‘Welcome Back- Idrian. Home is Everywhere.’

Vancouver writer Idrian Burgos caught a flight from Taipei, Taiwan, after a short vacation in the Philippines, and he said on facebook:
Departing for YVR. But what is home?’
My response was:
Welcome Back- Idrian. Home is Everywhere.’
Everywhere?
No!

Home is where the heart is.*

Home away from home.
Go back where you came from.
Home sweet Home.
‘Where thou art, that is home.’**

At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.‘― Warsan Shire. ‘How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.’― William Faulkner. ‘Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.‘― James Baldwin.

Home is where you park it.

A house is made with walls and beams. A home is made with love and dreams.’― Unknown. ‘Our country is where ever we are well off.’― John Milton. ‘The first essential for a happy Christian home is that love must be practiced.’― Billy Graham. ‘Sell your home for $3499‘.

It takes a woman…

A hundred men may make an encampment, but it takes a woman to make a home.‘― Unknown ‘Woman, the more careful she is about her face, the more careless about her house.’― Ben Jonson. ‘They created a home where I felt safe. I could make mistakes. Failure wasn’t punished.‘― Sarah Williams.

I thought, enough people had written and are writing about home for me to begin as well but some themes are never fulfilled. A desert of unquenchable thirst, a deadly predator in the clutches of its own obsession, the ‘home theme’ is the Demon Deity of thought and emotion. Home is love of a person, warmth of many people; it is past, childhood, youth; it is the first love, the initial betrayal, a deep loss. It’s a carefree smile, unstoppable giggles, resounding laughter. It’s everything that was, and can’t be. It’s a village town city province country continent, the earth; it is a building, hut, a tent; it is investment, property, commodity, mortgage and debt. Some homes are taken away, demolished, lives threatened, lands taken, people murdered.

The theme of home as we have constructed it, attacks migrants, the ones who leave their home countries to live elsewhere, from all sides. The personal loss of people, things and places that is experienced by a migrant is topped with racist slights of ‘go back where you came from’ in the host country; and accusations of familial and national betrayal, selfishness and greed in the country of origin. The sense of security and ‘ownership’ of a home-space that an individual may need to feel grounded, is constantly challenged and obfuscated in both places. In the racialized colonial cultures of host countries where most colored migrants come from the ex-colonies or from countries that are now being colonized through drones and wars, it remains forgotten that many Brown people are forced to leave their homes because of violent situations initiated and created by these same governments; that most Black people are here because their ancestors were brought over by White profiteers; that Indigenous people did not come from anywhere else; that the White people are migrants as well.

The flare of ‘nationalism’ to the theme of home is the deadliest double edged sword that we face as colored migrants. In 1941, BC’s Japanese people were picked up from their homes and shipped to a camp in another province of Canada: ‘Japanese-Canadian Internment was the removal and detainment of Japanese Canadians from the British Columbia coast following the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong and Malaya and attack on Pearl Harbor, and the subsequent Canadian declaration of war on Japan during World War II. This forced relocation subjected many Japanese Canadians to government-enforced curfews and interrogations, job and property losses, and forced repatriation to Japan.’ (wikipedia.org). The White-Supremacists in Canada and US wave their ‘nationalism’ flags when they attack or spew hatred against colored people in general and Muslims in particular. At places, they are so bold that they wear their hate symbols and slogans on their police uniforms (Sign, if you have time: campaigns.organizefor.org). On the other hand, i know many writers in the diaspora who are challenged by their peers back home on their right to write about their home countries because ‘they left’, as if the act of leaving was a surgical operation to extract the brain and the heart. For example, i am allowed to miss Lahore, Punjab and Pakistan and express my remorse at leaving and sing praises for my city, province and country but i better not be critical of anything in there because then ‘go back where you came from’ of the ‘host’ country is used as a silencing weapon in the ‘home’ country. No wonder, so many writers become ‘Homeland Wailers’.

As well, in the nostalgic throes of its loss, we forget that ‘home’ is where most women and children are abused, that homes are also ‘cradles’ of prejudices against all who are placed as ‘others’ by the mouthpieces of prevalent systems, that the ‘nationalism’ flare is added by the moneyed classes to get more control for themselves. As a house, a product, most people on this earth can’t afford to buy a home; that they are built on land- yes, land that may have been stolen to benefit settler colonial economies, and that settler-colonial economies may still be the beneficiary of these lucrative real estate markets. In short, the ‘home theme’ is employed to buy and sell many things to benefit the Privileged of this World ranging from satisfying a basic human need for privacy and security to waging wars to gain more influence for the Influential.

Where is home?

As i begin to explore the theme of ‘home’ for myself, i realize that i actually DO have several homes- different for different levels of existence. My first home is where my soul resides, in my body. This is the most vital, the first and the last home without which i would not exist. My second home is in the cities where my children are, and those are Surrey and Vancouver in Canada, and that’s where my third home, where i now live, is also located.

Then i have a few ‘memory homes’ or ‘homes of memory’ or ‘memorial homes’, out of which the largest and the loveliest is Lahore (‘mera sohna shehr lhore nee / my beautiful city Lahore, girl friend’), the city where i was born, grew up, have family, school/college/university friends, where i knew the names of trees without learning them; recognized the birds from the songs they were singing. Where i heard the sound of the night in the plainfields, saw the brightest stars, the hottest sun, and experienced the thickest monsoon rains… Yes, memory retains it, and cherishes it- to nourish the soul, my actual home.

I am lukewarm about Toronto, where i lived for a decade, and Lyallpur aka Faisalabad, London and Rawalpindi where i spent a couple of years each.

It’s not just a place, it’s that time and those people in a place that i retain and recall. In that, memory plays many tricks, it omits, presents incomplete scenes and undefined feelings. I want to visit a place again to finish memory puzzles, but no, i don’t want to move back. Mainly because it’s not there any more, my home, with my mother, sister, brother, and everyone, in and around it.

Home is where my mom is.

My ‘mom’ is in the ‘other’ world, so to speak, and that’s where my future home is.
But, for now, my home is right here.
And, that’s where my heart is.
In my body.

* Pliny the Elder
** Emily Dickinson

ranker.com/list
wow4u.com/home-quotes

Image from AneezaNaseem RoshniChanda.

Fauzia Rafique
Surrey, August 4/17
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‘Those Nutritious Contraceptive Pills’ by Fauzia Rafique

The above image was being safe-kept in a folder named ‘ImagesForArticles’ with over twenty others, and that folder was not to be opened till perhaps 2020- yet here it is.

Last year, i copied this image from Facebook where it was being shared by my friends from around the world as a positive intervention in favor of a woman’s right to use contraceptives, the need for women to be enlightened, and as a way to resolve poverty. I again encountered it last week, this time it was the first item in a video collection of images about ‘today’s modern society’. In that context and if taken as irony it could work but no guarantees, so I stopped and made a comment:
Me: Pertinent, except for the first item that’s racist, classist and affirms colonial perspectives.
Friend: Are you saying that those issues don’t exist today?

There, let’s have another look at this image. We see two women with their children, two moms, one is younger, appears ‘smart’, well-dressed, seems ‘educated’, and she has her one baby in a pushchair representing a neat, emancipated and successful life; the other is older, ‘appears’ uninformed, tattered wardrobe, seems ‘illiterate’, she has one, two, three, four children, a baby, and, she’s begging along side them modelling a messy, exploited and failed existence. ‘Please help me’, she says. The ‘smart’ woman opens her purse, brings out a packet of contraceptive pills, and drops them in the hands of– someone who appears to be a destitute woman accompanied by hungry and under-clothed children.
Incredible!

I’m glad that at least the Recipient of the pills appears shocked if not the people who can not stop forwarding this construction as a positive message to the World.

Like many propaganda items carrying system-sponsored myths about poverty and how to resolve it, this image also supports the notion that under-privileged people are ignorant / illiterate / stupid, and that they are the cause of society’s ills including their own miserable state. Let’s view some of the messages this particular image is giving out, for example. It says that:
The responsibility of being poor is on poor people themselves;
People are poor because of their own ignorance, stupidity and lack of education/information;
The cause of poverty is over-population;
Poverty can be resolved, and emancipation of women can be achieved, through population control.

All of these are loaded and dangerous lies hidden, for our delusional benefit, in a small truth. It is true that less children cost less, and fewer children may allow women better lives, BUT that does not mean that the number of children causes poverty or affluence neither does it mean that it is the cause or the resolution of women’s exploitation. The causes and resolutions of both reside elsewhere.

In a world where the top 1% own half the wealth and the poorest half own just 1% or to put it another way, where the richest 1% now has as much wealth as the rest of the world combined, where one in nine people on the planet will go to bed hungry tonight, a small handful of billionaires have so much wealth they would need several lifetimes to spend it, where just eight individuals, all men, own as much wealth as the poorest half of the world’s population, and you continue to believe that economic and gender based exploitation is caused by too many people having too many children whose own fault it is to stay poor or that poverty and misogyny can be resolved by using contraceptives, it’s your choice, but please do consider the unreason of it.

The concept of the world exploding with a growing population, and the absolute urgency to stop it in order to save the planet, surfaced in the 1950s and rapidly took hold of the world through international influencing agencies such as the United Nations, the World Bank and the Western governments. During the next two decades, the White Saviors again descended on the poorest of people in Asia, Africa and Latin America with contraceptive technologies and superiority entitlements and went trampling over the rights and lives of millions of under-privileged people. This sustained assault was established through legislation dictating how many children someone could have, mass-forced and/or un-informed sterilization campaigns, and marketing of new technologies harmful to women’s bodies. It was another historic example of extreme exploitation of women, another campaign of extreme violence against innocent people, carried out by the richest of the World: The colonial and colonized governments, and global pharmaceutical/health/finance/IT/Media industries.

As to the riddle of who may be responsible for poverty, consider this.
‘In 2012, the last year of recorded data, developing countries received a total of $1.3tn, including all aid, investment, and income from abroad. But that same year some $3.3tn flowed out of them. In other words, developing countries sent $2tn more to the rest of the world than they received. If we look at all years since 1980, these net outflows add up to an eye-popping total of $16.3tn-‘ theguardian.com

On top of hiding the actual causes of poverty such as colonization, corporate greed, inequal/unfair distribution of wealth/resources, this image shifts the responsibility of causing poverty to over-population. As well, it projects class-based biases through the pompous condescension of the ‘enlightened’ woman, and it conveys strong racial overtones where the ‘featured model’ appears ‘Western’ while the other ‘seems’ to be hailing from the Middle East, re-enforcing the popular colonial myth of White Superiority.

To me, this image defines d&d: ‘distasteful & dangerous’.

Photo from: onsizzle.com/i/please-help-me-contraceptive-pill-3665055
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All in favor of the Burqa Ban party

fanon-themilligazatte

Those in favor of Merkel’s call for a Burqa Ban not only include the extreme right, right and center of the political spectrum but they also include a large section of white and brown feminists, leftists, atheists, and other shades of ‘progressives’. That’s a lot of my organic community coming out in support of, or not opposing, the legislated removal of burqa being implemented by various conservative governments.

I am not in favor of burqa/purdah, but i’m dead against governments who are legislating or calling for a ban on it in Europe, America, Canada, Australia, and in the similar etcetras because all the burqa ban moves in these places are used to fan the ‘national security’ hysteria to take people’s attention away from the real issues of disparity and prejudice they face, and allows these governments to continue their brutal aggression and interference in various Asian and African countries. The burqa bans further stigmatize Muslim women and Islam, and, validate the undercurrent notion that the legislated removal of burqa in the ‘democratic’ societies would or could lead to the liberation of Muslim women. This is sick, and sickening.

The colonizer mindset continues to present colonization to be ‘enlightening’, ‘liberating’, and ‘civilizing’ for the colonized, and many people believe this because that’s what all the media outlets are giving out 24/7- the world view of the colonizer as the Civilized Saviour or the Saviour of Civilization. The ban on burqa is just one entry in the long list of ‘gentrification’ policies carried out against stigmatized populations, for example, Indigenous children were taken away and families were torn apart in the name of education, and their headdresses, dresses and ceremonies banned in the name of civilization.

This colonial mindset is easier to market when wrapped in a burqa because of the fact that burqa/purdah indeed IS something that is used by the male Muslim culture as one of the tools to control women’s lives. Now, here is an interesting thing about it: Vocal against the opposition to Merkel’s burqa ban, are some of those privileged White and Brown women who are neither threatened with the violence that comes with such racist and misogynist legislation nor are they forced to wear burqa in their immediate environments. Fanon’s quotation about the colonizer was ‘frustrating’ to them also(!) because it happens to find something ‘positive’ in the assigned total negativity of burqa, a woman. A mysterious and romanticized woman perhaps, but a woman, a person, nonetheless. While the gaze thrown on burqa and burqa-wearing woman by the ‘frustrated’ progressive individuals is a gaze full of assumptions and prejudices. Just like the colonizer, this group believes that a woman wearing burqa is a backward and uncivilized low-life who has no opinion, no voice and no unique personality. If this assumption was true, we could say that all bikini-wearing women were forward-looking, educated and civilized, but we know it’s not true either. Burqa frustrates the colonizers because it’s a control mechanism the colonizers cannot use, if they move to break it, it’s not to liberate the controlled population, it is to control that population with their own tools of sexism, racism, hatred and violence.

I can understand the passion that can bubble up from a woman living for example in Pakistan, at the mention or sight of burqa as we have all confronted that barrier in our lives and we may still confront it, but it’s better to not confuse that passion against burqa with the politics of Western burqa bans. If a government in a Muslim majority country such as Pakistan called for a burqa ban or went on to legislate one, i would support it with all my heart because it would mean that women in Pakistan have gained enough power to outlaw one of the major tools and symbols of male hegemony. I would support it because it would be a step taken by Muslim women themselves (All power to Muslim women living in Muslim majority countries).

But the same policy of legislating a burqa ban changes shape when implemented in a country and continent where Muslim men and women are a minority, the country is not ruled by Muslim legal or cultural systems, it was/is part of historic oppressors of people in Muslim majority areas, and the time is after 9/11 when Muslims face stigma, racism, hatred and violence in these parts of the world. In this environment, a government places a burqa ban on Muslim women- you think it’s going to liberate us?

If anyone was interested in supporting the ‘liberation’ of burqa-wearing Muslim women in Western countries, they would show some respect and make way or at least get out of the way to allow women their own process to arrive at a stage where they choose to not wear it.

Opposing West’s burqa ban does not mean support for burqa/purdah or the use of it; it means these governments must stop dictating to Muslim women, stop stigmatizing and endangering an already vulnerable population, and, to stop marketing their colonial perspectives about Muslim women and women’s liberation through burqa bans.

Supporting or not supporting such hate-filled policies must need more than a tantrum against burqa.
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Checklists

checklists

I was walking to the nearest khokha convenience store a few blocks from my place while my mind was absorbed by my novel Saheban that I was in the process of sending to the publisher the next day. On a side street, there was an older woman with a cane walking toward me from the other end of the footpath. I got the feeling, she stopped when she saw me, and she had. For the rest of my walk on that street of young trees and new houses, I felt being observed at every step. It made me lose my focus on the novel, and I felt that funny feeling I get when meeting strangers, of being pushed into the booth of the Accused in Hollywood’s Victorian courtroom where cases were decided on the basis of various laws that I had, in my own experiential courtroom, pronounced unacceptable in the previous century.

The best way to not lose my focus was to not get effected by the uneasiness of it to the point of generating a series of reactions that I know actually cause the courtroom feeling in me. I quickened my step as if in a hurry, and reached the woman fast. I had seen her before, and we had exchanged wishing-well gestures. So, I did that again, a smile, joining of palms, bobbing of head. She did her part by accepting my greetings with a sweet smile and a wave of her hand. We came across each other, I passed her by. Success!

But No. She was speaking to me, saying something like ‘you live on that side?’ I turned back, said ‘Yes!’ and kept walking.
‘We used to live there too,’ she followed me matching my speed, came alongside, held my arm, stopped me, and said: ‘In the house next to yours. Do you live in the upper portion?’
‘No,’ I had no choice but to stop and to let her put me in her courtroom so that she could go through her checklists. ‘Main floor’, I said, surrendering to an examination that I knew I wouldn’t pass.
‘Oh, main floor basement.’ She said, checking off the first item. ‘I live in a basement too, in that house. We were living with our son but he moved to Amrika with his wife and kids, we stayed here because my husband works here. How many children?’
‘Three.’
‘Boys?’
‘Two girls and a boy.’
‘They live with you?’
‘No.’
‘All married?’
‘No.’
‘Girls must be married?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. You live with your husband?’
‘No.’
‘Who do you live with?’
‘No one.’
‘You live alone? So sorry…’
‘Nothing to be sorry about, it’s very relaxing to live on one’s own,’ I said, encouraging her to think on those lines.
‘I’ll go sit with my husband now,’ she said, giving me the verdict and moving along.

The verdict: under 23%, and this is how:

33% on Children question as in 66% for two boys and 99% for three;

0% on Married-Woman question since women not living with their husbands have either been ‘divorced by them’ or they are widows who are not good enough to find other husbands;

35% on Respectable-Woman question because of body-covering clothes and familiar ‘south asian’ mannerism;

0% on Motherhood question if neither my son nor daughters are willing to ‘take my burden’;

15% on Class question since I don’t own the property I live in, have no car or car-keys, clothing covers the body but does not establish any acknowledged power status;

50% on Ethnicity for being Punjabi but not Sikh or White.

Score: 133 out of 600, a mere 22.16% of the total. I had been ‘Aunteed’.

It’s interesting that my Uncled score is always higher- sometimes as high as 50% because most uncles usually give me some mark on living by myself as it seems to intrigue them all. But if you think that my Aunteed score is low, wait till you see what I get when Begumed.

A South Asian Begum may choose to give me 2.5% for simply standing on North American soil instead of sitting on it, and that’ll be the end of my scorecard because nothing in me would be of use to her. On the other hand, a White Begum won’t be able to locate me sitting or standing, and if she is made to pay attention to me, her radar would go fuzzy making me appear and disappear from her vision like an incarnation of some character in a hollywood box office hit on poverty-in-another-continent that she may have watched at some point in her life. I’ll get 0% when lucky.

Unlike the difference in score when Aunteed and Uncled, my score remains consistent when Begumed and Sahibed by South Asians and when Begumed and Sahibed by White, Black, Red or Yellow people: the same 2.5 and 0%.

If you ask me, I prefer being Brownbagged more than being Aunteed, Uncled, Begumed or Sahibed because at least it’s more of a general wrap and it hides me like it hides my lunch, and for sure, it’s better than being Blackburned or Nativebrowned.

This is not a complete index of Checklists I encounter, but I need to veer off of it because it’ll be unfair to not tell you about my own system of locating others in my mind.

I seem to have Signs instead of Checklists; here are a few examples. When I see a man in a non-thriftstore suit and tie or a woman wearing designer angelina-jolie clothes there emerges in my mind a STAY AWAY sign, and in most cases I do. The RUN sign appears for people using the latest academic/literary/ideological jargon or putting up a show for the camera; STOP sign appears at people singing or smiling, dancing or laughing- at a protest rally or away from it- but this is not to be confused with the red traffic stop signs that said ‘STOP Harper’ and are now saying ‘STOP Enbridge’ because those i FOLLOW; and, a STAY sign shows up if someone invites me to have a joint.
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‘Being Ditched’

fr-1980s

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Being ditched, and ditching, are common experiences for all of us. During the course of each day, we process many people through our ditching filters as we get processed by theirs. Most bring decisive results at first sight or few words at best, and the top ditching ground remains to be the class.

I have been ditched for class, race, accent, un-brandnamed clothing, City of Surrey, Pakistan, godlessness, and of course for many aspects of more personal nature. Most times i know the exact cause of ditching or being ditched, sometimes i don’t. To me, in non-abusive interactions, ditching is a right that cannot be held against the ditching party, but let me tell you, the last time i got ditched was too much: imagine being ditched by a woman friend for refusing to accept her fake plastic penis?

Now, that i have your full attention, allow me to discuss another side of ditching. When we can’t find the heart to ditch someone, we try to induce it. There’s this sweet person i know for over three decades, she’s dear to me like a younger sister but what began happening when she moved closer was that she would take hours each day either over phone or in person to deliver a monologue that went somewhat like this: ‘early morning, i fell from the balcony on concrete floor’, description of calamity for 30 minutes including all the steps she or anyone in her family had taken to save her, and then ‘I thought I’ll never breathe again BUT my God saved me’; and, she would go on and on citing tens of daily miracles from being able to make tasty biryani to finding matching shoes to getting kids to school on time, and, it was all being done- against all odds- by her God. Then toward the end, the monologue would change themes, and she would share her sadness at not having an intimate partner to enjoy sexual pleasures with. One day at the end of the monologue when she stopped and looked at me for answers, i said, ‘Since God is doing everything for you why not ask him to do this too?’ Her eyes went out of focus, and then she got up and left. Needless to say it was, and continues to be, a successful ditch-inducing strategy.

Some encounters occur in less defined or more non-traditional territories, the ditchings that ensue are not as clear or expected, and they create different ripples than the usual ones; Sometimes even pleasant. Yes, it is about the fake penis. A dear friend visited after a few years, and over wine, offered her fake plastic penis to me. It was an unexpected but generous thought, and as a single het woman i did appreciate it but appreciation did not make me accept the unusual gift because i don’t like to use fake things, penis or not. But my friend had pity in her eyes at all the other-dimension fun i was missing, and i knew it had happened; i had been ditched.

Even though it isn’t recommended by any decent human, still i am tempted to reach across the traditional after-ditch boundaries to ask my friend this one vital question:
‘What color was it?’
And then:
‘Circumcised or no?’

To welcome into this world my second novel, The Adventures of SahebaN: Biography of a Relentless Warrior (Libros Libertad, Nov 2016), stories of a heroic woman who was forever curious about a similar object called ‘Pee-nuts’.

Fauzia Rafique
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