant for mansaf, or Habiba's for kanafe. Waiters at Hashem's recognize us by now and they really appreciate the 1/2 JD tip on the 4JD meal that leaves us stuffed with falafel and hommos.

There's a clothing shop deep in the

old souk with great buys and

saleswomen who know Katie, at least, by name. Jafra DVD shop is now the balad's exclusive distributor of "Inside Mecca" with Arabic subtitles and I have enough copies to be generous. Moreover, I'm up to renting cars and driving. I'd promised myself I'd never drive in this crazy town. But it's not as crazy as Beirut; it's just a notch nuttier than New Jersey, really, and renting gives Katie and me more independence and reduced travel costs. Hey, how about the Dead Sea on Friday?

In early February I wandered around Shmeisani (that's our neighborh

ood) taking photos of what doesn't work about walking in Amman. Security guards got nervous at the bus stop on Mecca Street and at the unused amphitheater and abandoned amusement park under the rusted gondola on the other side of the hill. Taking pictures at the Citadel, that's one thing. Photographing a neighborhood is quite another.

Katie, Janna and I walk ed to the American Embassy in January to collect the "second" passports we applied for so travel to the western neighbor is on the horizon. That's a place where walking is prohibitive. Not only is the sidewalk blocked off but half the street. Armed tanks sit at each corner; military men patrol the length of the block. Pedestrians can't enter but for one spot between cement barriers. I am always saddened by the reality of this formal relationship. Still, nearly everyone we meet says he loves America; they don't even take the bait when I badmouth the Bush administration, although they smile when anyone says "Obama."

We hope to cross the western border later this month. A staff retreat for the Masar Ibrahim el Khalil comes at the end of February in Jericho. Katie and I will spend a day there after walking the Palestine path and seeing el Quds (Jerusalem). Being here has allowed me to play hard as a Masar board member. At the end of January I helped interview for the organization's new executive director. That process let me got to know Susan Collin Marks of SEARCH for Common Ground.

She introduced ed me to an expanded concept of tribe -- one that goes beyond DNA, geopolitical borders, and may stretch throu

gh centuries. You know what it's like to meet someone and feel an instant connection, an ease of relationship, a comfort and intimacy that firstcontact ought to preclude -- but it's there. That could be a member of your tribe-by-designation, not by birthright. Coming from a small family with it's count us on two hands and two feet members scattered across the globe, the notion of belonging to something bigger, deeper, pre-destined and chosen, shook me. It brought me to tears. You members of my tribe reading this, you know who you are.

The Masar here in Jordan is feeling growing pains right now. This weekend a delegation of prominent guests from the Global Philanthropists Circle came for a walk and an overnight. These were pretty big players staying in some pretty humble homes. Reports are all of graciousness, gratitude, and good food. Katie and I are getting to know this Jordanian back woods pretty well. We're pointing out the ruins of the Ottoman irrigation aqueducts and flour mill, the pomegranate and fig trees. We know Abu Ibrahim, the region's mayor, and Um Ahmad, Um Ihab, and so many other Mothers-Of, who cook, bake, jar, and make goods for sale to the increasing number of visitors who walk the trail from the Soap House of Orjan to the remains of the Church of St. Elias (Elijah) on the highest hill above the towns of Al Ayoun, Orjan, Baoun, and Rasun. Women are the engines of economic opportunity here. Pilgrims on the Masar are fuel.

February promises to be full of activity beyond the Masar adventures. For one, I'm on another film project. For another, Jordan Television is undergoing a major shuffle, with the Director General summarily ousted a few weeks back and the aftershocks still coming. I don't know what my role will be there in the near future. And the college applications must be completed. I am not welcoming the return of multitasking. It will be interesting to see if juggling skills return like riding a bike.

XIX: Wadi Rum Rocks

Letter XIX: Wadi Rum Rocks You

January 16, 2010
There's so much to say about a family vacation in Jordan's scenic south. And I will say more, shortly. But briefly, three nights in the WadiRum, two in Aqaba, and one at Petra. We had the best of the desert, gourmet snorkeling, and living history. With my camera we have some fine home movies, too. One day, jeeping and climbing in the Wadi Rum, our car broke down. Mohammed, our guide, wiggled the wires under the hood, we pushed, we flagged down the few passers-by. Stoked on sweet bedouin sage tea we were not discouraged and finally, blistered, overheated and pumped we got it started and got back to camp. That night after a delicious dinner we sat around the campfire inside the big tent and shared songs. We went from Bedouin oud and drums to Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land." Then Mohammed and Yusuf suggested Queen's "We Will Rock You." Believe me, Wadi Rum rocks you.

Letter XVIII: The Winds Above

December 31, 2009

Clouds are pushing south, white nimbus shadowed with gray on the bottom side, baby blue sky high beyond like a Vazquez painting. They migrate over Amman almost with a purpose. Are they heading for Mecca, to bless the city with rain again as happened at this year’s hajj? Are they heading to the Wadi Rum, where we go next week for Bedouin food, hospitality and camel riding? Are the clouds only reminding us they are free and we are not? That they can be dry or wet as they please and we accept the consequences? At least here in Jordan rain is welcomed with literally open arms. People don’t rush to shelter. Kids happily stomp in puddles, their mothers smiling while water runs off their headscarves.

There go the clouds and there goes the year. There goes another decade. And what a year. I can barely remember anything before coming to Amman. Let’s see: a great start to the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey’s 47^th season; passing-the-baton board meetings at the Esalen Institute; a crash course on Final Cut Pro and producing a DVD of the Columbia High School Cougar Marching Band 2008 program; finishing the promo film for Music for All Seasons, finishing the short on the Masar el Khalil in Palestine racing through visa applications and paperwork, the Fulbright orientation and news of Michael Jackson’s death, Greg Shaw’s wedding in Elk, California, then more dizzying deadlines and blind shopping for anything we might need but might not find here. Of course there’s everything here, from reasonably priced Canon printer/scanner/copiers to the best cucumbers bar none.

Right now Katie and I are thrilled to have Peter and Janna with us, filling our apartment with laughter, depth, more clicking keyboards, and stuff. We are hosting a party tonight to celebrate the coming of 2010 with Jordanian and American friends. Next week, when Katie’s midterms are done, we rent a car and drive south.

Happy New Year to all of you and thanks for sticking with me on this wonder filled ride.

To What Are They Committed? Written on December 25, 2009

AMMAN -- The headline in the Jordan Times read, “Status quo will not hold, warn Middle East experts.” In smaller typeface it read, “Russia, EU, UN must get more involved in peace; Israelis told security by force is dangerous illusion.” It was Tuesday, December 22, 2009. One day earlier, at the Holiday Inn on the Dead Sea, the Valdai International Discussion Club of the Russian Federation opened its one-and-a-half day conference “Middle East - 2020: Is The Comprehensive Settlement Possible?”

Unlike the Reuters reporter whose piece was picked up by the Jordan Times, I only attended the first day of the conference, but it was enough to see that the status quo is all that remains of decades of Camp David’s and other accords, resolutions and road maps.

That’s because rhetoric ruled the day at the Dead Sea. I listened in disbelief to conversations among people who really could make an impact in this region spewing age-old righteous and mean-spirited speeches at one another rather than engaging in authentic, risky, humble explorations of what they could initiate to alleviate the suffering and fear of the people -- "their people -- who are counting on them.

In spite of stated Russian intentions to step up as an influential broker in the Middle East arena it is clear that only fresh ideas put forth by a fresh cast of characters will put

life into this deadlock, and the people who will transform the situation are yet too young. Russian hopes will be predictably dashed upon the uncompromising battlements of today’s Palestinian and Israeli representatives who show neither sign nor commitment to paving any significant new path. Rather, they relish the status quo of no-go and will dare nothing.

Because it would be daring to honor the thousands of lives lost in Gaza, Lebanon, Deir Yassin, Maalot, the 1996 bombing at the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem, and myriad other tragic events stealing souls over the decades, by taking steps to make sure their deaths were not in vain. There was no bold, authentic I don’t-care-if-they-think-I’m-crazy-but-you-need-to-stop-posturing-and-start-talking-turkey statement exploding in the conference room like a truth bomb. There was “you’re wrong and here’s why.” Not much more.

As the manager of the Holiday Inn (where the event took place) pointed out, “We really need results. Last year this time the Gaza war decimated not only lives there on the other side of the Dead Sea, but also devastated livelihoods here. There are real consequences to these meetings.”

As if scripted by Hollywood, Bollywood, or DeadSeaWood, conversation about comprehensive settlement warped into all-too-predictable accusations and finger pointing. Former Russian Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov made it clear that the United States was mucking up the works by dominating the international scene; Palestinian-Israeli peace would only be possible with new players at a table with a different host. Former Palestinian Prime Minister Ahmad Quria, in a white shirt with unbuttoned collar and gray jacket, hopelessly recalled the failure of previous pacts. All previous agreements had been abrogated by Israel, he said, which used accords only to stall for time in which to appropriate Palestinian property. Israeli General Jacob Amidror, stung by Palestinian accusations, asserted that the only reason the West Bank wasn’t aflame like Gaza was thanks to the presence of Israel Defense Forces (IDF), and that Russia shouldn’t call for international intervention in this region when it didn’t welcome international forces in Georgia in 2007.

On nuclear proliferation, Efraim Inbar of Israel’s Begin-Sadat Center for Strategic Studies ruled out all hope for diplomacy in curbing Iran’s nuclear development, concluding, “all we are left with are military strikes.” On the other hand, Russians did not believe Iran had “made a political decision to build nuclear weapons” but rather wanted to follow “a Japanese model of technological development.” Palestinians wondered why Iran was even being discussed, since it does not currently have nuclear weapons, while Israel already does.

Until participants in the process are willing to detach themselves from winning and commit themselves to solving they will not make progress. Solving will take loss on both sides. It will take surrender and sorrow; it will involve anger, apology and humility. It will take greater courage, imagination, and vulnerability than seen at Oslo, Annapolis and Madrid. Solving requires a greater commitment to quality of life for residents of the region than to being right about what went wrong in 1948, 1967, 1992, and yesterday.

Time is the great enemy of the status quo. Algerian Sufi-statesman Emir Abd el-Kader died 79 years before his efforts to liberate his nation from French occupation finally triumphed in 1962. The Italian government under Mussolini executed Libyan freedom fighter Omar Mukhtar in 1931 but 20 years later, with support from the United Nations, Libya declared its independence (“Lion of the Desert,” the movie about Mukhtar’s life directed by Moustafa Akkad was banned in Italy). Ahmadou Bamba, who led the Senegalese in non-violent resistance to French occupation and suffered 15 years in exile, died 33 years before Senegal loosed itself of colonial rule in 1960. In each case, time turned the status quo.

It is tragic that today’s people in power are willing to risk everything for war but not for peace. Time will bring new players. Given the large percentage of people under the age of 25 in this region, there is hope. The status quo will surrender when new teams arrive at an altered playing field. Still aren't we all disappointed that the time isn’t now?