“We’re all equal”
As November draws to a close I felt it’s about time I acknowledge the absence of my Islamophobia Awareness Month post. The truth is I've really been struggling to write this. Typically, I’d discuss a couple of Islamophobic incidents, show you the data or make some suggestions as to how non-Muslims can become better allies and punctuate it with some cute, “we’re all equal” rhetoric, but I couldn’t. In fact, the whole team has been somewhat stunned by global events all month, causing a silence that seems almost complicit. It feels impossible to acknowledge the mistreatment of Muslims nationally and worldwide without making reference to the war in the Middle-East. When looking at the history of the events and the current context since October, we can see the war is not about religion… that neither Jew nor Muslim wants to see their communities as victims of violence, but here in the UK it's really difficult to reconcile that with the images we see.
Lately I’ve been reminded of my years as a secondary school teacher, and a particular lesson about ethics. I'd use Philipa Foote's trolly problem to get the students questioning their own sense of right and wrong as well as getting them to question how they feel about the value of human life. The students would always get into the debate and there never seemed to be a clear side that would prevail. Now when we turn on the news or open social media, I see similar ways of thinking playing out in real time. Politicians, journalists, ambassadors, and military leaders all debating the value of life; the difference being this time the decisions being made are not theoretical. They have real impact on who lives or dies. Our world leaders are constantly deciding whose lives have value enough to warrant being saved.
The idea of justifying anyone's right to exist seems bizarre to me. The right to life should be a given. But as I watch what is happening in the world that principle seems to be lost. The basic right of a human, family, community, or nation to exist has been reduced to a nameless, faceless, political gambit with no evidence of due consideration of the impact discourse may have. But I guess that’s the point I’ve been missing. Islamophobia Awareness month is about advocating for the basic rights of humans, families and communities that happen to be Muslim. To exist, to live free from violence and persecution.
This year’s Islamophobia awareness month theme is #MuslimStories. With that in I want to dedicate to the two sisters who couldn’t walk home in peace because their hijabs made them a target. When that car mounted the pavement in a deliberate attempt to hit you, I know that must have been terrifying. I’m proud of you everyday for seeking forgiveness instead of anger.
To the guy who has been teaching me that Islam is not a monolith since we were 18. You’re my favourite kind of geek and I’d be lost without you. Thank you for showing me that in a world that can be almost as chaotic as your bedroom, Allah is your constant source of strength and peace... and yes, I understand that Islam means peace.
To the troublesome twin… there are many stories but the only one that matters is that you have never EVER showed me anything other than love, grace, fun and chilli-cheese sandwiches. No matter where you are, you shine. A heart that big always done.
And finally to my sister from another mister, and my partner in crime, thank you for your courage in times when you have feared for your life and the lives of those you love. Thank you for your compassion when those who persecuted you (including the police) refused to see beyond their prejudice. And thank you for consistently reminding me what kinship is. I truly believe that being a Muslim has made you a better version of the you I met when we were 11, and she was pretty awesome to begin with.
To Muslims up and down the country, asking to be treated with respect and decency is not something we should have to make people aware of, but we are here with you and for you until there is no longer a need for Islamophobia Awareness Month.
#IslamophobiaAwarenessMonth2023
#MuslimStories
#Equality
A fitting beginning
The 1st of October marks the start of Black History Month in the UK and the 2023 theme is ‘Saluting Our Sisters’.
As such it felt like the best time to launch a business that is run by women and dedicated to improving the inclusivity culture at work, school, the gym…or wherever it may be. So here we are… Rebel Led Training and Consultancy.
Now part of my passion for inclusivity stems from growing up black in the UK. I am neurodivergent. I am cis female. But I have felt stigmatisation and discrimination significantly more on the grounds of race than any other attribute in my life.
But in spite of having to learn to navigate those circumstances, I’m so so grateful.
I was born in Manchester back in the 80’s but my Jamaican heritage is something I have always been proud of. There’s something about Jamaican culture that encourages you to stand a little taller and to remember that no matter how quiet you may be, there is some boasie energy coursing through your veins that you can unleash as some sort of super power when you need to. You need not rely upon your own confidence because the Jamaican within will somehow ignite and carry you through.
My grandmother left Jamaica in 1961, some 13 years after the Windrush landing but only months before Jamaica claimed her independence from the British Empire. Jamaica at the time was erupting with social and political changes. The devastation of the hurricane some 10 years prior had left my ancestral family of cultivators in a harsh state of being, so my grandmother left her 3 children, all under 5, in the trusted care of her mother in search of a better life.
Even though time had past since the initial wave of Caribbean migration in the 1950’s; she was still met with rhetorics like; ‘no Blacks, no dogs, no Irish’. Like many before her she joined the brigade of Caribbean nurses that fortified the NHS, but had to deal with patience refusing her care, being denied accommodation, but persistently fought to build a life.
This is usually the part of the story where hope springs, the rainbow appears after the storm and you’d imagine the living happily ever after part to kick in, but her story is not a romantic one. The hardships she endured were the kind that I sometimes wish I didn’t know about. The storms she weathered would quieten for a while but always seem to regain strength. She experienced betrayal, abuse and the loss of two children. She experienced deep love, swift loss and an abiding air of melancholy that was only visible to those who could see through the mask she so stubbornly held in place. She has always been a bit of a fashionista and was never afraid to flash a bit of leg. Her hair was always permed, nails were always painted and she used her appearance as a mark of her success.
To many she could be harsh and even quite brutal when giving someone a dressing down. You would only ever get one opportunity to cross her. She has never been particularly forgiving, or sentimental or even very maternal. She is tough, has a wicked sense of humour and has poured love into me since always. But what she has always had is a willingness to survive that I have only ever seen rivalled by one other woman in my lifetime; her daughter- my mother.
Nowadays, as dementia takes hold, my Grandmother’s toughness has melted and a softness resides in her expression. But she still treats me to glimpses of the girl she used to be. On this day when we salute our sisters, I choose to salute Ms Inez, my Grandmother. The boasiest that ever was or will be.
#BlackHistoryMonthUK
#SaluteOurSisters
#BlackHistoryMonth2023
#RebelLedReflections
The 1st of October marks the start of Black History Month in the UK and the 2023 theme is ‘Saluting Our Sisters’.
As such it felt like the best time to launch a business that is run by women and dedicated to improving the inclusivity culture at work, school, the gym…or wherever it may be. So here we are… Rebel Led Training and Consultancy.
Now part of my passion for inclusivity stems from growing up black in the UK. I am neurodivergent. I am cis female. But I have felt stigmatisation and discrimination significantly more on the grounds of race than any other attribute in my life.
But in spite of having to learn to navigate those circumstances, I’m so so grateful.
I was born in Manchester back in the 80’s but my Jamaican heritage is something I have always been proud of. There’s something about Jamaican culture that encourages you to stand a little taller and to remember that no matter how quiet you may be, there is some boasie energy coursing through your veins that you can unleash as some sort of super power when you need to. You need not rely upon your own confidence because the Jamaican within will somehow ignite and carry you through.
My grandmother left Jamaica in 1961, some 13 years after the Windrush landing but only months before Jamaica claimed her independence from the British Empire. Jamaica at the time was erupting with social and political changes. The devastation of the hurricane some 10 years prior had left my ancestral family of cultivators in a harsh state of being, so my grandmother left her 3 children, all under 5, in the trusted care of her mother in search of a better life.
Even though time had past since the initial wave of Caribbean migration in the 1950’s; she was still met with rhetorics like; ‘no Blacks, no dogs, no Irish’. Like many before her she joined the brigade of Caribbean nurses that fortified the NHS, but had to deal with patience refusing her care, being denied accommodation, but persistently fought to build a life.
This is usually the part of the story where hope springs, the rainbow appears after the storm and you’d imagine the living happily ever after part to kick in, but her story is not a romantic one. The hardships she endured were the kind that I sometimes wish I didn’t know about. The storms she weathered would quieten for a while but always seem to regain strength. She experienced betrayal, abuse and the loss of two children. She experienced deep love, swift loss and an abiding air of melancholy that was only visible to those who could see through the mask she so stubbornly held in place. She has always been a bit of a fashionista and was never afraid to flash a bit of leg. Her hair was always permed, nails were always painted and she used her appearance as a mark of her success.
To many she could be harsh and even quite brutal when giving someone a dressing down. You would only ever get one opportunity to cross her. She has never been particularly forgiving, or sentimental or even very maternal. She is tough, has a wicked sense of humour and has poured love into me since always. But what she has always had is a willingness to survive that I have only ever seen rivalled by one other woman in my lifetime; her daughter- my mother.
Nowadays, as dementia takes hold, my Grandmother’s toughness has melted and a softness resides in her expression. But she still treats me to glimpses of the girl she used to be. On this day when we salute our sisters, choose to salute Ms Inez, my Grandmother. The boasiest that ever was or will be.
#BlackHistoryMonthUK
#SaluteOurSisters
#BlackHistoryMonth2023
#RebelLedReflections