ata boy, uncle tarek!

Dear Uncle Tarek finds new solice in the loving arms of that ol’ autocratic soul, Kamal Ataturk, drawn in as it were by the late drunkard’s vision of a rigidly secular utopia and a nationalist pathos–the various genocides that secular utopia executed because of its nationalist pathos notwithstanding.  Hey, it’s all right if it’s secular, right?  And what’s double-plus good is that, through that nationalist pathos that saw all things good in all things Turk, and made it illegal to say anything bad about anything Turk, he finds a way to stick it to the Arabs:

The tenuous bond between the Arab and the non-Arab Muslim has, over the centuries, created a love-hate relationship, often one-sided and rarely discussed. While non-Arab Muslims have embraced many facets of Arabian culture and custom, the gesture has rarely ever been reciprocated. Whether it has been the feeble relationship between the Berbers and Arabs, or the never-ending mutual mistrust between Persians and the Arabs, this chasm is largely unnoticed in the Arab world. Iqbal’s reference to “Arabian Imperialism” would elicit shock and denunciation from even the most liberal Arab; such is the state of denial.

I’m sure the irony of writing an article based almost solely on the premise that the Arabs are inately tribalist and racist isn’t lost on Uncle Tarek, but I might as well point it out anyway, funny as it is.

a brief return from a lengthy hiatus…

And all because of dear Uncle Tarek, who just can’t stop til he gets enough. 

Figure 1: Tarek Fatah, a prominent feature of the Toronto skyline

In which Tarek gets a unique opportunity to beg for readers at the National Post, Canada’s newpaper of poor record, seemingly breaking from its tradition of promoting the war against the sand people in order to give some quality face time to the Desi version of Uncle Rhemus–he gets to share parts of his new story-book, Chasing a Mirage, with a captive CanWest audience.  And shake his walkin’ stick at the new tar babies, those seething brown youths in Europe, sassy, scary Islamists–whom, of course, Tarek understands on a profound level:

This book may help these liberals understand that the anti-Americanism of the radical Islamists has little to do with anti-imperialism. In fact, the anti-Americanism of the Islamist is not about the United States, but reflects their contempt for the liberal social democratic society we have built and its emphasis on liberty and freedom of the individual itself.

See?  They hate us for our freedom, remember?

Wait, there’s more:

I hope non-Muslims realize that deep inside the soul of all Muslims lives a Rumi, an Averroes, and a Muhammad Ali.

Every Muslim writes beautiful love poetry, thinks deep thoughts about Maliki jurisprudence, and wants to punch Tarek Fatah very, very hard in the face.  Well, maybe not.  But batting .333 will keep him in the National Post rotation, I imagine.

And more:

I write in the same tradition.

Applause.  Good for you, Tarek!  But with Rumi, Ibn Rushd, and the Champ all vying deep inside you for their own wee spot within the depths of your soul, where do you find room for that ego?

aqsa – a dirge

I am extremely angry.

I’m mostly angry that there’s a dead teenager out there, a young girl named Aqsa Parvez who was murdered, almost certainly by someone in her own house, who was the victim of domestic violence, which is a crime that is the worst possible crime in the world.

I’m also angry at Irshad Manji, who jockies Aqsa’s untimely death into a screed against women who choose to wear hijab. Her article on the subject made me feel like I needed a shower. Is this how cheap we are now, that the death of a teenager is food for our own social agenda? In her war against people who like traditions, Sister Irshad sees her own reflection everywhere:

In Berlin earlier this year, a group of young Muslim women — not a hijabi among them! — approached me to express gratitude that I’d posted an Islamic defense of inter-faith marriage.

Congratulations, Sister Irshad. You’ve managed to insinuate the accomplishments of Project Ijtihad© into an article about a dead teenager, something that any other reasonable person would imagine to be so ingratiatingly self-serving as to induce projectile vomiting. Very brave of you.

(Interesting to note that the prime example of Islamofascist extremism, Muslim Girl Magazine that she herself links to, features not one, but two sisters on its front page not wearing a head scarf. What that’s worth, I don’t know, except that it goes to show Sister Irshad’s not that big on self-editing.)

Natasha Fatah asks, Who will speak for Aqsa Parvez?

Irshad Manji just did. And apparently, Natasha Fatah is about to–and I really wish she wouldn’t. Here’s what she says:

The Middle Eastern head covering has become the most significant icon for Islam in the West, which is unfortunate, since 90 per cent of Muslim women in this country don’t wear one. By extension, they get dismissed as not being authentic Muslims.

The CBC’s own Little Mosque on the Prairie plays into this stereotype by showing every prominent Muslim woman in a hijab. This superficial measurement of Muslim-ness has become so prevalent that a small but increasing number of families are pushing it on their daughters.

Sister Natasha makes up facts–90% of Canadian Muslim women don’t wear hijab? Sister Natasha either lies or blunders–Little Mosque on the Prairie features one regular female Muslim character, Sara, who doesn’t wear hijab. In the flashback episode this season, Aamar’s mother doesn’t wear hijab. Neither did any of the women Aamar’s mother brought for him. For crying out loud, Babar’s wife didn’t wear hijab. It’s okay not to watch the show, but it’s probably best not to talk about it if you haven’t because you end up sounding retarded. But who’s counting? The stakes are high enough, the goal noble enough, that truth (or truthiness) won’t get in the way of Sister Natasha’s effort to demonstrate that it’s the hijab that killed Aqsa

Big Daddy Tarek jumps in on this indictment of a piece of cloth. Not disturbed by the fact that he’s never right about anything, Uncle Tarek uses the death of Aqsa to screech that it’s all Iran and Saudi Arabia’s fault. And Uncle Tarek’s not scared to get his hands dirty. This brave warrior in the battle against headscarves is even willing throw down against little girls:

Little wonder then, that Canadian girls walk away from sports tournaments rather than remove their hijabs.

It can’t possibly be the case, can it Uncle Tarek, that Canadian girls believe that forcing them to remove their headscarves, a style of dress they believe is religiously mandated, is obscene? Could it possibly be the case, Uncle Tarek, that your opinion of them, and what they should do, is beyond irrelevant? Could it also be the case that even bringing that up demonstrates such a willing politicization of a teenager’s death that any reasonable human being’s natural reaction should be utter revulsion, followed by a sinister feeling in the pit of one’s guts, a desire to cuff the author of such muck, just once but very very hard, for being such a turd? I’m no expert, but I say yes.

Enough! Here’s what we know of Aqsa Parvez’ death: Aqsa Parvez had problems at home stemming from intergenerational and, probably to some degree, cross-cultural conflicts, which made her distinct from other Canadian kids in exactly zero ways. She was killed in her home, something so mind-shatteringly evil there is nothing normal about it. Nothing normal for Muslims, or South Asians, or fathers and daughters–nothing normal for anyone. Analyzing it as if it falls into some pattern or other is fruitless. Worse yet, scrambling over Aqsa Parvez’ prone dead body, wrenching off this bit or that, stabbing at it with your flag to lay claim to it, to claim that its ultimate sacrifice is a sacrifice for this just cause, the obliteration of the hijab or the destruction of the myth of multiculturalism or the war against tradition, is disgusting.

That’s enough. She was just a kid. And you’re vultures, all of you.