Since when is my head public domain?

So, the Cabinet agreed on plans to ban the burqa here. Will I personally ever wear a burqa? No. Will I ever wear a short skirt? No. Do I judge people who do? No! Isn’t everybody suppost to have “freedom” (of religion) here? So why do we decide what people may or may not wear? How about women's right of self-determination? And most importantly, since when is our head public domain? Quite a lot of questions for just the intro isn’t it?

First off all, it’s called a burqa ban here, but it’s not only about the burqa. It’s about full faced coverage, so this includes for example also forage cap. Although I don’t ever see someone wear a forage cap while they go shopping. Unless they are planning to rob the shop maybe. According to our Cabinet the ban is important for a society where everone can fully participate in social intercourse. They say open communication is very important in places where people meet eachother.  And apparantly we need this ban for the approximately 300 women who wear a burqa in this country. Cause these women are oppressed. Nobody ever asked them if they are, that’s just assumed, cause who will voluntarily wear a burqa? I often ask myself who will voluntarily wear  red underwear under white clothes or parade on the boulevard in a mini bikini, but hey there’s no law against that!  So let’s assume that all these women are indeed oppressed. Will that change with this ban? Should we not find these women and talk with them and the assumed oppressors? Forcing them to take off their burqa will probably not work. Better yet, if they are (as we assume) oppressed, it’s probably the only reason why they are allowed outside. Outside where we can find them and communicate with them. Not behind closed doors.  So how about the “open communication is very important in places where people meet eachother”? Where are you going to meet these women now?

After reading the above it might not be a suprise I am clearly against this burqa ban. I dó believe in freedom of religion (for all) and that women have the right of self-determination. Our heads are not public domain. And neither are our bodies. And besides all this, I am also against it because of the symbolism.  Cause let’s face it (take off your burqa now), this is not about these 300 women.  After the suggestion of women paying taxes to wear a veil, discussing circumcision and álmost a ban on ritual slaughter (first chambre overruled it, thank God), this is the first babystep that will probably actually happen. The (probably) first official win for the right-wingers. And while we could laugh some ridiculous ideas away in the past, the majority of people is behind this one. It makes me wonder what the next babystep will be. And if everybody will stay quiet. Stay awake people, keep your eyes open, keep your ears open, keep your heart open, but most importantly don't keep your mouth closed.

Egyptian for a day.

Even before I actually went to Egypt I got a lot of frowning faces. My family, colleagues, friends all know me well enough to know I’m a caring people. Full of love for people, animals, nature. I don’t even know how to write the word haatee. But telling them I was going to Egypt,Cairo and specifically Tahrir Square was a little bit too much.  Trying to be an activist for human rights behind my laptop screen was something else then actually being there. And why would I go to Egypt, I’m not even Egyptian? I’m writing a short journey of my visit, trying to explain why I had to be there. I’m not sure if it’s the right time already, if all the impressions has sunken in, if I’m ready for it. I’ll try.

I arrived in Cairo on a fridaynight (20th), late in the evening, so I stayed the first night there. I was not only planning to go to Tahrir Square the 25th of January. I was going to meet some friends I know from the internet and from previous visits in 2011 as well. So Saturday morning I met a friend for coffee in Mohamed Mahmoud Street. A street I wondered in many mornings before in 2011 because it was my morning ritual to get my coffee there. But it was already different. After  heavy violent clashes with protesters and SCAF last november part of the street is blocked. Blocked with huge stone full of anti-scaf grafity.  I knew it, I saw it on the news, but standing in front of them was still strange, different.  Demolished buildings, barbed wire and soldiers with big guns everywhere I looked. This was a street were people died, were people lost eyes, were people were fighting for a better future, for human rights. The friend I was meeting was shot there. Just above his eye. He was lucky. He can still see with both his eyes.

After the coffee and the chat with my friend about ,ofcourse, politics and recent affairs I took a cab to a place in the suburbs of Cairo. I was meeting another friend who was going to pick me up there and take me to Alexandria. I’d never been to Alexandria before and wanted to visit it as well. It’s a beautiful place by the sea.  And besides the beauty of the city, the sea, the food and the people it has also an important role in revolution. Revolution in Egypt is not only about Tahrir Square. Yes, it is the symbol of revolution and many people gather there, but revolution has to take part in the whole country and it did. Also in Alexandria thousands of people gathered to demonstrate, clash with police and miltary and people lost there lives.  I was ancient to go there. I stayed a couple of days and it was lovely. Can’t find a better word for it then lovely. It was so lovely! They asked me to stay, but I had to leave Tuesday night. I had a mission. I was going to participate in demonstrations on Tahrir Square on wednesday the 25th. The 25th of January was exactly 1 year after the start of the Egyptian revolution. But what has changed? The new Mubarak is SCAF, but is that really a change? The change the people wanted? Power still in hands of the military? Civilians still being trailled in military court? State of emergency still not lifted?

Trying to get to the hotel was already a journey. My hotel was right at Tahrir Square and some roads were already blocked. Many people were wondering around the square, waiting for the next day to arrive. I arrived at midnight and tried to go to bed early so I could get up on time in the morning. But I couldn’t. I just sat on my balcony for hours. Watching the people. Wondering what the day would bring. It felt unreal, me sitting there and watching. But it was real. After hours I finally fell asleep in the chair on the balcony and woke up early in the morning from music and chants coming from the square. The square was already fully packed! I remember me taking a quick shower and thinking ‘what a huge day this will be!’. I hurried out to participate. Huge marches of chanting protesters were coming from everywhere. I was not there to celebrate. I was not there to celebrate 1 year anniversery of revolution, but to protest and support the still going revolution. Protests to achieve its demands. The demand of transfer of power to civilian rule without anymore delay. The demand to put an end to all military trials for civillians and release all political prisoners. The demand to fulfill the rights of the families of those who were martyred and injured with treatment. The demand to lift the state of emergency. The demand of stopping sexual harassments to women. The demand to improve the country’s economic position. And if people really want to call it celebration, then make it a celebration that the spirit of revolution is still alive. And kicking!

Pushing myself through the crowd to get to the middle of Tahrir Square I was overwhelmed. So many people, so many flags, so many chants. Besides the Egyptian flag (that was really EVERYWHERE) I saw a lot of flags from Syria, Yemen, Libya, Bahrain, Palestine as well. It was good to see the people there were not forgotten. I felt a little noticed by the crowd,  it seems I was the only one not carrying an Egyptian flag, so I bought me a little Egypt bracelet. While I was waving my little bracelet and chanting with the protesters “Down with SCAF” I got noticed by a journalist from Lebanese television. Well, I think I got noticed by a lot of people, cause what was this obviously not Egyptian girl doing here. So there, in the middle of the square he interviewed me and asked me what most people were thinking. Why was I there? Was I with or against revolution? Was I safe being there alone? And while I was surrounded by many other people listening I tried to explain that I was wíth revolution. That I believe in human rights. And me fighting for human rights does not only mean I support that in my own country. Human rights have no borders. That I was fed up with supporting this revolution behind my laptop screen. That I needed to show that the world is watching. And that many foreigners support this revolution and it demands. The crowd cheered and said i was brave. That felt kinda ackward, cause I am not. I made sure I was mostly safe the whole time. I felt safe and till that point nothing has happened. Later on I did get sexually harassed. I can say I was not, but I was. And I will not be silence about that. It was exactly one of the reasons why I wanted to be there. It is a shame that female protesters can not be there without any male guidance. Women contributed to this revolution as much as men did. And ofcourse just a small part of the men there are perverts, but that does not make it any less wrong. And later on, when I was not alone anymore and with friends, one guy also groped and rubbed himself against me. I warned my friends and they took me in the middle, I was safe. Late in the evening I decided to stay in the hotel. I got grobed enough and I started not to feel safe anymore. I’m not saying I was not safe, I don’t know if I was or not, but me questioning that was enough reason to stay in.

It was an impressive day. It was crowded and hot, but I wouldn’t wanted to be anywhere else that day. And for one day I felt like an Egyptian. A very proud one. The days after 25th (besides going back to Tahrir again) I visited some beautiful places, hang out with lovely friends, ate delicious food, went to Alexandria again, did some shopping and kept enjoying myself there. Oh boy, how I miss Egypt already!

Before I end this writing I have to note I’m not an expert. I write this all based on my personal  experience and opinion and I do not know everything. It’s hard to read all, to understand all. The situation is difficult, revolution is difficult. I might be misinformated, I might have missed some valuable information. Forgive me if it is so.

Stop screaming in my ears!

In the beginning of Google+ the people were nice, sweet, respectful. I rarely got a disrespectful or rude comment. But since Google+ is open for public, Google+ is more of a reflection of the society.  At least the society I life in. We have this right winged (and extremely anti-Islam) political party called PVV. 1,5 million people voted for it. We have around 17 million people living here. Excluding youth under 18, ethnics with no Dutch passport, people who didn’t vote at all, it must be around 12% of the population (I’m guessing, don’t sue me on this one). That is 1 out of 12 people. I know a lot of people; family, friends, colleagues,acquaintances, neighbours. None of them dares to admit to me they voted PVV. Because of the google+ real name policy it seems it’s almost the same. People rarely comment disrespectfull or rude in public, but they do say it in private messages. I get approximately 1 a day.

There are many, many smart, sweet and respectful people (I love you all), but there are also people who keep screaming in my ears. In my left ear there are the bigots/ racists/ right winged extremists/ islamophobiacs or whatever you want to call them. Some examples of private messages:

 “I hope your family finds out you are here and lock you in the basement where your cousins will rape you every day”

“I’m gonna slit your throat”

“You’re a fucking muslim, go to hell”

That last example was kinda rare, cause it was posted publicly (https://plus.google.com/u/0/104807707676075308449/posts/9dcGH3SPGjd). Normally I remove them immidiately, but this time I didn’t.

Screaming in my right ear are some extreme muslims who think they know me and tell me I am not a good muslim. I am apparantly too modern, too liberal, too free. Some examples of private messages:

 “You should be married and take care of your husband.”

“Of you’re  liberal, you’re a betrayer of true Islam”

 “You’re flirting with men, you will go to hell”

I’m starting to get fed up with people screaming in my ears  In real life and here. Who are you to decide who I am? What I believe in?  What my goals in life are? How I should behave?

I am Jasmina. I am a woman. I am a Muslim. I am against any form of violence or extremism. I am pro-democracy. I am a liberal. I am sweet. I am happy. I am caring. I am in love with life. I am honest. I am stubborn. I am sometimes afraid. I am naive. I am free. I am proud. I am not a terrorist. I am not anti-semitic.  This is me. Whether you like it or not.

Mourning for the loss of a dream

Sometimes I wonder if I mourn for something/someone I lost or for the dream or fantasy I had about it. To explain myself better I’ll give an example. What if you fall in love with someone. And afterwards you break up for whatever reason. Are you mourning then because of the loss of your lover or are you mourning for the loss of a dream you had. For the fantasy you had about you and that person together. Which in time you found out wasn’t true. Because he/she was not actually the person you thought he/she was. You maybe imagined he/she was. Or maybe hoped he/she was. Aren’t some people fooling themself by getting all upset for believing it was the love of their life they’ve lost? I have this friend who broke up with her boyfriend. And her whole world stopped. For months. She had lost the love of her life. As she claims he was. But actually he was a jerk. He mistreated her, cheated and wasn’t nice at all. So what was she mourning about? Him or the dream she had of the person he was? Of the picture perfect she had in her mind about them together. I believe it was the dream, but she still insist it’s him who she is missing. It’s hér feeling, so I’m ok with that.

And it’s not only about love, it’s also about friends. I’ve lost friends and because of the good memories I remember, I mourned for their loss. And I tended to forget about the bad things. I mean, they obviously weren’t the friends they’re supposed to be otherwise we would still be friends. So am I mourning for their loss or for the loss of a fantasy friend I had? And the same goes with family. Ofcourse I’m not talking about people who died.

After writing this I come to the conclusion I’m mourning mostly for the loss of a dream. But without any doubt I still keep on dreaming. Is it hope or naivety? Or do I just simply refuse to give up my dreams? Even if most of the time I’m mourning afterwards. But what am I without my dreams? 

Multicultural society a failure?

In the beginning of this year our vice Prime Minister said that the multicultural society has failed. I wonder where he has been living his whole life. But let me tell you, it is not a failure in my town. Wé are not a failure vice Prime Minister.

I’m living in Rotterdam. The second biggest city in my country. Or maybe I’m wrong, but we like to think that we are. Half of the youth is non-western ‘ethnic’.  And you know what, we dont care. I heard this youngster screaming to his friend last week “Ewa sahbi, pass me een kip roti kardashhhhh!” (translation: “Hey my friend, give me a chicken roti, Surinamese dish, my frienddddd!”) I mean, that’s like Moroccan, English, Surinamese, Dutch and Turkish in 1 sentence. And the funny part is, all his mixed friends understood him. And so did I. Because besides the English, German and French we are obligated to learn in highschool, we also pick up words from people around us. We mix it all up. Like we are all mixed up. ‘Rotterdammers’ (residents of Rotterdam) are raw, they say what is on there mind and they do that very direct. And it doesn’t matter where you come from. If you act stupid, you are a stupid Rotterdammer. We like to complain about our city, but when we are outside it we will defend it with our lifes.  And it doesn’t matter if you’re from Morocco, Turkey, Suriname, Somalia or whatever, if you are a Rotterdammer, you are a Rotterdammer.

I must give credit to our education system, cause I can talk to my Thai neighbour in (sort of) English, German to my neighbour from Poland and some French to another neighbour from Congo . I don’t care if they don’t speak Dutch, I can talk to them in other languages. And I like to talk and learn from different cultures.  So I usely do that a lot.  And we talk Dutch too. Cause they want to talk Dutch with me so they can practize it. They are sweet and warm people. They also care for their street, their neighbourhood, their city, their country. They also care for their children, for safety, for their neighbours.  Who let’s us think they are second-class citizens?

The problem in The Netherlands in general is that for some adults ‘ethnics’ will always be ‘ethnic’ and it doesn’t matter if you were born and raised here. If you lived here for 40 years. If your children are born and raised here. If you speak the language fluently and you pay your taxes every month. If you participate in Dutch celibrations (like Queensday) and obey the rules of this country. They will still be seen as ‘ethnics’.  And as long as we all don’t accept ‘ethnics’ as Dutch civilians, this will never change. I’m proud of my city and I think it is a good rolemodel for the cities who are not that far. Who maybe never have been multicultural because their are not much ‘ethnics’ living there. In Rotterdam their are daily a lot of people from outside the city. I notice cause they are the ones who threat me different. I’m not ‘ethnic’, but anyone with a veil is ‘ethnic’ in most Dutch eyes.  So I know how some can act. But yet, I still think we didn’t fail (yes, we fall sometimes) and a vice Prime Minister telling us we failed is not very helpful.  What kind of message are you sending to our youth then? Our youth who mostly don’t care where someone is born or where their parents are born. Our youth who is used having their group of friends mixed. Our youth who cares about the character of a person instead of their ethnicity. I think vice Prime Minister, that you’ve failed in realising that this generation of youth doesn’t care if someone is ‘ethnic’. And you have failed in giving them credit for that.

Note: This is only based on my personal opinion. You may disagree. But this is how I see it.

My superhero grandma

My best childhood memories are in your house, grandma. I used to play in your garden, cuddled with the rabbits and made thousand of chains and bracelets with daisies . And when it was raining we went inside and baked cookies, played boardgames or read the hundreds of comics you saved for me and my brothers. And their was always this smell. The smell of cooking porridge. Cause that was your favorite. You loved eating it and it was always cooking on the stove when we arrived. I can’t smell it without thinking of you. I remember you also took me to the cinema or the zoo sometimes. What a party was that! I was too little to realise then you didn’t have much money and saved every little dime so you could bring me there.   But when I grew older I learnt more about you. About your tough life. You were a young adult in second world war and althought you rarely talked about it, it had a big impact in your life. And when you found out grandpa was tasting candy somewhere else, you kicked him out.  Fifty years ago that was not an easy thing to do. All of a sudden you were a single divorced mother of 4 young children. You worked day and night to provide for them and never thought about yourself.  And they grew up wonderful. You wanted to set a rolemodel for your children, but you also set a rolemodel for your grandchildren.

You were always so strong grannie. I have only seen you cry once. When one of your children died. You always said ‘I should have gone first, no one should survive their own children’. I saw the pain in your eyes for many years. But as usual you stayed strong. You kept the family together.  You were the centre and we would all gather at your house.  I will never forget your tolerance too. I remember you were the one who found out one of our relatives was gay. You laught and said, “well, who cares, I still love him.” And when your only granddaughter converted to Islam you said exactly the same. You were the only one who accepted it.  Accepted me. We talked a lot about religion with a cup a tea in our hands and playing scrabble at the same time.  You were Christian and believed. I was Muslim and believed. And we both believed in the love for eachother.

And then 6 months ago the whole family went to Italy. You couldn’t go, you needed 24/7 medical care. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t bear the feeling of leaving you all alone the whole week with no familiar face around you. So I stayed.  I stayed here and after work I drove to you. You knew I was coming, I was only 10 minutes away, but then you left. Death took you away from me. I was so angry, cause I was so close and didn’t had the change to say goodbye.  I was so angry, cause you were alone when you left. But maybe this was also you. Quiet going away while everyone was gone. I know you were very ill and I know you didn’t mind leaving. You were sick before many times, but you always crawled back up because you saw the pain in our eyes. It was your time to go and maybe if we were there, you would have tried to fight it again. But it’s ok grannie, you’ve fought your whole life, you may rest now. Your pain is over.

I miss you grannie. You are my rolemodel, you are my superhero. And you will always be. May you rest in peace.

Let fear not win

When I had dinner with some colleagues last week I asked the waiter if the meat was halal. The respons was “Oh you’re that kind of trouble  muslim who only eat halláaaaal”. I’m sorry, did I ask for his chef cook to convert so he can kill the chicken halal? I don’t mind if it’s not hallal, I’m just asking. If it’s not, I eat some vegetarian food. No problem at all.

It reminded me of a time I went for dinner with my friends. One girl was getting married so we decided to go out to a nice restaurant and celebrate.  While we were there for 3 hours I realised I had to renew my parkingcard. So I left to renew it and went back in 5 minutes. Trying to walk in they forbid me the entrance. I was overwhelmed.  I didn’t connect it with my veil, I’ve been there for 3 hours already. When I asked why, they pointed out that caps are not allowed in a restaurant, so neither are veils. One guy thought he even had to point out that if I wanted to wear a veil, I should go to my own country.  The only reply I could give at that moment was “but….I am from this country”. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t reply. Ofcourse hours later, when I was already home, I had a lot of replies for them in my head.  Which were not so nice, so I will not repeat them here.

This didn’t happen in a small village, it happened in one of the biggest cities. A big city where half of the youth population is ‘ethnic’. Is this common here? No, luckily not. Yet. But it does happen and waving it away as if these things never happen here is wrong. It happened to me many times (in different situations) and I bet it happens to others too.  We should be aware of this. It hurts people. It hurted me. I don’t care about (for example) the restaurant, there are many others places to go to. But I felt humiliated and ashamed. Ashamed to see my friends through the window and calling them that I couldn’t get in. My friends are awesome, so they stood up immidiately and left. They were mad. And so was I. I felt powerless, helpless, but the shame hit me more.  I think it’s dangerous too. And no, you don’t have to be afraid of me.  But if you get this over yourself many times I can understand why other youth gets frustrated. Frustrated about society, frustrated nobody speaking up,  and maybe so frustrated they distance themself from this society. The society they live in, where they were born and raised.  I’m a person who speaks up (if not at the moment, then later on), because I’ve learned how to do that. I’m well articulated and I cán. But what if you can’t? Where does this frustration go? It worries me.  Especially in a time where society seems to revolve around the individual. Where freedom of speech seems to be only for the ones who have the biggest mouth and hurts others the most. Where freedom of religion is not that common anymore and where fear seems to win.

I did not write this to place myself as a victim. I am not (and even if I was, I refuse to be one). I write about this, because this is reality and we should all be aware. Let fear not win. Let it not devide us into groups and fingerpoint at each other. Let it not stop us from communicating with eachother. And most of all, let it not wipe away respect for eachother, how different we might be.