You’re actually not even obligated to do housework.

During the time of the Prophet, women were encouraged to engage in housework, but it was seen as a charity, not as an obligation. The woman who cooked and cleaned was viewed as being generous with her labor. I’m not even kidding; you can look this up. Women who didn’t know how to cook (those who were originally upper class but may have married men in a class lower than theirs) were not expected to learn. Their husbands were expected to hire someone to cook and clean for them.

That’s terrific for upper class women–I’m sure you’re all thinking–but the same is true for women who were ill, or otherwise somehow disabled from cooking. A number of jurists came to this conclusion (including Shaykh Mufti Taqi Usmani and Imam al-Mawsili, if you must know which). This is because traditionally a man is expected to provide provisions; for longer than they haven’t been, those provisions were considered prepared/cooked provisions. In other words, you can’t just drop raw meat in front of your wife like, “I HAVE PROVIDED!” and expect her to make a meal out of it. It has to come that way. From you. (Yes, I heard it, no jokes please.)

Fatwas like this are typically followed by a sentiment along the lines of, “But she is encouraged to partake in her religious duty,” or “There are blessings for women who are generous and kind to their husbands, otherwise she is obstinate.” This is because jurists think women are cold-hearted assholes like men, who wouldn’t consider expending themselves a little for sake of mutual understanding in a marriage, and that we would just sit around all day doing nothing at any opportunity. Let’s face it, no woman is going to read this and stop vacuuming. A man might, were it in his favor.

Before you think Jesus Christ, Nahida, who hurt you?!, men actually HAVE stopped vacuuming. Doesn’t, “Sorry, I’m only encouraged to help with housework,” sound familiar? I’m not exaggerating what opportunists men are.

So I don’t need to tell any woman that it would be nice if she picked up some chores anyway; women largely are–and tirelessly. Look, I would be the first to roll my eyes at an upper class woman and think, “Learn to cook, Your Highness.” Okay maybe not the first, I don’t really care, but if she were obnoxious enough I’d do it eventually. Obviously, God has been far more generous. And not just to her. What I’m saying is, working class women, stop exhausting yourselves.

My friend Vanessa (hi Vanessa) said to me once, “In Islam, a woman has the right to work. If her husband discourages her from practicing this right, because he requires full-time maintenance of the household, then she must be compensated for her forfeiture of this right. He must pay her for the money she has lost from not working, out of consideration of him.” She reportedly told this to her female (potential) in-laws, who looked at her as though they’d been conned.

Stay-at-home mothers with children should be contractually employed by their husbands for cooking, cleaning, and childcare services provided and contributed to the household. They should show this salary on their taxes, and, if it is too low, should receive additional compensation/benefits from the government for raising a generation of workers to contribute to the economy. Realistically, most of this is life management; most husbands couldn’t afford all of the work their wives do. The economy would need to change, drastically, to implement something like this. Traditionally “women’s work” would need to be seen as actual work.

25 things.

It has been pointed out to me that I write about myself infrequently and too briefly, and in the rare occasions I do, I deter attention to myself with humor. (Even the about me section of this website is tongue-in-cheek.) So, following my 25th birthday, which was on March 8th—happy International Women’s Day!, here is a serious list of 25 things about me, without a single witty remark. You can imagine the difficulty.

  1. Despite what appears here, I am always aware of the opposing point of view.
  2. I cry easily at movies, though quietly. I’m moved by human suffering, and prone to escapist behavior. I absorb a lot from my environment.
  3. I have a tremendous urge to forgive easily. I cut people out of my life if I fear I will forgive them, and, for my own wellbeing, should not forgive them because the cycle will repeat. This is where my ability to be objective (and detach myself from the emotional inclination toward forgiveness) saves me.
  4. My sense of humor is mischievous, sometimes.
  5. I’m singlehandedly motivated by my own unfamiliarity. When I don’t know how something works—like gorgeous music, or poignant writing (I don’t think of these as subjects, but qualities of existence)—it is a literal pain in my heart.
  6. I approach people the same way.
  7. I am practically allergic to planners and schedules. I like the idea of them. And I’ve tried them, I really have. I’m never able to commit to them.
  8. Letting someone get to know me expends a lot of energy for me. In this way it’s an investment, so unless I see our friendship lasting, it’s one that I rarely make. If, when we speak, we’re mostly discussing you, it still means I care about you—just not enough for me to expend the energy required to talk about myself. For example, this post is already exhausting. Everyone thinks I’m a “listener” at first.
  9. I’m dreamy, sensitive, and restless. It’s natural for me to find passion and pursue it, but I tend to focus on multiple goals at a time, even when it’s overwhelming. When there’s nothing to do, I’m exhausted. But if there’s plenty, I’m a powerhouse.
  10. (In real life) I’m soft and yielding. And very ardent.
  11. I have a need for space and personal freedom. Feeling as though I can’t go anywhere is psychologically suffocating.
  12. I laugh at myself. A lot. At my own expense.
  13. Patience is not my forte.
  14. I can disassociate myself from the pain I’m feeling, as long as it is physical or psychological. It is difficult to accomplish this with emotional pain. I’m anxious.
  15. I take risks, both financially and in general. Fortunately, I have a caution against debt which enforces a safety net. I can be inventive when earning money, but I spend impulsively.
  16. I can stand my ground against figures of authority, and unreasonable external pressures typically don’t faze me. Sometimes I will risk losing everything and starting from scratch rather than “giving in.”
  17. I like to throw myself into the unknown.
  18. I date on weeknights rather than weekends. I’m demonstrative in love, and affectionate by nature.
  19. I’m adept at analysis and research, and I can make necessary decisions rapidly.
  20. I’m intense, and very discerning.
  21. For some reason I have the appearance of traveling a lot, but I actually travel little, even though I enjoy it. Or at least, I stay in several places for shorter periods of time. I suspect, somehow, that I was destined for a career in international affairs. It’s something I have in the back of my mind, and intend to–finally!–pursue.
  22. I was destined, but not fated, to leave home at an early age. I know this in my bones.
  23. I don’t disclose my plans unless they are underway. Because of this they appear rather sudden, and I’m often treated to a surprised reaction once they are known.
  24. I’m very critical of myself, both morally and in terms of how much I’ve accomplished in life. I overthink everything. No one is allowed to tell me this, though. I will make a face at them.
  25. I really do find beauty in everything, to the point where it’s unbearable to me. Sometimes I have to force myself not to notice how lovely a sky is, or architecture, etc. because it hurts me and I don’t want to alarm anyone by bursting into tears. I have a “that’s not that great, it’s just okay” face to conceal what an overly romantic loser I am.

There was a solar eclipse on the 8th! I was not able to view it from the western hemisphere (I had been in Santiago at the time), so I hope those of you in/around Asia were able to enjoy it!


Racists Targeting Refugees Pretend to Care about Assaults in Germany and Sweden

Update: Most of the attackers in Cologne were white. “On Friday, the Cologne prosecutor Ulrich Bremer in fact told me that, of the 59 suspects pinpointed so far, just four are from war-torn countries (Syria and Iraq), only 14 are in custody, and nobody has yet been charged. Nearly 600 hours of CCTV reveals very little, and there is no evidence whatsoever that the alleged attacks were planned in advance.”

I’ve got to hand it to racists, they don’t just “care” about saving Muslim women from oppressive Muslim men; they also care very much about saving white women from barbaric men of color.

sofia capel tweet
You can just FEEL how much he cares.

During a New Year’s celebration in Cologne, Germany, women reported around 22 (estimated) orchestrated assaults by men of Arab or North African appearance. The horrific incidents were, of course, at once hijacked by nationalist, right-wing racists, who were conveniently suddenly very invested in women’s rights and safety. Despite the fact that none of the actual victims nor a representative size of the women of nations who have opened borders to large numbers of refugees felt the need to politicize these attacks, knights in shining armor, who otherwise spend their time counting false rape accusations or denying the wage gap, came galloping in on their shiny white horses with their shiny white skin.

Amnesia is an incredible thing, and so is projection. The white man fears men of color because he knows what he has done. Organized rape is not unprecedented, and it’s still rape when it comes dressed in prettier terms. White men can literally travel to Colombia, the Philippines, Thailand, Kenya for the purpose of exploiting/raping women (or ‘sex tourism’) using systems in place to help them coerce women, and when white women are assaulted it’s considered ‘unprecedented.’ No, an article actually uses that word.

Organized rape has happened during every European invasion in history. It happened in the Americas–and still does–to indigenous women, it happened through the African continent–and still does–during the slave trade, it happened in every systematic genocide and it is anything but unprecedented. The only time we should fear “refugees” is when they’re white.

Propaganda by racists relying on the crimes, whether real or fictitious, of any person or people of color is nothing new either. The treatment of women in the Middle East was a popular justification for invading Afghanistan and Iraq and blasting those very women we care oh-so-much about to pieces. And sadly, that’s not even the most recent: historically, and even now, white women perceive of their attackers as dark-skinned. In her book, The Color of Crime, Katheryn Russell-Brown documented 67 racial hoax cases between 1987 and 1996, 70% of which were white-on-black. She says, because the most common type of hoax targeting black men is rape,  “it’s not surprising that so many White women have created Black male rapists as their fictional criminals.”

I am by no means suggesting that the women attacked in Cologne weren’t assaulted or didn’t see their attackers–let’s be clear that I believe every part of the story, and I’m deeply unhappy with the German authorities unsurprising response to advise the women to take careful measures. Rather, I’m pointing out that women like Bonnie Sweeten, who falsely accused two black men of kidnapping her daughter; like Amanda Knox, who falsely accused a black man of killing her roommate; like Bethany Storro, who threw acid in her own face and blamed a black woman, are able to operate on what we all know as truth: the hearts of racists are inflamed at the prospect of a man of color committing a crime against a white woman, absolutely inspired to fuel hatred against an entire people. Because they care. All of the sudden. As Laurie Penny writes:

This is not the first time a European city administration has responded to an outbreak of sexual violence by blaming the women. It is the first time in recent history that the right-wing press has not joined in the condemnation of these wanton strumpets who dare to think they might be able to have a good time without worrying what ‘invitation’ they’re sending to men. Instead, the right wing blames… liberals. Who apparently caused all this by daring to suggest that refugees should be able to come to Europe in safety.

It’d be great if we could take rape, sexual assault and structural misogyny as seriously every day as we do when migrants and Muslims are involved as perpetrators. The attacks in Cologne were horrific. The responses – both by officials and by the armies of Islamophobes and xenophobes who have jumped at the chance to condemn Muslim and migrant men as savages – have also been horrific. Cologne has already seen violent protests by the far-right anti-migrant organisation Pegida, a group not previously noted for its dedication to progressive feminism. Angela Merkel has responded by tightening the rules for asylum seekers, but for many commentators, it’s not enough.

It’s astounding truly, how rightwing bigots believe they can really fool women into thinking they suddenly care about women’s rights or safety. In Sweden, after gangs of masked men physically assaulted non-Swedes, Swedish women responded with the hashtag campaign #inteerkvinna (#notyourwoman) to protest the men, particularly after right-wingers violently attacked refugee youths claiming their motives were to “protect” Swedish women. (I don’t give white feminists cookies for their allyship, but I really want to do it just this once.)

As a friend of mine once said, men are like the Mafia–they offer you “protection” from themselves.

Rebels v.s. Revolutionaries

Patriarchy will always perceive the actions of two groups of people as “rebellious”–women, and teenagers. Take note that although “rebellious” is denotatively defined as resisting authority, the connotation is that women and teenagers are disobedient and insubordinate for the mere the sake of resisting authority, and not for the grander revolutionary cause of upholding the inherent value in their beliefs. Unlike rebellious men, who seek to overthrow an unjust system, the rebellious woman is perceived as one who seeks to destabilize the morals of society and needs to be “put back in place”–much like the rebellious child, whose opinions are “just a phase” and will come to end upon the adulthood realization that authority figures were correct all along.

I’m aware from your emails that some of you are teenagers. I was 19 when I started writing here. I’m now 24. When I was a teenager, I was a pedantic, quietly imaginative, overreaching kind of child. I was the kind of child adults enjoyed and other children disliked; I was a know-it-all or–worse?–a goody-two-shoes. Perhaps it is some kind of cosmic joke that I am fonder of children now. I didn’t like teenagers when I was one of them. But that was such an injustice! I hope you see that more clearly than I did. Teenagers are in fact quite wonderful. It’s a shame I disliked them—it’s a shame I disliked them while I was one of them, having accepted the myth that teenage problems don’t matter (“You won’t care about them when you’re older,”) that the only use for my intelligence was to prove my worth to adults, that I was immature if I refused to seek adult approval. I am amazed by teenagers routinely when I really shouldn’t be stunned–by Sarah Volz, who grew financially viable algae biofuels under her bed; by Paul Hyman, who invented a camera to aid firefighters seeing through smoke; by Adebola Duro-Aina who invented a urine-powered generator to address Nigeria’s energy problem. (And yes, it works.) The brilliance of teenagers is obvious, not astounding. After all, Louis Braille invented braille when he was 15.

Not that anyone should expect you to be a genius, or expect otherwise for that matter–that complaint about the pre-frontal cortex employed to discredit you every time gets pretty old doesn’t it?–no one should really expect anything at all for anyone. My point is that I was 19 when I began writing here, and despite the common side-smirk accusation about my beliefs and interpretations of Islam being transitory, they were not, in fact, a “phase.” They were the core of who I was, emerging from myself. I hypothesized that after I became an adult–I think I have yet to accomplish this–it would be accepted that I’m not “rebelling” for the sake of rebelling, that I’m just being who I actually am, living my life the way I saw it fit to be lived, but of course in anticipating this I had neglected to account for the fact that I’m a woman. Which means my “rebellion” will never be taken seriously. It is rebellion and not revolution. The Great Male Revolutionary may be revered, but the kindred spirit in a womanly form, eternally disparaged, is the true lone ranger.

Don’t let anyone claim your beliefs, your identity, anything about you is merely transitional. And if it is, don’t let anyone attribute it to your age. After all, transitional things are lovely, and their temporariness makes them no less valuable. Patriarchy will have you believe only men are allowed to change their minds whilst maintaining validity on any decision, on any assumed identity, as though this very human tendency to change is a privilege afforded to only those whose genders–and age–have been wrongfully associated with strength of character. I’d tell you it gets better as you get older–but why should it? You needn’t grow out of a certain age for people to begin respecting your perspectives. And you, 19-year-old reading this in your late teens on-the-brink-of-20–don’t you dare forget what it was like. I was 19 five years ago, and I still haven’t. Just because it stops mattering to you one day once you’ve passed a convenient threshold doesn’t mean it isn’t still important. The rule is suspended in the timelessness of morality. All it means when you think you “know better” now is that you’ve become oppressive as soon as you were given the opportunity to forget.

As Transformation Goes

“I didn’t ask to be here,” I used to declare to friends during light existential crises. Even then, I was unsure of the veracity of these words. I knew that I might very well have asked to be here, alive, on Earth, as a human being, and not remember. What I must have been thinking when I agreed to this is beyond me. There are times I fiercely anticipate the Return. The only thing I know for certain is that I’m human, and not an angel, because I ask irritating questions, and have this unrelenting need for a purpose.

Muslims (conventionally, anyway) don’t believe in reincarnation, which is a relief. The Qur’an, however, alludes to other forms a soul can assume besides those we recognize.

We have decreed Death among you,
and We are not to be outrun.

We will change your Forms
and create you (again) in (Forms)
that you do not know.

And you have already known
the first creation,
so you will not remember?

—Qur’an 56:60-62

Apart from an allusion to a “first” creation, the Qur’an speaks not only of new, different Forms when we wake from Death, but of the Universe collapsing into itself, and a new emergent creation that substitutes us.

The Day that we fold up the heavens
like the folding of a scroll,
even as We produced the first Creation,
so shall We produce a new one:
a promise We have undertaken.
Truly, shall We fulfill it.

—Qur’an 21:104

Do you not see that God created
the Heavens and the earth in Truth?

If She so will She can remove you
and (in your place) lay a new Creation?
For God, it is not any great matter.

—Qur’an 14:19-20

Sentiments of change are dispersed throughout the Qur’an, and so is the mention of various forms—after death, and even before life. When I am intent on finding a purpose for my existence, I think of the promise the Qur’an recounts; the promise I must have made before my arrival.

When your God drew forth from
the children of humankind
—from their loins—their descendants,
and made them testify concerning themselves:
“Am I not your Lord?”
The souls said: “We do testify! [It is true].”
This. Lest you should say
on the Day of Judgment:
“We were unaware.”

—Qur’an 7:172

In a life before birth, our souls testified recognition of God, a testimony we are asked to remember should we claim otherwise upon Resurrection. The Qur’an also refers to “covenant” and “oaths” (ex Q16: 91, Q13:19-20, etc.) and when I think of life before birth, the making of this is promise is what I attempt, in vain, to remember.

There is a different facet of loveliness to being Good if I promised so.

Indeed, we offered the Trust
to the heavens
and the earth and the mountains,
and they declined to bear it
and feared it;
but humankind undertook it.
Indeed, he was unjust and ignorant.

—Qur’an 33:72

The attribute of free will, which in fear of failure the heavens and the earth and the mountains refused to bear, is bestowed upon humankind with a great Trust. We are Trusted to decipher between right and wrong. We are Trusted to responsibly employ the faculty of reason. We are Trusted not to misuse our free will. We accepted the Trust that is offered to us, and Trust is the foundation of Love.

Some are so fearful, and they are the ones who will have you believe they only fear God. But they don’t. They fear social uprisings, they fear challenges to their power, they fear immigrants and languages that aren’t English. They fear cultural practices they can’t recognize and worst of all, they fear that others, from whom they have taken unjustly, will overthrow them. They fear Justice, and, in that way, they really do fear God—but only so much as they fear their own mortality. They know what they have done, and they fear the inevitable that will come from it.

I don’t fear my own mortality. It does not frighten me when suggested that heterosexuals might be a minority. It does not frighten me when suggested that the US government is an unlawful one built on the blood of the peoples of First Nations who should govern this land instead. It does not frighten me when suggested that gender is fluid and its fluidity be observed in natural phenomena outside of the constraints of human interpretation. I think, so what? So we will move. So we will expand to accommodate these truths. It is only in our making to evolve. Things weren’t meant to be this way forever. Transformation is enthralling, and falsehood, as the Quranic verse goes, by nature will perish. For those who truly fear God, will welcome God’s Judgment. I look forward to answering for all I’ve done wrong. I look forward to transforming.


Beloved readers,

The Earth has come around the Sun again, and I have come around, and around, and around Faith, because like celestial spheres we Love in circles. If it pleases God, those of us in pieces this past year will find ourselves whole again, because even the universe, in pieces once, became whole planets, and stars, and if you are still—a rogue planet, know that this orbit isn’t nonexistent, but merely wider than you can decipher, and like clouds of lithium, deuterium, helium, we are shifting still, like stellar fusion, into the sparkling Heavens.

With love,

“Reverence the wombs that bore you”: On Unearthing a Female Legacy Transgressive to the Patriarchal Social Order

Perceptions of women’s power and authority in Islam range from Orientalist discourses that present the Muslim woman as an exotic, victimized, and elusive figure in need of reform, to patriarchal scholarships that confine her to a secondary, consequential role under male regulation, to Islamic feminist exegeses that seek to liberate her, and itself, from either of these assessments. This study explores the flaws in contemporary patriarchal male scholarship, referred to herein as “patriarchal scholarship” or simply “male scholarship,” and defined as the line of scholarship that claims traditional precedent and mainstream consensus, that necessitate Islamic feminism. I build on Asma Barlas’s observation that while male scholarship professes egalitarianism in Islam by upholding Qur’anic values of equality at a theoretical, spiritual level, this profession is duplicitous, as patriarchal scholarship simultaneously fails to apply its Islamic theory of egalitarianism to Islamic practice, which should be challenged as a detrimental lapse in logic. My argument consists of three elements: I assert that inconsistencies between Islamic belief and Islamic practice as promoted by patriarchal scholarship prevail at even the interpretational level, that this male legacy of interpretative authority is afforded a continuity that female scholarship is denied, and that the formations of Islamic feminist exegeses predate European colonial influences in the Middle East. It is this third point that renders disingenuous the characterization of Islamic feminism as non-traditional compared to patriarchal scholarship, and subsequently an insufficient reason to dismiss feminist scholarship, though it is one commonly employed and further facilitated by the harmful dynamics of Orientalist discourse that seek to “free” the Muslim woman over her agency.

Cosmological equality of the sexes in Islam transcends the realm of belief. Islamic beliefs must manifest in the realm of practice, as described in the Qur’an with the opening verse of surah 4, which commands Muslims to “Reverence God, who created you from a single Self; created, of similar nature, its mate, and dispersed wherefrom countless men and women. Reverence God, through Whom you demand your mutual rights” (Q4:1). Islamic feminists including Asma Barlas, whose poetic rendition of Yusuf Ali’s translation is used roughly here, cite this verse establishing intrinsic equality, and note that the verse continues to recognize the womb as encircled in the same realm as God (“And Reverence the Wombs that bore you”). Patriarchal male scholarship, frequently without mention of Q4:1, utilizes an approach similar to “different but equal” in which men and women are cosmological equals but women are demonstrably relegated to a separate sphere of privacy, seclusion, and domesticity.[1] This particular application of (in)equality in the practical, non-cosmological realm is inconsistent with the Qur’an, which makes no distinction between cosmological equality and practical equality. That is to say there should be no dissimilarity between the theoretical spiritual equality of sexes and the manifestation of this equality in practice.[2] Furthermore the command of Q4:1 is not only to recognize God, but to reverence Her with a practice: the practice of mandating rights that are not “different” but are “mutual.”

Varied readings of a Qur’anic verse are possible: one reading of Q4:1 is that the verse presents “mutual rights” as an incentive to reverence God; another reading suggests that God is reverenced independent of incentive and that the verse of “mutual rights” functions only to introduce the theme of roles in the subsequent verses. The reading I propose here, that the awareness and implementation of “mutual rights” is more than a reason to reverence God but a way to reverence Her, operates on two variables: (1) the recognition of the verb “to demand [mutual rights]” as an action, or a practice, as opposed to the mere existence of “mutual rights” such as, for example, the mere existence of “Signs” and (2) the Islamic philosophy that every action described in the Qur’an as originating from God is an act of worship and consequently an act of belief.  This reading is consistent with the indicative language of the Qur’an that fastens practice with belief; for example, “God will show you Her Signs, and you will recognize them.” (Q27:93) Here, it is the recognition of these Signs, and not the mere existence of them, that engage Muslims to believe. But to recognize is an action and a practice of the corresponding belief, which illustrates the Qur’anic theme of collapsing belief with practice: if the mutuality of rights, like the recognition of Signs, is not practiced, then the religion is not believed. A Muslim who does not recognize the Signs of God shirks the definition; the demand (not the existence) of “mutual rights” is equally fundamental to belief. It is not sufficient, therefore, to merely acknowledge “mutual”—not “different”—rights if these rights are not implemented into Islamic practice.

Contextually, the mutual nature of the equality described in verse 4:1 of the Qur’an refers to all circumstances, as its practical application is not in any way confined to the financial, legal, domestic, social, martial, or marital areas, among others, specified in the Qur’an. Nor is it ascribed to a context unique to the 7th century. Patriarchal male scholarship fails to apply universal verses comprehensively, whilst affecting specialized verses to all Islamic practices. Consider, for example, Qur’anic verse 2:282, which describes the mitigation of a financial dispute by requesting the presence of two male witnesses or otherwise one male and two female witnesses. From this verse, male scholarship concludes that a single man’s testimony is equal to that of two women’s, regardless of whether the dispute in question is the ratification of a contract between a loaner and a debtor as specified in the Qur’an.[3] The Qur’an makes no qualitative equivalence between a male witness and two female witnesses. Furthermore, Q2:282 itself can be read to designate only one of the women as a witness, and the other as a guarantor to “remind” her should she err or become intimidated in the male-dominated jurisdiction of financial transactions, but the second woman is read by male scholarship as a witness nonetheless, and not merely as a supporter, creating an opportunity to read women’s testimony as less accurate or less valuable. This is the popular reading despite the fact that the verse continues to caution, “Let no scribe be harmed, nor any witness. For if you do so, indeed, it is grave disobedience [of God] in you” (Q2:282), which clarifies that the supporting woman’s purpose is to ensure that the female witness is not threatened by the domineering party breaching the contract, and not necessarily that of an official witness. In the context of the Qur’an, if the first woman “forgets” or “errs” it is in the face of potential harm. Additionally, it has been noted by Islamic feminists that the Arabic word for “she errs” or “she forgets” used in the Qur’an is tadilla from the word dalal, (as opposed to nisyan, which is literally forgetfulness); tadilla describes forgetfulness or error of a particular nature: forgetting the right way (of God) when confronted by an external interest, in this case a threat.

Specified in the Qur’an for only financial contracts concerning debt, this male to female ratio has been applied to all contracts, including those pertaining to marriage.[4] However, several configurations of court are described in the Qur’an in which no designation is made for the sexes (Q4:15, 5:106, 65:2) and in the case in which a woman is accused of adultery, her witness to her own innocence is not only equivalent to a man’s but effectively eliminates his testimony, as in Q24:9. In the case of adultery, the Qur’an privileges the accused woman’s witness over the testimony of the male accuser. If the gender dynamics of verse 2:282, which are specified in the Qur’an as relevant only to financial contracts involving loans, are applied in practice to all courts, then why not argue that the dynamics of verse 24:9, in which a man’s testimony is rendered ineffective by a woman’s, should set the legal standard for all courts?

Instead, male scholarship erroneously overlooks the Qur’an’s parameters for verse 2:282 that confine the gender ratio to only the litigation of debt, yet it appropriately restricts Qur’anic verses such as 24:9, in which a woman’s witness is privileged over a man’s, to the designated case of adultery. Additionally, patriarchal scholarship devises parameters such as “different but equal” that have no foundation in the Qur’an but rely on politically motivated and culturally situated values to universal verses such as Q4:1. In fact, not only is the privileging of a woman’s testimony over her male accuser’s in Q24:9 restricted only to the verse to which it is be designated in theory, but the invalidation of man’s testimony against an allegedly adulterous woman is one that is abandoned entirely in practice.

Vulnerable with faulty, disproven, and sensationalist science, the unsupported conjectures of patriarchal analysis depend on irrelevancies to survive: in order to justify the projected equivalence between one male witness and two female witnesses, patriarchal jurists often cite that “men are the maintainers and protectors of justice [qawwamuna] for women, for God bestows a bounty of advantages on some over others.” (Q4:43) I’ve deciphered the Arabic words qawwamuna here, which are often translated as “maintainers” or “protectors”, to “maintainers and protectors of justice.” Islamic feminist Kecia Ali, whenever referring to this verse, leaves the word qawwamuna untranslated in her scholarship and proceeds to explore its potential definitions instead, because no English translation exists without the imposition of some interpretation. However, to specify that Q4:34 is referring to matters of equity and justice, the word can be examined in another Qur’anic verse in which the function of the word is clear, “Those who’ve attained faith! Be ever steadfast in upholding equity and securing justice [qawwameena], bearing witness to the truth for the sake of God even though it be against yourselves, or your parents and kinsmen, whether the individual be rich or poor; God stands closest to either.” (Q4:135) It is for the interest of continuity that Q4:34 should be interpreted in a similar fashion to Q4:135, in which the word signifies a person expected to act justly, but the bias of patriarchal scholarship distorts the interpretation of qawwamuna when the subject matter refers specifically to women to describe men as the “maintainers” of them. This is an imposition of a patriarchal framework onto the content of the Qur’an; independent of it, men are in fact warned in Q4:34 to not abuse their power and control women but to maintain justice in regards to them. Note the use of “some” and “others” rather than “men” and “women,” authenticating a reading of social privilege due to constructed gender roles rather than due to biological sex.

Supporting this concept, consider that Q4:135, which once again is concerned with the subject of bearing witness, outlines two parties: those in power, who bear the power of witness, and those for or against whom that witness is bore. The verse summons the faithful toward truthfulness, because regardless of “whether the individual be rich or poor, God stands closest to either,” implying that the interest of justice is to serve the latter party who is affected by witness and not to indulge the first who delivers it. What follows then is that Q4:34, which describes men as the “maintainers and protectors of justice and equity”—qawwamuna—for women, warns men not to abuse their power over women, and observes that the power exists—“for a bounty of advantages are bestowed on one over the other”—in the society to which the Qur’an is revealed, without Divinely sanctioning this power. To justify the disqualification of women from positions of power and prominence,[5] patriarchal scholarship has adopted the inversion: men are maintainers and protectors over women, and that this position of power is permitted by God.

I concede that, like everything, the privileges men hold in society “are permitted” by God. But I challenge why this is meaningful or significant. Poverty, violence, starvation, the ills of society are all “permitted” by God, in that nothing can exist without Her, but are not necessarily the way of God. This is a concept that is not unfamiliar to the religiously inclined. Why, then, has male scholarship interpreted Q4:34, “because God has given one advantage over the other,” as an endorsement of this power, when the same would not apply the identical logic to violence or poverty as an endorsement of the violent or the wealthy? Unlike Q4:1, which calls the Muslim to demand “mutual rights” that come through God, the power described in Q4:34 that assigns some of one gender the responsibility of equity and justice for the Other gender is not a power that is linked with an action or practice of worship: that is to say, it is instead a mere observation—there is no scriptural evidence that the privileges of men, unlike the demand of “mutual rights,” are Divinely Sanctioned and must be implemented into the conscience of the believer.

Rather, there is scriptural evidence that God makes an observation of male privilege[6], and that this observation liberates women by charging men to uphold equity and secure justice, as unearned privileges cannot be challenged if they are not identified. Additionally, the most frequent use of the word faddala or “bestowed” in the Qur’an is to signify wealth: the privilege or “bounty” suggested in Q4:34 is specifically a financial one[7] acknowledging that some men earn more than some women in the society to which the Qur’an is revealed. After warning men that they are “protectors” of justice, the verse alludes to the responsibility of advantaged women, stating that “righteous women are devoutly loyal to God and guard the Unseen that God has ordained to be guarded.” (Q4:34) Although patriarchal scholarship operates on the assumption that the guarded object is sexuality[8], this assumption is an interesting one at the very least, because it deliberately ignores the word lil-ghaybi or “the Unseen” which is a word of extraordinary philosophical weight in the Qur’an. It appears in various forms, no less than sixty times, and nearly always refers to a mystical realm of which only God has knowledge.[9] Specifically, the “Unseen” refers to hidden knowledge, to the sins and virtues that are private to the individual and sometimes even unbeknownst to her. There is an intrinsic parallel in the structure of Q4:34 as it transitions between men and women, indicating that righteous women are enlisted as guardians of their moral compass in the realm of the Unseen in the same way that men are warned of God’s awareness of their privileges. Likewise, true to the role of qiwama in the Qur’an, women in Q4:34 are guardians (hafizatun) of social welfare and securers of justice, and their private affairs—or the Unseen ways, honest or dishonest, with which they deal in their wealth—cannot be hidden from God, who knows the Unseen. The use of “Unseen” in the Qur’an is too significant to be reduced to “sexuality” and is done so only for women, effectively cheating them of agency and authority.

Utilizing the Qur’an as its own dictionary easily renders the most striking incidents of the use of Unseen as knowledge that only God harbors. A basic example of this is Q2:33, in which God teaches Adam various names, “She said, ‘O Adam, inform [the angels] of their names.’ And when Adam had informed them of their names, She said, ‘Did I not tell you that I know the Unseen aspects of the heavens and the earth? And I know what you reveal and what you have concealed,’” as well as Q72:26, which reads, “God is the All-Knower of the Unseen, and She does not disclose Her Knowledge of the Unseen to anyone.” Pertinent to Q4:34, whose context warns men to maintain and secure justice situated beside women as guardians of the Unseen, is Q12:81, in which the eldest brother of Yusuf despairs, “Return unto your father and say: O our father! Your son [Benyamin] has stolen. We testify only to that which we know; we are not guardians of the Unseen.” Here, the word for guardians is haafidh or “protectors,” in the same way that God is a Protector; in verse Q4:34 qawwamuna, maintainers or guardians, is used for men but not for women. For women, Q4:34 employs hafizatun, the feminine plural of the same word Yusuf’s eldest brother uses to deny knowledge of the Unseen, of which She alone has knowledge. It is reasonable to conclude, then, that in Q4:34 while men are warned to maintain justice and assigned the duty to guard it, women are enlisted as protectors of the Unseen.[10] A hafiz, in common use, is a memorizer, or keeper/protector, of the Qur’an itself, and so are women guardians of the moral sphere: they hold the aforementioned men in the verse accountable for the Unseen infringements of patriarchy and “guard in the Unseen that which God has ordered them to guard” (hafizatun lil-ghaybi bima hafiz al-lahu.) Instead of interpreting the verse this way, however, male scholarship has reduced the meaning of lil-ghaybi to women’s bodies, and some translations, including Sahih International and Yusuf Ali, even go so preposterously far as to insert “in her husband’s absence” into the text.[11] Undoubtedly, counterarguments may accuse me of shirk (idolatry or disbelief) in acknowledging that the Qur’an draws women nearer to God, but I challenge the men who simultaneously misconstrue this very verse of the Qur’an as commanding women to obey both God and their husbands in the same breadth, as to why the suggestion of this command isn’t shirk.

Restoration of female authority is a primary concern for Islamic feminists, but female authority is swiftly suppressed by male scholarship at any opportunity. As demonstrated in Q4:1, in which Muslims are commanded to “Reverence the Wombs that bore you” in the same verse they are commanded to Reverence God, it is not at all unusual for the Qur’an to position women in proximity to God.[12] This ethereal phenomenon goes unnoticed, and occurs again in Q4:34 when women are enlisted as guardians of the Unseen. In Q4:1, the Self from which men and women are created is in fact linguistically feminine whilst its “mate” is masculine.[13] This is starkly contradictory to the “God to man to woman”[14] hierarchy imposed by patriarchal scholarship. The patriarchal reading of Q4:34 in which women are guardians not of justice or the Unseen but of their own sexuality is a symptomatic of a politically motivated, culturally situated, and economically invested state-of-mind with which male scholars approach interpretation.

Contemporary patriarchal scholarship is deliberate in its incorporation of sexism, as even the strongest cases for feminist interpretation are dismissed over the appeal of misogynistic ones. An example of this is Q33:33, which has been translated by a number of male translators, including Yusuf Ali, as ordering women to “stay quietly in [their] homes,” while a far more accurate translation is “behave with dignity in your homes.”[15] Although the notion that classical and contemporary patriarchal scholarship is biased is a radical one to the Muslim community, I am not the first to suggest it. Nazira Zain el-Din, a pioneer of Islamic feminism in the early 1920s, confronted Shaykh al Ghalayini by saying, “Do you not know that women’s freedom and independence are rights? When you wrote about women’s inferiority you claimed that men’s strength was the reason for their greater reason and acumen. What’s the connection between reason and physical strength? […] Men claim superiority because of their strength, but they can only do so by making sure that women stay weak.”[16] In fact, in the early 1800s, prior to French displacement of the Ottomans in the Arab Peninsula and European pressures in the region, Butrus al-Bustani founded a pro-women’s rights newspaper that circulated widely in Syria, Iraq, and Egypt with a considerable female readership. The history of female resistance in the Middle East and South Asia is a lively and vigorous one, stunted only by the threat of European powers, not enabled by them. In a critique of the framework of Ayesha Chaudhry’s excellent book[17], Shehnaz Haqqani notes, “Since alternative interpretations of 4:34 start emerging after colonialism, Chaudhry finds the demarcation of colonialism a rational choice, one that works well given her research and finding. Nonetheless, readers might struggle to appreciate the implication that colonialism deserves the credit for prompting an egalitarian conscience in Muslims, almost as though were it not for colonialism, the emergency of egalitarian scholarship would never have occurred, despite the fact that western ideology also hadn’t developed a feminist conscience yet.”[18] Indeed, the perception that improvements in women’s acknowledged rights prior to the coinage of the term “feminism” cannot be considered feminist is a hindrance to establishing a crucial legacy of female scholarship, because the notion that women’s efforts prior to the coinage of the term are not “feminist” relies on the dishonest validation of white Western women as pioneers of female liberty from whom Muslim women merely borrow[19], when in fact, Muslim women enjoyed even rights as standard as the vote prior to women in the United States and Europe. While I understand from a historical standpoint the reluctance to characterize female advancement as “feminist” prior to the coinage of the term, I question how useful and how honest upholding this principle can prove when it enables male scholarship to invalidate the radical exegesis of contemporary female scholars by severing female scholarship from a feminist legacy, and furthermore, when we fail to apply the same principle to contemporary male scholarship that differs from classical interpretation and is yet considered an extension of the same male legacy. For this reason, I will be employing the term “classical feminist scholarship” to refer to classical scholarship dismissed as incorrect or transgressive.

Illustrating the essentiality of female legacy, a few years after the Prophet’s death a woman was forbidden by the order of Caliph Umar from ever marrying any free man, due to her transgressive interpretation of the Qur’an. After the woman had disclosed to him that she had taken one of her young male slaves to bed with her (outside of a marriage), the Caliph, incredulous, sought to punish her. When he had demanded to know her rationalization, she’d responded, “I believe that ownership by the right hand made lawful to me what it makes lawful to men.”[20] Milk al-yamin, as Kecia Ali explains, or “property of the right hand” appears in multiple Qur’anic verses that describe the lawfulness of enslaved sexual partners. It is typically interpreted by both classical and contemporary scholars (or the few contemporary scholars willing to discuss its existence) as pertaining to the female slaves of only male slaveowners and their conduct. The Qur’an, however, makes no assignment of gender, and in Q24:31, describes milk al-yamin under the female hand as well.[21] Kecia Ali remarks that Umar was stunned and distressed by the woman’s actions and her assertion to have God’s authorization for it. When Umar brought the incident to the Companions, they responded that, “She [the woman] has applied to the Qur’an an interpretation that is not its interpretation.”

Hierarchizations of traditions should be examined for prejudices. In another incident, which Aisha Geissinger discusses, Fatima bint Qays recounted that when she had been irrevocably divorced, the Prophet, after ruling that she was not pregnant, had determined that she needn’t stay in her ex-husband’s home for the three months prescribed in the Qur’an for women who receive a revocable divorce. The Prophet instructed her instead to spend her waiting period in the home of another man. When Fatima bint Qays recounted this incident to a messenger sent by the governor of Medina, it was dismissed on the grounds that, “We do not hear this account from anyone except a woman. So we will adhere to the practice of restraining any divorced woman from departing.”[22] Even though the Qur’an itself supported her, since verse 65:1 specifies that the three-month waiting period applies only to a woman whose divorce is revocable, Fatima bint Qays was overruled, though she had argued that her hadith is supported by the Qur’an. Consequently, the right of an ex-husband’s family over a woman who receives a revocable divorce from him is upheld against the Qur’an, in favor of maintaining the patriarchal social order.

Assertions that misogynistic interpretations of Qur’anic verses do not originate with the most classical scholars, and that misogynist interpretations are deviations from original egalitarian analyses, are not necessary ones with which I disagree. But I accept these assertions on the ground that it is self-defeating to claim that misogynistic interpretations have no foundation in Islam, even though these interpretations might have a precedent, and simultaneously accept and discard potential female scholarship that is vital to the assertion of egalitarianism: the “adulterous” woman who bedded her male slave, who was of the Prophet’s time (practicing Islam only a few years after his death), spoke the Prophet’s Arabic, understood the culture in which she lived and in which the Prophet had lived, arrived at an egalitarian interpretation of the Qur’anic euphemism that was understood by male Companions to apply only to themselves as men. The woman herself and her interpretation were denied validation by the male authority of the Companions. She is not, up until this contemporary time, considered a scholar, but only her conclusion, viewed as incorrect, deprives her of the title. Her methodology, comprising the linguistic and cultural insight of the people who lived during the Prophet’s time, can not be brought into question by most contemporary Islamic scholars, who often claim that the Islamic rulings should be considering according to their time as justification to silence an opposition who isn’t learned in the early Islamic era, since this woman was a woman of her time.

Muslim feminists have a propensity to claim that misogynist readings do not originate from classical scholarship and instead evolved over time, but in order to do this we should be forced to expand the constructed parameters of that scholarship, because to substantiate this claim, our understanding of “classical scholarship” must include women whose agencies and authorities were not and are not recognized by classical and contemporary male scholars. In order to insist that misogynist readings do not originate from classical scholarship, we must admit that feminist classical scholarship involves the identification of women who were denied authority by existing classical scholars. And we are forced to recognize them if we want to make this claim of origins, because male classical scholarship was in fact demonstrably misogynistic, as in this case. This, of course, involves structural rearranging, and raises a number of questions.

But denial of classical feminist authority means that for contemporary women, there is no scholarly lineage, because it has been deliberately obstructed by classical male scholarship. Lineage is relevant on a structural level: when potential male scholars are born into a legacy that their forefathers have established for them, their scholarly ventures are anchored by this legacy and their interactions with it. Any potential female scholarship, denied the stability of an acknowledged legacy, is either lagan or a spectacle—a lone ranger, detached.

Manifestations of this phenomenon are not only limited to the well-recognized phenomenon in the Muslim community that entails praising women such as Ayesha, the Prophet’s wife, yet criticizing those contemporary women who resemble Ayesha and other exemplary figures in their defiance. This disconnect extends to become evident nearly every conversation pertaining to any kind of feminist interpretation of the Qur’an. When describing to a man the problems in the interpretations of 5:38, which most scholars identify as permitting the removal of the hands of thieves, I was confronted by the man’s adamant refusal to accept my methodology, which consisted of peeling away at the layers of the word itself and in its grammatical context. He insisted that because I lacked male-approved credentials—my “credentials” came into question often during this conversation—I must have had no right to speak on the matter, although he believed it was appropriate to interrogate me regardless. But what was most astounding about this conversation is that another male contributor to the discussion referenced an article by Hadia Mubarak, in which Mubarak destabilizes and ultimately discredits misogynist interpretations of 4:34[23], the verse believed to permit domestic violence against women, an article which I’d already read long ago. Hadia Mubarak uses the same methodology I’d applied, but because her credentials were approved by the male audience and her scholarship was not perceived as independently noteworthy, our methodologies could not be linked.

Likewise, in a discussion during which Shehnaz Haqqani[24] voiced her distress about the number of women the Prophet married, she was told by a man to “be more like Kecia Ali” in the disposition of her argument, although I doubt Kecia Ali would have found any issue with her expression of dissatisfaction. When commenters rushed to criticize a woman lamenting the disconnect she felt within her Muslim community due to her attire, amina wadud was cited by misogynistics as a woman whose scholarship was valid because “even she” dressed “properly” (and not in short skirts). I could have assured these men that, based on her scholarship, amina wadud would have found this laughable. Furthermore, women are denied interactivity with the text. While the male Companions of the Prophet demanded[25] that Qur’anic verses that were transgressive to their patriarchal social order be changed, their interactivity with the text was viewed as acceptable, and was negotiated. While women, such as Umm Salaama, directly changed the Revelation of the Qur’an, women are not viewed as authorities in negotiating with God, and thus cannot accept or reject points of this negotiation between Muslims and God regarding the practice of Islam.

Feminist critics, whom I distinguish here from feminist scholars, are disjointed from feminist scholarship because female scholarship in itself has been denied lineage. Because the recognition of female authority by Muslim men in the community is too frequently based not on the insightful, groundbreaking work of these scholars or what they are contributing to Islamic discourse, but on how they are presenting their conclusions (Kecia Ali) or on how they dress (amina wadud), their arguments and scholarly voices are fallaciously pivoted on whether their attire or tones appeal to a male audience, regardless of the atrocity the scholars themselves would find in this. That atrocity, and the vocalization of it, are silenced by the assumption that it does not exist, and by male insistence on refocusing the conversation amina wadud’s choice of dress rather than her words or Kecia Ali’s scholarly detached tone instead of the implications of her provocative questions. When the arguments themselves are denied validity, male members of the community become incapable of identifying in female inquirers congruity with these scholars except on superficial terms, and they are able to fashion feminist scholarship to suit their patriarchal contentions instead of conceding to the scholarly argument-based lineage from which male scholarship benefits.

Having bedded her male slave, the woman who interpreted Qur’anic verses referring to “property of the right hand” as applicable to herself, which at least once in the Qur’an (Q24:31) it explicitly is, as it is to any free man, was prevented from marrying, but the grounds on which her interpretation was deemed “incorrect” without justification—her femaleness—is evidence of a thread of bias in classical scholarship. The impact of this bias, and the patriarchal order that was established from it, serves as a perpetual blockade to female scholarship by rendering the quality of femaleness as unlawfully exceptional to Qur’anic commands and authorizations and of female behavior as regulated by male expectations. In order to imagine what contemporary Islamic discourse may sound like had classical feminist scholars achieved recognition as such, we can only pull verses from the Qur’an which, interpreted in the “feminine voice,” convey starkly different attitudes than in the presumed default masculine voice. Consider Q24:31, which reads, “And say to the believing women that they should lower their gazes and guard themselves, and not display their adornment except what is obvious (apparent, necessary) save to their husbands, or fathers, or father-in-laws, or sons, or brothers, or nephews, or children, or their women, or what their right hands possess, or those who have no desire of women.” The list of exceptions (husbands, sons, etc.) may sound restrictive, but compared to the verse it follows, Q24:30, which reads simply, “Tell the believing men to lower their gazes and guard themselves. That is purer for them,” we can note a number of things. First, men are told to lower their gazes before women are told to lower their gazes. Second, men have no exceptions. The larger context of these two verses involves entering a household, and men must lower their gazes to everyone in the household. It is reasonable, then, to come to the understanding that this verse is a regulation of male arrogance, that when a man, in context, enters someone else’s home and is commanded to “lower the gaze,” it is commentary on the entire culture of masculinity. Men are commanded to lower their gazes–or reduce their arrogance–not only in the presence of a woman, but in respect to her entire household.

Artificially separating feminist scholars from unrecognized predecessors and potential successors is problematic to intellectual honesty, because it privileges a male lineage of scholarship as fundamental tradition. A male lineage is the very definition of patriarchy, and that in itself is an ideological bias; I argue, therefore, that female scholarship should be retroactively identified and restored. The attention to precedent and legacy, although discouraged in the Qur’an, for example, when disbelievers respond to Prophet Ibrahim that they will insist on the ways of their fathers[26], has tremendous impact on the anchoring of a Qur’anic exegesis to legitimacy. The solution to Islam’s patriarchy crisis I propose is not merely to produce more female scholars who carry on the patriarchal tradition: it is to unearth the classical feminist scholarship that has been discarded by patriarchs because their scholarship was transgressive. It is not merely an imitation, a regurgitation, of male scholarship propagated from a female form. Were we accustomed to an ulema in which the majority of exegetes were women from the beginning of Revelation, that ulema arriving at this interpretation would not sound to us as though they were performing logical acrobatics in their arguments, especially not considering the inconsistencies present in the interpretations of an ulema composed entirely of men.

[1] Syed Abul A’la Maududi, Purdah and the Status of Women in Islam (Lahore: Islamic Publications, 1962), 146.

[2] Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretations of the Qur’ān (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2002), 142.

[3] Hina Azam, “Rape in Islamic Law.” The [Oxford] Encyclopedia of Islam and Law, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, accessed April 19, 2013.

[4] Shaykh Taha Jabir Al-Alwani, Issues in Contemporary Islamic Thought (London: Biddles Limited), 169. al-Razi writes in the 7th century that, “The nature of women is dominated by forgetfulness owing to a predominance of cold and wetness in their physical constitution. The joining of two women in forgetting is less likely than the occurrence of forgetting in just one woman. That is why two women are to take the place of only one man.” This debunked assertion purports that a woman’s witness should always equal half that of a man’s, regardless of circumstance, because the fault lies inherently with her and not in the uneven powers of the field.

[5] Ziba Mir-Hosseini, “Muslim Legal Tradition and the Challenge of Gender Equality” in Men in Charge? Rethinking Authority in Muslim Legal Tradition, edited by Ziba Mir Hosseini et al. (London: Oneworld, 2015).

[6] Hadia Mubarak, “Breaking the Interpretative Monopoly: A Re-Examination of Verse 4:34,” Hawwa Journal of Women of the Middle East and the Islamic World, Vol. 2, No 3 (2004): 261-89. She provides in a footnote that, “A more ‘progressive’ definition of qiwama [in this verse] would be ‘guardianship’, whereas a more traditional definition would be ‘male supremacy’” (p.263). I adhere to the traditional definition. If male supremacy is identified here by God, it can be dismantled by Her Order (Q4:1).

[7] amina wadud, Qurʼan and Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective, 2nd ed., (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 65.

[8] Thomas Irving et al., The Qur’ān: Basic Teachings: An Anthology of Selected Passages from the Qurʼān, Translated into Contemporary English with an Introduction to the Message of the Qurʼān (Markfield, Leicester, UK: Islamic Foundation, 1992), 207. He refers politely to a “husband’s rights” over her. The sexual implication, with its problematic wording, is clear to Muslims well versed in their own communities.

[9] Consider, for example, Q6:59, “And with God are the keys of the Unseen; none knows them except Her. And She knows what is on the land and in the sea. Not a leaf falls but that She knows it. And no grain is there within the darknesses of the earth and no moist or dry [thing] but that it is [written] in a clear record.” Consider also, Q62:8, “Indeed, the death from which you flee – indeed, it will meet you. Then you will be returned to the Knower of the unseen and the witnessed, and He will inform you about what you used to do.” In the Qur’an, the “Unseen” refers to the dimensions of magic, death, and, as relevant to Q4:34, personal moral conduct hidden from the social realm of spectators.

[10] Note also that although male privilege is recognized without the permissive vehicle of a verb as described earlier, women righteous women are described, with a verb, as those who are commanded by God to guard.

[11] Muhammad Muhsin Khan’s translation of the Qur’an reads, “Therefore the righteous women are devoutly obedient (to Allah and to their husbands), and guard in the husband’s absence what Allah orders them to guard (e.g. their chastity, their husband’s property, etc.),” when the Arabic text of the verse neither commands women to obey their husbands nor enlists women to protect the Unseen in their husband’s absence.

[12] Barlas, Believing Women, 197.

[13] However, this, too, is ignored by patriarchal scholarship as a merely linguistic occurrence necessitated by the Arabic language. Contradictorily, male scholars interpret the story of creation as a masculine Adam in the primary role, based solely on the masculine and feminine pronouns, which somehow in this case are not merely necessitated by the Arabic language. Were “scientific” explanations imposed on interpreting the Qur’an as they are by male scholars, it can be argued that Eve is the primary character, as embryos are initially female.

[14] wadud’s contribution to Men in Charge?.

[15] Carolyn Baugh, “Part 1: What a Difference a Kasrah Makes.” AltMuslimah, April 2, 2012, accessed June 6, 2015. Carolyn Baugh explains in her article, “What a Difference a Kasra Makes,” (April 2, 2012) that, “The root [in Q33:33] is from qarr, (to remain, to be sedentary, to settle). Even if the root word were qarr, al-Farrā’ shows us what the command form would look like: aqrarna, not qarna. In other words, if you want to use the root verb which means to remain sedentary, it takes a lot of dodgy grammatical wiggling to get it to match the consonantal outline found in the early Qur’āns.”

[16] miriam cooke, Nazira Zeineddine: A Pioneer of Islamic Feminism (Oxford, GBR: Oneworld Publications, 2010), 40.

[17] Ayesha S. Chaudhry, Domestic Violence and the Islamic Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

[18] Shehnaz Haqqani, “Book Review: Ayesha Chaudhry’s Domestic Violence and the Islamic Tradition,” In Feminist Legal Studies 23 (2015): 225-230.

[19] Uma Narayan. Dislocating Cultures: Identities, Traditions, and Third World Feminisms (New York: Routledge, 1997), 32. Uma Narayan writes, “Third-World feminists need to challenge the notion that access to ‘Westernized educations,’ or our espousal of feminist perspectives, positions us ‘outside’ of our national and cultural contexts.”

[20] Kecia Ali. Marriage and Slavery in Early Islam (Cambridge, MA, USA: Harvard University Press, 2010), 12.

[21] Kecia Ali, Sexual Ethics and Islam: Feminist Reflections on Quran, Hadith, and Jurisprudence. (Oxford, GBR: Oneworld Publications, 2006), 45.

[22] Aisha Geissinger, Gender and Muslim Constructions of Exegetical Authority: A Rereading of the Classical Genre of Qur’an Commentary (Islamic History and Civilization) (New York: Brill Academic Pub, 2015), 145-146. Emphasis added.

[23] Mubarak, “Breaking the Interpretive Monopoly,” 261-89.

[24] I thank Shehnaz Haqqani, PhD student of Islamic Studies at the University of Texas in Austin, for patiently listening as I delineated my thoughts regarding this study to her.

[25] Fatima Mernissi, The Veil and the Male Elite: A Feminist Interpretation of Women’s Rights in Islam. (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley Pub., 1991), 125-126.

[26] Barlas, “Believing Women,”. 116


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———. Sexual Ethics and Islam: Feminist Reflections on Qur’an, Hadith, and Jurisprudence. Oxford, England: Oneworld Pub., 2006.

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