maktoub: the mcgill journal of middle east studies

VOLUME XX

2019-2020

maktoub: the mcgill journal of middle east studies

J U LY 2 0 2 0

maktoub: the mcgill journal of middle east studies

About the Journal The Journal of Middle Eastern Studies is published annually by the World Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies Student’s Association, with editorial board members from Middle East and Islamic Stuides, Political Science, Anthropology, History, Jewish Studiees, Philosophy and other disciplines. The Journal aims to publish new academic scholarship on the Middle East and the Islamic world broadly understood. Contributors come from McGill University and beyond and are primarily undergraduate students

Editorial Staff Editor-in Chief Maia Salameh

Editors Hussain Mehdi Awan Abeer Almahdi Ahmad El Zammar Mujtaba Alsemien Ashkan Kashani Ian Greer Declan Sakuls Emre Benoit-Savci With special thanks to the WIMESSA 2019-2020 Executives who assisted with the editing process.

Photography Leah Meyers

Design Maia Salameh

Dear Reader, 2020 has been a year unlike any other. The novel coronavirus has caused us to reckon with economic and political systems that devalue lives at the margins. While this was apparent to many before the advent of COVID-19, the pandemic magnified the injustices and inequalities at the root of these systems. Amid these violent systems people have risen up to set up mutual aid funds, check in and provide care for their communities, and reimagine new ways of being in relationship with each other. The murder of George Floyd by the Minneapolis police acted as a catalyst for an ongoing global uprising against state violence, police, the prison industrial complex, and racial capitalism. At the essence of this current moment is a radical examination of our past, present, and future. The aftereffects of colonialism, imperialism, and slavery coupled with the current effects of neo-colonialism, neo-imperialism, neoliberalism are now coming into full focus. We are living in revolutionary times and we are now asking, as Vladimir Lenin did at the dawning of the 20th century, “What is to be done?”.

With this in mind I present to you maktoub: The McGill Journal of Middle East Studies.

Our goal with this Journal was to carefully handpick submissions that drew from a wide variety of disciplines in order to give holistic representations of the “Middle East” and more broadly the Islamic world. Both of these signifiers do not accurately represent the terrain nor subject you will find within these essays, as they are terms mired in colonialism. However, we exist in a world constantly attempting to escape and forget these ugly histories. Language has its own history, therefore, to interrogate it is to interrogate the processes that have made the world as it is. The essays included in this collection cover a vast region of time and space. I have found them to be valuable and instructive and I hope you will find them equally so as well.

I am so excited to share these perspectives with the world and wanted to thank the editors, contributors, and the WIMESSA executives for your time and patience. I hope these perspectives will challenge normative discourses and more so challenge the individual readers of this journal to engage with their work.

Maia Salameh Editor-in-Chief 2019-2020

CONT ENTS

THE WHITE – WASHING OF ISLAMIC INDIA

The Case of Mughal Painting and Indian Sufis By: Soraia Afshar

ISLAMIC FAMILY LAW AND DIVORCE PROCEDURE IN PAKISTAN By: Mahnoor Ali Syed

THE REQUISITE DEFENSE

Averroe’s Treatment of Avicenna’s Ideas By: Hussain Awan

SNOWBOARDING IN IRAN An Anthropological Analysis By: Leah Meyers

THE JEWISH-MUSLIM RELATIONSHIP EXPLORED THROUGH MUSIC IN THE 20TH CENTURY By: Reem Abdul Majid

CLEANSING HELLAS Jews, Chams, and Slav Macedonians in Post-Ottoman Greece By: Andreas Koch

BINARIES OF OCCUPATION

The Violence of Israeli Colonialism and Pinkwashing By: Yasir Piracha

TO INFINITY AND BEYOND Astro-Indigenous Aesthetic Art Practice and the Role of Indigenous and Arab Futurism in Building a Global Solidarity By: Nicholas Raffoul

THE WHITE – WASHING OF ISLAMIC INDIA: THE CASE OF MUGHAL PAINTING AND INDIAN SUFIS Soraia Afshar

The White Washing of Islamic India: The Case of Mughal Painting and Indian Sufis Soraia Afshar Muslims forced destruction of Hindu temples, the “dark-ages of Muslim rule” in India, the loss of Indian culture with the Muslim invasion: these are just a few examples of misguided beliefs about Muslim rule in India. When Britain colonized India, there was an attempt to suppress its “Muslimness”. This came with an increased trend of misrepresentation of Islam in India, marked by Orientalism. Focusing specifically on how Islamic history in India has been remembered, I will demonstrate how there is a deep misunderstanding of India’s Muslim history known as “white washing”. For this essay, I will be defining white washing as the attempt by European historians to understand Muslim practices only within a European context, and in so misrepresenting practices and erasing their importance.

White washing is significant because it emphasizes the European perspective on non-European issues. I will be exploring this through the white washing of Mughal painting and Indian Sufism.

Mughal Paintings in India As argued by Gregory Minissale in Images of Thought: Visuality in Islamic India 1550-1750, Europeans studied Mughal art through the lenses of realism and naturalism. Simply put, Europeans studied a foreign art through categories they had created, and in so mis-interpreted the real messages behind much of the Mughal art. By assuming that their viewpoints matched, the European art historians were quick to judge the paintings as “naïve, incapable of conveying complex thought, mute” (Minissale, 2006: 2), which is incorrect. Mughal painting served numerous functions: as a vehicle for focusing on and emphasizing heroic, religious, and romantic feeling, to amplify storytelling, or as a commemoration of an important event or as propaganda (Minissale, 2006: 7). For this portion of the essay, I will discuss a few key differences between European and Mughal paintings and how this added to the misunderstanding of their art.

Firstly, while European art at the time focused on a specific single point perspective, Mughal art took a multi-perspective approach. This can be seen in the use of text boxes, colour, and size in their painting. And this can be studied in paintings for the “Tutinama,” (The Cleveland Museum of Art) a series of stories of a parrot commissioned by Akbar, the Third Mughal Emperor. Figure 1 is one of the 250 miniatures from this collection. Studying this specific image, there is a clear creation of hierarchy between the members of the painting. Those in the lower part are smaller and less significant, moving up towards the largest man, who is the focus of the painting. The size of the text box is employed to mark the sizes of other figures

in the image. For example, the door on the lower half of the image is roughly the size of the text box and the opening towards the main character is twice that of the text box. In addition, the group of men in the painting are looking towards the larger man and, due to his size, our eyes are drawn to him and he becomes the focal point of the painting.

Secondly, while European art focuses on the artist and how the artist’s “individual artistic expression” (Minissale, 2006: 8) differs from that of another, Mughal art followed an “aesthetic tradition of order” (Minissale, 2006: 8) in which the artist himself is not associated to an individual aesthetic. In 16th century Mughal India, there is little emphasis on the uniqueness of the individual; Minissale went as far as to describe Mughal artists as having no “independent existence” (Minissale, 2006: 3) because their names hold no value. Meanwhile in Europe, many artists were known for their names. In addition, not all paintings are painted by one painter as was done in Europe, but rather a group of painters may work on a selected piece. Therefore, attempting to study Mughal Art through the Western “art historian” approach is misleading as artists of Mughal India were not framed in the same light as in Europe. As such, by attempting to classify Mughal paintings in this light whitewashes their history of painting traditions that surpass that of individual artistic thought.

Thirdly, the use of colour differs dramatically in European and Mughal paintings.

There are few concrete symbolisms of colour in Mughal painting relative to European painting. For example, in European paintings, white is associated with purity and red or black with anger or sadness. Instead, in Mughal paintings, colour was associated with the object colored by it. Minissale predicts that it is more likely that colours were associated with the Qu’ran; he uses the example of a white bird sending God good news as a positive association for white (Minissale, 2006: 85).

Following this idea, colours were used instead as a tool in the painting itself and followed different rules. For instance, Mughal painters attempted to avoid the clash of similar colours in one area (Minissale, 2006: 88), one such technique included colouring people using primary colours then adding other colours to the different people to distinguish between them and avoid a clash of colours. Referring again to Figure 1, “coupling” is another technique used by Mughal painters (Minissale, 2006: 94) in which colours are repeated throughout a painting to create a sense of unity or create a relationship between the actors in the painting. In Figure 1, there is a use of orange throughout the painting, particularly in the lower, middle, and higher portions. As orange is seen in each social-class structure of the painting, it is creating a unity between the three classes thereby creating a link between the actors for the viewer. There is a clear difference in the way colour is used in European and Mughal art, and to put Mughal art in the framework of European art misses the complexity in its use of colour. There is also a difference in the intensity of the colours used. Saturated colours are more widely used in Mughal paintings and are often placed next to each other. Mughal art tends to forgo the use of different shades of colours, and instead focuses on saturation as a form of depiction. Thus, colour is another way in which Mughal art was whitewashed and misunderstood, and by looking at colour as used only in the European context, the broader understanding

of Mughal painting is missed.

By mentioning key differences between Mughal and European art, I’ve demonstrated that though both were occurring at similar times, analyzing one artform using the context of the other misses the uniqueness of each artistic tradition. Therefore, as European colonizers and art historians attempted to understand Mughal art in their pre-set Western categories, they whitewashed much of the complexity of Mughal art, and often missed key details.

Sufism in India, the misconceptions Sufism in India is often disassociated with Islam, ignoring much of its Islamic roots.

In this way Indian Sufis were whitewashed during colonialism through the misinterpretation of their practices and closeness to the Islamic religion in an attempt to create a more European accessible Sufism. By emphasizing Sufism’s association with its unique practices absent from the traditional branches of Islam, such as their forgoing of all material wealth, there was an attempt to highlight their differences, instead of their connectiveness. In this way, the Muslim aspects of Sufism were suppressing, and Western understandings were emphasized.

Firstly, there is a false belief that Sufism was “somehow derived from Hinduism, so it was not really Islamic at all” (Ernst, 2005: 7). This idea is argued by Carl Erst in Situating Sufism and Yoga, in this essay he criticizes the association between Yoga, Buddhism, and Sufism. From this article, it is important to highlight the misconceptions by new age Yoga-practices that misinterpret Yoga as the source of Sufism.

This is a clear example of White Washing of Islamic India. By stripping Sufism of its Islamic roots and associating it instead with Yoga, there is an attempt to erase Sufism’s history, and creating a more mindful or European-friendly Sufism. While this is only one example of Sufi practices, it is important to note the widespread consequences as Yoga is now practiced by millennials. This has negative consequences because it strips Sufism of its history by creating a superficial façade around its practices and then reinforcing it by Western ideas. In addition, the white washing of Sufism transcends to different practices, such as the misinterpretation of Islamic poetry as in the famous example of Rumi.

Secondly, though Sufis are mistakenly placed out of the Islamic branch, they actually contributed to the expansion of Islam in Medieval India. While Sufis kept away from politics, they were able to transcend into Medieval Indian culture, and in this way contributed to the Islamization of India. This trend can be studied in the example of Sufi folk culture in Indian households. As argued in Richard Eaton’s Sufi Folk Literature and Expansion of Indian Islam, Sufi folk stories were adopted by many women because the stories discussed household chores such as grinding food grains and spinning threat which attracted women (Eaton, 2010: 71). Women would sing these songs, eventually transferring them to their children. Gradually, as folk stories were passed down in Indian villages, there was a move towards Islamization of culture, eventually leading to the Islamization of these small villages.

Taking this idea further, as mentioned, Sufism is often taken out of the Muslim branch because of their practices; however, their beliefs lie fundamentally within Islam. Therefore, though Sufis are not always associated with “traditional” Islam, they contributed to the conversion of many Indians and this way should be associated with Islam.

As Western scholars attempted to disassociate Sufism from Islam, they attempted to ignore much of its Islamic history. Therefore, by disassociating Sufism from India, there is an attempt to whitewash the value of Islamic Sufism and create a more European narrative.

Conclusion To conclude, through misrepresentation of key Islamic art and practices in India, there was an attempt to whitewash India’s history. As seen throughout this essay, white washing was not limited to one aspect of Indian nor Islamic history but stretched to all categories of Indian Islamic life. It is necessary to study these practices in the context of pre-colonial India, without the use of pre-determined categories nor values. Or else, it is unlikely that the true meanings of will be understood, as in the case of European interpretation of Mughal art. White washing attempted to erase the parts of Indian history that the West did not like nor want.

Today, as many Western countries explore India to discover their “spirituality”, it is important to note the consequences this white washing has on Indian life.

Bibliography Carl W. Ernst. (2005). Situating Sufism and Yoga. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 3(15:1), 15-43.

Gregory Minissale. (2006). Images of Thought Visuality in Islamic India 15501740. Cambridge Scholars Press. 1-60.

Page from Tales of a Parrot (Tuti-nama): Thirty-second night: Kaiwan, Latif, and Sharif, accompanied by Utarid, at the place of Khurshid who has taken to the life of a devotee. Accessed April 16, 2019. Retrieved: http://www.clevelandart.org/art/1962.279.213.b Richard M. Eaton. (2010). Eaton Sufi Folk Literature and the Expansion of Indian Islam. Sufism Society in Medieval India, 70-82.

Index

Figure 1: Tutinama commissioned by Akbar (The Cleveland Museum of Art)

ISLAMIC FAMILY LAW AND DIVORCE PROCEDURE IN PAKISTAN Mahnoor Ali Syed

Islamic Family Law and Divorce Procedure in Pakistan By: Mahnoor Ali Syed Introduction According to Article 16 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), equality of the sexes in marriage and divorce is an essential principle of international human rights. In Pakistan, however, the procedure to dissolve a marriage can be particularly difficult for women for a number of reasons. In line with Islamic marital jurisprudence, marriages in Pakistan are solemnized using a document named the Nikkahnama, and the Nikkahnama allows for a clause whereby a woman can obtain the right to divorce only under “special circumstances� and if approved by the husband. In most cases the woman does not keep the right to divorce her husband. In such cases, based on traditional Islamic law, the woman has to file a case for Khula. To divorce her husband through Khula, a woman has to repay the dower that the husband gives to her in the starting of the marriage.

In cases where it is difficult for women to repay the dower, they may choose to live separately from husbands they are unhappy with. When women begin to live separately, husbands have the legal right to file a suit for Restitution of Conjugal Rights (RCR). The RCR has both implicit and explicit connotations that one of the partners has withdrawn from the society of another without sufficient reason, and thus the other partner files a petition to regain their company. In most cases, the RCR is used by men to either prolong or disrupt cases of divorce filed by women.

In such cases, the burden of proving reasonable grounds for divorce then falls onto the individual seeking divorce. Thus, the RCR is often exploited by husbands to prevent wives from getting separation or to avoid providing financial support while the wife is living separately. Now considered compatible with traditional Islamic law, the RCR has its roots in colonial rule. Using case studies and scholarship, this paper will argue that the RCR should be abolished and the burden of providing reasons for reconciliation should fall on to the defendant rather than the party filing for divorce. The paper will discuss the possible procedures of dissolving marriage in Islamic law, the history and context concerning the RCR in divorce case proceedings, implications of the Islamization under Zia-ul-Haq’s regime, examples whereby the RCR has been exploited, and the consequences of its exploitation.

Divorce Procedure in Islamic Law The laws concerning divorce in traditional and contemporary interpretations of Islamic law are often considered controversial; the system is arguably tilted against women. Under certain Islamic marital laws practiced in India, a man can divorce his wife instantly. The man can say the word talaq (divorce) thrice and the marriage dissolves according to religion. (1) However, in most Islamic countries,

including Pakistan, the husband has to notify an arbitration council about the divorce shortly after the pronouncement, otherwise the divorce is not granted. This notice is followed by a ninety days waiting period during which the council/court works on a reconciliation. If the reconciliation fails, the divorce is granted. (2) After the divorce, the husband has to pay the woman the full amount of haq mehr; amount of money, jewellery or any other gift given or promised by the husband at some point in the marriage. (3) Muslim women, on the other hand, can seek divorce under certain circumstances and have to follow an entirely different procedure. They cannot divorce simply through proclamation like men can. Women can either seek divorce through mutual agreement with the husband called Khula or file a suit against the husband in the court. Unlike the husband, the woman has to provide solid reasons for seeking divorce both in Khula and the suit. Under traditional Islamic law, a multitude of reasons are considered valid for women seeking divorce. For instance, if a woman was married off before she reached puberty, she can seek divorce upon reaching puberty. Moreover, a woman can seek divorce if the husband is unable to provide for her financially, and if the husband is “cruel” to her. These grounds apply to Pakistan; the Dissolution of Muslim Marriages Act which started in 1939 in India was adopted by Pakistan upon its founding. The Act enables women to seek divorce for a number of reasons including cruelty. (4) (5) Moreover, when a woman seeks divorce through Khula or a suit, she has to pay back or remit the haq mehr (dower). (6) It is important to note that paying back the dower gifted to the woman at the beginning of the marriage has implications for the divorce process. Due to financial dependency on the husband or lack of resources, it could be difficult or even impossible for some women to pay back the dower. Thus, arguably, this could even be a constraint for women seeking divorce, and ultimately a reason for continuing unhappy or abusive marriages. Men, on the other hand, are free to divorce women with verbal proclamation without any legal or religious obligation to provide reason to councils or to start a case. Thus, as discussed, the divorce procedures vary greatly for men and women as per the interpretation of Islamic law. The law is arguably tilted against women and places them in a position where they have to face financial burden and the pressure of proving their reasons to be valid enough in the court. Men, on the other hand, have the liberty to dissolve a marriage by saying the word “divorce” thrice followed by a notice to the arbitrary council in Pakistan.

The History of the RCR and its Application in Pakistan The Right to Conjugal Restitution has roots in the colonial rule; it was one of the legal structures introduced by the British to India when India was colonised. The Privy Council decided that the RCR could be sought under the civil jurisdiction of courts. Even though a colonial structure, the introduction of the RCR set the stage for religious communities to later defend and justify it. The RCR was introduced apparently with noble intentions to make sure that partners fulfilled their responsibilities and duties towards each other; under canon law, marriage

was seen as sacred and thus legal structures for restitution/reconciliation were the logical consequences. (7) In its application, the RCR has remained biased against women and has been used primarily by men to prevent wives from seeking divorce to avoid paying haq mehr, etc. For instance, while addressing the question about whether or not a Muslim husband could force his wife, through the civil courts, towards cohabitation without her willingness, the Privy Council concluded, “their Lordship have no doubt that the Mussulman Husband may institute a suit [for the RCR] in the Civil Courts of India, for declaration of his right to the possession of his Wife, and for a sentence that she return to cohabitation.” (8) With a history of being introduced for men to bring their wives back to cohabitation, the RCR has often been exploited by Muslim men to keep their wives from dissolving marriages.

Even though in Britain itself, the RCR was eradicated under the Matrimonial Proceedings and Property Act of 1970; the RCR was retained and indigenized in both India and Pakistan. (9) Starting from 1964, all family related suits, including the RCR, were heard and decided by independent family courts in Pakistan. In 2002, an amendment was made to the Family Courts Act of 1964. Under the amendment, to avoid multiplicity of suits, it was decided that the defendant would make statement for defense against the suit initiated by the plaintiff-spouse instead of filing a separate suit. This meant that the husband was no longer required to institute the RCR had the wife already filed a suit for divorce, and the wife could no longer file a separate suit for dissolution of marriage or maintenance had the husband already filed a suit for RCR. (10) It can be argued that such an act does reflect the state’s recognition of the misuse of the RCR in cases where women file for divorce.

According to Islamic law as it is applied in Pakistan, husbands are responsible for the financial maintenance of their wives. In cases when wives escape from the company of husbands, the husbands often file for an RCR and if the wives do not return to their company, they are no longer liable to support them financially. As a result, when the wives file for dissolution of marriage, the decree for RCR ends up portraying them as disobedient wives not obliging to the duty of maintaining their marriage. Hence, the decree of the RCR deprives them of maintenance during the marriage which can in itself be an obstacle for wives seeking separation from husbands they are financially dependent on. Moreover, the decree of the RCR also influences the nature of the process of dissolution of marriage. This could have the implication of wives surviving marriages even if they are abusive and unhappy. (11) There have been many cases in Pakistan where the decree of the RCR has prevented women from dissolving marriages. For instance, in the case of Mst. Rahim Jan v Muhammad, Justice Kaikus observed that the wife’s file for dissolution on the ground that the husband had not provided maintenance for over two years was not valid. This was because the husband had instituted the RCR while the wife was living separately. The wife made the statement that she had been living

separately because the husband did not pay her the dower. However, on the basis of the priority given to the RCR, her file for divorce remained unaccepted because she had not been fulfilling her duty of cohabiting with her husband. This is an example of how the RCR deprives women of financial security and, later, determines the nature of their file for divorce. Due to such precedents, the RCR continues to be manipulated by husbands. (12) The RCR is sometimes exploited by ex-husbands to harass their ex-wives. For instance, in the case of Mst. Moondan v Judge Family Court, the wife was granted divorce through a decree to the dissolution or marriage in 1981 after which she remarried. Later, the ex-husband approached the family court to set aside the decree. when the petition was dismissed, in 1983, the ex-husband filed for RCR. (13) Such Examples of harassment represent the immense misuse of the law by men. The misuse and the following precedent could be a significant setback for women seeking to dissolve marriages that are abusive, where the husband does not provide financially or even marriages conducted without consent and with family pressure. It is to be noted how the difficulty in divorce procedures due to legal issues can play out in instances like child marriage and domestic violence etc. The setback becomes even stronger considering that in cases where the husband files the RCR, the wife is portrayed as being disobedient and the pressure for providing solid grounds for the dissolution falls on to her. Another reason why the RCR is heavily misused and has implications to tilt proceedings against women is that it is vaguely defined. This means that husbands are able to use it in multiple conditions. A good example is how an ex-husband filed for RCR after the marriage was dissolved and his ex-wife was married to someone else. (14) Moreover, considering that the burden to provide justifiable reason to live separately from the husband falls onto the wife in case of the RCR, it is important to note that many of the reasons traditionally considered valid by Islamic law remain vague when applied legally. For instance, according to current understandings of Islamic law, cruelty is one reason why the wife could seek divorce. However, as Moonshee Buzloor Raheem and Abdul Kadir affirmed, under Traditional Islamic law, abusive acts like mild beating did not leave marks on the body and so did not constitute ‘cruelty’ in the legal sense of the term. (15) As valid grounds for divorce are vaguely defined, the wife’s case for dissolution of marriage in the case of RCR could really become weak in face of biases in the legal system.

Islamization Under Zia-ul-Haq In 1977, General Zia-ul-Haq established a military regime in Pakistan. He began a process of “Islamization” of laws and institutions in Pakistan; everything was directed to be aligned with core Islamic principles. Women’s rights experienced a particular setback during Zia ul Haq’s regime. In 1980, Zia established the Federal Shariat Court with the role to examine laws and make sure no law was “repugnant to the injunctions of Islam.” Under the Federal Shariah Courts, the Hudood Ordinances were introduced. Under the Hudood ordinance, Zina (extra marital sex) was criminalized and rendered punishable by death, and the ordinance was prac-

tically used against women. Even in cases where women were raped, they were accused of fornication and were imprisoned. One of the most prominent cases is that of Safia Bibi. In 1982, Safia, a blind 19-year-old, was raped by her employer and her son. Charges were filed against the two men. However, the two men were acquitted and Safia was sentenced to three years of imprisonment and 15 lashes as she was accused of fornication. (16) As the Hudood Ordinance was used against women and precedents similar to the case of Safia Bibi were set, the Ordinance was often misused to threaten and harass women to be charged for fornication. Family members often brought adultery and fornication charges against women under these laws to punish them for refusing arranged marriages or seeking divorces. (17) Under such structures, the misuse of RCR becomes even more plausible; it is important to note that the Federal Shariat Court and structural effects of Zia ul Haq’s Islamization are still prevalent in the Pakistani legal system.

Conclusion It is important to recognise the implications of the RCR on divorce procedures, financial maintenance for women and in setting precedent for cases concerning family law. In particular, one must look at how the RCR interacts with other patriarchal structures, like Zia-ul-Haq’s Islamization, to tilt the legal proceedings against women. The harmful implications are even more severe when recognised reasons for dissolution of marriage, such as cruelty, are vaguely defined and are often deemed invalid. The RCR has the effect of jeopardizing the woman’s right to live separately from her husband in cases of mistreatment, child marriages, lack of financial security and domestic violence. The structures and precedents create a system of inequality between men and women in marriage and divorce in Pakistan. In an attempt to eradicate these inequalities, this paper has argued that the RCR should be abolished in order to set a precedent for valuing women’s autonomy over where they want to live--in line with Article 16 of the UDHR.

Bibliography 1. Sahay, Ragini. “Divorce in Muslim Society, Laws and Reality: A Study among Telis in Delhi.” Jstor , Indian Anthropological Association, https:// www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/41932563.pdf?refreqid=excelsior:c8dc1cfd157cee6dde814a309131b419.

2. Sahay, Ragini. “Divorce in Muslim Society, Laws and Reality: A Study among Telis in Delhi.” Jstor , Indian Anthropological Association, https:// www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/41932563.pdf?refreqid=excelsior:c8dc1cfd157cee6dde814a309131b419.

3. Sahay, Ragini. “Divorce in Muslim Society, Laws and Reality: A Study among Telis in Delhi.” Jstor , Indian Anthropological Association, https:// www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/41932563.pdf?refreqid=excelsior:c8dc1cfd157cee6dde814a309131b419.

4. Sahay, Ragini. “Divorce in Muslim Society, Laws and Reality: A Study among Telis in Delhi.” Jstor , Indian Anthropological Association, https:// www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/41932563.pdf?refreqid=excelsior:c8dc1cfd157cee6dde814a309131b419.

5. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

6. Sahay, Ragini. “Divorce in Muslim Society, Laws and Reality: A Study among Telis in Delhi.” Jstor , Indian Anthropological Association, https:// www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/41932563.pdf?refreqid=excelsior:c8dc1cfd157cee6dde814a309131b419.

7. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

8. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

9. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

10. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

11. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conju-

gal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

12. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

13. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

14. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

15. Cheema, Shahbaz Ahmad. “Indigenization of Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Pakistan: A Plea for Its Abolition.” Lums Law Journal, https:// sahsol.lums.edu.pk/law-journal/indigenization-restitution-conjugal-rights-pakistan-plea-its-abolition.

16. Rathore, Minah Ali. “Women’s Rights in Pakistan: The Zina Ordinance & the Need for Reform.” ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst, https://scholarworks.umass.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1040&context=cppa_capstones.

17. Critelli, Filomena M. “Between Law and Custom: Women, Family Law and Marriage in Pakistan.” Jstor, https://www.jstor.org/stable/23267840?seq=1&cid=pdf-reference#references_tab_contents.

THE REQUISITE DEFENSE: AVERROE’S TREATMENT OF AVICENNA’S IDEAS Hussain Awan

The Requisite Defence: Averroes’s Treatment of Avicennian Ideas Hussain Awan I. Introduction The Andalusian Muslim philosopher Averroes (Ibn Rushd) was born in 1126, 89 years after the death of Avicenna and a mere 15 years after al-Ghazālī. The latter’s seminal work Tahāfut al-Falāsifa (The Incoherence of the Philosophers)—large portions of which singled out Avicenna’s ideas for criticism1—was already wellknown in this intellectual milieu by the time Averroes rose to prominence in the Almohad court. Al-Ghazālī’s professed targets of criticism in Tahāfut were ‘the philosophers’ in general, but special attention was given to al-Fārābī and Avicenna as the importers of Aristotelian thought into Islam.2 Leaving aside the fact they were both also Neoplatonists (and thus less committed to the apparent meaning of Aristotle’s texts) with many of their own distinct theories,3 these critiques of the Islamic philosophical tradition’s incorporation of Aristotelianism prompted Averroes to write his magnum opus, Tahāfut al-Tahāfut (The Incoherence of the Incoherence). While his primary concern in it is justifying Aristotle and the “ancient philosophers,” and while he occasionally agrees with al-Ghazālī’s arguments, Averroes still spends considerable effort defending Avicenna from al-Ghazālī’s criticisms and repeatedly characterizes them as either incorrect or the result of misinterpretation. This paper will argue that Averroes was primarily a defender of Avicenna against attacks from theologians such as al-Ghazālī who sought to use Avicenna’s example to discredit the broader umbrella of Islamic philosophy. It will furthermore posit that while Averroes did oppose Avicenna in instances where the latter strayed from more normative Aristotelian interpretations, these differences were of less concern to Averroes than rebutting al-Ghazālī.

II. Context In order to properly contextualize Averroes’s disagreements with and defences of Avicennian ideas, it is necessary to understand the roles both philosophers played in Islamicate philosophy. Two kinds of philosophical works existed during the classical Islamic philosophy period: Arabic philosophical commentaries, which unpacked difficult texts like those of al-Fārābī, and Islamic philosophical treatises, which synthesized various strains of thought within Islamic civilization through the writing of new texts.4 Averroes, who would come to be known as ‘The Commentator’ for writing the largest volume of commentaries on Aristotle in history 1 2 3 4

Marmura, “Al-Ghazālī,” 144.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Wisnovsky, “Averroes (Ibn Rushd) and Maghribi philosophy; Arabic into Latin.”

(alongside Alexander of Aphrodisias),5 represented the culmination of Arabic commentary. Avicenna, on the other hand, dealt primarily with philosophical treatises and thus was the principal figure of the classical Islamic philosophical movement.

A key difference between the approaches of Averroes and Avicenna is that the former was a strict constructionist, keeping to a rigid reading of the Aristotelian texts and limiting interpretation, while Avicenna, despite being a Peripatetic philosopher, viewed the texts as a work in progress that could be expounded upon.6 As a result, Averroes did not criticize Aristotle to the extent that post-classical scholars such as Fakhr ad-Dīn ar-Rāzī did,7 and instead denounced Avicenna for being ‘too creative’ and leaving the philosophical tradition open to attacks from people like al-Ghazālī.8 In one such instance, Averroes called Avicenna’s distinction between essence (māhiyyah) and existence (wujūd)9 unnecessary, saying that it compromised the validity of Arabic philosophy. In addition, Averroes emphasized the need to reconcile his philosophical ideas with Islam much more than Avicenna, titling one of his major treatises On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy.10 This persistent belief in a singular truth forced him to harmonize the apparent contradictions in Aristotle’s corpus, which he did by claiming that different parts of Aristotle’s Organon were intended for different audiences.11 Both Averroes’s strict constructionism and the effort he expends in trying to syncretize his ideas with the Islamic tradition can be understood in the context of 12th-century North African Arab nostalgia, with the dominant narrative being that the ‘Persians and the Turks’ (i.e. Avicenna and al-Fārābī) had gotten in the way of authentic Islamic philosophy.12 Lastly, the later popularity of Avicenna and Averroes in different quarters is an indication of their distinct philosophical paradigms. For instance, this was reflected in early Western academia by the dichotomy between the University of Paris’s Arts Faculty, which favored Averroes, and its Divinity Faculty, which favored Avicenna.13 III. Countering al-Ghazālī: Averroes’s Defence of Avicenna In spite of these differences with Avicenna in approach and context, Averroes gives far more importance to the challenge posed by al-Ghazālī’s attacks on philosophy. In Tahāfut al-Tahāfut, he repeatedly defends the validity of Avicennian ideas, or, as a last resort, attempts to justify what he considers to be Avicenna’s 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Ibid.

Ibid.

Wisnovsky, “Post-classical “verifiers” (muḥaqqiqūn).”

Wisnovsky, “Averroes (Ibn Rushd) and Maghribi philosophy; Arabic into Latin.”

Wisnovsky, “Ghazālī; reactions to falsafa.”

Averroes, On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy, 1.

Wisnovsky, “Averroes (Ibn Rushd) and Maghribi philosophy; Arabic into Latin.”

Ibid..

Wisnovsky, “The study of Islamic philosophy and theology; early sectarianism.”

faulty logic. It is apparent that while differences exist in their views on certain issues (with Averroes holding the more normatively Islamic positions and Avicenna engaging in Ammonian and Neoplatonic syntheses), these are outweighed by Averroes’s desire to vindicate Islamic philosophy in light of “Asharite”14 critique.

In one such instance in his On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy, Averroes defends Avicenna’s status as a Muslim under a discussion of ‘ijma (scholarly consensus) on God’s knowledge of particulars. While stating that he disagrees with Avicenna’s claim that God knows things in only a general way (saying “may He be Exalted far above that [ignorance]!”),15 Averroes crucially does not make this difference the crux of his discussion, but instead turns his ire against those who would use it to accuse Avicenna of disbelief. In refuting the claim that Avicenna is violating ‘ ijmāʿ, he proposes that even al-Ghazālī did not definitively call Avicenna an unbeliever, because disbelief through a violation of unanimity can “only be tentative.”16 Averroes then rationalizes Avicenna’s claims by stating that they are the result of allegorical interpretation. He avers that since the early Muslims affirmed the existence of allegorical interpretations of the Qurān which are accessible only to the learned, this entails that ‘ ijmāʿ does not exist on this issue. Hence, he deduces, Avicenna cannot be declared a non-Muslim for holding this belief.

As mentioned earlier, Averroes’s Tahāfut al-Tahāfut also includes many defences of Avicenna. Averroes starts off the very first chapter of this work with a jab at al-Ghazālī, stating that “the aim of this book is to show the different degrees of assent and conviction attained by the assertions in The Incoherence of the Philosophers, and to prove that the greater part has not reached the degree of evidence and of truth.”17 It is important to note that as al-Ghazālī is targeting Avicenna with many of these ‘assertions,’ Averroes is implying that the majority of al-Ghazālī’s critiques of Avicenna are incorrect. Averroes continues to situate himself as sympathetic to Avicenna later on, approvingly citing his proof for infinite time18 and his doctrine of a distinction between a necessary existent by itself (wājib al-wujūd bi dhātihi) and a necessary existent through another (wājib al-wujūd bi-ghayrihi).19 In addition, he denounces al-Ghazālī for incorrectly ascribing a belief in the possibility of an infinite number of souls to Avicenna, saying that no philosopher had ever held that position.20 Averroes also defends Avicenna against some of the charges of unbelief that alGhazālī holds against philosophers in his book. For example, within a wider dis14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Marmura, “Al-Ghazālī,” 144.

Averroes, On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy, 53.

Ibid..

Averroes. The Incoherence of the Incoherence, 1.

Ibid., 50.

Ibid., 54-54.

Ibid., 163.

cussion of his first point of unbelief, the concept of the pre-eternality of the world, al-Ghazālī argues against Avicenna’s claim that everything is either a pure intellect (that knows all intelligibles) or not a pure intellect, and that anything that exists in matter is not a pure intellect. Therefore, Avicenna reasons, “the First does not exist in matter” and is thus a “pure intellect and all the intelligibles are revealed to it.” al-Ghazālī attempts to morph this argument into a syllogism of “If this First is in matter it cannot think things, but it is not in matter, therefore it thinks things,” which is a classical fallacy.21 Averroes begins by critiquing al-Ghazālī’s claim that Avicenna considered the division of all things into pure and non-pure intellects to be self-evident, saying that al-Ghazālī tried to make this out to be a ‘first principle’ despite it only being a conclusion from many earlier premisses.22 Averroes then engages in a lengthy justification of the relationship between intellect and matter that underpins Avicenna’s argument for pure intellects. He traces this assertion’s genealogy to the distinction between active and passive potencies, before proceeding in a ‘demonstrative order’ to the conclusion that whatever has no passivity is intellect and not body, and whatever is passive is body and matter. He rounds off his criticism by saying that “all the things which [al-Ghazālī] says about the hypothetical syllogism … are not true” and reiterates his disappointment at alGhazālī for maintaining that Avicenna meant for this syllogism to stand by itself.

Of al-Ghazālī’s many arguments in Incoherence, Averroes takes particular issue with this misinterpretation of Avicenna, saying that here al-Ghazālī “confused the sciences in a most terrible way, and … uprooted science from its foundation and its method.”23 As al-Ghazālī begins to directly attack Avicenna for claiming that God knows things only in a universal way under his ‘Thirteenth Discussion,’ Averroes (despite his earlier admission of disagreement with Avicenna on this issue) counters by accusing al-Ghazālī of mixing up divine and human knowledge.24 The latter, Averroes argues, is affected by change and multiplicity as a result of change and multiplicity in the cause, while the former is not. Hence, according to Averroes, al-Ghazālī has once more misunderstood Avicenna’s claims.25 Similarly, Averroes considers al-Ghazālī to have committed a “sophism” in confusing the two different classes of individuals (those that can be quantitatively divided and those that cannot) that result from Avicenna’s theory that the soul, as it is indivisible, is separate from the body.26 He says that al-Ghazālī denies that the soul belongs to the first class, but then goes about proving this by the properties of the second category. Averroes pins this confusion on al-Ghazālī’s inability to comprehend Avicenna’s argument in the first place and then on his incorrect claim that there could be 21 22 23 24 25 26

Ibid., 259-263.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid., 275.

Ibid.

Ibid., 340.

a substratum in which the soul resides that is neither divisible nor indivisible.27 IV. Matters of Conflict: Averroean Critiques of Avicenna While Averroes’s main focus remains on defending the philosophical tradition, in some circumstances this entails him critiquing the Avicennian ideas which he believes are too easy for al-Ghazālī to find fault with.28 For instance, he agrees with al-Ghazālī’s criticism of Avicenna’s theory of the numerical plurality of immaterial souls—which al-Ghazālī says comes from Aristotle—saying “this is not a theory acknowledged by the philosophers … [and] that there should be numerical plurality without matter … is impossible.”29 Averroes also objects to Avicenna’s distinction between the spatial and non-spatial, saying that he is the only philosopher that has affirmed it and that it “makes no sense,” but then attempts to rationalize his opinion, saying that “perhaps Avicenna wanted only to satisfy the masses, telling them what they were accustomed to hear about the soul.”30 In a similar vein, he criticizes Avicenna’s theory of superadded existences (musharakat al-wujūd) in some of his works, saying that holding it entails believing in an infinite regression of existences.31 Averroes also did not believe that Avicenna’s proof for the impossibility of an infinite regression of causes, imported from earlier Mutazilite and Asharite theologians, proved as much as he would have liked. As the dichotomy of everything into the possible and the necessary was not self-evident to Averroes, Avicenna’s proof only justified the impossibility of an infinite regress of causes for ‘truly possible existents,’ while it failed to so for ‘necessary existents with a cause’ (which, according to Averroes, no one had been able to do).32 Averroes makes his dissent all the more clearer on the next page of The Incoherence of the Incoherence, saying that the dichotomy which Avicenna takes for granted is simply not true.33 Averroes’s hesitancy to either criticize Avicenna or depart from conventional Islamic wisdom is evident in his commentary on al-Ghazālī’s discussion of miracles.

In this case, without naming anyone, al-Ghazālī claims that philosophers do not believe in most miracles (such as the Prophet Muhammad’s splitting of the moon, Jesus’s resurrection of the dead, and Moses’s transformation of a rod into serpent), with the exception of three cases, one of which involves learned people intuiting the forms of future events in their dreams. Averroes chooses to not defend this at first, saying that “I do not know anyone who asserts this [about dreams] but Avicenna” and mentioning that philosophers in general had attempted to stay 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

Ibid.

Wisnovsky, “Averroes (Ibn Rushd) and Maghribi philosophy; Arabic into Latin.”

Averroes. The Incoherence of the Incoherence, 13-14.

Ibid., 14.

Wisnovsky, “Avicenna’s Islamic reception,” 207.

Averroes. The Incoherence of the Incoherence, 164.

Ibid., 165.

away from explaining miracles.34 The repeated delineation of stances that Avicenna is unique in holding can be seen as an attempt by Averroes to stress the greater logical soundness of Aristotle and the “ancient philosophers,” and by extension those in the Islamic tradition who followed them more strictly. Regardless, he does not attack Avicenna on the issue of miracles as an opponent would, instead tepidly agreeing with al-Ghazālī that if “it is possible that a body could be changed qualitatively” such as a rod turning into a serpent, then “the reasons [al-Ghazālī] mentions for this are possible.” Yet even here, Averroes excuses Avicenna’s restriction of possible miracles, stating ( in perhaps intentionally ambiguous terms) that “one need not assume that things logically impossible are possible for the prophets.” He then deflects from the discussion about the restriction of miracles, instead mentioning that the greatest miracle is the Qurān, which does not involve an interruption of the natural state of things, and that the prophets’ distinguishing features were the truth they brought to light and not their miracles. In this, Averroes again seems to try to reconcile what he sees as truth in al-Ghazālī’s critiques with Avicenna’s original propositions; he remains sympathetic and hesitant to directly contradict Avicenna.

Lastly, Averroes also criticizes Avicenna’s position on bodily resurrection. Without naming him, Averroes agrees with al-Ghazālī that a refutation of philosophers who deny bodily resurrection is necessary, and that such a refutation is required according to both religious and philosophical perspectives.35 Even in this relatively strong criticism of Avicenna, however, Averroes attempts to find some middle ground. He says that “it must be assumed that what arises from the dead is simulacra of these earthly bodies, not these bodies themselves, for what has perished does not return individually.”36 Through this, he criticizes the theologian colleagues of al-Ghazālī (who propose a resurrection of the same bodies that the believers possess on Earth), while also reaching a more conciliatory position with Avicenna’s wholesale rejection of bodily resurrection.

V. Conclusion While Avicenna’s broad range of philosophical opinions force Averroes into the role of both defender and opponent in various instances, it is evident from The Incoherence of the Incoherence and On the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy that Averroes was primarily a supporter of Avicenna’s arguments. The severity of al-Ghazālī’s criticisms, which had become widely read by the time Averroes was born, forced the Andalusian to minimize the differences he had with Avicenna and emphasize the mistakes al-Ghazālī made in refuting him. Differences exist, and Averroes may well have become more openly critical of Avicennian ideas in an environment without al-Ghazālī, but the fact of the matter remains that 34 35 36

Ibid., 313.

Ibid., 362.

Ibid.

the philosophical gulf between Averroes and al-GhazÄ lÄŤ is much larger than that between Averroes and Aristotle. That, in the Averroean corpus, is what makes the difference.

Bibliography Averroes. “Harmony,” in G.F. Hourani, trans., Averroes on the Harmony of Religion and Philosophy (London: E.J.W. Gibb Memorial Trust, 1961).

Averroes. “Incoherence,” in S. van den Bergh, trans., Averroes’ Tahafut al-tahafut (The Incoherence of the Incoherence) (London: E.J.W. Gibb Memorial

Trust, 1978).

M. Marmura, “al-Ghazālī,” in P. Adamson and R. Taylor, eds, The Cambridge

Companion to Arabic Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University

Press, 2005).

Wisnovsky, Robert. “Avicenna’s Islamic reception,” in P. Adamson, ed., Inter

preting Avicenna: Critical Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge University

Press, 2013) – Wisnovsky, Robert. “The study of Islamic philosophy and theology;

early sectarianism,” ISLA 380: Islamic Philosophy and Theology (class lecture, September 5, 2019).

– Wisnovsky, Robert. “Ghazālī; reactions to falsafa,” ISLA 380: Islamic Philosophy and Theology (class lecture, October 17, 2019).

– Wisnovsky, Robert. “Averroes (Ibn Rushd) and Maghribi philosophy; Arabic into Latin,” ISLA 380: Islamic Philosophy and Theology (class lecture, October 22, 2019).

– Wisnovsky, Robert. “Post-classical “verifiers” (muḥaqqiqūn),” ISLA 380: Islamic Philosophy and Theology (class lecture, October 29, 2019).

SNOWBOARDING IN IRAN: AN ANTHRO – POLOGICAL ANALYSIS Leah Meyers

Snowboarding in Iran: An Anthropological Analysis By: Leah Meyers At the end of the 2016 Freeride World Qualifiers (FWQ) in Verbier, Switzerland all eyes are on the newcomer claiming the third-place finish. Mona Seraji is the first professional world-ranked snowboarder from Iran and the first professional snowboarder on this level in the entire Middle East. Snowboarding is sweeping the country, attracting not only Iranians to Iranian ski slopes, but outside tourists in record numbers and a burgeoning film industry. Examination of the snowboarding world in Iran by the Western news media and filmmakers provides insight into a culture in flux, where official policy is increasingly flaunted; women cut in line at the ski lifts alongside men and a country once off limits to Westerners is now welcoming them with open arms. A review of Western news and film provides a unique, cultural anthropological window into snowboarding in Iran. As with traditional anthropological accounts written by outsiders, these accounts reveal as much about the observers as they do about those observed.

The first section examines the history of skiing and snowboarding in Iran. The second examines the greater freedoms found on the slopes and exposure to international culture that snowboarding offers to the young people and women. The third section examines Western news media and travel industry accounts of snowboarding as a tourism option, which provides insight into modern-day Iranians and the West’s perception of them. Finally, a number of modern Western films covering Iranian snowboarding are examined, providing insight into the perceptions of the filmmakers.

An Introduction to Skiing and Snowboarding in Iran The first reports of skiing in Iran date back to 1938, when German railway engineers introduced the sport. 1 They “brought their own skis and spent winters touring Iran and skiing” after seeing how the Alborz mountain range, in northern Iran, filled with snow.2 Reports indicate that Germans then introduced locals to the sport. 3 Other sources claim that the sport was also introduced to Iranian students who learned skiing as they were studying abroad in France or Switzerland.4 In 1947, the Iranian Ski Federation was established alongside the Iranian Olympic Federation.5 In the early 1960’s, the Iranian Ski Federation undertook the building of “genuine 1 Laurence Cornet and Gaia Squarci, “The Iranian Female Snowboarder Challenging Perceptions of Gender in the Middle East” (Huck Magazine, 7 July 2015).

2 “History of Skiing in Iran” (History of Tehran – Iran Travel, Trip to Iran.

3 “Swiss Ski Instructors Help Boost Ski Industry in Iran” (The Local, The Local, 16 Feb. 2017).

4 “History of Skiing in Iran.”

5 “History of Skiing in Iran.”

ski resorts,” thus introducing the “economic exploitation of snow in the form of winter sports for tourists” in Iran.6 The first ski resort was “the one at Shemshak (1966); then came one at Dizin (1970).”7 Shemshak is the third largest ski area in Iran after Dizin and Darbandsar and “caters for more advanced skiers” Dizin is only a two-hour drive from Tehran, Iran’s capital, and described as, “the country’s most popular and accessible ski resort.”8 In Transnational Mobilities in Snowboarding Culture: Travel, Tourism and Lifestyle Migration, Holly Thorpe says that snowboarding “has gone from a marginal activity for a few aficionados to an Olympic sport and global culture with mass appeal in the past 4 decades.”9 While snowboarding developed in the United States in the 1960’s, Thorpe notes the stark “385% increase in participation [in snowboarding] between 1988 and 2003.”10 The popularity of snowboarding in Iran has experienced meteoric growth. The World Snowboard Guide says that “ 30% of all people on Iranian slopes are snowboarders.”11 Although the majority of snowboarders are Iranians, there are an increasing number of foreigners joining them.

Religious Restrictions are More Liberal on Iran’s Ski Mountains Western news accounts detail not only the beauty and quality of ski and snowboard venues in Iran, but their reactions to the freedoms that Iranians enjoy in the mountains. Although conservative religious laws are enforced by the Islamic Republic of Iran throughout most of the country, Westerners report that religious laws in the mountains are relatively lax. There is no gender separation on the slopes, women do not wear the veil, in general there is greater gender equality, there are parties, and an overall greater degree of freedom.

Western media sources commonly compare skiing and snowboarding in Iran to that in the West. Filmmaker Chris Anthony praised the ski resorts in Iran, saying “the snow quality [at Dizin ski resort in Iran] is similar to that of the Rockies.”12 The New York Post compared Iranian snowboarding to the Alps, saying “just remember Iran can even out-Alp the Alps.”13 In the film, Iran: A Skier’s Journey, the narrator compares Iranian ski slopes to premier ski and snowboard destinations across the world: “In ski chalets, hotels, and apartments in the mountains north of Tehran, a 6 “BARF ‘SNOW.’” 7 “BARF ‘SNOW.’” 8 “Could Iran Be the next Place You Go Snow Skiing?”

9 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration. In: Snowboarding Bodies in Theory and Practice. Global Culture and Sport Series” (Palgrave Macmillan, London, 2011).

10 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration.”

11 “Iran - World Snowboard Guide” (World Snowboard Guide).

12 “Could Iran Be the next Place You Go Snow Skiing?”

13 Chris, Bunting, “10 Reasons Why You Should Skip the Alps and Ski in Iran.”

familiar scene plays out. It could be Chamonix, Whistler or Jackson Hole.” 14 Western media also examine the different behavior of Iranians in the mountains.

The Guardian says that “The mountains above Tehran are home to some of the world’s best skiing – and an escape from the restrictions of city life.”15 A CNN article notes the change in religious laws in the Iranian mountains over time, stating that “Until recently, many slopes were strictly segregated with men and women skiing on different sides of the mountain.” 16 In an article in the New York Times published in 2016, an Iranian woman named Newsha Tavakolian describes how the religious laws have become more lax recently, and says that the mountains in Iran today are “a different world compared with [her] teenage experiences.” 17 She goes on to recount that recently “There was loud house music everywhere. It was a very relaxed atmosphere, maybe the most relaxed atmosphere I have ever experienced in Iran: young boys and girls laughing, talking and hanging out, wearing the most colorful and hip ski outfits. You could easily see the excitement and joy on their faces.”18 Tavakolian then explains the differences between the mountains and the cities: “What really surprised me was a billboard with a picture of a young snowboarder girl wearing a not-long-enough coat, laughing and taking a selfie with a cartoon monkey. In Tehran, you don’t see hip young women on billboards.” 19 A CNN article states that “fewer social restrictions on the pistes than in other areas of Iranian life” have contributed to the “popular pursuit” of the sport by the country’s youth. 20 An article by Haaretz, an Israeli newspaper, further notes that “High up in the snowy peaks above Tehran, Iranians enjoy more than winter sports. They enjoy a taste of the Western comforts that have, for all intents and purposes, disappeared from the city below.”21 In the film “Iran: A Skier’s Journey,” the narrator explains how in the cities, “we are under the watchful eye of Iran’s foreign ministry. But here, high in the mountains, it’s as if the blinds are drawn closed.”22 Finally, an article by American ski media company, Teton Gravity Research, states that, “A lot of people [in Iran’s mountains] don’t [care] about religion… They’re so far away from it.”23 Parties held in the mountains also bend the state’s strict religious laws. As one source explains, “Alcohol isn’t permitted, but the après-ski culture is strong. Slopeside coffee shops are ubiquitous,” and, “many young Iranians ‘rent out villas and 14 Arcteryx, “Iran: A Skier’s Journey” (YouTube, YouTube, 4 Oct. 2016).

15 Gaia Squarci, “Sloping off: Skiing in Iran.”

16 Metsa Rahimi, “Iran to Send Female Skier to Winter Games.”

17 Newsha Tavakolian, “Finding Freedom at a Ski Resort in Iran” (The New York Times, The New York Times, 4 Mar. 2016).

18 Newsha Tavakolian, “Finding Freedom at a Ski Resort in Iran.”

19 Newsha Tavakolian, “Finding Freedom at a Ski Resort in Iran” 20 Metsa Rahimi, “Iran to Send Female Skier to Winter Games.”

21 Ilan Goldman, “Skiing Away from the Ayatollahs in Iran” (Haaretz, 10 Jan. 2018).

22 Arcteryx, “Iran: A Skier’s Journey.”

23 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

have huge parties’ -- and are often extremely welcoming of tourists.”24 Snow Season Central, an online periodical about ski resorts, says that “As far as a party goes, as you might expect, there is not that much to be done in Iran, but if you are observant enough at the ski resorts, then there is a good chance to find something happening on a Thursday night (Thursday night is the Iranian equivalent to Friday night - the end of the working week).”25 The article goes on to describe how “Dizin is the best bet for nightlife… [it is] the liveliest of the resorts and is where the younger, progressive-thinking and upper-class north Tehranis go to unwind on their weekend.”26 In contrast, an article in the Tehran Times states that at Dizin and Shemshak, “Nightlife can be limited in resorts, as most Iranians prefer to socialize at home in the evening.”27 Iranian snowboarders often experience greater freedom on the mountains. “I feel freer here,” says Soriah, an Iranian female snowboarder.28 In the film, “We Ride in Iran,” one male Iranian snowboard instructor states that, “Every time I go to the mountains, if I’m sad or anything like that, if I ski for one or two runs, I forget everything, and I’m a new person.”29 Contradicting some Western-held medias’ belief that those in Iran’s mountains lack religiosity, he says, “I think [snowboarding is] the best thing God gave us. It was a very good gift God gave us. There is more freedom [up here]. People don’t care what others do anymore.”30 1. Women on the Slopes Western snowboarders express shock that Iranian women are internationally ranked snowboarders. In an interview with Burton snowboards, Mona Seraji recounts how she came in third place for her first two freeriding competitions and says “People were surprised to see an Iranian woman on the podium, and many riders want to know my story and how I ended up here. I’m happy to tell them about my massive home mountains and fellow Iranian riders.”31 Seraji notes how her story conveys a “counter-stereotypical image of how people perceive Iran, [board sports,] and women. It was so different than what we are used to reading in the media. We provoked a big shock.” 32 An article by The Culture Trip, a European travel media platform, exemplifies the surprise Westerners have upon learning about Seraji’s snowboarding career, stating “Most people don’t associate snow with Iran, much 24 “Could Iran Be the next Place You Go Snow Skiing?”

25 Snowsc, “Iran Ski Resorts: Jobs, Accommodation, Terrain, Visas and Culture.”

26 Snowsc, “Iran Ski Resorts: Jobs, Accommodation, Terrain, Visas and Culture.”

27 “Life in the Mountains: Skiing in Iran.”

28 Arron Merat, “‘I Feel Freer Here’ – High Times on Iran’s Ski Slopes” (The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 21 Feb. 2016).

29 “We Ride in Iran” (Vimeo, 6 Dec. 2018).

30 Arcteryx, “Iran: A Skier’s Journey.”

31 “Riding on the World Stage with Iranian Snowboarder Mona Seraji” (Burton Snowboards, Burton Snowboards).

32 Laurence Cornet and Gaia Squarci, “The Iranian Female Snowboarder Challenging Perceptions of Gender in the Middle East.”

less a female snowboarder.”33 An article posted by Teton Gravity Research likewise portrays the surprise foreigners have about snowboarding and females in Iran, stating that “Lecomte [former Swiss snowboard competitor], Chekualeva [a Russian snowboard guide], Arsova [a Macedonian ski mountaineer], and Beucher [a professional French snowboard photographer] all discussed being pleasantly surprised how open the mountain culture was and how talented the female skiers and snowboarders were.”34 2. Gender Separation and Equality Not only is it surprising to many Westerners that Iran has a premier snowboarder, but it also comes as a surprise how progressive treatment of the two sexes is on the ski slopes. Several news sources explain the relationship between men and women at the ski mountains in Iran. French snowboard photographer Vanessa Buecher explains that “in general, things have changed in a good way over the last 10 to 15 years. Before [Iran’s former president,] Ahmadinejad, men and women had to ski on separate slopes.”35 Now, Buecher says, “Men and women, both covered by their beanies and helmets, interact in a normal way. They enjoy social freedoms uncommon in Tehran and some of the rural, old-school areas of Iran.”36 The Business Times, a Singapore-based daily financial news source, similarly states that “Whereas the pistes were until the mid-1990s divided by a long rope to segregate the sexes, now everyone can ski together, although some controls remain.”37 In the film “Iran: A Skier’s Journey,” the narrator explains how, “Pistes are not segregated anymore. People can ski together.”38 The director of an Anglo-Iranian tour operator based in the UK, Nasrin Etemadi, “is quick to dispel reports that female skiers must be accompanied by a male guardian-- a point corroborated by Adrian Nordenborg of Pathfinder Travels, a Swedish ski trek operator.”39 These news accounts underscore that the treatment of women in Iran is gradually changing. Although men and women can ski together, they must take separate lifts. An article by The Guardian states that “Men and women are segregated on the lifts but unite at the top and can share food and tiny tumblers of tea in the few cafes and restaurants.”

40 A CNN article similarly states “But while it is still illegal to travel in the same chair lift or gondola, the country’s strict religious laws are visibly more lax at 3,000 meters.”41 On gender and snowboarding, Mona Seraji says, “Being a snowboarder in Iran gives me the chance to forget about gender and practice with girls and guys 33 Pontia Fallahi, “Meet These Inspiring Women Breaking Stereotypes in Iran.” (Culture Trip, 1 June 2017).

34 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

35 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

36 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

37 “Ski Diplomacy Boosts Swiss-Iran Ties” (The Business Times, The Business Times, 16 Jan. 2017).

38 Arcteryx, “Iran: A Skier’s Journey.”

39 “Could Iran Be the next Place You Go Snow Skiing?”

40 Arron Merat, “‘I Feel Freer Here’ – High Times on Iran’s Ski Slopes.”

41 Metsa Rahimi, “Iran to Send Female Skier to Winter Games.”

at the same time without caring about sexuality. When I am in the mountains I’m really free to wear whatever I want and I’m definitely not afraid of getting caught for whatever reason.”42 3. Dress Code In addition to the lack of separation between men and women on the Iranian ski slopes, the “strictly enforced” dress code in the cities like Tehran is “casually relaxed” in the mountains, according to an article in The Guardian: “I saw peroxide-blonde hair pouring from under woolly hats and forearms scandalously uncovered,” the author writes.43 According to a CNN article, “Signs in the resort state Islamic dress is mandatory, but a more relaxed approach is accepted, with many women wearing woolly hats and helmets to cover their hair.”44 A photo series on Iranian snowboarding by The Guardian captioned one picture: “Young snowboarders at a chalet in Dizin. The atmosphere in the mountains is more relaxed than in the city, and girls rarely wear the veil.”45 While Islamic dress is laxer for women in the mountains, this is not always tolerated by the Islamic Republic. “Sometimes the gaste-ershad [morality police] come up here, but most are bad skiers so we can escape them,” said Soriah, a female snowboarder from Tehran. The reporter observes that, “At the foot of the slopes, [Soriah] and her friends were drinking cans of non-alcoholic beer and smoking stubby Iranian-made Bahman cigarettes.”46 This vignette shows that although rules are generally more lax on the mountains, the morality police do have a presence.

When women do not wear veils on the mountains, a need for secrecy also exists, sometimes because of well-founded fears of censorship. Newsha Tavakolian says, “As a photographer who has been taking pictures for about 18 years in Iran, I always walk a narrow line. A security guard followed me everywhere in Dizin — not to stop me from talking to men, but to keep an eye on my work. ‘Make sure the women you take pictures of have appropriate headscarves,’ he warned me. My profession here is always under scrutiny by both the government and the public, with all worried about their image.”47 Outside of ski resorts, women in Iran are subject to conservative dress. “Although Iranian women are not as restricted as nearby Saudi Arabia, the country’s gender relations often make headlines, most recently with reports of vigilante attacks on women who don’t conform to religious dress codes,” an article by Huck (magazine) writes.48 “In Iran, they have virtue police. Women can be arrested because their 42 Laurence Cornet and Gaia Squarci, “The Iranian Female Snowboarder Challenging Perceptions of Gender in the Middle East.”

43 Arron Merat, “‘I Feel Freer Here’ – High Times on Iran’s Ski Slopes.”

44 “Could Iran Be the next Place You Go Snow Skiing?”

45 Gaia Squarci, “Sloping off: Skiing in Iran.”

46 Arron Merat, “‘I Feel Freer Here’ – High Times on Iran’s Ski Slopes.”

47 Newsha Tavakolian, “Finding Freedom at a Ski Resort in Iran.”

48 Laurence Cornet and Gaia Squarci, “The Iranian Female Snowboarder Chal-

veils are too far back on their head, wearing too much make-up, or acting a certain way. The Islamic Republic of Iran maintains intense publication restrictions for journalists and social media users. The government blocks nearly 5 million websites and actively filters the kind of web content Iranian citizens can view,” writes Teton Gravity Research.49 When it comes to international competitions, women are subjected to the normal conservative Islamic dress. For example, Iran sent a female skier to the 2012 Vancouver Winter Olympics and before the event, the Islamic Republic made a statement that “The chosen competitor will ski in ‘full Islamic dress.’” 50 Olympic female skier Marjan Kalhor said that “Skiing is a sport where you have to be fully dressed. So there is no problem with clothes. I shall observe the Islamic dress code.”51 Mona Seraji dismisses the importance of restrictions on dress in her country. She states, “Freedom is not about what you wear.

It’s about choosing what to do with your life.”52 The most onerous restrictions that females experience have eased on the slopes and elite women snowboarders do not appear to find the remaining restraints unreasonable.

The Transnationality of Snowboarding Holly Thorpe describes internationally recognized ski resorts and hosts of global competitions in various countries as “snowboarding’s great cathedrals... places of pilgrimage, where like- minded devotees from all over the world congregate during the holy season of winter.”53 Many snowboarders experience a desire to explore new mountains and unfamiliar territory or cultures. Hannah Teter explains why snowboarding in Iran and the Alborz Mountains was appealing to her. She states that “as a snowboarder, we’re constantly wanting to rip around at places we’ve yet to experience. I am also looking forward to the cultural aspect of being in this foreign land with a different mindset than I’m used to.”54 As Thorpe summarizes, “Approaching the sport from a position of privilege, many snowboarders also travel extensivelylocally, nationally, internationally and virtually- in pursuit of a new terrain, fresh snow and social interactions and cultural connections.”55 Western Accounts of Snowboarding in Iran lenging Perceptions of Gender in the Middle East.”

49 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

50 Metsa Rahimi, “Iran to Send Female Skier to Winter Games.”

51 Samira Simone, “Olympic Dream a Reality for Iran’s Female Skier” (CNN, Cable News Network, 10 Feb. 2010).

52 Laurence Cornet and Gaia Squarci, “The Iranian Female Snowboarder Challenging Perceptions of Gender in the Middle East.”

53 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration,” 184.

54 Snowboard Film Boarders Without Borders Takes Hannah Teter and Gabi Viteri to Iran.”

55 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration.”

Articles on snowboarding tourism are written and produced by Western news sources for Western audiences. They capture the surprise many Westerners feel about the existence of snowboarding and women’s participation in Iran. They discuss snowboarding as being out of one’s comfort zone, but also frequently assure its safety. They advertise cheap lift tickets at Iranian ski mountains but are not secretive about caveats of skiing in Iran. They are informational, transparent and cautious, but ultimately promotional of snowboarding in Iran, also providing insight into the West’s view of modern-day Iran and Iranians.

1. Safe Iran is painted by Western media as being out of one’s comfort zone; a place far from the security of Western comforts. Teton Gravity Research further explains the unfamiliarity many Western snowboarders feel about Iran, writing “Last spring, four elite, female mountain athletes from Europe went way, way out of their comfort zones to a place with a very restrictive set of behavioral standards: Iran.”56 Professional snowboarder Gabi Viteri also explains this fear: “The biggest challenge [about snowboarding in Iran] which isn’t really much to me is hearing everyone tell me I shouldn’t go. I hear this daily, but it doesn’t bother me.” 57 Viteri touches upon the fear of traveling to Iran. Mountain Heaven, who claim to be the first British ski tour company to provide skiing holidays to Iran, appears aware of safety fears.

They attempt to reassure would-be tourists, stating on their website that “Iran is a very safe, beautiful and friendly country with outstanding food and culture. It is an ideal destination for men, women and children, who will be welcome not just on the Mountain Heaven escorted tour but also by the ski community in Iran.”58 The advertisement provides comfort and reassurance to a Western reader that Iran is safe to visit and snowboard in.

2. Cheap Western articles also commonly advertise cheap lift ticket prices at Iranian mountains to their audience. The New York Post, for example, writes that at the Dizin ski resort, “Ticket prices run a humane $20-$25 per day, depending on the pass.”59 An article by The Economist article similarly states that at, “The resort of Dizin… A day-pass costs a mere $20.”60 The choice of the words “humane” and “mere,” while perhaps patronizing, are meant to appeal to its readers and encourage them to go to Iran. The media’s rhetoric embodies the idea that, while Western sources may be ignorant, patronizing, or even orientalist at times, they often aim to support Iran’s tourism industry and the development of these winter sports.

56 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

57 Kailee Bradstreet, “‘Boarders Without Borders’ Shines Spotlight On Iran” (Adventure Sports Network, Adventure Sports Network, 3 Nov. 2016).

58 MacKenzie Ryan, “Lady Shredders Rip Iran’s Backcountry.”

59 Chris, Bunting, “10 Reasons Why You Should Skip the Alps and Ski in Iran.”

60 “Off Piste in the Islamic Republic.”

3. Caveats Articles on visiting Iran as a tourist to snowboard also lend insight into constraints involved for outsiders visiting the country. An article by The Economist states that “There are snags, however. Women must wear headscarves (though female skiers tend to bend this rule). Men may not wear shorts. Alcohol is forbidden (though booze and indeed drugs do circulate, so the après-ski is not as tame as you might expect). Until sanctions are lifted, credit and debit cards won’t work, so visitors must carry large wads of cash.” 61 Through stylistic use of parentheses and the word “though” however, the author frames the drawbacks in such a way that they do not seem detrimental to one’s snowboarding experience in Iran. Thorpe explains the universality of these drawbacks: “The transnational mobilities of snowboarding lifestyle migrants are facilitated and constrained by various factors, including work and travel visas, travel and accommodation costs, employment opportunities and wages, languages and exchange rates.”62 Western-Made Ski and Snowboarding Films in Iran The unknown and striking nature of Iran for many Westerners has resulted in the production of many ski films that portray the “24-hour-a-day-adventure.” 63 Western-made films share a common reaction to snowboarding in Iran: that of surprise, an element of exoticism and fascination, and sometimes hints of patronization.

This section will analyze the following Western-made ski films shot in Iran: The Red Bull documentary “Let it Ride/ Craig Kelly: Snowboarding’s First Ambassador” highlighting Craig Kelly’s 1996 documentary (original 1996 documentary could not be found), “Boarders without Borders” (2012, never released), “Ski Emotion Iran” (2013), “We Ride in Iran” (2015), and Red Bull’s “Snowmads” video series (2016).

The Red Bull documentary “Let it Ride/ Craig Kelly: Snowboarding’s First Ambassador” features Craig Kelly, his snowboarding achievements, and his traveling around the world to uncharted territories to snowboard. The film recaps Kelly’s original 1996 documentary which takes place in Iran. Skiing has existed in Iran since the late 1930’s, but Kelly is reported to be the first to snowboard in Iran. The film exoticizes the country, painting it as a mysterious land of unknowns. In “Let it Ride,” Kelly is shown in Tehran in 1996 saying “Traveling with friends in countries that had never seen or heard snowboarding created its own challenges. I like travelling to third world countries. Even though in Iran, it was totally restrictive what we could do.”64 Though not explicitly stated, Kelly is likely referencing challenging modes of transport or lift infrastructure not up to date. What Kelly says resembles 61 “Off Piste in the Islamic Republic.”

62 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration.”

63 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration,” 324.

64 “Let it Ride,” Red Bull (YouTube, YouTube, 14 Apr. 2016).

the drawbacks of snowboarding in Iran, as discussed by Western news sources and tourism companies. Also similar to other Western media, Kelly expresses positive feelings and admiration about Iranian snowboarding in an unintentional, subtle and indirect promotion of the activity.

A friend of Kelly reports that “When we went there, there was not a lot of snowboarding in Iran. The last night we were in Tehran and [some Iranians] invited us in their house. That was our first experience really of going into the house of Iranian people.”65 He continues, “We come in and there’s six girls waiting for us. Miniskirts, you know, the whole thing. So we all go, ‘Wow!’ And they were all over us. I mean we just had a blast, it was fun. The next day was not that fun.”66 The Westerner’s surprise over liberal activity in Iran is evident here and continues the theme that religious laws are more laxly enforced in the mountains.

The theme of Iran as fresh and uncharted, outlined in snowboard tourist literature, is evident in the film industry. A review of Hannah Teter’s movie “Boarders without Borders,” made in 2012, states: “It’s fair to say that an action sports film that shines a spotlight on international affairs, while delving into the exploration of brand new territory with Olympic athletes is exploring new territory both literally and metaphorically.”67 The review of the film encapsulates the element of the unknown that is common amongst Western media. The film also highlights how the transnational nature of snowboarding has brought Western athletes and artists to Iran. In an interview with Gabi Viteri, she says “This film is going to capture more of the culture and location of where we are traveling than snowboarding. It is going to give the viewers a feel of what snowboarding is like across the world in a totally different country and what snowboarding brings and means to their community.”68 The filmmaker acknowledges her aim to produce a work of cultural anthropology showcasing a slice of modern-day Iran.

The director of “Boarders Without Boarders,” Nick Catania, emphasizes the Western surprise at the existence of snowboarding in Iran. He says, “Among the casual and even dedicated snowboarding fan, virtually nobody is aware of the existence of these slopes and the crowds of Iranian and Mideast youth that flock there during the season. Even among world-traveling riders, the percentage of people who were aware of the champagne powder in the Alborz mountains was near zero.”69 Catania illustrates the idea that Westerners have very poor knowledge of the people or landscape of Iran, and are therefore surprised upon learning about the snowboarding there.

The 2013 film “Ski Emotion Iran” highlights challenges involved for Westerners seeking to ski in Iran. The video begins with someone trying to get a visa to go to 65 66 67 68 69

“Let it Ride.”

“Let it Ride.”

Kailee Bradstreet, “‘Boarders Without Borders’ Shines Spotlight On Iran.”

Kailee Bradstreet, “‘Boarders Without Borders’ Shines Spotlight On Iran.”

Kailee Bradstreet, “‘Boarders Without Borders’ Shines Spotlight On Iran.”

Iran. Iranian music plays in the background, perhaps as an attempt to engage with Iranian culture.70 Clips of driving through local mountain villages and from the streets of Tehran (presumably) are shown, flashing scenes of street views and markets. The images depict fragments of Iranian culture, city life, and of people laughing. These clips likely appealed to the film’s creator because they appear different from the traditional “West.” Besides the skiers featured in the video, no one else is shown on the slopes. 71 The lands appear uncharted and untouched. The filmmakers seem to project a nostalgia for the past, before the appearance of overpopulation, social media, high technology, and over-developed land. There is a feeling of freedom and beauty. The theme of the relative isolation and uncrowded nature of Iran’s ski and snowboard slopes is central to the film.

In 2015, the Swiss organization We Ride in Iran released a ski video narrated in French. The film introduces Sina Shamyani, a ski instructor from Tehran who discusses his childhood in the mountains. Another Iranian ski instructor is interviewed who discusses his love for skiing. They answer questions such as, “is skiing popular in Iran?” and “who in Iran skis?” 72 Shamyani answers that “Yes, yes skiing is very popular in Iran,” but says “Nobody does freeride skiing in Iran.” 73 The other skier explains that skiing is only “for the rich and the local people as it is expensive.”

74 Clips of markets in Tehran are also shown in this film. These are more than just ski videos as they flash scenes from city life and try to encompass culture in Iran.

The video even shows a baker taking bread out of the oven with a voice over of Shamyani saying “when you ski in the powder, it’s like riding on the clouds.” 75 There is a clip of them skiing down the mountain, again with no one else present. The video then flashes to Shamyani saying “freedom,” then back to a clip of him gracefully and innocently falling into fresh snow on his skis, unharmed. 76 This film continues the news media reports of the freedoms found on the ski slopes.

Red Bull, an Austrian energy drink company that promotes action sports throughout the world, released a video series called “Snowmads | A Journey Towards Eastern Suns,” featuring skiing and snowboarding in Iran. The word “snowmads” is a play-off of “snow” and “nomads,” meaning “a member of a people having no permanent abode, and who travel from place to place” or “a person who does not stay long in the same place; a wanderer.”77 The description of the show states “Pro [Austrian] skier Fabian Lentsch is a wanderer, through and through. In a customized fire truck, he sets off on an expedition to explore the peaks of the Middle East.

With a rotating group of wildly different [European] skiers, they wind up on the 70 Chris, Bunting, “10 Reasons Why You Should Skip the Alps and Ski in Iran.”

71 Chris, Bunting, “10 Reasons Why You Should Skip the Alps and Ski in Iran.”

72 “We Ride in Iran.”

73 “We Ride in Iran.”

74 “We Ride in Iran.”

75 “We Ride in Iran.”

76 “We Ride in Iran.”

77 “Nomad | Definition of Nomad in English by Oxford Dictionaries” (Oxford Dictionaries | English, Oxford Dictionaries).

tour of a lifetime.”78 As Thorpe describes “Some make a living from sponsorships with snowboarding companies who pay salaries based primarily on niche media coverage (including snowboarding videos and magazines). Some of these athletes are paid to travel to exotic and remote locations to pioneer new spaces and places (such as Alaska, Antarctica, Iran, Japan, New Zealand, Russia; see Barr 2007); their exploits are then covered in snowboard magazines, films and websites.”79 Three episodes will be reviewed. “Fresh Tracks in Iran” (Episode 4) explores a group of skiers at Shemshak ski resort in Iran. Similar to “Ski Emotion Iran,” the film features freshly fallen snow on the mountains. It is beautiful, expansive, unskied territory, and upbeat music plays in the background. It targets an audience eager for adventure and the uncharted unknown. The crew has a local guide. One crew member says “it’s my third time in Iran now and I’m still overwhelmed. Every day you see something new, meet new people. It’s just great. I’m glad we spent a few months here.”80 In the next episode, “Camping and Skiing in Iranian Solitude” (Episode 5), similar scenes are shown. This episode covers week two of the crew’s trip to Iran. A video flashes of the film crew looking at a map, perhaps reflecting a nostalgia for the past or a fascination with the unknown. The crew faces the challenge of having to drive down an un-shoveled, rocky dirt road. Another scene shows the group stopping at the only house in a very remote village near the mountains. The Iranian hosts are hospitable, generously serving tea and feeding the group of foreigners. One member of the Red Bull crew says “Everything is really basic, they are super happy here.”81 Finally, “Journey to the Persian Gulf ” (Episode 6), continues to show Lentsch and his friends “adventuring in the Middle East,” specifically to Khafr mountain in southern Iran.82 The crew rides in the van, photographing and filming local villages on the lookout for good snow. Again, local Iranians demonstrate incredible hospitality, stopping for them on the side of the road to offer bread and water. One member of the Red Bull crew says “People in Europe tell you Iran is bad, Iran is terrorist, and you come here and actually it is the most hospitable, friendly, helping people I have seen in my whole life.” 83 The Red Bull members have their photos taken with locals. The video offers an optimistic sense of adventure in Iran, depicting themes seen over and over again in the present paper. Contrary to perceptions that Iranians hate Americans, the Iranian people are portrayed as highly hospitable to Westerners.

78 Red Bull, “Snowmads, a Journey Towards Eastern Suns” (YouTube, YouTube, 14 Apr. 2016).

79 Holly Thorpe, “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration,” 324.

80 Red Bull, “Snowmads: Fresh Tracks in Iran | Episode 4” (YouTube, YouTube, 7 Apr. 2016).

81 Red Bull, “Snowmads: Camping and Skiing in Iranian Solitude | Episode 5” (YouTube, YouTube, 14 Apr. 2016).

82 Red Bull, “Snowmads: Journey to the Persian Gulf | Episode 6” (YouTube, YouTube, 22 Apr. 2016).

83 Red Bull, “Snowmads: Journey to the Persian Gulf.”

Themes from snowboard films echo those seen earlier in themes from snowboard tourists; a fascination with previously unknown regions and Iranian people, a concern with safety, and unexpected hospitality contrasted with expected hostility. The snowboard videos offer inspiration to those from other cultures to go snowboarding and exploring in Iran.

Conclusion This paper adopts a cultural anthropological perspective to present a contemporary analysis of a sliver of Iranian sport and leisure: snowboarding. Primary sources offer a glimpse into the sport in contemporary Iran. Because the reporters were mostly members of the Western media and film industry, observations lend insight not only into a growing passion of snowboarding in Iran, but also into Western observers.

To the shock of Western audiences Iran has first-class snowboarding resorts. Western media highlight freedoms not found in Iranian cities and the advances made in women’s rights and freedoms on the slopes. Three forms of Western-made media were analyzed: articles by news sources, advertisements by tourism companies, and films by snowboarders and cinematographers. The articles written by Western media outlets commonly reflect surprise that snowboarding exists in Iran and their content is tailored to Western readers. Advertisements by tourism companies suppress Western qualms about snowboarding in Iran to encourage the use of their businesses, and news media sources reassure Westerners that snowboarding in Iran is safe. Sources emphasize cheap lift ticket prices and are promotional in nature.

Finally, ski films in Iran portray a dream-like world for snowboarders across the world, full of culture, adventure, and a nostalgia for the past. These three forms of Western media document the friendly and hospitable nature of the Iranian people and stand in stark contrast to the political commentary on the Islamic Republic of Iran by most Western media. Snowboarding has allowed the media to take a closer look at the people living under the Republic, differentiating them from their state. The transnational nature of snowboarding has brought Western news sources, snowboarding tour companies, and filmmakers to Iran, and in turn, led them to promote snowboarding in Iran. The various forms of Western-made media contribute modestly to the globalization of Iran by encouraging increased interconnectedness and interdependence of people across the world and Iran.

The transnational nature of snowboarding has contributed to the easing of religious law restrictions in Iran’s ski mountains; women and men are able to snowboard side by side, women dress less conservatively, and there is greater gender equality. Youth also host and attend parties in the mountains, and many Iranians describe a greater feeling of freedom at these higher altitudes. The transnationality of snowboarding liberalized Iran’s ski mountains in two ways. First, foreigners, specifically Westerners, traveled to Iran’s ski mountains, resulting in the opening of Iran to, “increasingly fast flows of goods, services, finance, people and ideas,” especially through film.84 84

“Globalization” (World Health Organization, World Health Organization, 1

Second, the transnational nature of the sport and travel restrictions for many Iranians has encouraged Iranian youth to gain exposure to liberal online snowboarding media and culture across the world. The ever-increasing presence of Westerners on the ski slopes and the rapidly increasing number of competitive snowboarders competing in Western countries (and alongside Western competitors) is a small vector for the Westernization of Iran and, conversely, Westerners eager to travel to exotic lands for snowboarding may grow accultured to Iran and the viewpoint of Iranians.

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“Snowboard Film Boarders Without Borders Takes Hannah Teter and Gabi Viteri to Iran.” ESPN, ESPN Internet Ventures, www.espn.com/espnw/ news-commentary/article/7797237/snowboard-film-boarders-borders-takes-hannah-teter-gabi-viteri-iran.

Snowsc. “Iran Ski Resorts: Jobs, Accommodation, Terrain, Visas and Culture.” Snow Season Central, www.snowseasoncentral.com/work-awinter-snow-season-iran.

Squarci, Gaia. “Sloping off: Skiing in Iran.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 29 Jan. 2016, www.theguardian.com/travel/gallery/2016/ jan/29/sloping-off-skiing-in-iran.

“Swiss Ski Instructors Help Boost Ski Industry in Iran.” The Local, The Local, 16 Feb. 2017, www.thelocal.ch/20170216/swiss-ski-instructors-helpboost-ski-industry-in-iran.

Tavakolian, Photographs Newsha. “Finding Freedom at a Ski Resort in Iran.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 4 Mar. 2016, www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/03/06/magazine/voyages-dizin-iran.html.

Thorpe, Holly. “Transnational Boarding Bodies: Travel, Tourism, and Lifestyle Sport Migration. In: Snowboarding Bodies in Theory and Practice.

Global Culture and Sport Series.” Palgrave Macmillan, London, 2011.

“Warren Miller’s Cold Fusion: Iran,” Echoboom Sports. YouTube, YouTube, 6 Nov. 2017, www.youtube.com/watch?v=00G5omvUCGs. “We Ride in Iran,” Vimeo, 6 Dec. 2018, vimeo.com/149497499.

“Work at Snowboard Resorts for a Winter Season.” Snow Season Central, www.snowseasoncentral.com/.

CLEANSING HELLAS: JEWS, CHAMS, AND SLAV MACEDONIANS IN POST-OTTOMAN GREECE Andreas Koch

Cleansing Hellas: Jews, Chams, and Slav Macedonians in Post-Ottoman Greece By: Andreas Koch Introduction When Greek troops marched into Salonica in October 1912, a British observer commented that “the Jewish community of Salonika looks forward to a perpetuation of the Greek regime with a total absence of enthusiasm, if not with serious apprehension”1. Katherine E. Fleming, who penned a significant modern history of Greece’s Jews, argued that “the shift from Ottoman to Greek rule was an excruciatingly complicated and problematic one for Salonika’s Jews”2. She adds that difficulties “derived as much from the disappearance of empire as from the imposition of the Greek nation-state in its place”3. While the Ottoman Empire’s had long been characterized by its diversity of religious and linguistic communities, the modern Greek state to this day identifies itself as a homogeneous nation-state. Greek state nationalism is built on the twin pillars of the Greek language and Greek Orthodox Christianity. While it recognizes the existence of Muslim, Jewish, and Catholic religious minorities, the Greek nation-state stresses its linguistic homogeneity, as well as its overwhelmingly Orthodox Christian character.

Greek nationalism thus exerted a number of pressures on Salonican Jewry after 1913. Through compulsory Greek language instruction, Salonican Jews were obligated to learn the national language, at the expense of Ladino or French. Legislation like the Sunday-rest law were designed to displace Jews from their dominant position in Salonica’s economy. State urban planning after the 1917 fire physically displaced the Jewish community from its central location in the city. Beyond official policy, anti-Semitism was expressed by bigoted politicians and by the Greek ultranationalist press, contributing to outbreaks of anti-Jewish violence like the Campbell riots of 1935. Between 1941 and 1944, Greek institutions and individuals facilitated or profited from the deportation and near-total extermination of Salonica’s Jews by the Nazi occupiers.

What of Greece’s other minorities? Despite the 1923 population exchange, some Muslim communities remain in the country to this day. The officially recognized Muslim minority of Thrace includes speakers of Turkish and Pomak (a Slavic dialect). Until their expulsion in the 1940s, Albanian-speaking Muslims, known as Chams lived in north-western Greece. Despite its claim to linguistic homogeneity, the modern Greek state since 1830 has also contained significant Christian minorities speaking languages other than Greek. These include the Arvanites (who speak 1 K.E. Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), 68.

2 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 88.

3 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 88.

an Albanian dialect), the Vlachs or Aromanians (whose Latin language resembles Romanian), and Slav Macedonians. To the list of Christian ‘minorities’, one could add Asia Minor refugees like the ‘Karamanlides’ who spoke Turkish, and the Pontic Greeks who spoke a distinctive dialect of Greek, before they were assimilated into Greek society. Although they were officially ‘Greek’ by virtue of their Orthodox Christian faith and Turkish persecution, these refugees were often treated as aliens by conservative politicians in the interwar years, as well as by local Greeks. From the time of independence, the Greek state usually sought to downplay, deny or eliminate the existence of linguistic minorities within its territory.

While this paper will mention a number of religious and linguistic minorities, it will focus on the case of the Albanian-speaking Muslim ‘Chams’ of Epirus and the Slav Macedonian Christians. By putting their experiences of Greek rule in conversation with those of Salonican Jews, I aim to demonstrate a number of things.

Firstly, Salonican Jews were not the only community facing a difficult transition from imperial rule to the Greek nation-state. I would even argue that minorities like the Christian Slav Macedonians and Muslim Chams generally faced more aggressive and coercive assimilation policies at the hands of Greek state than did Sephardi Jews. Secondly, I hope to show the uneven nature of the Greek state’s attitude towards its various linguistic or religious minorities, which could be influenced by domestic politics, international pressure or fears of irredentism. Third, I will address how the mass violence of the 1940s affected these three minorities. For the vast majority of Greece’s Jews, the Axis occupation brought deportation and death, while the survivors often faced hostility or indifference from post-war Greek society. Nevertheless, the post-war Greek state did commit itself to the restitution of Jewish property to survivors and approved the reinstatement of Salonica’s Jewish community. On the other hand, the Greek authorities favored a policy of ethnic cleansing against Cham Muslims and Slav Macedonians, due to their association with the occupying forces or with the post-war communist insurgency.

Hellenization in the “Old Greece” With independence secured in 1830, the new Greek Kingdom took on the task of forging a nation-state on the “twin pillars”4 of the Greek language and the Greek Orthodox faith. Although most Muslims and Jews had been massacred or expelled from its territory, Greece’s Christian population was itself linguistically diverse.

Under the Ottoman millet system, Greeks, Vlachs and Arvanites had all been referred to as “Rum” (“Romans”, used as a synonym for Greeks), in virtue of their Greek Orthodox faith. The revolution had been led and fought by Christian Arvanites like Lascarina Bouboulina and Andreas Miaoulis, as well as Greeks, and many warlords were bilingual or trilingual. According to an 1879 Greek census, hundreds of thousands of Arvanite speakers lived throughout the Greek kingdom. “In cities like Athens, Arvanites lived in separate neighborhoods, but all had a strong pres4

Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 21; Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History.

ence within the city”, making up a third of the Athenian population5. While Vlachs were less numerous in the Old Greece, they also participated in the independence struggle. From 1834 to 1835, the country was even governed by a Prime Minister of Vlach origin, Ioannis Kolettis.

In their effort to forge a unified, homogenous Greek nation out of this Ottoman diversity, Greek nationalists relied on a “centralized national school system, which was controlled and administered by the state”6. This ‘Hellenization’ policy was facilitated by the prestige which the Greek language had enjoyed in the Byzantine and Ottoman periods, as the language of commerce and of the Ecumenical Patriarchate.

Non-Greek speakers and multilingual speakers “found that a command in the Greek language was a major social and economic advantage for themselves and their children. Aromanian (Vlach), Arvanite (Tosk Albanian), and Slavic speakers often encouraged their children to choose Greek over their local languages. While many of these groups continued to maintain their languages (at home), they learned to identify as being Greek.7 Ironically, the Arvanite language seems to have survived better than other languages in Greece since 1830, largely “because Arvanitic-speaking communities were not in the area of expansion for the Greek state”8. The assimilation of Arvanites within the borders of ‘Old Greece’ was therefore comparatively mild compared to the more forceful methods which would characterize Greek policy in Epirus, Macedonia, and Thrace from 1912 onwards.

Minorities in Greece’s “New Territories” As they had done in most cases, Ottoman authorities ignored linguistic differences among the ‘Rum millet’ in the European provinces until the late 19th Century. According to Mark Mazower, the Patriarchate (of Constantinople) shared the same outlook; it was indifferent to whether its flock spoke Greek, Vlach, Bulgarian or any other language or dialect. As for the illiterate Slav-speaking peasants tilling the fields, they rarely felt strongly about either Greece or Bulgaria and when asked which they were, many in5 Theodore Zervas, Formal and Informal Education during the Rise of Greek Nationalism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 52.

6 Zervas, Formal and Informal Education during the Rise of Greek Nationalism, 17.

7 Zervas, Formal and Informal Education during the Rise of Greek Nationalism, 20.

8 Zervas, Formal and Informal Education during the Rise of Greek Nationalism, 54.

sisted on being known simply, as they had been for centuries, as ‘Christians’.9 However, in 1872, the ‘Bulgarian Exarchate’ seceded from the Greek-dominated Patriarchate of Constantinople and sought to extend its jurisdiction over Macedonia’s Slav Orthodox Christians. Henceforth, those Slavs who pledged allegiance to the Exarchate were counted as ‘Bulgarian’, while those who stuck with the Patriarchate were seen as ‘Greek’. In this way, Orthodox Christian religious affiliation was itself divided and redefined along ‘Greek’ or ‘Bulgarian’ ethno-linguistic allegiances, in the run-up to the Balkan Wars.

In addition to Bulgaria, the Greek state competed with Serbia and the Albanian nationalist movement to claim the inhabitants of Ottoman Macedonia as its own.

Hellenization efforts were directed at the region’s Albanian, Vlach, and Slavic Christian populations both through political propaganda and Greek schools.

Between 1897 and 1905, the Greek government was aggressive in its pursuit of opening Greek schools in order to claim the Macedonian region. […] At the same time, many minority groups were willing to attend Greek schools, as they saw fluency in Greek as a major social and economic advantage for themselves and their children. Greek schools were also better funded than other schools in the region.10 Vlachs in particular tended to embrace Greek identity and many went on to hold positions in the institutions of the Greek state. While some Macedonian Slavs also claimed a ‘Greek’ identity, many instead identified with Bulgaria, whose language was similar to their own Slav-Macedonian dialects. Others joined the ranks of a fledgling ‘Macedonian’ movement, which favored an autonomous Macedonian state.

Between 1912 and 1913, Greece’s military successes against the Ottomans and the Bulgarians in the Balkan Wars extended Greek sovereignty into Epirus, much of Macedonia and western Thrace. The fall of Salonica was met with dismay by the city’s Jewish community, who feared the end of their “economic prosperity”11 and communal autonomy. In the months following annexation, the Greek government “proclaimed its willingness to protect Jewish interests in particular and the country’s new minorities in general”12. The President of Salonica’s Jewish Community, Jacob Cazes, therefore petitioned for the official recognition of the Community and 9 10 55.

11 12

Mark Mazower, Salonica, City of Ghosts (New York: Alfred Knopf, 2005), 242.

Zervas, Formal and Informal Education during the Rise of Greek Nationalism, Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 68.

Mazower, Salonica, City of Ghosts, 162.

others in Greece, along with the right to operate Jewish schools and to teach Jewish languages, in addition to that of the state, and to administer Jewish hospitals and other philanthropic institutions…(and) that the members of each Jewish Community be exempt from observing Sunday as the day of rest.13 Although officials of the Liberal Venizelist government “initially opposed the existence of self-governing communal bodies within (the country’s) borders”14, the royalist government which was elected in 1920 granted Jacob Cazes’ requests, albeit in the name of ‘religious’ rather than ‘national’ rights15.

In the wake of the Balkan Wars, many Muslims residing in the New Territories fled to Turkey. Those who weren’t compelled to leave by wartime violence faced expropriations and other restrictions on their property rights. In 1923, the Treaty of Lausanne stipulated the mandatory ‘exchange’ of Greece’s ‘Turks’ (about four hundred thousand) for Turkey’s ‘Greeks’ (up to one and a half million)16, with religion serving as the criterion for ‘Greekness’ and ‘Turkishness’. While the Muslim minority of Thrace was exempted from the exchange under the Greco-Turkish agreement, the Albanian-speaking Cham Muslims of Epirus were also spared expulsion in extremis, despite the strong Greek preference for their removal. Due to Albanian and Italian pressure, the Greek state classified the Chams as being of ‘Albanian’ rather than Turkish descent in 1925, thus exempting them from the population exchange17. Nevertheless, the Chams continued to face legal restrictions on their property rights and harassment by state officials, as well as the denial of any significant cultural rights.

As for the Slavs of Macedonia, over 280’000 fled to Bulgaria between 1912 and the 1920s, either due to armed conflict or as part of ‘voluntary’ populations exchanges. Those who fled as refugees were often denied re-entry by Greek officials, and pro-Bulgarian activists were deported to islands in the Aegean. The resettlement of refugees from Anatolia would also play a large role in the displacement of Slavs.

According to Victor Roudometof, the net result of these population movements was the near extinction of the Slavic population in (central and eastern) Greek Macedonia and the creation of an enclave of Slavic speakers in north-

13 Devin Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016), 48.

14 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 49.

15 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 50.

16 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 82.

17 Lambros Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” European Journal of Turkish Studies, no. 12 (2011).

western Greek Macedonia […] Slav speakers eventually became the Greek nation-state’s ‘Other’ – a group stigmatized because of its cultural features.18 Hellenizing the economy, Hellenizing the land Before the arrival of the Asia Minor refugees, the population of Salonica had been roughly 30 percent Greek Orthodox, 25 percent Muslim, and 40 percent Jewish. In Macedonia as a whole, 513,000 Greek-speaking Christians had constituted 43 percent of the population19. The arrival of hundreds of thousands of refugees, which accelerated in 1922 provided the nationalist Venizelist government with the opportunity “to resolve the long-standing problem of Macedonia’s ethnic homogeneity”20. By 1926, the refugee influx had made Salonica 80 percent Greek, with Jews now making up just 15 to 20 percent. The new demographic reality, as well as the reconstruction of Salonica’s center after the 1917 fire allowed Greek authorities to displace Jews from the city’s economy in favor of the refugees. Between 1922 and 1924, Greek local or national legislation forced out Jews working in the port and the fishing business, imposed Sunday as a mandatory rest-day and disproportionately taxed Jewish businesses. Refugees enjoyed exemptions from taxes and fees, allowing them to give “tough competition to the Jewish merchants”21.

In Epirus, refugee resettlement went hand in hand with pre-existing policies aimed at pressuring Muslim Chams to emigrate. In 1923, Greek refugees from Asia Minor as well as local pastoralist Greeks and Vlachs were settled in Cham areas and were “used as a tool for applying more pressure against Muslims for them to decide to leave Greece”22. The newcomers took advantage of the land expropriation laws targeting Muslims since the Balkan Wars, and often settled in the houses of local Muslims. Local authorities encouraged these spontaneous appropriations or assisted them with “harassment tactics…carried out by local paramilitary groups” 23.

Local initiatives against the Cham Muslims were generally approved by the central government, as attested by a letter from the sub-prefecture of Thyamis in Epirus to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1935: “All of our services, but most of all the sub-prefecture and the Gendarmerie of Filiates and Igoumenitsa are working hard to reinforce the [migration] flow”.24 Continued state harassment, restrictions on property rights and encroachment by refugees “gradually led to the financial devastation of the Muslim population”25.

18 Victor Roudometof, Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict (London: Praeger, 2002), 97.

19 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 86.

20 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 87.

21 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 84.

22 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 34.

23 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 33.

24 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 45.

25 Ibid, 35.

Massive refugee settlement in the Macedonian countryside also had a huge impact on the remaining Slav Macedonian peasant population. While certain Greek officials attributed Slav emigration to “their persistent Bulgarophile sentiments…a more likely reason was the social pressure exerted on the Slav Macedonians by the incoming refugees, who in many instances made life unbearable for the former”26.

According to Elisabeth Kontogiorgi, During the inter-war period, two attitudes had been formulated concerning the assimilation of the Slavophones. The first aimed at assimilation through economic integration (through) land reform (and) rural development…The second proposed the expulsion of the Slavophones through the establishment of as many refugees as possible in the region.27 The second option quickly became the preferred policy, due to the vast number of refugees arriving in the countryside. Asia Minor refugees were therefore encouraged to settle in sensitive border areas “where the Slavophone element was, from a Greek point of view, uncomfortably large”28. In parts of central and eastern Macedonia where a certain number of Slavs had remained up until 1923, “refugees lodged themselves in their houses and properties and did their best to frustrate their owners to the point where they would be obliged to leave”29. In villages where refugees settled, authorities quickly changed the old Slavic names and renamed them after the places of origin of the newcomers, or simply translated the old names into Greek.

Due to Prime Minister Venizelos’ staunchly pro-refugee and anti-minority policies in the 1920s, Jews, Chams, and Slav Macedonians massively voted for the royalist People’s Party throughout the interwar period. Royalist politicians in the predominantly Slavic region of Florina even “proceeded to speak the ‘local language’ during electoral campaigns and were harshly criticized by Greek nationalists”30. Yet the short-lived royalist governments were unwilling or unable to reverse pro-refugee policies which disproportionately impacted these minorities.

Schooling and language 26 Elisabeth Kontogiorgi, Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), 204.

27 Kontogiorgi, Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees, 107.

28 Kontogiorgi, Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees, 208.

29 Kontogiorgi, Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees, 212.

30 Kontogiorgi, Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees, 98.

In The Making of Modern Turkey: Nation and State in Eastern Anatolia, 1913-1950, Ugur Ümit Üngör argues that Republican Turkish nationalists viewed non-Turkish Muslim minorities as “assimilable raw ethnic material”31, whose members could be moulded into Turks through aggressive assimilation policies. However, the regime abandoned its belief in sociological categories above biological ones when it came to the non-Muslims, such as Jews, Greeks, Armenians, and perhaps also Syriacs. Although there were attempts to ‘Turkify’ these groups, they were generally essentialized in their identifications and considered largely ‘unturkifiable’.32 After its conquest of Macedonian territories in 1913, the Greek nation-state displayed a similarly differential attitude towards its Christian and non-Christian minorities. On the one hand, the Greek state downplayed the ethnic distinctiveness of its non-Christian citizens. Turkish Muslims were referred to as “Muslim Hellenes”, and Jews as “Jewish Hellenes”. On the other, statesmen like Ioannis Metaxas viewed Jews and Muslims as distinct “races”, who could never be fully Greek. Certain religious minorities usually enjoyed a measure of autonomy in linguistic and cultural matters. Following the stipulations of the Lausanne Treaty, the Muslim community of Thrace to this day runs its schools and courts in Turkish. Salonica’s Jewish community continued to use Ladino in Jewish schools throughout the interwar years, despite the imposition of obligatory Greek language instruction, and the banning of Ladino and Hebrew on Salonican road signs in 1923.33 In 1920, the royalist government passed Law 2456, which stipulated:

Apart from the teaching of Greek as a language, the teaching of history, geography, and science is to be conducted in Greek. The staff to teach the Greek classes will be appointed in the same manner as the staff of Greek state schools. All the other lessons on the curriculum drawn up by each community may be taught in whichever language the community may wish34.

Nevertheless, the right of religious minorities to teach their languages was never simply granted, but rather had to be secured through negotiation. In Salonica, “multilingualism in the curriculum and its implications for national loyalty became hotly contested issues in Jewish education”, and Jewish Community leaders “regularly negotiated the implementation of Jewish educational practices and policies”35 with the Greek authorities. In the late 1930s, controversies erupted over Orthodox 31 Ugur Ümit Üngör, The Making of Modern Turkey: Nation and State in Eastern Anatolia, 1913-1950 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 171.

32 Üngör, The Making of Modern Turkey: Nation and State in Eastern Anatolia, 1913-1950, 172.

33 Fleming, Greece: A Jewish History, 85.

34 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 157.

35 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 157.

Greek teachers attempting to proselytize among their Jewish students, as well as over attempts by the Ministry of Education to exert more control over the curriculum in Jewish schools.36 By 1938, negotiations had led to a compromise through a bilingual Hebrew-Greek curriculum. While Ladino loss its place in the classroom, the Jewish community succeeded in maintaining its own Jewish schools and preserving a place for Jewish religious and cultural education in the curriculum37.

In northwestern Greece, Muslim Chams lobbied the Greek government for the right to operate Albanian-language schools, with little success. In 1935, “half a dozen of teachers were appointed to teach the Albanian language (in Greek public schools), a number that gradually doubled”38. This gesture was made on an “unofficial reciprocal basis vis-à-vis Greek schools operating in Southern Albania”39, and hardly constituted an autonomous system of education. When the lack of educational and cultural rights for Greece’s Chams was raised at the league of Nations in 1936, the Greek official response was dismissive: “in the free public schools, they learn their local idiom through the religious teaching which is given to them in Albanian and is amply sufficient for their cultural needs”40. While Jewish schools were permitted to operate in Salonica, Greek authorities neither permitted the establishment of Albanian schools for the Cham population, nor acknowledged the official existence of an ‘Albanian minority’ in Epirus, due to fears of Albanian irredentism in the region.

For Macedonia’s Slav speakers, the prospect of operating schools in the Slav Macedonian or Bulgarian languages eventually became impossible, due to similar worries about Bulgarian and Serbian irredentism in the region. In many Macedonian villages prior to the 1920s, “almost no one spoke Greek, (and) priests taught children the (Slav) Macedonian language”41. Between 1923 and 1936, “a consistent complaint of Greek nationalists was the fact that the Greek (state) was too weak and hesitant in its dealings with the minority, unwilling to adopt harsh measures against the Slavo-Macedonians and force them to acculturate to Hellenism”42. In 1936, the Slav Macedonian language was banned by the Metaxas dictatorship and locals were persecuted for using it. According to one local, “If you said so much as ‘stop’ or ‘go’ in the local language, you were fined and made to drink Castor oil”43.

The regime also forced Slav-speakers to change their names to Greek ones and sought to enforce the language-ban in all spheres of life. Mr. Fokas, a local Slav Macedonian villager interviewed by the BBC in 2019 recalls 36 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 176.

37 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 182.

38 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 49.

39 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 49.

40 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 50.

41 Denying Ethnic Identity: The Macedonians of Greece, Human Rights Watch (New York, 1994), 40.

42 Roudometof, Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict, 102.

43 Denying Ethnic Identity: The Macedonians of Greece, 39.

policemen eavesdropping on mourners at funerals and listening at windows to catch anyone speaking or singing in the forbidden tongue. There were lawsuits, threats and beatings. Women - who often spoke no Greek - would cover their mouths with their headscarves to muffle their speech, but Mr Fokas’s mother was arrested and fined 250 drachmas, a big sum back then.44 Occupation, Holocaust, Liberation, and Ethnic Cleansing In recent times, Greek complicity in the destruction of the Salonican Jewish community has been widely documented. In many cases, Greek collaborationist authorities assisted in the ghettoization and deportation of the city’s Jews, or simply made no effort to prevent it. One of the more damning episodes of Greek involvement in the Holocaust is the destruction of Salonica’s historic Jewish cemetery by the Municipality of Thessaloniki in 1942. Ever since the 1930s, municipal authorities had pushed for the expropriation of the cemetery in order to expand the Aristotelian University. This effort was successfully resisted by the Jewish Community.

In 1942, after the Nazis had seized Jewish men for forced labor, the municipality identified an opportunity to take advantage of the Jews’ dire predicament, and finally take over the site.

When Jewish notables began to rally to raise a ransom to redeem the laborers, the local Greek authorities requested that the Jews give over their cemetery as part of the deal. According to Yomtov Yacoel (a Jewish lawyer), the German forces agreed to do so even though they were not particularly interested in the fate of Jewish cemeteries in order to ‘satisfy the sentiments of the Christian population’.45 After the deportation of the Jews in 1943, the local city council took steps to further erase the Jewish face of the city, by removing Jewish street names and replacing them with the names of Macedonian geographic landmarks or Greek heroes. Leon Saltiel states: The renaming of the streets that had Jewish names was driven by the need to erase the Jewish character of the city and obliterate its Jewish past. The available evidence points to an initiative of the local Greek authorities, possibly called for by local anti-Semitic circles, without any German intervention, at least in this first phase. […] Since Thessaloniki had become Greek in 1912, certain elements of Greek political life were trying to Hellenize it and turn 44 “Greece’s invisible minority - the Macedonian Slavs,” BBC, 24 Feb 2019 2019, https://www.bbc.com/news/stories-47258809.

45 Naar, Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece, 274.

it into a pure Greek city.

Founded in March 1943, the Greek Service for the Disposal of Jewish Property (YDIP) was theoretically responsible for distributing 2,300 Jewish shops and 12,000 apartments to local Greeks and Greek refugees from the Bulgarian occupied zone.

In practice the Germans often bypassed the YDIP and handed out property to their collaborators46.

In Epirus, the Axis occupation was welcomed by many Chams, whose relations with the Greek state were at an all-time low. In 1940, some Cham refugees in Albania had fought with the invading Italians, who had promised the annexation of Epirus to Albania, and Greek authorities had arrested Cham community leaders as soon as hostilities commenced. When the Greek army reoccupied the area at the turn of 1941 it “exiled nearly the entire male Cham population, and turned a blind eye to the atrocities committed by local Greeks against Chams”47. The return of Italian forces in 1941 therefore provided an opportunity for the Chams to exact revenge on their Christian neighbors, as well as to “regain some of their real estate property and the power they had lost during the preceding decades”48. Cham collaboration continued when Germans troops replaced the Italians in 1943. Cham paramilitaries engaged in battles with the local resistance forces, and “took advantage of the given circumstances in a way historically common to the area: exhibition of their power through atrocities, murders, theft of flocks and any other type of movable property”49. Although many Chams sided with the Axis, some joined the ranks of ELAS, the communist guerilla army which dominated the Greek countryside.

ELAS clashed both with the occupation forces and with the nationalist guerillas of EDES, who were concentrated in Epirus.

When German forces withdrew from the country in October 1944, surviving Jews could finally emerge from hiding. For the Muslim Chams of Epirus, ‘liberation’ meant the beginning of their own violent erasure from Greek territory, at the hands of the vengeful nationalist guerillas of EDES: As the Germans withdrew, battalions of EDES guerillas shot and slaughtered not only the surrendering armed forces of Muslim Chams but also women and children, a practice which they generally adopted when entering Muslim villages. This was mainly the case for the Karvounari, Parga, Trikoryfo (ex-Spatari), Filiates and most of all Paramythia, towns where approximately 300 persons

46 Stratos Dordanas, “The Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and the Christian Collaborators: “Those that are Leaving and What They are Leaving Behind,” in The Holocaust in Greece, ed. Georgos Antoniou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 212.

47 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 56.

48 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 58.

49 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 58.

were murdered. In total more than 1,200 persons were murdered.

Some Albanian sources suggest that the number is as high as approximately 2000. The Muslim population left the country at the end of 1944 and the local Christian population contributed to this exodus by looting and killing, although there were cases where local people offered protection, and thus some lives and properties were saved from the EDES guerillas.50 By 1945, Epirus had been almost entirely ‘cleansed’ of Muslim Chams, with only a tiny number remaining. Only 127 Muslim Chams were counted in the 1951 census, “while the rest, whose number remains unknown and in need of research, converted to Christianity and intermarried with Greeks”51.

Shortly after the end of the German occupation, civil war broke out in Greece in December 1944 between the communists and the royalist government backed by the British. After a ceasefire in spring 1945, the war resumed in March 1946. From 1946 to 1949, the KKE waged an insurgency in the mountains of northern Greece with the assistance of the neighboring communist states. The Greek communists installed a ‘Provisional Government’ in the areas they controlled and attracted massive support from local Slav Macedonians by allowing them to “set up schools, print newspapers, and distribute primers for the teaching of the Macedonian language”52. As a result, the communist military commander Markos Vafiadis estimated that 45% of his fighting force was Slav Macedonian. In 1949, the defeat of the insurgency led to the flight of the insurgents, their families, and many Greek and Slav Macedonian peasants into Yugoslavia and other communist republics.

Struggles for justice, restitution and return As Jewish survivors returned to Salonica in 1945, they faced a struggle to regain their properties and rebuild their shattered lives. Although Jews faced hostility from local Greeks, and witnessed the ongoing destruction of their cemetery, the Greek state did take official steps to rehabilitate its Jewish community and restore property to surviving Jewish owners. In late 1945 the Obligatory Law 808 obliged ‘caretakers’ of Jewish property to surrender their properties to the lawful beneficiaries within fifteen days of the announcement of a relevant statement. In the same spirit, in March 1949 a royal decree created the Organization for the Care and Rehabilitation of the Jews of Greece (OPAIE) to take care of and reinstate any Greek Jews who had been saved from the German 50 51 52

Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 59.

Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 60.

Roudometof, Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict, 103.

gas chambers.53 In practice, restitution was complicated by bureaucracy, the difficulties many survivors faced in proving ownership, and by associations of ‘caretakers’ who lobbied to retain control of their ill-acquired properties54. In addition, the circumstances of the civil war turned erstwhile Nazi collaborators into reliable anti-communists valued by the royalist government, while many Jews who had joined the leftist guerillas during the occupation could face suspicion and imprisonment by the rightwing authorities55.

The magnanimity of the post-war government to Greek collaborators was not extended to the Chams of Epirus. In 1945 and 1946 more than 2100 Chams, mainly males were sentenced in absentia as war criminals and collaborators with the occupation forces.

Their real estate assets (occasionally even those of their spouses and children) were subjected to general confiscation. The same regulations applied for the rest of the Muslim Chams, as persons “who abandoned their properties and acted against the [Greek] nation abroad”. These confiscated properties passed onto the hands of the Greeks, and not always through formal legal means.56 Although the Greek state had not directly carried out the violent ethnic cleansing of Chams in 1944, it clearly viewed their elimination positively, and confirmed this attitude by barring Chams from returning to their lands and by expropriating their lands and properties.

In the case of the Slav Macedonians, ‘ethnic cleansing’ had not truly occurred on any systematic scale in 1949. Instead, both Greeks and non-Greeks who fought against the state in the civil war were deprived of their citizenship and property as they fled the country. Between 1982 and 1985, laws were enacted by the newly elected Socialist PASOK government which allowed civil war refugees to return to Greece and reclaim their property. However, in an act which could be described as ‘retroactive ethnic cleansing’, the law was only applicable to those who were “Greek by genos” (ethnic Greeks)57. Those who identified as Slav Macedonians were therefore denied the right to return. To this day, 30 to 40,000 Slav Macedonian refugees 53 Dordanas, “The Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and the Christian Collaborators: “Those that are Leaving and What They are Leaving Behind,” 221.

54 Maria Vassilikou Philip Carabott, ““New Men vs Old Jews”: Greek Jewry in the Wake of the Shoah, 1945– 1947,” in The Holocaust in Greece, ed. Georgos Antoniou (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 264.

55 Dordanas, “The Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and the Christian Collaborators: “Those that are Leaving and What They are Leaving Behind,” 220.

56 Baltsiotis, “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece,” 63.

57 Roudometof, Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict, 124.

are barred from returning to their homes in northern Greece. According to a 1994 Human Rights Watch report, Slav Macedonian refugees are even barred from visiting on special occasions.

Petra Shorev, a seventy-five-year-old man born in Edessa who lives in Skopje (the capital of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia), crying, told the mission in Bitola that he wants to visit his parents’ graves, but is not allowed into Greece. “My heart is suffering. I am a wounded man. I don’t know if I will be alive tomorrow or next. I go to the border and ask to visit, but the guards won’t let me. […] I left in 1944. I never got a notice that the Greeks had taken away my citizenship. […] I have property in Greece, in Edessa.

I can’t go to claim it, and I was never paid for it”58.

While some Slav properties lie abandoned today, many were redistributed to ‘loyal’ Greeks and Vlachs. Between 1952 and 1958 for instance, a government program resettled hundreds of Vlachs in the border region of Lake Prespa, “most of its original (Slav) inhabitants having fled across the border”59.

Conclusion From its inception, the Greek nation-state pursued the linguistic assimilation of Christian Arvanites and Aromanians. In some cases, particularly in the early decades of the Greek state, linguistic minorities played an active role in their own acculturation. With Greek having been the prestige language of the economy, the intellectual elite, and the Orthodox Church since Byzantine times, many Arvanites and Vlachs embraced the Greek language as a means of social promotion, both before and after Greek independence.

However, Greek policy towards linguistic minorities arguably became harsher in the wake of the Balkan Wars, the First World War, the Greco-Turkish War, and the population ‘transfers’ which followed. Refugees themselves became a crucial tool for Greek nationalists to change the ethnic composition of their new territories, in order to cement Greek claims to the land. Jews as well as other minorities were greatly impacted by these policies of ‘Hellenization’.

Since both the Muslim Chams and the Slav Macedonians were heavily associated with the threat of Albanian and Bulgarian irredentism they faced harsh policies ranging from language-bans to expulsion. Although they also faced suspicion and hostility, Salonican Jews were given more freedom to express a distinct ‘Jewish’ 58 Denying Ethnic Identity: The Macedonians of Greece, 29.

59 Riki Van Boeschoten, “When Difference Matters: Sociopolitical Dimensions of Ethnicity in the District of Florina,” in Macedonia: The Politics of Identity and Difference, ed. Jane Cowan (London: Pluto Press, 2000), 33.

identity. The Slav Macedonian language was banned in public and private by the Metaxas dictatorship in the 1930s, whereas no such draconian measures would ever be taken against Ladino. While Albanian or Bulgarian irredentists within Greece faced imprisonment or exile, Jews in Salonica remained free to openly debate the merits of Jewish nationhood, since Zionism posed no threat to Greek territorial integrity.

In the context of mass violence which characterized the 1940s, most of Salonica’s Jews perished in Nazi death camps, and many Greek individuals and state officials actively participated in the erasure of the Jewish presence from Salonica. Nevertheless, the Greek state did take steps to rehabilitate the survivors of the Holocaust after liberation, albeit inconsistently and ineffectively. On the other hand, the era of ‘liberation’ meant violent expulsion for the Muslim Chams of Epirus as well as many Slav Macedonians. Refugees from both these groups were denied any kind of apology, restitution, or right of return by the Greek state and continue to be denied these rights today.

Bibliography Baltsiotis, Lambros. “The Muslim Chams of Northwestern Greece.” European Journal of Turkish Studies, no. 12 (2011).

Boeschoten, Riki Van. “When Difference Matters: Sociopolitical Dimensions of Ethnicity in the District of Florina.” In Macedonia: The Politics of Identity and Difference, edited by Jane Cowan. London: Pluto Press, 2000.

Denying Ethnic Identity: The Macedonians of Greece. Human Rights Watch (New York: 1994).

Dordanas, Stratos. “The Jewish Community of Thessaloniki and the Christian Collaborators: “Those That Are Leaving and What They Are Leaving Behind.”

In The Holocaust in Greece, edited by Georgos Antoniou. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018.

Fleming, K.E. Greece: A Jewish History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008.

“Greece’s Invisible Minority - the Macedonian Slavs.” BBC, 24 Feb 2019 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/stories-47258809.

Kontogiorgi, Elisabeth. Population Exchange in Greek Macedonia: The Rural Settlement of Refugees. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006.

Mazower, Mark. Salonica, City of Ghosts. New York: Alfred Knopf, 2005.

Naar, Devin. Jewish Salonica : Between the Ottoman Empire and Modern Greece.

Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2016.

Philip Carabott, Maria Vassilikou. ““New Men Vs Old Jews”: Greek Jewry in the Wake of the Shoah, 1945– 1947.” In The Holocaust in Greece, edited by Georgos Antoniou. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018.

Roudometof, Victor. Collective Memory, National Identity, and Ethnic Conflict.

London: Praeger, 2002. Üngör, Ugur Ümit. The Making of Modern Turkey: Nation and State in Eastern Anatolia, 1913-1950. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011.

Zervas, Theodore. Formal and Informal Education During the Rise of Greek Nationalism. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.

THE JEWISH – MUSLIM RELATIONSHIP EXPLORED THROUGH MUSIC IN THE 20TH CENTURY Reem Abdul Majid

The Jewish-Muslim Relationship Explored through Music in the 20th Century Reem Abdul Majid Introduction The Jewish-Muslim relationship in the twentieth century can be thought of as one of great complexity. Following the Tanzimat period, which featured a series of reforms, the idea of a shared Ottoman identity prevailed in the Ottoman Empire. The shared Ottoman identity belonged to the subjects of the Ottoman empire regardless of religious, linguistic, or ethnic identity. A similar model of shared national identity was applied to newly-independent Arab states. The emergence of the modern state in the Arab world fostered new dynamics of citizenry, identity, and religious interaction. Although the Jewish-Muslim relationship can be examined through the aforementioned aspects, the world of music tells a very different story of Jewish-Muslim interaction. Music is a fundamental facet of culture in the Arab world and serves as a form of self-expression and entertainment for people of all social, political, and religious backgrounds. In the early twentieth century, Jews were part and parcel of life in urban cities such as Baghdad, Cairo, and Tunis. Although Jews were a small minority in modern Arab states, the Jewish community made up a large percentage of the population in most cities. In Baghdad, for example, Jews made up one-third of the city’s population.1 Rising anti-Semitism during the inter-war period, between the First World War and the Second World War, had a great impact on the Jewish-Muslim relationship in the Middle East and North Africa. The question of Palestine was one of great importance in the mid-twentieth century, as a Jewish homeland was to be established by the growing Zionist movement. Jewish immigration to Palestine from the Middle East and North Africa increased immensely, eventually leading to the creation of the state of Israel in 1948.2 During the early twentieth century, Arab nationalism emerged as one of the central ideologies in the region. For many Jews and Muslims, Arab nationalism was a way of identification and rejection of European colonialism. Nationalisms such as Iraqi nationalism and Egyptianism surfaced as overlapping ideologies alongside Arab nationalism and served to define identity under the modern Arab state. Certain nationalisms were at times inclusive or exclusive of religious identities. Right-wing nationalist governments were set up in various Arab states and instituted anti-Semitic policies as a response to the emergence of Zionism, even though Zionism did not appeal to or interest most Jews in places like Baghdad.3 The emergence of nationalist movements inevitably altered the political identity of Jews and Muslims, thereby impacting the Jewish-Muslim 1 Orit Bashkin, New Bablyonians: A History of Jews in Modern Iraq (Stanford University Press, 2012).

2 Ibid.

3 Ibid.

relationship as a whole.

Despite the ever-changing political climate of the twentieth century, Jews and Muslims continued to enjoy forms of musical entertainment in cafes and gatherings.4 Music offered both groups a form of expressing culture, identity, and nationalism.

In Baghdad, musical entertainment took place in music halls, where traditional forms of Iraqi music were played and enjoyed by Jews and Muslims alike.5 Cafes in Cairo played the music of Layla Murad, a memorable Jewish Egyptian singer who sang in Arabic to audiences of Jews, Muslims, and Christians.6 This essay will argue that it is crucial to consider music when exploring the Jewish-Muslim relationship in the twentieth century as it provides a unique perspective that is often overlooked in mainstream scholarship on the topic. The Jewish-Muslim relationship of the twentieth century will be explored through a non-elite angle revealed in music, the fueling of certain nationalisms through song, and the violence that erupted in venues of musical entertainment.

Music between the non-elite Music speaks to those who struggle as a way to express themselves and seek acceptance in society.7 It was accessible to those who were educated and non-educated, Jewish and Muslim, elite and non-elite. In Iraq, for example, many instrumentalists and singers were Jewish and belonged to lower social classes. The Cairo Congress of Arab Music in 1932 was the first of its kind. Arab, Turkish, Persian, and European musicologists reached a consensus that Arab music needed to be celebrated independently of European influence.8 The Cairo Congress sought to preserve and vitalize Arab music through the celebration of ‘art’. One of the ways of doing this was inviting the most renowned musicians from across the Arab world (with the exception of the Gulf, whose music would be represented by Iraq). The most popular performances during the conference was the Iraqi delegation led by Muhammad Al-Qubbanchi,9 which included instrumentalists who were all Jewish alongside one Muslim lead singer. The members of the Iraqi delegation were known for their perfection of traditional Iraqi music, such as the Chalghi Baghdad, which was mainly performed by Jewish instrumentalists.10 This form of music was highly respected by audiences similar to that of the Arab and European musicologists of the Cairo Congress. However, there seemed to be a clear divide between the Iraqi instrumentalists’ perception of music and the nature of the Congress. Sami Zou4 Deborah Starr, Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt: Literature, Culture, and Empire (Abindgdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2009).

5 Sami Zoubaida, “Entertainers in Baghdad, 1900-50,” Outside In (2002).

6 Joel Beinin, The Dispersion of Egyptian Jewry (University of California Press, 1998).

7 Starr.

8 Rolf Killius, “Microtones: The Piano and Muhammad Al-Qubanshi – the First Congress of Arabic Music and Early Recordings from Iraq.”

9 Ibid.

10 Zoubaida.

baida depicts the Iraqi Jewish instrumentalists as, “mostly illiterate and traditional men, who dressed in the old Baghdadi fashion.”11 Nevertheless, illiteracy is not a barrier to music -- on the contrary, music can be seen as parallel to literature. The illiteracy of the Jewish instrumentalists proves that the most professional musicians were coming from a non-educated and non-elite background. The elitist attempt of the Cairo Congress to celebrate ‘art’ did not seem to resonate with the Iraqi instrumentalists, who related their form of music to traditions and even violence.

Previous scholarship on the Jewish-Muslim relationship tends to study the elite, possibly due to the inaccessibility of recording information at that time. Therefore, exploring the dynamic presented by Jewish musicians’ interactions with the elitist Congress reveals a unique perspective of the Jewish-Muslim relationship that is otherwise concealed. Furthermore, examining the instrumentalists in the case of the Cairo Congress for Arab Music reveals the class divide apparent within the Jewish-Muslim relationship in the realm of music and art.

Although traditional music was respected and celebrated in the Cairo Congress for Arab Music, the situation on the ground was very dependent on social class. In Baghdad, according to Zoubaida, “…musicians in parties would devote an interlude in the proceedings to praising individuals and families present to elicit generous tips.”12 The praise of upper-class families is an indication of the class divide present within the party. Although audiences from upper-class society invited the most renowned musicians to perform at their parties, oftentimes these musicians were looked down upon, reflecting the power dynamics of social classes apparent within the scene of entertainers in Baghdad. In another instance, Jewish musicians were greatly appreciated and respected by the Jewish community, and they would be invited to sing in synagogues or for religious holidays.13 While their music was respected, upper-class families would not usually approve of musicians marrying their daughters. Furthermore, musicians were associated with alcohol, cabarets, and female singers and dancers, all of whom were looked down upon by society.

It can, therefore, be argued that Jewish musicians often faced social stigma not because of their Jewishness, but rather due to their social backgrounds and the milieu associated with musical performances. Music, therefore, provides a particular way of examining the Jewish-Muslim relationship by looking at the social acceptability of Jewish musicians by upper-class societies in Baghdad. Moreover, while music and ‘art’ were admired as something of ‘high culture’ and social respectability, other forms of seeking social acceptability stemmed from devoting oneself to the nation.

Nationalisms invoked through song In the year preceding the Great Syrian Revolt of 1927, a Tunisian Jewish singer by the name of Habiba Messika recorded a song in Arabic titled “Anti Souria Biladi,” which translates to “Syria, you are my country.”14 In this song, Messika claims to 11 12 13 14

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Habiba Messika, “Anti Souria Biladi “Syria, You Are My Country”,” (Berlin, Ger-

belong to Syria with the opening line of “Syria, you are my country.”15 The title and main lyric of this song portray Arab nationalism as an ideology that is inclusive of Jews, which Messika herself seemed to identify with. Messika then praises Syria, “You are the title [meaning] of luxury”16 portraying Syria’s beauty and steadfastness despite French colonial rule. Messika further expresses her solidarity with the Syrians revolting against French rule through her lyric “You will not be alone, and your enemies will repent.”17 Messika’s perception of the Arab nation drew onto notions of pan-Arab solidarity and anti-colonial narratives.18 Despite colonial efforts to divide and rule,19 Messika’s music spoke to Arab leaders such as King Fuad in Egypt, King Faysal in Iraq, and Muhammad VI of Tunis.20 One of Messika’s song was sung for King Fuad of Egypt and commended him as the greatest king. In this song, Messika addresses the King by singing “My majesty, Oh the one who possesses majesty, the one who guarantees us justice.”21 One way to interpret Messika’s lyrics is by exploring her use of “us” in this lyric. She may be referring to all Arabs who belong to the Arab nation through language and identity.

Moreover, Messika repeats the line “Long live the King” many times throughout the song. Therefore, Messika’s lyrics evoke an Arab nationalism that extends to praising Arab rulers and their revolts against colonial powers. Both Jews and Muslims felt that they were able to participate in the Arab nationalism sung about by Messika.

Messika’s murder shocked and devastated her listeners around the region, and writers and other artists subsequently wrote and sang about her. Her legacy lived on through her recorded songs which were sold across the Middle East and North Africa. Her music was played in cafes where people of diverse social and religious backgrounds would gather. Therefore, exploring the Jewish-Muslim relationship through nationalistic songs demonstrates how famous Jewish artists viewed the Arab nation as opposed to their Muslim counterparts. However, a changing political climate might have been the cause in shifting these nationalist feelings to fit one identity over the other, as Arab nationalism later proved to be less inclusive of non-Muslim religious minorities.

On the other side of North Africa, Layla Murad emerged as the leading Jewish performance artist in Egypt. Despite Murad’s public announcement of her voluntary conversion to Islam upon marrying an Egyptian Muslim, rumors spread regarding her support of Israel in 1952. Although her audience compromised of Egyptians stemming from all backgrounds -- Jews, Christians, and Muslims – the rise of Zionism led to the growing questions of her loyalty to her audience and the many Baidaphon, c. 1928).

15 Ibid.

16 Ibid.

17 Ibid.

18 Chris Silver, “The Life and Death of North Africa’s First Superstar,” (2018).

19 Aḥmad. Ḥamrūnī, „ḤAbīBah MsīKah : ḤAyāH Wa-Fann,“ (2007).

20 Silver.

21 Habiba Messika, „‫داؤف كلملا شرام‬,“ (Baidaphone, c. 1928).

country. In an attempt to prove her loyalty to Egypt and the Arab nation, Layla Murad released a patriotic song during the Egyptian Free Officers revolution of 1952.

The song, titled “Ala al-Ilah al-Qawiyy al-Itimad”, is about the strength of Egypt’s people and army. Egyptian nationalism is shown through her lyric “So rise up Oh Egypt, Oh good country, and rise to the glory and go to the guidance.”22 Murad expresses her patriotism of Egypt by singing about the perseverance of Egypt and its people during the revolution. Furthermore, Murad sings of the Egyptian army: “Our army and our people we are all our slogan…”23 Murad may be speaking to all Egyptians when claiming the army as encompassing the Egyptian nation.

Although it is not confirmed, Layla Murad abruptly retired from her career as it was at its peak. Joel Beinin attempts to explore the reasoning behind the events that took place by suggesting that, “Whether or not the unfounded rumor about her collaboration with Israel was the immediate cause of her withdrawal from the public, she seems to have felt that the milieu in which she flourished could no longer be sustained.”24 The ‘milieu’ mentioned by Beinin may refer to the culture of appreciation of art and music by Egyptians regardless of their religion and social background. This ‘milieu’ seems to disintegrate in the wake of Arab nationalism and Zionism’s impacts on the political identity of Jews in relation to their Muslim counterparts.

Moving further east, the Iraqi Jewish singer Salima Pasha, was one of the most celebrated performers of modern Iraq. Orit Bashkin explores the comment section of YouTube videos of Salima Pasha’s music, stating that “in comments (mostly in Arabic) posted in response to these videos, Iraqis recognize Salima’s Jewish heritage, nostalgic for a time when Jews and Arabs shared the same Iraqi space and shaped its cultural vision.”25 It seems as though there is a reoccurring theme of a lost environment in which culture and music thrived along with the Jewish-Muslim relationship. Whether in Baghdad or Cairo, people are nostalgic of shared Jewish-Muslim enjoyment and appreciation of entertainment despite the surrounding political climate. Although Arab nationalism was at times inclusive and at other times exclusive of Jews, music still offered a sense of Jewish-Muslim cooperation.

However, venues for musical entertainment could also operate as spaces where this cooperation broke down and hostility instead occurred between Jews and Muslims.

Venues for musical entertainment and violence Coffee shops were hubs of revolutionary momentum in cities like Cairo. Ziad Fahmy describes Egyptian coffee shops as, “an extension of the street, in that their spatial boundaries usually expanded beyond their officially ‘enclosed’ space.”26 People 22 Layla Murad, „Ala Al-Ilah Al-Qawiyy Al-Iitimad,“ (c. 1952).

23 Ibid.

24 Beinin.

25 Bashkin.

26 Ziad Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians: Creating the Modern Nation through Popular Culture (Stanford University Press, 2011).

of all social and religious backgrounds would gather in cafes to mingle or expand their knowledge on matters beyond that of the private sphere. Cafes served as hubs for poetry, literature, and music. Cafes and other venues for musical entertainment are very crucial to consider since they served as places for Jewish-Muslim interaction in the public sphere. Venues for musical entertainment oftentimes were cafes, music halls, and private homes.27 Although these venues fostered an exchange of ideas and friendly encounters between Jews and Muslims, they also resulted in outbreaks of violence between the two communities. A very important element of music in the twentieth century in relation to the Jewish-Muslim relationship is violence. Places of musical entertainment were also places of alcohol consumption and therefore susceptible to misbehaviour, which could escalate into violence. During the Cairo Congress for Arab Music, for instance, one of the Iraqi Jewish instrumentalists was interviewed about music as ‘art’ wherein his response was: “What art (of the graves)! We play at weddings, and people drink and start fighting, and soon knives are flying, and we (the musicians) hide in the lavatories?”28 This shows that the musician’s perception of music was closely associated with violent clashes as a result of alcohol consumption. The musician did not believe in the appreciation of music as ‘art’ since his experiences of performing did not result in positive outcomes. Furthermore, it is important to underline the relation to social classes demonstrated in this quote. The musician’s response points to the irony of the elitist attempt to ‘celebrate art’ in such a conference, where the music itself is divorced from the everyday experience and social background of the musicians.

Although homes often served as venues of musical entertainment, many of these private parties were held in urban compounds that were not segregated by class.

Thus, musical performances in rich private parties would attract passersby, who had often been drinking, resulting in the eruption of quarrels and open fights -sometimes with knives and firearms.29 These events often had Jewish musicians and were hosted by Muslim or Jewish families. Therefore, the violence often pitted Jews against Muslims. However, the violence in these instances is not one stemming from confessional divides but rather from the alcohol consumption prevalent in celebrations. Violence in this situation in Baghdad portrays a shift in the framework when looking at the Jewish-Muslim relationship.

Violence can also be examined along class lines. Zoubaida depicts an example of an upper-class wedding party in a suburb including performances by various Jewish artists, such as the well-known Saleh Al-Kuwaiti. Zoubaida demonstrates that “on this occasion there is no mention of fighting or any suggestion of violence. The house was located in an exclusive prosperous suburb: residential segregation by class was well advanced.”30 This is an example of a venue with musical entertainment enjoyed by Jews and Muslims in which violence does not occur. The lack of violence in this situation stems from the upper-class nature of the event and 27 28 29 30

Zoubaida.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ibid.

the class segregation of the neighborhood. As this instance shows, music is a lens through which one can view different angles of the Jewish-Muslim relationship with regards to social and class divides. Violence is an aspect of venues of musical entertainment that offers a different framework of analyzing Jewish-Muslim hostility, one that is not confessional but rather social.

Conclusion The Jewish-Muslim relationship in the twentieth century took on various forms depending on place, time, and the political climate. The Jewish community was vibrant and alive in many urban centers in modern Arab states, where Jewish-Muslim interaction was part of everyday life. However, the ever-changing political climate attached religious categories such as “Jewish” and “Muslim” to political identities and movements. The rise of nationalist movements in the twentieth century, such as Arab nationalism and Zionism had a polarizing effect on Jewish and Muslim communities in the modern Arab state. Furthermore, in order to explore the Jewish-Muslim relationship beyond the political identities created for each community, music can be used as a lens to view it from a unique angle. Music, as a form of self-expression, is accessible to learn, perform, and enjoy by all people, especially since it is an integral part of Arab culture. Therefore, music serves as a platform to examine history through a non-elite perspective as it sheds light on the daily activities of communities.

Music is especially integral in the Jewish-Muslim relationship since it served as a base of social interaction in the public sphere. In many cases, well-known musicians were Jewish and of lower-class social backgrounds. Examining these Jewish musicians indicates how the Jewish-Muslim relationship is one of synergy, with Jewish musicians present in musical bands such as that of the Iraqi delegation to the Cairo Congress of Arab Music. However, this same instance conveys the class divide between the performers and their reputation and the audience consisting of upper-class families. Moreover, Jewish stars such as Habiba Messika sang about Arab nationalism and were admired by Jews and Muslims across the Arab world.

Their contribution to Arab nationalism reveals how Jews viewed the Arab nation in relation to their Muslim counterparts. At times, the Arab nationalism portrayed through these songs proved to be inclusive of both Jews and Muslims, while at other times the politicization of Jewish and Muslim identity clouded the perception of unity. Lastly, venues for musical entertainment such as cafes served as hubs for Jewish-Muslim interaction and development. Nevertheless, this essay explored how these venues also fostered a space of violence between Jews and Muslims, primarily due to alcohol consumption. In sum, music is very important to consider when studying the Jewish-Muslim relationship of the twentieth century, as it provides a useful lens through which everyday life, political movements in relation to identity, and moments of social hostility can be examined.

Bibliography Bashkin, Orit. New Bablyonians: A History of Jews in Modern Iraq. Stanford

University Press, 2012.

Beinin, Joel. The Dispersion of Egyptian Jewry University of California Press,

1998.

Fahmy, Ziad. Ordinary Egyptians: Creating the Modern Nation through Popular

Culture. Stanford University Press, 2011.

Ḥamrūnī, Aḥmad. “ḤAbīBah MsīKah : ḤAyāH Wa-Fann.”(2007).

Killius, Rolf. “Microtones: The Piano and Muhammad Al-Qubanshi – the First

Congress of Arabic Music and Early Recordings from Iraq.”

Messika, Habiba. “Anti Souria Biladi “Syria, You Are My Country”.” Berlin,

Germany Baidaphon, c. 1928.

———. “‫داؤف كلملا شرام‬.” Baidaphone, c. 1928.

Murad, Layla. “Ala Al-Ilah Al-Qawiyy Al-Iitimad.” c. 1952.

Silver, Chris. “The Life and Death of North Africa’s First Superstar.”(2018).

Somekh, Sasson. Baghdad, Yesterday. Ibis Editions, 2007.

Starr, Deborah. Remembering Cosmopolitan Egypt: Literature, Culture, and

Empire. Abindgdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2009.

Zoubaida, Sami. “Entertainers in Baghdad, 1900-50.” Outside In (2002).

BINARIES OF OCCUPATION: THE VIOLENCE OF ISRAELI COLONIALISM AND PINKWASHING Yasir Piracha

Binaries of Occupation: The Violence of Israeli Colonialism and Pinkwashing By: Yasir Piracha Introduction On April 15, 2019, Izzaddine Mustafa, a trans Palestinian artist and activist, released an art piece in response to the announcement that Eurovision, an internationally televised song competition, would be taking place in Tel Aviv, Israel. It features a rainbow flag with a quote reading, “There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.” This year’s Eurovision was advertised as the most “pro-LGBT” Eurovision to date, with an emphasis on queer artists coming from a wide array of countries. Many news outlets were also quick to claim that this was the only city in the Middle East where such a “progressive” event could occur. Tel Aviv, after all, is hailed in the west as the “gay capital of the Middle East.”

As seen through Mustafa’s art, the event was condemned as contributing to the whitewashing of Israeli war crimes and its illegal occupation of Palestine. Subsequently, several activists organized an international “Boycott Eurovision” movement, which aimed to raise awareness about Israeli attacks on Palestinian culture, as well as the adoption of apartheid policies by the Israeli government, which were masked by this façade of “queer-friendliness.” Consequently, this year’s Eurovision is a direct instantiation of the “pinkwashing” of oppression and colonialism. This paper will discuss the ways in which the colonization and occupation of Palestine

by Israel, through the process of pinkwashing, commit violence against gender divergent Palestinians. It outlines the epistemic and linguistic violence of occupation and pinkwashing, highlighting responses and resistance through poetry, art, and narratives from gender divergent Palestinians.

What is Pinkwashing?

Poet George Abraham defined the term “pinkwashing” in their slam poem “Unnamed Fears” at the 2015 College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational: “The day I came across an Israeli flag superimposed on a rainbow flag my body became a mass of spilled table salt. Pinkwashing is defined as the systematic erasure of Palestinian humanity through Israeli queer rights campaigns.” Pinkwashing is, in essence, a public relations strategy deployed by the Israeli government in an attempt to mask its human rights abuses and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by publicizing its alleged “positive treatment” of queer people. This cooption and weaponization of queer rights are used to paint the apartheid state as “progressive,” while actively continuing its settler-colonization of Palestine and oppression of Palestinians. This multimillion-dollar propaganda campaign obfuscates the fact that the Israeli government is largely intolerant of queer people, as is demonstrated by the systematic oppression of trans Israelis. One-third of all trans people in Israel are unemployed,

and the Knesset continues voting down proposed bills that aim to increase trans safety in Israel. It is particularly revealing that one of the only prominent vocations which publicly provides significant support for trans people is the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Crucially, this exception to the Israeli state’s policy towards trans people highlights how the state deploys the language of “trans rights” in tandem with the material oppression of the Palestinian people.

Movements against pinkwashing, such as “Boycott Eurovision,” often emerge as subsets of the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement. Anti-pinkwashing BDS activists have pointed out that Israel markets itself as “queer inclusive” through mechanisms of homonationalism, directly constructing itself in opposition to a supposedly less inclusive Palestine. Homonationalism, a term coined

by Jasbir Puar, describes a “national homosexuality” in which “national recognition and inclusion, signaled [by] the annexation of homosexual jargon, is contingent upon the segregation and disqualification of racial and sexual others from the national imaginary.” This creation of a “regulatory script” for queer subjects is tied into the racial and national norms that reify whiteness as the global dominant through imperialism and empire. In Israel, the identities of trans and queer people are “exceptionalized” through the Orientalist construction of “Palestinian sexuality,” similar to the “Muslim sexuality” discourse in post-9/11 North America.

The warped image of “Palestinian sexuality” is created by Israeli pinkwashing campagins via an Orientalist lens, which Edward Said describes as a lens that homogenizes, demonizes, and “others” the imagined “Orient.” Pinkwashing, then, aims to whitewash Israeli occupation by adopting a “progressive” façade on queer and trans rights, as well as construct Palestinian society as antithetical to these rights, thus attempting to reframe Israeli colonialism as an ideological war between “liberal” and “repressive” societies.

A History of Israeli Colonialism, Occupation, and Pinkwashing The origin of Israel’s contemporary regime can be traced back to the racist ideology of nineteenth century European colonialism. The Zionist movement that gained traction in the 1800s was a self-defined settler-colonial movement, and established an apartheid state of Jewish ethnic supremacy in Palestine, dominated by Ashkenazism. As early as the 1880s, Zionist movements established settlements in Palestine and promoted Jewish mass immigration, spreading racist ideas that Palestine was “a land without people for a people without a land.” This settler-colonial project was condoned by western imperial powers, as seen through the 1917 Balfour declaration, wherein Britain, the colonial administer of the Palestine Mandate, agreed in intentionally vague language to “facilitate the creation of a ‘national home’ for the Jewish people in Palestine.” In 1947, the UN recommended partitioning Palestine, allocating more than half the country to a Jewish state. Thus began the Nakba of 1948, as Zionist forces began a violent armed campaign of expulsion against the indigenous Palestinians, establishing the state of Israel in one of the largest forced exiles in modern history. Since the early 1950s, Israel’s leaders have “set their eyes on the United States as the most important source of economic and military support.”

By ideologically and economically aligning itself with the United States, Israel was able to gain financial support from this capitalist superpower during and after the 1967 War. During the war, Israel gained control of Jordanian and Egyptian-administered Palestinian lands (in addition to swaths of Syrian territory) and has since occupied the rest of historic Palestine, including the West Bank, East Jerusalem, the Golan Heights, and Gaza.

Today, Israel has strong ties with most western countries. Noam Chomsky, a linguist and historian, outlines the ways Israel has developed a “special relationship” with the United States – through building a shared ideology of “military might.”

This ideological alignment with the west has allowed for the adoption of western models of gender and sexuality, as well as capitalist economic models. In 2005, Israel began a campaign called “Brand Israel,” a self-described marketing strategy aimed at shifting Israel’s international image to become “relevant and modern.”

The role of queer rights was made explicit, as an Israeli Foreign Ministry official announced that “efforts to let European and American liberals know about the gay community in Israel were an important part of its work to highlight this country’s support of human rights and to underscore its diversity in a population that tends to judge Israel harshly solely on its treatment of Palestinians.” More recently, this has been extended from cisgender queer subjectivities into transgender subjectivities, with the gradual inclusion of transgender subjects into homonationalism.

Trans scholar Saffo Papantonopoulou coined the word “trans-homonationalism” to describe this phenomenon. In 2019, Israel began advertising both its government and military as “trans-friendly,” by giving awards to Knesset members who display “trans-sensitivity” on Trans Day of Remembrance and by removing “gender dysphoria” as a disqualification for military service by providing social and medical support for trans military officers. This veil of propaganda is thin, as Israeli gender divergent communities continue to speak out against the violence and oppression they face in almost all other societal spheres. Furthermore, Palestinian gender divergent communities cannot be separated from the context of the occupation. This intersection of occupation and gender divergence is not distinguished or recognized by the Israeli government; Palestinian gender divergent individuals still experience blockades, checkpoints, and bombardments under occupation. The Israeli state also directly interferes with the development of Palestinian queer rights and identities. Ghadir Shafie, the co-director of Aswat (a Palestinian feminist center for gender and sexual freedoms), explains that the Israeli Ministry of Education has continuously sabotaged Aswat’s efforts to tackle sexual rights issues in Palestinian society. She details how the Israeli government has sent organizations to “neutralize potentially radical politics in favour of bourgeois and domesticated identities, thereby limiting possibilities for radical change.”

Epistemic Violence: The Binaries of Pinkwashing Throughout this essay, I struggle with maintaining distinctions of “gay” and “queer,” “gender divergent” and “trans.” These distinctions become difficult given that these identity categories are subsumed into the category of “LGBTQ” that ex-

ists as a monolith in Israeli pinkwashing campaigns. As Papantonopoulou points out, “transgender” and “gay” are conflated through “pinkwashing discourses deployed by queerphobic Zionists,” describing attacks she has experienced from Zionists “simply for being the most visibly queer body, regardless of identification.”

She writes: “when the transgender subject reads (cisnormative) homonationalist narratives, even when we are not specifically hailed as trans subjects within them, the assumption is that it is only within those limited ‘gay friendly’ spaces that we may find an even smaller subset of trans-friendly subspaces.” The conflation or absorption of transgender subjectivities leads to the assumption that “the illegible ‘someone like me’ (‘what are you?’) can be legible/‘safe’ only within the confines of a social formation called ‘LGBT’ or ‘gay,’ located in the West/Israel.” This means that Palestinian society, demonized through pinkwashing policies as “non-western,” is cast as automatically repressive and intolerant of gender divergence.

Various gender identities and performativities have long and particular histories in Palestine, as well as in the Arab world. Historians of gender, as well as scholars of Islam, have collaborated to provide archival evidence that shows the long history of gender diversity in the Middle East, traced from pre-Islamic society to now. This historical narrative is neither linear nor well-defined, and it is imperative that we do not map our current understandings of gender onto the past, to avoid making false equivalencies. Historian Afsaneh Najmabadi, for example, traces the identity mukhannath, recognizing it to be untranslatable, an identity that does not fit neatly into our current (Euro-American) conceptions of (trans)gender identity categories.

Najmabadi stresses that current-day notions of gender do not travel, temporally and spatially, to describe gender identities in different times. However, understanding the existence of gender and sexuality diversity pre-colonization in Palestine and surrounding regions is important in understanding the epistemic violence of pinkwashing.

By recognizing that gender diversity has a history in Palestine, we can see that Israel imported Euro-American models of gender during its colonial formation. A Foucauldian discourse analysis can then help link pinkwashing discourses to the violent construction of binarized “acceptable” and “unacceptable” gender performativities.

The Israeli state’s deployment of pinkwashing language operates to create a homonational discourse in which it is the arbiter of morality, allowing it to display itself as the beacon of queer rights in the Middle East. The corollary discourse is mapped onto Palestine using the Orientalist construction of the “Muslim ‘other,’” demonizing Palestinians as “backwards” and “repressive.” First, any expression of gender that is not sanctioned by the state, and by western models of gender, is discursively rejected from “queerness” itself, in order to erase any non-normative expression of gender divergence, both historical and current-day. Second, any self-identified “queer” movements or organizations that do emerge in Palestine are actively repressed and censored by the Israeli state to continue its false narrative that Palestine is intolerant of queer people. Thus, Foucault’s conceptions of discursive power help reveal how, through pinkwashing, normative/acceptable gender divergence is shown to only exist in the “West/Israel.” “Normativity,” here, calls on Michael

Warner who reveals that “embracing [the] standard [of normality] merely throws shame on those who stand farther down the ladder of respectability. It does not seem to be possible to think of oneself as normal without thinking that some other kind of person is pathological.” While trans recognition may be occurring in some spheres of Israeli society (namely the IDF), this “trans-homonationalist” neoliberal recognition that is allocated by the state means those who do not subscribe to this “hegemonic narrative” (those who fall within Gayle Rubin’s “outer limits”) continue to be stigmatized. Acceptance into “stigmaphobe” society does not erase the normal/abnormal dichotomy, but rather begins to include certain (western, non-Palestinian) forms of gender divergence into the Israeli state’s “charmed circle.” By erasing (read: exiling, repressing, massacring) Palestinian modes of gender divergence (both historic and current-day), Israel performs an epistemic colonization that reifies the false binary of “western vs. repressive.” “Brand Israel” has then created a multimillion-dollar market to discursively project Israel onto a moral high ground (into the “charmed circle”) and push queer and trans Palestinians further into the “outer limits.” The western model of gender then becomes the neoliberal “liberator” of trans people. Indeed, as Papatonopoulou writes: The noble identification of “gay friendly” Tel Aviv’s gift to all queers is a hail–an interpolation of the transgender body into an always already indebted subject position, one enmeshed in a “cycle of debt.” Under the Zionist economy of gratitude, the transgender subject is perpetually indebted to capitalism and the West for allowing her to exist […] It is a queer/transphobic assault against those visibly queer bodies who refuse to be properly disciplined neoliberal queer consumers–and transgender bodies are often the most visibly queer bodies and hence the ones singled out for attack. As one cannot return the gift to the one who gave it (in this case because the Zionist is identified from his own queerphobia), the transgender subject is forced to pass it along–to Palestinians.

Foucauldian discourse analyses do however have their limits. Historian Joseph Massad inadvertently exposed its problems in his chapter “Re-Orienting Desire: The Gay International and the Arab World.” His unshifting utilization of “west” and “non-west” discourse constructs another false binary in which epistemic categories are always held by one and not the other. For Massad, queerness itself is possessed by the west, such that he indicts Arab activists as imperialist simply for identifying with a sexual orientation (the obvious question: why is this not also true for binary gender?). Massad argues, following Foucault, that discourses of sexuality are western inventions, and thus claims that identification with these identity categories denotes complicity in western discursive imperialism. The conception of all-encompassing discursive power is divorced from reality, as communications scholar Sara Mourad critically points out: “the self-identification of queers with certain categories is not the same as their regulatory categorization by oppressive structures.”

Returning to the lived experiences of queer and gender divergent Palestinians is essential in recognizing the multiplicities of both resistance to queerphobia and

transphobia, as well as resistance to occupation.

Massad’s “west vs. non-west” discourse also refuses to allow any room for lexicological transit. Of course, as Papatonopolou points out, the signifiers “gay,” “queer,” and “trans” are English words, and have histories that originate in the west. This does not mean, however, that these terms are interpolated into discourse in the same way globally. Najmabadi astutely notes: “perhaps one of the problems with the current heated debates between proponents of ‘global gay’ and opponents of ‘gay international’ resides in the presumption, common to both groups, that ‘I am gay,’ or ‘I am transsexual’ means the same thing anywhere it is pronounced.” Words travel between languages and adopt new cultural and linguistic meanings, creating new genealogies that don’t operate in the same way in every geographic or temporal location.

Continuing a “pure” Foucauldian discursive analysis of Israeli pinkwashing, would result in Foucault’s distinction between “liberation” and “freedom,” the former being used strictly in the sense of the colonized ridding itself of its colonizer, while the latter includes a more “thorough” process of escaping residual colonial discourses.

Massad would then use this to tell Palestinians that they must “return” to “indigenous knowledges” and “free themselves” from any western discourse of gender and sexuality deployed by Israeli pinkwashing to truly decolonize. “Free themselves,” allegedly, from the signifiers “gay” and “trans” themselves. This obsession with linguistic impurity ignores the lived experiences of queer and gender divergent Palestinians and rejects the authority of first-person consciousness. It refuses to acknowledge that queer and gender divergent Palestinians face direct erasure by the Israeli state regardless of their adoption of “western” or “non-western” discourse or signifiers. As Papatonopoulou writes: “‘transgender,’ at this moment, is neither a benevolent gift from the West nor an assimilation of Western cultural imperialism.”

Massad also ironically performs Orientalism by romanticizing some pre-colonial utopia of gender and sexual freedom which never actually existed. Pure discourse analysis of pinkwashing itself provides a false binary: return to some romanticized “past knowledge” that never existed or be complicit in western imperialism. Turning to the first-person consciousness of gender divergent Palestinians reveals these binaries to be false.

Palestinian Narratives: Dismantling the Binaries Many varied queer rights movements and organizations exist in Palestine today. As can be expected, they are diverse and complex, each with a different mission and vision. In 2010, the organization Aswat published a collection of anonymous personal narratives entitled “Waqfet Banat” meaning “Women Rise Up.” In the narrative entitled “Gentle as a Girl,” a trans woman born in Haifa tells the story of her difficulty transitioning and the ridicule she experienced, given the “strict gender roles” in Haifa. She shares that during her college years, she met people who shared similar struggles, each with their own story and their own share of suffering: “meeting them and knowing their stories made me feel better about myself.” Stories such

as these emphasize the necessity of centering and amplifying Palestinian narratives and centering the authenticities they are creating to challenge Israeli pinkwashing and homonationalism. There is no binary between foreign/local, authentic/translated, west/non-west, even Arabic/English, as these stories reveal how terms such as “trans” can travel to different locations and languages and mean different things.

In “First Be a Woman,” a trans Palestinian woman tells the story of the transphobia she experienced from her family as she began to wear “feminine clothes.” She shares her decision to move to Denmark to “enjoy freedom” and how she felt sad to have sacrificed being with “her homeland and family.” Israeli pinkwashing narratives which attempt to claim that anyone who is trans must “flee” Palestine often refuse to acknowledge the role of Israeli occupation in producing transphobia. Israeli state organizations neutralize queer mobilization and development, stifling activism and contributing to conditions that cause trans Palestinians to choose to leave their home, but these stories are often co-opted by the state, leaving out the pain that many Palestinians feel in leaving their homeland. Haneen Maikey, the director of Al Qaws (an organization for sexual and gender diversity in Palestinian society), points out that “those Palestinians who attempt to integrate into Israeli society are forced to reject their Palestinian identity.” She cites Ghadir Shafie who describes how she moved to Tel Aviv and felt obligated to “conform to an Israeli idea of sexuality and gender that actually set [her] back in [her] endeavours.” This case works to expose the role that occupation and pinkwashing play in pushing Palestinian gender divergent individuals into the “outer limits” of Israel’s hegemonic model of gender divergence.

Palestinian poet George Abraham is also creating change with their poetry. In their chapbook Al Youm, the poem entitled “self-portrait as unidentified Palestinian Village, post-Nakba” traces the history of Israeli colonialism and violence, opening with, “what the textbooks fail to mention: / i was whole once. this flesh / wasn’t always the site of a bloodied ecosystem,” and ending with, “i am an erasure / of myself? / my BIOLOGY / fails me? i mean to say, / once i had a body to choke on.”

The poem also includes the line: “even when the land was ours / it wasn’t. / (this is how I feel about my body sometimes).” Here, and throughout the book, Abraham connects the violence of both colonialism and transphobia, describing how one is not experienced in isolation from the other. The poem immediately following this one begins with a redacted title, followed by “[ZIONIST NOTES & REVISIONS].”

This poem is the same as the one preceding it, except lines are now either crossed out and replaced, or redacted, changing the meaning of the entire poem. This is a powerful metaphor for the ways Israeli pinkwashing warps Palestinian narratives through homonationalism, forcing them into the violent discourse of Palestinian “other,” a repressive society, “deserving” of occupation. The line “even when the land was ours / it wasn’t” is redacted to read “even when the land was ours / it wasn’t” and “(this is how I feel about my body sometimes)” is crossed out and replaced with “[YOU CAN’T SAY YOU WEREN’T ASKING FOR ANY OF THIS].”

Many poems later in this chapbook include the binary: “palestinian/queer” in the

title, which is redacted to appear as palestinian/queer. This depicts the way Israeli pinkwashing places these identities in opposition to one another, while simultaneously erasing queerness in Palestine itself, as the redaction echoes the Zionist revisions in the earlier poem. In the poem “palestinian/queer vs. Imaginary,” Abraham makes clear the “singularity” created by Zionist rhetoric through Israeli pinkwashing, in which the queer Palestinian becomes “imaginary” against the background of “NONE OF THIS IS REAL NONE OF YOU IS REAL…” reminiscent of the erasure that casts Palestinian society as repressive. The imagined intolerance of Palestinians is reiterated in the poem “in which you are the emptiness they made of your palestinian /queerness.” The form of this poem is binarized itself, reading: when your country becomes home in all the wrong

you will search for and they will tell you

GO BACK TO SO HAMAS CAN THROW YOUR F*GGOT ASS OFF A BUILDING & you will turn to another

out of irony.

This poem directly exposes the transphobia and homophobia that is deployed during pinkwashing, dismantling the binary of queerphobic / queer haven by showing how Zionist pinkwashing is queerphobic, even while attempting to paint itself as a saviour for queer people.

Poems such as “the palestinian/queer specimen’s Lexicon with Auto-Translate” in Abrahams’s The Specimen’s Apology, reveal the danger of binarizing “indigenous Arab” knowledges against “western” knowledges, as Massad would indict the very use of English words as signifiers. This demand to “return” to Arabic words is rejected by Abraham: “i’ve tried to make a language where my body / is just my body, my blood just my blood— / but my tongue rejected it. spat it out / like a mouthful of Arabic.” Instead, Abraham creates new ways to express their identity, combining Arabic words (in Arabic script, not transliterated) in their poems, or writing poems in English from right to left (such as in “Maqam of Moonlight”). This dismantling of the English/Arabic binary also dismantles the discursive binaries of indigenous/ foreign, of authentic/translated. In Abraham’s poem “binary,” they write: once i had a body & that body was a [male/female] body … the wrong historian refuses to call my body [occupier/occupied]—says the truth is somewhere in between, is non-binary, but i can think of no [conflict/occupation] more clear than that of this body & isn’t that worth a decisive history? i cannot be in exile from a body i was [never/always] home in … i am all of the question marks in your medical books, even in its purest form, the body was still a mistranslation of itself The utilization of “non-binary” to justify a blurring of occupier/occupied is perhaps a clear example of the mechanisms of pinkwashing, while those who critique pink-

washing but ignore queer Palestinian voices are charged for attempting to invoke the idea that “pure” bodies cannot be translated bodies, which Abraham reveals may be counter to lived experiences. Throughout The Specimen’s Apology, the “palestinian/queer” binary is again invoked in many titles, this time reading “palestinian/queer specimen.” This use of “specimen” can perhaps be read as a direct indictment of those who choose to “study” queer Palestinians, a direct indictment, perhaps, of me writing this paper, trying to use identities in a thesis of some kind.

Conclusion: Individual and National Liberation Israeli pinkwashing commits physical and epistemic violence against queer and gender divergent Palestinians. Using concepts of homonationalism, we can understand how Palestinian gender and sexual diversity is conflated and rejected, in order to paint Palestine as antithetical to the “progressive” stances of the Israeli government. Analyzing these discourses produced by Israeli colonialism and pinkwashing is helpful in understanding the false binaries created by the state. However, it is imperative to centre the voices of gender divergent Palestinians to avoid creating analyses that are abstract and divorced from material reality. Returning to the authority of lived experience is necessary to understand the complexities of pinkwashing and colonialism.

Palestinians Noor and Saraya, interviewed by scholar Grace Weaver, argue that “the occupation must be tackled in combination with combating inequalities within Palestinian society itself.” Noor and Saraya both articulate that activism against the occupation of Palestine is fundamentally tied to queer and trans activism, stressing that “the fight for sexual and gender diversity is part and parcel for the fight for an equal and autonomous relationship with the Israelis.” By re-centring gender divergent Palestinian voices, we can see how new authenticities are being crafted in Palestinian society, creating the space for both decolonization and social change.

As Frantz Fanon notes, the struggle for national liberation and social revolution develop simultaneously at the personal and national level. George Abraham powerfully shows the connectedness of the struggles against queerphobia, transphobia, and Israeli colonialism in “ars poetica, in which every pronoun is a Free Palestine.”

They write, “FREE PALESTINE hyphenated by settler pronouns: FREE PALESTINE will not pledge allegiance to Arabic. or English. FREE PALESTINE will exist / in no language.”

Appendices Appendix 1 Art by Izzaddine Mustafa, posted on April 15, 2019 on his Instagram, @ alresala_hurriyah.

Appendix 2 George Abraham. “palestinian/queer vs. Imaginary” in Al Youm: for Yesterday & Her Inherited Traumas (Brooklyn, NY: TAR Chapbook Series, 2017), 27.

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TO INFINITY AND BEYOND: ASTRO – INDIGENOUS AESTHETIC ART PRACTICE AND ARAB FUTURISM IN BUILDING A GLOBAL SOLIDARITY Nicholas Raffoul

To Infinity and Beyond: Astro-Indigenous Aesthetic Art Practice and the Role of Indigenous and Arab Futurism in Building a Global Solidarity Nicholas Raffoul “Settler colonialism is a past of half-truths and quarter-memories…It is the colonization of memory and of events that come to be known as “History.”” – Maya Mikdashi, “What is Settler Colonialism?”1

In an attempt to reconcile the present and intergenerational trauma of settler colonialism, artists under Canadian and Israeli apartheid employ themes of the future and advanced technology as an aesthetic realm for resilience, autonomy, as well as a mode of healing. Indigenous Futurism and Arabfuturism are aesthetic movements born from, and in resistance to, colonization sharing common themes, symbols, and often serving similar functions in narratives of resistance. Through these movements, indigenous2 communities freed from the bounds of sanctions on sovereignty, land, and its limits on personal and cultural expression construct self-determined representations about their identities and futures.3 Responding to the historical and colonial present, Mohawk artist Skawennati creates Indigenous virtual environments that weave together futurism and ancestral tradition. Set in 3025, Skawennati’s 2017 machinima film The Peacemaker Returns is a futuristic saga firmly rooted in the ancestral story of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy. The film is produced in Second Life, an online platform that incorporates storylines from the past, present, and future.4 Larissa Sansour, a London-based Palestinian artist also engages futuristic aesthetics to explore the burden of settler colonialism and politicized identity. In her 2008 short film, A Space Exodus, Sansour performs a chilling attempt at the Final Frontier as she portrays a Palestinian astronaut placing the Palestinian flag on the moon.5 Sansour and Skawennati’s works similarly embody the practice of futuristic resistance narratives, transcending the 1 Maya Mikdashi, “What is Settler Colonialism? (for Leo Delano Ames Jr.),” American Indian Culture and Research Journal, no. 37 (2013): 32.

2 Throughout the essay, (lowercase i) ‘indigenous’ will be used as an adjective to refer to communities that are native to their region, while (uppercase I) ‘Indigenous’ is a proper noun to refer to the Indigenous Peoples in Turtle Island.

3 Mike Krebs and Dana Olwan, “‘From Jerusalem to the Grand River, Our Struggles are One’: Challenging Canadian and Israeli Settler Colonialism,” Settler Colonial Studies 58, no. 2 (2012): 146.

4 MSVU Art Gallery, “Skawennati: Teiakwanahstahsontéhrha’ | We Extend the Rafters,” Accessed November 25, 2019. https://www.msvuart.ca/exhibition/skawennati-teiakwanahstahsontehrha-we-extend-the-rafters/.

5 Larissa Sansour. “A Space Exodus,” Vimeo. Video File. 2008. https://vimeo. com/21372138

boundaries of settler-colonial governments and the apocalyptic overtones of capitalist colonial extractive economies. While both artists produce their work within two very distinct contexts and lived realities, examining Sansour and Skawennati’s works side by side reveals a common thread between Indigenous Futurism and Arabfuturism, and thus by extension bring out the underlying interconnectedness of modes of resistance in Turtle Island and Palestine as well as the solidarity that exists between both communities.

Skawennati’s new media films exist within a body of work promoting science fiction narratives and storytelling as a tool for Indigenous self-determination. The concept of Indigenous Futurism was first explored in depth by Anishinaabe Indigenous Nations Studies Professor Grace Dillon in her 2012 anthology Walking the Clouds, a collection of science fiction stories by Indigenous authors.6 Dillon identifies Indigenous Futurism as a field that offers new ways of reading ancient nature, “providing the language to conceptualize a world outside of colonial influences, beyond the loss of homeland, resources, and unethical treatment of the population.”7 The term suggests a timeline outside of our current temporal reality, or a re-envisioning of what has already happened. Employing the future—or the conceptualization of the future—gives artists an unoccupied, uncolonized space.

Similarly, in his working manifesto “Proposing Arabfuturism/s,” Sulaiman Mujali defines Arabfuturism as, “an impetus that seeks the annihilation of ideological apartheidic walls.”8 Arabfuturism is closely linked to Palestinian identity, much of its existing literature and visual art cites Palestinian resistance. Arabfuturism, however, extends beyond the Arab-Israeli conflict, encompassing a larger Pan-Arab force related to generations of colonization imposed by mostly French, British, Spanish, and American forces, which left—and continues to leave—Arab countries cynical of the possibility of a post-colonial future. Arabfuturism provides Arabs, especially Palestinians, with strategies and language for self-determination.

While obvious cultural and geographical nuances exist between Indigenous Futurism and Arabfuturism, these movements function with noticeable congruence and serve reasonably similar therapeutic functions in their respective communities.

Furthermore, it is crucial to highlight Afrofuturism’s contributions to the conceptualization of Indigenous and Arab Futurisms: Afrofuturism was the first academically recognized of the three terms, coined by cultural critic Mark Dery in his seminal 1993 essay ‘Black to the Future.’9 While it is crucial to avoid the conflation 6 Suzanne Newman Fricke, “Introduction: Indigenous Futurisms in the hyperpresent now,” World Art 9, no. 2 (2019): 115.

7 Grace Dillon, “Indigenous Futurisms, Bimaashi Biidaas Mose, Flying and Walking towards You,” Extrapolation 57, no. 1/2 (2016): 2.

8 Sulaiman Majali, “Towards a possible manifesto; proposing Arabfuturism/s,” Accessed November 25, 2019. http://www.smajali.co.uk/arch3.html 9 Fricke, “Indigenous Futurisms,” 114.

of these movements, it is equally important to recognize that individuals can exist at the intersection of all of these identities, Indigenous, Black, and Arab. While each of these movements aim to empower communities from distinct cultural contexts, they do not progress in isolation; these visual practices and strategies grow, contribute, and converse with (and from) one another, building a global solidarity.

Suzanne Newman Fricke argues that the use of ‘Indigenous’ in the title of the movement rather than ‘Native’ or ‘Native American’ allows the idea to embrace a wider range of cultures, “stressing the ties to colonized people across the globe.”10 Indigenous Futurism, Arabfuturism, and Afrofuturism are inherently tied. Their conceptualization of the future maintains the idea of unoccupied space as being uncolonized and intrinsically inclusive – or big enough to accommodate. As such, when looking at Skawennati and Sansour’s work, it is important to recognize that their created fictional worlds do not entirely exist separate from each other, and that they do not work in opposition.

Skawennati’s The Peacemaker Returns is featured at the National Gallery of Canada’s second exhibition of contemporary international Indigenous art Àbadakone (2019-2020).11 Echoing sentiments of unity and inclusion, the installation is rooted in solidarity. The eighteen-minute machinima set in 3025 is narrated by the protagonist Iotetshèn:’en, who speaks of a recent attack on Earth by visitors, forcing some on Earth to live in a spaceship free from conflict (figure 1). As a dreamer with special powers allowing her to see into the past, Iotetshèn:’en recounts the story of the first Peacemaker who united five nations of the Haudenosaunee confederacy through kindness and respect. However, after years of peace and advancement in the arts under the confederacy, Jacques Cartier disrupted this harmony by placing a large cross on the ground and creating treaties that were never followed. Iotetshèn:’en tells us that years later, the Peacemaker returns in the form of a baby girl who grows up to amass a large social media following to spread her message of peace, visiting world leaders to affect change, ultimately meeting the President of the United States and abolishing injustice. At several points throughout the film, Iotenshèn:’en crafts wampum belts as symbols of the past and future, creating a final multi-colored wampum belt commemorating an inter-galactic treaty ratified at the conclusion of the film.

Iotenshèn:’en serves as a portal to the past, present, and future of Skawennati’s world. She represents a vessel of knowledge in the form of an Indigenous protagonist. Through Second Life’s virtual platform, Skawennati and her team were able to style Iotenshèn:’en with sleek, metallic costuming and glowing pink hair, reflecting a futuristic rendering of Indigenous culture unseen in mainstream depictions of 10 Ibid., 115.

11 National Gallery of Canada, “Àbadakone,” Accessed November 25, 2019. https:// www.gallery.ca/whats-on/exhibitions-and-galleries/abadakone-continuous-fire-feu-continuel.

Indigenous women (figure 2). Throughout the film, we see the protagonist living and working on a high-tech spaceship interacting with diplomatic figures and alien species with ease, confidence, and high technological literacy.

In his seminal book Indians in Unexpected Places, Philip Joseph Deloria looks at American stereotypes of Indigenous communities, archetypes based on racist notions of what is deemed as ‘Authentic’ Indigeneity, including primitivism, ineptness, and a lack of technological progress.12 Deloria writes, Every moment of contact in which Europeans sought to impress the natives by firing a gun, demonstrating a watch, predicting an eclipse, or introducing mirrors and steel set expectations about the backwardness of Indigenous people and their seemingly genetic inability to understand and use technology.13 Deloria highlights the weaponization of European ‘technological advancement,’ in colonial expansion against Indigenous communities, with colonizers using Euro-centric ideals of modernization and scientific discovery to justify their subjugation of Indigenous people. The use of modern technology such as automobiles, computers, or spaceships by Indigenous people refuses this white expectation and serves as a form of autonomy to fight the immobilization, containment, and scrutiny of apartheid systems.

Skawennati’s rendering of Iotenshèn:’en greatly diverts from racist expectations of Indigenous people in popular culture and mainstream discourse, not only placing the protagonist in a space that is far into the future, but also depicting her ease and a high level of understanding futuristic advanced technology. Iotenshèn:’en’s vivid pink hair is made up of glowing circuits that challenge the epistemology of modern genetics, situating her as a part of the technological elite and reflecting her as inseparable from high-tech modernization. Iotenshèn:’en is not out of place on the spaceship, yet this technological literacy does not sacrifice her Indigenous heritage—she beads and shares projections of her culture’s past, asserting that modernity does not come at the expense of heritage, culture, or Indigeneity (figure 3).

Not only can this be applied to Iotenshèn:’en, but to Skawennati as an Indigenous New Media artist herself. Like Iotenshèn:’en, Skawennati as a creator defies racist expectations of Indigenous artistry by using a unique virtual medium to showcase her creativity and reflects a high level of literacy in computer technologies and scripting languages.

Larissa Sansour echoes similar sentiments in A Space Exodus. Sansour depicts a tech-savvy Palestinian astronaut arriving on the moon in a spaceship (figure 4).

12 Philip Joseph Deloria, Indians in Unexpected Places (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 2004), 143.

13 Ibid., 143.

After an epic arrival, astronaut Sansour places the Palestinian flag on the moon and then proceeds to float aimlessly into space until she vanishes into the rest of the galaxy (figure 5). In the film, Sansour repeats, “One small step for Palestine, one giant leap for mankind,” with Arabic drum beats pulsating throughout the film.14 Sansour’s film is a re-envisioning of the moon landing appropriating mainstream American imagery and snippets from Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 film A Space Odyssey.15 As recounted by Art Historian Jussi Parikka, Sansour, “hijacks the Cold War colonial theme of space travel within contemporary geopolitical context of the Near East.”16 Through the use of the Palestinian flag, Sansour re-creates an empowering peak in American history but centers the narrative on the fluidity of Palestinian identity and triumph. Moreover, the film is a commentary on the effects of Israeli occupation leaving Palestinian communities landless or in exile, floating in space. The eerie ending of the film is haunting and lacks closure; as we see Sansour drift into space becoming smaller and lost in the darkness, it mirrors the erasure of indigenous identity, voices, and achievements from the brutal impacts of settler-colonialism.

Much like Skawennati, Sansour employs themes from speculative fiction and imagery of futuristic technology to defy white expectations of Arab and Palestinian people. In “Arab Stereotypes and American Educators,” Marvin Wingfield and Bushra Karaman examine Orientalist and racist trends towards Arabs in the Middle East which portray Arabs as violent, barbaric, nomadic, and fixed in the past.17 Similar to Iotenshèn:’en, Sansour, as an astronaut, holds a high technological and scientific literacy as she commands the spaceship easily and independently, with a Palestinian flag patch on the shoulder of her spacesuit (figure 6). Sansour’s viewers are confronted with a similar strangeness and unfamiliarity present when white spectators view Indigenous peoples interacting with urban or modern technology.18 By placing the Palestinian flag, a point of political contention, on her spacesuit, an esteemed representation of scientific advancement. Sansour juxtaposes her indigeneity with modern technology and challenges Orientalist expectations of an ‘underdeveloped’ Middle East. Aiming to challenge racist archetypes, Skawennati and Sansour prove that innovation and modernity can exist in harmony with indigenous culture, defying ideals of cultural genocide in Western development.

Both artists create empowering visual work for two distinct communities, and yet address the same struggle of misrepresentation and a historicization of indigeneity.

14 Sansour. “A Space Exodus,” 2008.

15 Khelil Bouarrouj, ““Bethlehem Bandolero,” Interview With Artist Larissa Sansour,” Accessed November 25, 2019. https://palestinesquare.com/2015/04/20/larissa-sansour-on-sci-fi-nostalgia-and-the-staging-of-myth/.

16 Jussi Parikka, “Middle East and other futurisms: imaginary temporalities in contemporary art and visual culture,” Culture, Theory, and Critique, 59, no. 1 (2017): 50.

17 Marvin Wingfield and Bushra Karaman, “Arab Stereotypes and American Educators,” Social Studies and the Young Learner 7, no. 4 (1995): 7.

18 Deloria, Indians in Unexpected Places, 4.

In his dissertation “Creative Combat: Indigenous Art, Resurgence, and Decolonization,” Jarrett Martineau recognizes self-determination and sovereignty as a function of Indigenous Futurism. Martineau perceives Indigenous Futurism as a (virtual) healing space devoid of Western notions of progress and civilization, which gives Indigenous artists the ability to, “create new disruptive innovations by subverting original intentions of imposed colonial logics and effecting an ideological repositioning that recentres Indigenous perspectives.”19 As such, by employing futuristic aesthetics Skawennati and Sansour are able to direct narratives removed from Western patriarchy and colonial ideals of gender. The subjects of Skawennati and Sansour’s work occupy two seemingly mutually exclusive spaces: the female protagonists are both feminine and hold a high level of understanding and literacy of the high-tech machine components around them ─ a literacy surpassing that of any viewer. Ytasha Womack describes the feminist nature of Afrofuturism, a definition compatible with the works of Skawennati and Sansour: In Afrofuturism, Black women’s imagination, image, and voice are not framed by the pop expectations and sensibilities of the day […] Women develop theories, characters, art, and beauty free of the pressures of meeting male approval, societal standards, color-based taxonomies, or run-ofthe-mill female expectations. The results are works that some critics call uncategorizable.20 Coinciding with Womack’s characterization of Afrofuturism, Indigenous Futurism and Arabfuturism allows artists to create outside the bounds of male approval and societal standards of female expectations.

As such, Skawennati and Sansour’s protagonists become unreadable, atypical protagonists of mainstream science fiction existing as self-sustaining female innovators. Moreover, when one considers that that only twelve white American men have walked the moon,21 Sansour’s narrative works as a comment on the labour of women of colour as well as a gendered and racialized critique of collective memory in relation to the American moon landing. A Space Exodus demands viewers to question American extractive endeavours such as the moon landing and other space colonization projects, as well as who makes up the ‘mankind’ that benefits from these excavations.

Skawennati’s characters raise similar questions regarding race and gender. As previously mentioned, Iotenshèn:’en narrates the return of Peacemaker, who appears 19 Jarrett Martineau, “Creative Combat: Indigenous Art, Resurgence, and Decolonization,” (PhD diss., University of Victoria, 2015).

20 Ytasha Womack “The Divine Feminine in Space,” in Afrofuturism: The World of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy (Chicago, Illinois: Chicago Review Press, 2013), 101.

21 Neil M. Maher, “Heavenly Bodies: ‘Manned Spaceflight’ and the Women’s Movement,” In Apollo in the Age of Aquarius, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 145.

in the form of a baby girl that grows up to become a diplomat that abolishes injustice and brings an end to colonial violence. This Indigenous female character is diplomatic, well-spoken, and worldly, able to navigate massive governmental and systemic institutions to dismantle centuries of injustice and colonial violence ─ this character established the means for Iotenshèn:’en to live without gendered or racialized discrimination. Indigenous Futurism gives artists the means to imagine such empowering retellings of history and the historical present through a positioning of the narrative from the future.

Skawennati’s work is effective in terms of (re)framing the historical framework of colonization, conveying it from the perspective of Indigenous peoples prior to the arrival of white settlers. Furthermore, by positioning the narrative from the future, and within a virtual environment, the story reels viewers and stimulates imaginations, while also exploring very real and present issues of colonialism and power.

Skawennati and Sansour’s work, although set in the future, comment on the past and present. Anishinaabe scholar and game designer Elizabeth LePensee notes that the most important aspect of Indigenous Futurisms which most people misunderstand is that, “it’s about past/present/future–the hyper present now. That we look seven generations before, and seven generations ahead.”22 LePensee reveals that Indigenous Futurism (and Arabfuturism) is a response to settler-colonial conquests and extractive capitalist systems existing in the present and an ability to time travel away from seemingly fixed systems. Through Second Life, Skawennati is able to create settings for both pre-Contact Iroquois communities as well as a world of the future, existing outside of the historical framework of colonization.

Finally, Skawennati’s futuristic world, in its essence, reveals ideals of solidarity and mutual respect. The machinima is projected in a room with a large arched installation of aluminum, Plexiglas, and LED lights, a form resembling that of a longhouse. As mentioned in The Peacemaker Returns, the word “Haudenosaunee,” can be interpreted as “they make the house,” suggesting a structure where multiple nations come together. 23Teiakwanahstahsontéhrha’ | We Extend the Rafters is the name of Skawennati’s exhibition featuring The Peacemaker Returns, referring to the action of “extending the rafters” of a longhouse, where traditional Indigenous structures would be lengthened to make room for new generations or even other families.24 Skawennati’s title encompasses the notion of acceptance and inclusion, and values respect, unity, and peace, as does Iotenshèn:’en in her pursuit for inter-galactic peace. Skawennati emphasizes that her virtual world is welcoming and compatible with other movements working towards decolonization and efforts for peace, sharing her story to build a global (and inter-galactic) solidarity with other 22 Fricke, “Indigenous Futurisms,” 119.

23 MSVU Art Gallery, “Skawennati: Teiakwanahstahsontéhrha’ | We Extend the Rafters.”

24 Ibid.

marginalized communities.

Bibliography Bouarrouj, Khelil. “‘Bethlehem Bandolero,’ Interview with Artist Larissa Sansour.”

Accessed November 25, 2019. https://palestinesquare.com/2015/04/20/ larissa-sansour-on-sci-fi-nostalgia-and-the-staging-of-myth/.

Deloria, Philip Joseph. Indians in Unexpected Places (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 2004). 143.

Dillon, Grace. “Indigenous Futurisms, Bimaashi Biidaas Mose, Flying and Walking towards You.” Extrapolation 57, no. 1/2 (2016): 2.

Fricke, Suzanne Newman., “Introduction: Indigenous Futurisms in the hyperpresent now.” World Art 9, no. 2 (2019): 115.

Jarrett, Martineau. “Creative Combat: Indigenous Art, Resurgence, and Decolonization.” (PhD diss., University of Victoria, 2015).

Kauanui, J. Kēhaulani, and Steven Salaita. “Steven Salaita On Colonization And Ethnic Cleansing In North America And Palestine.” Speaking of Indigenous Politics, n.d., 262–67. https://doi.org/10.5749/j.ctv8j71d.25.

Krebs, Mike and Dana Olwan, “‘From Jerusalem to the Grand River, Our Struggles are One’: Challenging Canadian and Israeli Settler Colonialism.”

Settler Colonial Studies 58, no. 2 (2012): 146.

Maher, Neil M. Maher. “Heavenly Bodies: ‘Manned Spaceflight’ and the Women’s Movement.” In Apollo in the Age of Aquarius. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 145.

Majali, Sulaiman. “Towards a possible manifesto; proposing Arabfuturism/s.”

Accessed November 25, 2019. http://www.smajali.co.uk/arch3.html Mikdashi, Maya. “What is Settler Colonialism? (for Leo Delano Ames Jr.).” American Indian Culture and Research Journal. no. 37 (2013): 32.

MSVU Art Gallery, “Skawennati: Teiakwanahstahsontéhrha’ | We Extend the Rafters.” Accessed November 25, 2019. https://www.msvuart.ca/exhibition/ skawennati-teiakwanahstahsontehrha-we-extend-the-rafters/.

National Gallery of Canada. “Àbadakone.” Accessed November 25, 2019. https:// www.gallery.ca/whats-on/exhibitions-and-galleries/abadakone-continuous-fire-feu-continuel.

Sansour, Larissa. “A Space Exodus.” Vimeo. Video File. 2008. https://vimeo. com/21372138 Wingfield, Marvin and Bushra Karaman, “Arab Stereotypes and American Educators.” Social Studies and the Young Learner 7, no. 4 (1995): 7.

Womack, Ytasha.“The Divine Feminine in Space.” in Afrofuturism: The World of Black Sci-Fi and Fantasy (Chicago, Illinois: Chicago Review Press, 2013), 101.

Figures Figure 1: Skawennati. “The Peacemaker Returns,” 2017. Centre Vox. http://centrevox.ca/en/exposition/skawennati-teiakwanahstahsontehrha-we-extend-the-rafters-childrens-exhibition/

Figure 2: Skawennati. “The Peacemaker Returns,” 2017. Centre Vox. http://centrevox.ca/en/exposition/skawennati-teiakwanahstahsontehrha-we-extend-the-rafters-childrens-exhibition/

Figure 3: Skawennati. “The Peacemaker Returns,” 2017. Centre Vox. http://centrevox.ca/en/exposition/skawennati-teiakwanahstahsontehrha-we-extend-the-rafters-childrens-exhibition/

Figure 4: Sansour, Larissa. “A Space Exodus,” 2008. Centre Vox. https://vimeo. com/21372138.

Figure 5: Sansour, Larissa. “A Space Exodus,” 2008. Centre Vox. https://vimeo.

com/21372138.

Figure 6: Sansour, Larissa. “A Space Exodus,” 2008. Centre Vox. https://vimeo. com/21372138.

Soraia Afshar is a rising fourth year at McGill studying Islamic studies, with specific interests in gender and sexuality in contemporary Iran. She is currently an assistant paralegal at an Immigration and Family Law firm. After her she graduates, she hopes to pursue a Master’s in Iranian studies or attend Law School.

Mahnoor Ali Syed wrote “Islamic Family Law and Divorce Procedure in Pakistan” for a Religion and Human Rights course.

Hussain Awan is a second-year International Development and WIMES major. His paper ‘The Requisite Defence: Averroes’s Treatment of Avicennian Ideas’ is on classical Islamic theology, a field that makes up one of his research interests. Others include contemporary politics in the Middle East and South Asia, political theory, and Shīʿī history. Awan currently serves on the WIMESSA executive, writes as a contributor for the McGill Tribune, and volunteers with the MSA and TMA clubs on campus.

Leah Meyers recently completed a Joint Honors degree in World Islamic and Middle East Studies and Political Science at McGill University. She received the Government of the State of Kuwait Scholarship in Islamic Studies. Leah served as the VP Academic for the McGill World Islamic and Middle East Studies Student Association. She subsequently pursued a year-long Arabic language intensive program at the American University in Cairo. There, she worked as a Reporter-Researcher for The Cairo Review of Global Affairs. She has published essays in the Contemporary Review of Genocides and Political Violence as well as Graphite Publications.

Andreas Iakovos Koch is a U4 student from Greece and Switzerland majoring in Political Science, and double minoring in History and Arabic Language. His academic interests generally focus on the histories and politics of the Mediterranean, Balkan and West Asian regions.

Reem Abdul Majid is going into her fourth year at McGill with a double major in Political Science and World Islamic and Middle East Studies. She has also been involved with the World Islamic and Middle East Studies Students’ Association for the past two years and is proud to continue being involved in this departments’ great community! Her favorite WIMES class is Sufism (ISLA 330) and Islam and Politics (ISLA 360)!

Yasir Piracha is a fourth year (U3) student majoring in Anatomy and Cell Biology with a minor in Gender, Sexuality, Feminist, & Social Justice Studies. His academic interests converge on queer studies in the Global South, as well as the effects of imperialist warfare and sanctions on cell biology, immunity, and health infrastructure. ACAB. Nicholas Raffoul wrote “To Infinity and Beyond: Indigenous Aesthetic Art Practice and Arab Futurism in Building a Global Solidarity” for an Indigenous Art and Culture class.

Acknowledgements

This year’s editorial board would like to thank the World Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies Student’s Association, as well as the Institute of Islamic Studies, and the Arts Undergraduate Society Journal Fund. Without your support and dedication to this journal the publication would not have been possible. Finally, we would like to thank our wonderful writers and all those who submitted to the journal. Your pieces were incredible and without them the journal would not exist.