Awaken

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BURNING at the center
of mere being
there is a radiant star
blazing in all of its agony
to reveal a secret
that you never knew existed.

You are asleep
haunted by the phantoms
of illusory dream-world;
caught and entangled
in the chaos
of false liberation.

Awaken
to the sound of
shockwaves tearing
across the sky
as the whirling dervish rotates
with the dance of the universe;
pound the drum that stimulates
the mystery of heart and soul;
listen to the rhythm that pulsates
with mystic solar energy
of time immemorial.

You are dizzy
lost in this ecstatic high
ailing from confusion
the dervish says:
you have been drinking poison
all of your life
you have been a victim
of a sadistic science experiment
reprogrammed by greedy corporations
implanted with falsehood
artificiality of living
you are an android
dreaming to be
human.

Unplug yourself
From the lies
From deceit and deception
From the fear and misery
Unplug
From the system.

Come, this way
to the open field
where the blade of sunlight
pierces through darkness;
open your mouth
and drink some of this
become absorbed
in this hyper trance
turn, spin, whirl
up, down, left, right
let go
and become
nameless, faceless
directionless.

Discover your luminary self
conquer dizziness
burn through the shell
of temporal chrysalis;
radiate like celestial fire
emerge and bloom
into flowery madness.

Yes, you know who you are
You are here to set the world ablaze;
open your eyes
with the flame of ignited stars
and see the universe
that was created with One Divine Breath.

Inhale and exhale with that.

~BM~

Dunkin’ Donuts, Allah, and Quantum Physics

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So, I’ve been speaking to some of my friends about quantum physics lately (by the way, isn’t the picture above amazing?) and how our thoughts carry vibrations that affect the world around us. As a result, I’ve been thinking deeper about the connections we make with other human beings as well as the world. I have a book called “The Sense of Being Stared At” by Rupert Sheldrake and it argues that our experiences with “coincidences” and “unexplained phenomena” (such as sensing who’s on the phone before answering it) are rooted in our biology. It’s really fascinating because he grounds a lot of his theories in scientific research. These experiences are so common and yet they’re rarely studied or taken seriously. We tend to overlook them too and dismiss them as mere “coincidences.”

I’m sure all of us have had experiences that we can’t explain. I know those who delve into spirituality/mysticism talk a lot about how everything happens for a reason. As the Qur’an says: “And with Allah are the keys of the unseen, no one knows them except Allah. He knows all that is in the ocean and on the land. No leaf falls without His knowledge, nor any particle in the dark recesses of the earth, nor anything green and fresh or dry and withered but that it is in a clear book.” (6:59)

I don’t believe in “coincidences” and I’ve always believed them to be signs. Even with my friends or when I meet new people, I know there is some greater purpose and significance there. We meet people for a reason, we go to certain places for a reason, we experience joy and sorrow for a reason, and so on. Talking about energy, morphic fields, and vibrations is so fascinating because, as a friend put it, it’s “science affirming mystic thought!”

Yesterday, I had one of those experiences. The weather was absolutely beautiful, so my friends and I made plans to play roller hockey. Prior to our game, I oddly felt in the mood for one of those supreme omelet croissants at Dunkin’ Donuts. Yeah, I know. Dunkin’ Donuts, not healthy, not good for you, lol. But I went through the drive thru and, as expected, there was a nice Indian woman who took my order. I drove up to the window and said, “No bacon or meat on it, right?” She shook her head and said, “no.” Then she asked, “From where you are from?” I replied, “Lahore, Pakistan.” She smiled and asked, “Hindi nahi aati?” (You don’t speak Hindi?) I smiled back and replied, “Tori se aati hain” (I know a little bit).

I laughed because I tried to carry a conversation with her in Urdu/Hindi. She asked if I was born here, and I was like, “Nahi, Lahore mein peda howa” (No, I was born in Lahore — I don’t know if I said it right, lol, so feel free to correct me!) She responded, “And you still don’t know how to speak it?” (She said that in Urdu/Hindi, but if I try to transliterate what she said, I’ll butcher it!) Then I had to drop the Urdu/Hindi and tell her that I was born there but never lived in Pakistan since my parents moved us to the United States. “I’m learning though,” I added. “Yeah, you should!” she replied.

When she went to get my food, I said “sobhan’Allah” out loud and laughed. Whenever I go to Dunkin’ Donuts or other stores, the South Asian clerks rarely speak to me in Urdu/Hindi, let alone ask me about where I’m from. Of course it’s happened before, but it’s been a while. I couldn’t help but think about my most recent note, “Searching for My Pakistani Identity,” and how I mentioned feeling bad for not speaking Urdu/Hindi with South Asians. And yesterday, a day after I wrote the note, there I was talking to a South Asian in Urdu/Hindi.

Coincidence? I don’t think so. There is Beauty in these precious moments and experiences we have. They’re filled with so much meaning and, as Shah Nimatullah Wali puts it, “everything throughout the world, everywhere, end to end, is but a reflection of a ray cast from the Face of the Friend.”

After she handed me my food, I said “shukriya” (thank you) and drove away with a smile. I couldn’t help but think Allah was smiling at me :)

Ya Haqq! (Hail the Truth!)

~Broken Mystic~

Meld in Ecstasy

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Submissive on the prayer rug
Inhaling the clean scent of the night
Eyes shut – pulled into deep trance
Listen for that match to strike

There.

The soft glow of candlelight
Glistening on your skin like the moonlit sea
It is time to embrace those open arms
And feel the Beauty of the night

Hush.

Just feel the cool air
Kissing your luscious lips
Just listen for those secret whispers
Hidden in the serenity of prayer

Shhhh.

Touch that flame of desire
Yearning for body and soul to meld in ecstasy
Come – undress in the fire
Become clothed in the Seven Shades of Love

Breathe.

Divinity is Here
Just when you think you’re ready to speak
Beloved claps a hand over your mouth
And pulls you into the passionate sea

Swim with Me.

Now is not the time for words.
Let’s make music all night.

~Broken Mystic~

Dear Love

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Dear Love,
I remember the night we met
When You climbed over those walls I built
And held my hand to show me a new horizon
Revealing a world I could never imagine

When I wanted to turn my face in the other direction
Your gentle touch brought me closer
I watched my fortress melt by Your Passion
I didn’t resist and burned it down with You

Oh Love, you tore through my Soul!
You pulled a Thunderous Storm of Fire into me!
You unfastened Your Love to unleash fiery Romance
And conquered my Being to set me Free

You pinned me to the ground
Gazed into my eyes and swallowed my words
You filled me with the sweetest pleasure I ever knew
And my heart became music to praise Your Name with every pound

Oh Love, you maddened me!
Fire in my heart, Flames in my eyes
Desire on my lips, hot blood in my veins
A human torch for Beauty

Oh Love, but then You struck me down!
While I was singing and soaring with ecstasy
Your sword plunged into my breast!
So violently, so painfully, so suddenly

I crashed so hard through the thorns
I bled for hours and searched the forest to find You
I shouted Your Name, but only heard the haunting echoes
The Garden was vacant, the flowers wounded
I shivered, I trembled, I collapsed and mourned

Oh Love, You murdered me!
Brutality to my soul, a massacre to my dreams
Betrayed, broken, shattered, butchered
Memories scattered over a forgotten sea

In rainfall I wept one day
Feeling so alone without You
Little did I know, You were right there
Wrapping Your Warm Arms around me

“I have always been Here,” You said

Tears of sorrow became tears of joy
As everything began to shine
I turned and embraced You
Oh Love, I was blind the whole time

You bring Life, You bring Death
You Destroy, You Restore
Friend, this Secret You whisper in my ear
Has become my Road to Heaven’s Door

Dear Love, it is Here where I surrender
It is Here, where I dance
Like a Flower blooming in the Garden
I am a Rose for You

Turning and ascending
Painted with Passion
Calling out Your Name
Joy or torment, it doesn’t matter

I remain Loyal to You

~Broken Mystic~

Sky Garden

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SEEKER LOOKED out her window
Only to see the world crumbling around her
Watching those luminous colors drain to monochrome
And those joy-filled smiles fade into the shadows

Tears rolling down your heavenly-crafted faces
As sweet memories are torn away
Like history altered by a tainted pen
We cannot hear the music begging for that old kingdom to stay

Rage and madness pounding in your head
Screaming so loud that the earth shatters
And yet drowned out by the hate-bombs falling
Only apathy blackens the heart when it sees blood splatter

O’ Palestine, we hear you
You are not alone
O’ Palestine, we mourn with you
With your Soul’s endless cry for home

Seeker shut her windows and wept
Feeling so weak and powerless; forgetting how to smile
A mystic in black robes knocks at the door
He says, “Friend, retreat from the world for a while.”

Know that God does not burden you beyond your means
Travel — Deep within yourself where secrets await
Discover — You are a Flower plucked out from His Garden
Be — The Gift that you are in this world, sent from the Unseen

She shook her head in doubt and uncertainty
She looked at the children she gave refuge to
Sitting in her house; helpless and hungry
“I’m not doing enough” she says

The mystic replies, “Darkness has overwhelmed you”
“And blinded you from seeing all the Love that you share”
“The helpless need you to be strong for them”
“They cannot see you fall into the abyss of despair”

Come to where the Romantics gather
Where the Lovers leap off the highest mountain
And spread their multi-colored wings
To journey into their Elysium sky

Come to where magic is Real
Where children run through the fields
And paint Om Shanti in the clouds
Where beautiful stallions emerge from the Sun
And ride us all to His Jerusalem

Come to where Beauty is heard
Where you can hear recitation of the Qur’an
The Psalms of the Torah, the chant of Christian monks
Spiritual voices from every nation of the world

Come to where revolution marches onward
Never lose hope, even in the heart of a hurricane
Defy the storm of division, your destiny is unity
When you sail on His ship, there is no fear, no pain

Come to where secrets no longer wish to remain hidden
You are a planet kept in balance
By a Sun that will never let you go
Your orbit is your Way to Divine Radiance

Come to where thorns will become roses
Mourning will soon become joyous laughter
The dead will be raised again and carried into His arms
Recite the Great Name and witness wonders

O’ Seeker of Truth
Heavens says: Hand me your tears
And I will show you what Ocean they belong to

Unchain yourself from these worries and fears

O’ Seeker, as you gaze upon those helpless faces
Know that your contributions are never without meaning
You are their House, you are their Sky Garden
You are their Immortal Flame, burning through the darkness

Embrace the wind, breathe in the fragrance of Divine Romance
Throw yourself at the Beloved’s feet — the Friend of the Heart
Become wrapped in this painted cloak of Love
Turning and ascending, the Way of Beauty’s eternal dance

Turning and ascending…
To where my heart calls me…

~Broken Mystic~

Eid Al-Adha (The Festival of Sacrifice)

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When the curtain of mystery
Is drawn asunder
Unforeseen beauty emerges
From the throes of complexity

The light of realization
Shines upon thee
The test becomes a journey
Toward inward illumination

Remember how Abraham roamed the night
Distraught by a haunting revelation
Turning his palms to the sky
Praying for the life of his first son

Shaytaan stood by the road
Only to inflict fear and lead astray
Venture through darkness, O’ Abraham
The Hand of Creation will guide you to Heaven’s abode

Remember Me, says the Merciful One
Anyone who denounces Shaytaan
And believes in Me has grasped the strongest bond
One that never breaks [Qur’an, 2:256]

Abraham replied : You are my Lord, my Creator
Only You can release me from such agony
Flame of my Soul, Source of my Being
You demolish and You restore

My Friend, my Beloved, my Constant
When I was frightened, You rescued me
When I was alone, You embraced me
When I was happy, You cherished me

You make me dance, You make me cry
You make me smile, You make me tremble
You make me discover, You make me question
You make me live, You make me die

And so loyal Abraham entered the cypress gardens
Fearless Ismail lay his head beneath his father’s blade
Abraham readied his knife: For You, my Spiritual King
But an Angel of Light intervened and ended the burden

No harm was done to his beloved son
And thus, the message of Faith was revealed
Out of mystery came enlightenment
A lesson to be learned and remembered

Lovers, Believers, Submitters
Whatever names you call them
They, like Abraham, surrender to the call of Love
That is their Faith, their bond with the Eternal Protector

The bond that never breaks

~Broken Mystic~

The Romantic

Every once in a while
When I gaze into the Secret Ocean of infinity
I see the waves reveal a vision of a young man in a dimly lit room
There, he sits and scribbles Passionate poetry

After completing one
He sets it aside near the open window
Then he reaches for another loose sheet of paper
And writes another poem for his Love to grow

He continues his art madly
Watch how the breeze admires his longing
As it whistles through his world and sweeps away the pages
Outside the Love Letters float and wander

Observe how this young man suffers
Knocking at his door, “it’s time to sleep! It’s time to sleep!”
No need to bother yelling, this young Lover won’t take heed
Keep writing says another, keep writing, spill your Passion!

The wind carries away more of his poetry
Passed the trees, over the hills, and into the cities they travel
Where is the one they seek?
Why do you stop, asks Love, keep writing, I want more colors!

Pages flying around his room, his hand exhausted
The young man listens to Love’s plea
Knocking at the door again, “it’s time to eat, it’s time to eat!”
Not yet, reminds Love, keep craving!  Blessed is this fast!

More poetry, more letters, more madness
Winds become stronger and stronger, faster and faster
They send the Lover’s message outside for the beloved to kiss
Yet where is the response, the young man finally questions

Stop asking!  Just listen to the Call!   Listen to the Music!
Laugh with me, servant of God!
Dance with me, son of Adam!
Do not grieve over this world, it will never understand!

Loves pushes hand to pen
Ink to paper, words to meaning
Tears are shed by the wounded poet
How does one explain such devotion?

He weeps over the storm of separation
That marches through the skies
Fearing Darkness will swallow hope
And no one to listen to his cries

Nonsense!  The Angels are in your presence!
Though you do not see them
If only you knew how they admire your experience
Your tears mirror the beauty that you are

The Twin Soul exists
There is no distance, no separation
Romantic ones, there is only one solution:
Love!  Ishq!  Houb!

The young man can’t write anymore
Drained, lost for words, what is there left to say?
His Passion has gone beyond words, Love says open the door
Now it’s time for the wind to take you

Every once in a while
When I gaze into the Secret Ocean of infinity
I see the waves reveal a vision of a young man in a dimly lit room
There, he sits and scribbles Passionate poetry

Take this key and open the Gate of my heart
Look inside
Do you see?

~ Broken Mystic ~

Happy Ramadan!

Tonight, we gather in the dining hall
One last meal till the journey
We turn our hearts to the Divine Call
Knowing the time has come to bid farewell to old “you”

All quarrels and disputes must be put to rest
For the Sacred Month of Learning has come
Close the doors to envy, hate, and violence
Return to the spirit of transcendence

Timeless verses and beautiful teachings
Are Flowers of the Qur’an
Send the profane back to nonexistence
And emerge as a Mirror of His Word

In the morning, how empty your stomach was
But how filled your heart was with remembrance
Our bodies starve, but the Soul blooms like the Garden
Newly filled with the fruits of wisdom and patience

And upon sunset, the hour of the feast arrives
I must speak inwardly: O’ self, what have you learned from fasting?
Ramadan is a mercy to you – shine with its Beauty
And Be the Light of your Being

What purpose does starvation serve
when old habits cease to persist?
How can you sit under the same tree?
It withers in time, journey onward my friend

Facing East, I recite the Eternal verses:
“O’ Lord, increase me in knowledge” (20:114)
And the Holy Scripture responds:
“God advances guidance in those who seek guidance” (19:76)

God of Mercy and Love:
Thank You for Your Message
For this Blessed month, for this Gift of Life
Thank You for everything

Happy Ramadan to all
with Love and Peace

~ Broken Mystic ~

Sister

She was dragged out into the street
An angry mob shouting words they didn’t understand
Tearing her clothes off shamelessly
Spitting in her face and beating her with brutal hands

She was seventeen – beautiful and innocent
A radiant smile that became trembling lips
What was my crime, she cannot even ask
What have I done to deserve this torment?

A distant Lover, a young man from a different part of town
Just an innocent pair of Lovers
They pull her hair and call her a disgrace
“Infidel!” “Slut!” “Whore!”

Tears streaming down her face – I’m sorry, she whimpers
Heavy rocks and stones slamming against her body
Blood dripping, bones crushing, such fragile beings we are
Why hurt so much beauty?

You stand in the crowd
Surrounded by a chaotic storm of violence
Unable to hold back your tears
Wanting to bring an end to this madness

I know, me too…

With each violent strike
You watch her life bleed away
Her broken fingers reaching for help, just someone to hold
Just someone to tell her it’s going to be okay

You’re haunted by her helpless eastern eyes
Watching the brutality ensue
One rock thrown at a time like some demonic game
While police officers just stand as spectators
Unyielding to her desperate and painful cries

You want to charge through the crowd
And take the rocks like bullets
You want to bleed and lessen her pain
You want to scream into the sky
And punch the earth until your hand breaks

I know, me too…

Sister, what we would do to help you
If we weren’t so afraid
I’m standing here, bleeding from the inside
Suffocating and blind from all this hatred

Sister, I cannot live like this
Or laugh or sing or dance or smile
I cannot breathe like this
Or talk or eat or walk or sleep

Thinking of all the pain you endured
Of all those years you missed
Those precious days stolen from you
In the early bloom of your being

You want to believe in the Unseen Beauty
Heaven’s Chariot charging through the fields
Divine Light resurrecting her lifeless body
And a warm hand healing her wounds

Fear nothing, says a gentle voice
For Beautiful Muhammad has come
To lead you out of darkness and into Light
To bring you out of sorrow and into rejoice

Ali and Fatima wait at the Gate
Come, Sister
To the Eternal Sky
To the Garden of Souls
To the Love that belongs to you

You want to believe this is how it ended

I know, me too…

~ Broken Mystic ~

Female, Muslim, and Mutant: A Critique of Muslim Women in Comic Books – Part 1 of 2

BAKWA, AFGHANISTAN – A convoy of jeeps packed with turban-clad and bearded Taliban militia roar through the rocky streets of a small Afghan town. The engines slowly die down as the militiamen hop off their vehicles and prepare to unleash havoc and raid homes.

But something unusual mystifies them and halts their extremist fervor. An ominous silence fills the town, as if it were a strange pause in reality. They ponder, “Has the town been abandoned?” The silence is interrupted by the desert wind blowing against curtains and flags, while startling the braying animals. The radicals soon realize: the wind is not alone.

A female voice emerges from gusts of sand and warns the Taliban to turn back. The leader becomes infuriated and threatens to burn the entire town to the ground if the people don’t come out of hiding. The invisible entity replies as her voice steps closer and closer to the militia, “[the town] is under my protection. Leave before you get a demonstration of what that means.” The leader is not intimidated and asks what will happen if he does not retreat.

“I’ll rip the skin from your bones,” answers the wind.

Infused with arrogance, the Taliban scoffs, “I would truly like to see that.” Immediately, the gust of sand swirls into a tornado and swallows the leader’s hand and disarms him of his assault rifle. The sandstorm retracts while the Taliban leader screams in pain and looks at his skeletal hand in horror. Finally, the Taliban rush to their jeeps and speed off from the town. The desert wind and sand transform to reveal the city’s invisible hero. Meet “Dust,” or Sooraya Qadir, a burqa-garbed adolescent Afghan girl who has the ability, as shown in the scene above, to shape into sandstorms and tear the skin off her enemies. She has been a member of Marvel Comic’s X-Men since her first appearance in 2002 and she currently appears regularly in the “Young X-Men” comic books. In the male-dominated world of comic books where female characters are depicted with large breasts and skimpy skin-tight (or lack of) clothing, it’s interesting to examine whether or not Dust and other Muslim super-heroines escape the sexual objectification and sexism that women often suffer in comic books. Are the Muslim women subjected to stereotypes? Are they doomed to the same fate of other female characters? Does the “male gaze” still apply? In Part 1 of this essay, these are but a few questions that we will apply to the character of Dust, and as we shall learn, the answers are fairly complex. In Part 2, we will explore other Muslim female characters where unfortunately, there is hardly any improvement.

In regards to Dust, the “X-Men” is the perfect place to accommodate a Muslim character. X-Men fans, or those who have seen the films, already know that the storyline centralizes on how mutants – evolved and “gifted” humans with superpowers – are discriminated against by other human beings. Mutants are misunderstood, feared, and hated by the public, while the media and government powers promote ignorance, persecution, and even war upon them. Sound familiar? Recall the opening scene from X-Men 2 when a mind-controlled Nightcrawler nearly assassinates the President of the United States and the television headlines scream: “Mutants Attack the White House.” I remember when I first saw that scene I couldn’t help but think of September 11th. What made me relate even more to the scene was how the X-Men – mutants who had absolutely nothing to do with the attack – were crowded around the television and watching this news report and feeling as if they were responsible. X-Men producer Lauren Shuler Donner even explicitly stated on the DVD for X-Men 2, “If there is any oppressed minority—homosexual, religious, Muslim, whatever it is – that is the most absurd question that people do ask: ‘Can you try not to be who you are?’ And so we felt it was very important to show this whole absurd side.” So considering how relevant “X-Men” is to current events, how does Dust fit in at Professor Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters?

Grant Morrison, the X-Men writer who created Dust, said in an interview, “It can only happen at Marvel. As Wolverine comes closer to unlocking the dark secrets of his past, an Afghan Muslim mutant joins the X-Men. You want daring? You want different? Then meet Dust as New X-Men challenges the rules again.” Though the word “awesome” may initially spring to mind when one reads this statement, it can be strongly argued that the male gaze is still in effect. For those who are unfamiliar with the terminology, the “male gaze” is essentially female characters being depicted and presented in ways their heterosexual male writers, artists, and audiences would like to see them. In the case of Dust, we can make an argument for the western male gaze: an “oppressed” Muslim girl is rescued from Afghanistan by Wolverine, a western male mutant. Wolverine is told that the Taliban were trying to remove Dust’s burqa, obviously to molest her, and since there doesn’t seem to be other Muslims around to take a stand against the Taliban’s perverted behavior, who better to rescue her than Wolverine, or shall I say, western democracy? The scenario of Dust fighting the Taliban, as admirable as it is, occurs enough times in later issues that it makes one question if this is how western male writers, artists, and readers want to see a Muslim super-heroine, i.e. to rebel against her oppressors, the mutual enemy of the U.S. government?

To support this argument even further, there are many factors to consider, including political context. For example, Dust makes her first appearance in New X-Men # 133 which was published in December 2002, a little over a year after September 11th, 2001. In the issue prior to her debut (issue # 132), Morrison writes a tribute to the victims of Genosha, a fictional mutant homeland, where 16 million mutants were killed. There were two direct references to September 11th used in Marvel’s advertising of the comic book, calling the Genosha tragedy “the X-Men’s own 9/11.” The final page of the comic book shows the X-Men team crying at their loss. Next month, in issue # 133, we open to a full page of Wolverine slaughtering Taliban militants. Maybe I missed something, but the last time I checked, super-heroes don’t kill their enemies, no matter how destructive or deadly. I suppose Muslim radicals are exceptions! Even worse, we see Pakistani terrorists hijacking an Air-India plane while Professor Xavier and Jean Grey are aboard. Xavier uses his psychic abilities to convince the Pakistani hijacker, whose name happens to be Muhammad, to put down his weapon and surrender to the Indian authorities. Muhammad begins to cry and as he is arrested, he says, “It’s true, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life!” Morrison takes revenge on Muslim extremists by (1) brutally slaughtering them (via Wolverine) and (2) passively using mind tricks on them (via Xavier), and the best part is that he gets to (3) rescue an “oppressed” Afghan Muslim adolescent girl and take her home (via Wolverine again)!

Well, almost “home.” Wolverine carries Dust back to an X-Men headquarters in India – no X-Men headquarters in Muslim countries like Afghanistan and Pakistan, I take it – where Jean Grey kindly encourages Dust to reveal herself from concealment. “It’s ok, Sooraya,” Jean says, “You can turn back into human form now.” Finally, Dust appears in her black burqa saying “Toorab! Toorab!” Wolverine remarks, “It means ‘dust.’ It’s all she says.” Wow, the Arabic word for dust, “toorab,” is all she says? How cute! Not only does Morrison introduce us to a super-powered Muslim girl, but also to somewhat of a doll that exclaims “Toorab! Toorab!” whenever she gets excited about transforming back into human form. I can just picture Wolverine’s conversation with her while flying to India: “So kid, what’s your story?” “Toorab! Toorab!” She reminds me of those hooded Jawa creatures from “Star Wars” who live on the desert planet of Tatooine, always bustling around and saying the same things over and over again in their alien language.

We not only see a political slant here, which in turn justifies the western male gaze, we also see a female Muslim character that doesn’t have much of a personality. Morrison doesn’t even return to her character after this issue; instead he hands her over to other writers, but perhaps for the better, since they make significant improvements (which I will discuss later). Another thing is in play here and that’s male dependency, something that I discussed in a previous essay of mine, “The Objectification of Women in Graphic Novels.” Although one could argue that Wolverine is practically an indestructible character with his adamantium skeleton and rapid healing factor, it’s hard to believe why Dust would need any rescuing, considering her superpowers and her human enemies. If she was being recruited, the situation would be different and we wouldn’t see any sign of male dependency, but since we see a man rescue her, we assume that Dust’s superpowers are inferior: she is not nearly as powerful as male characters like Wolverine. We have seen female characters rely on their male counterparts in comic books many times before: Super Girl, Bat Girl, Spider Girl, the Huntress, She Hulk, Lois Lane, and so on. What’s important to look at here is that there is not a single positive male Muslim character in Dust’s debut issue – there are the Taliban militants that want to molest her and there are the Pakistani hijackers – but the Muslim women, who Morrison couldn’t possibly kill off since they’re “victims” in the Muslim world, are innocent, good, and “crying for freedom,” therefore they must be “saved” by western men. The racism and sexism work hand-in-hand.

Dust would not make her next appearance until January 2005 in New X-Men: Academy X # 2, where she is officially a member of the mutant team. This time under the authorship of Nunzio DeFilippis and his wife Christina Weir, Dust is explored more and begins to develop into a three-dimensional character. However, stereotypes about Muslim women arise, as does the great Islamic dress code debate. The topic on hijaabs, niqaabs, and burqas is not only controversial among Muslims and non-Muslims, but also among Muslims themselves! Perhaps, it would be no exaggeration to say that this issue is more debated within the Muslim community than outside. In any case, I understand the sensitivity of this matter, so I will offer a hopefully balanced perspective.

In issue # 2, Dust meets her roommate, Surge, who wears a tight tank top and pink shorts that are seemingly slipping down her waist. Provocative lyrics play from her boom box: “Yeah I drive naked through the park, and run the stop sign in the dark…” Surge is immediately hostile towards Dust because of the way she dresses. “So you don’t like my music, huh?” she says. Dust responds shyly and explains she doesn’t understand American music. Surge replies, “Yeah whatever, and speaking of things we don’t understand, is that outfit you’re wearing actually a burqa?” Dust tries to explain, but Surge interrupts and says wearing a burqa is shameful to women and makes them “subservient to men.” Dust replies politely, “no, the burqa is about modesty. There are boys and men on campus, and it is not right for me to show off by exposing myself or flesh to them.” Surge snaps back, “Are you saying I show too much flesh?” Again, Dust politely tries to explain, “No I do not judge the way you dress, I only ask that you do the same for me.” Surge walks to the door and says, “You do judge me… I don’t need to be lectured by someone who’s setting women back fifty years just by walking around like that.” Surge leaves the room and slams the door, leaving Dust dejected and discouraged.

No matter what your stance is on the burqa or the headscarf (hijaab), it is clear that this scene puts Dust on the defensive. In a place where mutants are supposed to feel accepted, Dust is misjudged because of her dress choices. In later issues, particularly New X-Men: Hellions # 2, we learn, from a conversation with her mother, that Dust is not forced to wear the burqa and she enjoys the protection it gives her from men. For Dust, the burqa is a choice, and that must be respected and defended.

However, I believe Dust’s reasoning for wearing the burqa is somewhat inaccurate and stereotypical. This may be due to the writers’ apparent misunderstanding of Muslim women and Islam in general. What’s annoying and arguably inaccurate is how Dust speaks about “protecting herself from men,” which not only make men out to be lustful and perverted, but it also sexualizes herself and makes her an object of desire. The beautiful teachings of modesty for both genders in Islam tend to be mistaken for the stereotypical notion of “protecting women from men.” These beliefs keep her side-lined, while the rest of the young Mutants develop crushes on one another and participate in extra-curricular activities. I’m not suggesting that Dust should start dating, but she should at least have some hobbies, otherwise she’s just a one-dimensional character! We either see Dust in the background or we catch a brief scene of her telling a fellow male mutant that she must decline taking a flight with him. It seems like she can’t do anything because her religion is so “restrictive.”

The way the writers present Islam is also a bit irritating. Almost every time we see Dust, she is praying and asking God for forgiveness for whatever sin she may have committed. A common stereotype that prevails in the west about Islam is that it doesn’t promote “freedom.” The word “Islam” means “submission” and this term is often associated with “slavery.” But Islam is not slavery – to be a servant of God, as believed by Muslims, is seen as humility and liberation of the Soul. It is to acknowledge a higher power greater than them. Unfortunately, Dust fulfills the negative stereotype that Islam is restrictive and that Allah is someone to constantly ask forgiveness from. I doubt these were the intentions of the writers, but it doesn’t take much to pick up on how secluded Dust is most of the time from her peers. It’s as if her social contact and interactions with the opposite sex is something she finds sinful, which is why she must be praying for “forgiveness.” It makes the reader perceive her as a “religious nut” as Surge calls her at one point. It makes me wonder what Dust enjoys doing on her free time? Who does she sit with during school assemblies? Who sits at her table during lunch breaks? These unanswered questions keep Dust’s character incomplete.

I know Muslim women who wear hijaab, niqaab, and even the burqa, and they still have social interactions with men. Since no Muslim alternative is presented, the writers risk Dust being stereotyped and generalized as what all Muslim women are like. It also formulates the stereotype that all Muslim women dress the way she does. There are some Muslims who praise Dust for being a devout Muslim girl who practices Islam “properly” because of the way she observes the burqa, but to praise Dust as a practicing Muslim on the basis of her burqa alone would be a serious mistake. It is also extremely offensive and even insulting because it marginalizes the Muslim women who don’t wear hijaab or the burqa. It makes them feel as if they’re not practicing Islam “properly” just because they don’t share the same views as other Muslims do about dress code. It creates a wild generalization that only Muslim women dressed in the burqa are spiritual, God-conscious, or practicing Muslims. Anyone familiar with Islamic teachings knows that the inward state of a human being is known to God alone, and just because someone wears a scarf over their head doesn’t immediately make them a pious person. Is Dust a devout Muslim? Yes. Is it because of her burqa? No. Dust states very clearly that she accepts other girls for the way they dress, and she only asks to be accepted for who she is in return. Perhaps we all can learn from Dust and learn how to accept one another for our differences.

So overall, can we appreciate a character like Dust? I think we can; however, there is a lot of room for improvement. As mentioned above, her character is incomplete and her character suffers from stereotypes that are due to misunderstandings about Islamic beliefs and practices. It bothers me that Dust is the product of a post-9/11 storyline, which features stereotypes towards Muslims, in the same way it bothers me that Wonder Woman is the product of a male fantasy. It also bothers me how weak her character is at times. In one scene, Dust loses her burqa after transforming back into human form. She is naked behind the bushes and asks Surge to hand her the burqa. This is insulting and serves no purpose at all except to weaken Dust’s character and to generate western pity for her: the poor Muslim girl who needs her burqa, otherwise she can’t go outside. How come none of the other characters lose their clothes, especially the female characters wearing short tank tops and shorts (or underwear for some)? They won’t lose their clothing, but a girl in a burqa will? Please. Surge then asks Dust what’s the big deal in men looking at her. “They’re just looking, so let them look,” says Surge. Dust, as usual, has weak comebacks and simply says Surge will not understand her. Again, I find this insulting because the writers use Surge to try to cheapen Dust and her personal beliefs. It would be nice to see Dust take a stronger stand for herself and not be so excluded because of her religion. It would also be nice to see more Muslim female characters that help shatter the stereotypes that have been generated about Muslim women. Possible ideas for female Muslim characters could include those who wear hijaab, don’t wear hijaab, and even those who are Shia or Sufi. After all, Islam celebrates diversity and embraces people of all ethnicities, cultures, genders, and schools of thought.

The concept of a female Muslim super-heroine in the realm of comic books is very exciting, but considering the role that women already suffer in comic books, we can expect that the road for characters like Dust won’t be steady. On one hand, she is applauded by a certain portion of readers, including some from the Muslim community, but perhaps, for the wrong reasons, while on the other hand, she is criticized for being too weak, one-dimensional, and stereotypical. There is potential for her to break boundaries, but there are risks and challenges involved: Right now, she is a supporting character in the “Young X-Men” series; is the west ready to see Dust with a comic book of her own? If so, what political stance will writers take on Dust’s religion, culture, and home country? Will artists depict her without the burqa? Will new Muslim characters be introduced to accompany her? Only time will tell. Hopefully, we will see more stories that carry the spirit of the X-Men films rather than those that reinforce old stereotypes.

In Part 2, I will look at how Muslim women are depicted in comic books published in the Arab and Muslim world. So until then: To Be Continued!

UPDATE: I know a lot of people have been pointing out that Wolverine does in fact kill and as soon as it was mentioned to me, I immediately realized that the Wolverine I had in mind was from the cartoon TV series. It was a mistake on my part (but I did say, “maybe I missed something,” lol). Anyway, it’s been bit embarrassing for me, so I just wanted to clear that up and point out that I acknowledge the error. In any case, it was still disturbing for me to see the issue begin with a huge pile of slaughtered Taliban, especially considering how this issue follows the Genosha tribute (which symbolizes the 9/11 tribute). The fact that Morrison never revisits Dust seems suspicious to me — it’s as if he needed to create a good Muslim character in order to cover up the Taliban slaughter and the Muslim stereotypes (Pakistani man named MUHAMMAD hijacking the AIR-INDIA plane). Anyway, I hope everyone accepts my apology.

UPDATE: Johanna_hypatia from Live Journal recently shared some really interesting points on how western publishers have an obsession with depicting Muslim women with face veils, which has become iconic of all Muslim women, “especially when the veils sets off their kohl-enhanced eyes.” She also made the mentioning of Orientalism by Edward Said.

This is the rest of her comment: “Dust is following the same script… (t)he Orient is exoticized and feminized, the better to make it an alluring prize to be dominated by conquering white male imperialists. In actual fact, the percentage of Muslim women in the world who veil their faces is tiny. It’s practiced mainly in the Persian Gulf countries and hardly at all elsewhere. Muslim feminist Asra Nomani wrote about this trend, with the iconic veiled woman used to represent Muslim women who are in fact not veiled at all — and she even got one of the white male publishers to admit that they display the veiled image for its allure of mysteriousness. This is sexism and racism fused into one. See her article ‘Why Do Western Publishers Have a Veil Fetish?’”

~ Broken Mystic ~

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