The Right To Say No
A lot of the more liberal, ‘cute’ Muslims will always be on my ass about ‘you left the religion now stay away from it. Why do you keep talking about it?’ so I’m here to end this pointless discourse.
Because I’m not allowed to leave it.
I live in Egypt, a muslim-majority country with laws that allow my family to kill me with no repercussions if I disobey them, try to run away from them, bring ‘shame’ or ‘dishonour’ upon them (through such horrendous acts as having a boyfriend, or even just male friends), or if I ruin the family reputation. There’s a million and one ways for them to get away with my abuse, with marrying me off, with controlling my every move, with killing me in cold blood. If I speak out in my real life about leaving Islam, I’ll be killed by a brain washed stranger before my parents even get to hear about it.
Islam is not a religion of peace, and anyone who speaks basic arabic can tell you that the word Islam does not come from the word salam, meaning peace or greetings. They come from the same root word, yes, but that does not mean in arabic what it does in english. Islam comes from the word istislam, meaning to surrender. To surrender yourself completely to Allah, mind and soul. To obey without question, to believe without thought. That is what Islam teaches Arab children. These are the literal words of our prophet. Your mortal mind is too weak, too small, to understand Allah’s will in His creation. Do not trust your mind. Trust my words blindly.
I’ve been forced to wear the hijab since I was 10 years old. I was too young to understand then, too young to say no, but when I was a teenager I tried to argue that I would wear it when I’m older, when I can understand, when I feel ready. All of this got shot down angrily, even with me crying my eyes out for days, begging for some freedom to breathe. I am still forced to wear it to this day.
I’ve been forced to pray the 5 daily prayers since I was 4 years old. My parents would grab me and put me in a long tarha and make me do the movements next to my mother (never, of course, standing next to my father or brothers. Even in families, the wife and daughters stand behind the sons and father), before I was even old enough to understand the words being said. My father followed prophet Muhammed’s words “Order your children to pray by 7, beat them for it by 10″. A child refusing to pray would mean a punishment worse than death. I’m still forced to pray, to this day.
I’ve been forced and dragged and beaten and screamed at and punished since I was 5 to memorise the Qura’an. It’s made up of long verses in complex Arabic. It often speaks of violence towards non-believers, both in this life and the next. It often insults and sneers at Christians and Jews. It often speaks of violence against women. It speaks of the murder of homosexual men - and never brings up the unthinkable, homosexual women. It speaks of the evils of women, befriending non-believers, homosexuality and disobedience. It speaks of women being unclean while on their periods. We are not allowed to touch the Qura’an or even speak it aloud during our periods. I am still forced to memorise it, to this day.
I am forced to dress in long, uncomfortable, itchy materials, even in 50 degree weather (celsius) in the Saudi Arabian sun. I can not wear see-through materials, or tight materials, or even half sleeves. Every inch of me must be covered save for my hands, my feet and my face. I often pass out from the heat. I can’t wear a swimsuit at the beach. I can’t wear shorts or tank tops in my own house. I can’t stand in the cool breeze with my hair blowing behind me. I am not allowed to become a judge. I am not allowed to be a ruler. My word in court counts for half of what a man’s does. I am the image of the devil. I am sin. I am a woman.
I can’t stand up and say, I am an ex-muslim, I can’t stand up and say, I am a bisexual woman. I can’t stand up and say I denounce this religion, I denounce this life, I reject these limitations. I reject these ideas. My hair is not so enticing that I have to cover it. My arms are not sexual organs. My name is not arousing. My sexuality is not wrong. My logic is above your 1400 year old myths. I can’t stand up and say no. I can’t say, I was born into this life, I did not choose it, I was born a muslim, with muslim parents, in a muslim country. I can not say, I’ve tried your Islam and I didn’t like it, and I don’t believe in it. I can not say I’ve decided I don’t want it.
All I want is the right to say no. The right to reject a life that was thrust upon me without my approval. The right to seek out my own paths.
All I want is the right to say, No, I will not surrender.
