Iranian women take off their hijab

Ordinary Iranian women created a Facebook page called stealthy freedom or secret freedom.

Islamic Revolution started 35 years ago. Since then it has been illegal for a woman to leave the house without wearing a hijab or headscarf. The punishment is a fine or imprisonment.
An Iranian woman said, “My hair was like a hostage to the government.” It is so true.

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“My problem is not having to wear the headscarf. My problem is not having a choice,” writes another Iranian woman on the Facebook page.

I say bravo girls, you go girls! You take off your hijab forever, not for a few seconds. Not secretly, but openly. But would they be able to do it? So many girls and women are executed in Iran for not practicing Islam properly.

I feel so sad. Women, only because they are women, they are not allowed to enjoy the rights and freedom they deserve. Women have to take off their hijabs only for a few seconds to know what freedom feels like. Human species sucks. It has not yet made its women free from the cage it has made for women. I am ashamed of human species.

Muslims should be ashamed of Islam.

All religions are nonsense. All religions are fairy tales, to fool people.
All religions were born out of ignorance. But it is only Islam which is still shamelessly showing its barbaric behaviour all over the world. Blind believers of Islam have no intention to stop persecuting people, humiliating humanity, stoning women, banning conscience, burning books in the name of protecting their God and prophet.

I hope you know that Saudi humanist Raif Badawi is facing 10 years imprisonment and 1000 lashes for calling an end of religious domination over public life. The reality is, if you want to stop Islamic oppression to save humanity, authorities will accuse you of insulting Islam and punish you. It is not limited to Saudi Arabia. Way too many countries in the world believe in the same insanity.

We hear disturbing news everyday. Women are stoned to death for being in love, writers or artists or human rights activists are lashed, slaughtered, imprisoned, hanged for criticizing Islam.

Today, it is the only ideology in the world which is exempt from critical scrutiny. People stay away from criticizing Islam not because they love Islam, but because they are scared of its terrorist-murderer-slaughterer protectors.

I wonder why Muslims are not ashamed of Islam. How many centuries do they need to know that Islam is not a religion of peace, it is just an anti human rights, anti free speech, anti democracy religion which was created by an Arab camel driver for his own interest.

Let’s protest against the violation of human rights. Come on, it is 21st century, we should not allow ignorance to rule the world.

Bad ad.

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This is a bad ad.

It seems the organization that has given the ad has been influenced by Hitler to hate people.

The Quran is a book of hatred and horror. It is against non-Muslims. True.

The Quran is also against women. Against democracy, human rights, freedom of expression.

The truth is the Quran is more against Muslims than against non-Muslims. Muslims suffer more than non-Muslims because of Islam.

The people born in Muslim countries are not responsible for what a man called Muhammad did 1400 years ago.

Like all the children in the world, the children living in Muslim countries need food,drinking water, shelter and care. They badly need secular education. Poor women in Muslim countries need education, job and independence. If US aid helps them to survive and fight poverty, illiteracy, bigotry, then why US should end all aid to Muslim countries?

Muslim countries are giving birth to fanatics and terrorists. True.
Muslims countries are also giving birth to people who have thinking mind, people who are bravely opposing Islamic oppressions. More and more people in Muslim countries are trying to reform Islam, questioning Islam, leaving Islam, challenging hateful fundamentalists. They are trying to secularize societies and states. More and more people in Muslim countries are becoming revolutionaries, taking risks to enlighten people. They get attacked, jailed, exiled, killed. Wasn’t I born and brought up in a Muslim country and became a rebel?

Muslim societies are full of hatred. Judeo-Christian societies and other non-Muslim societies are not hatred-free. What we need is love and compassion in the world of hatred. For the sake of humanity, we need to stop indoctrinating children with religion, patriarchy, misogyny, ignorance, and superstitions. The world will be changed.

The anti-Muslim organization has the right to give an ad. I have the right to say, this is a bad ad.

Multiculturalism

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In our ‘women in secularism’ conference in Virginia, USA, some Western scholars blamed government of France for the banning of burqas. I do not understand why they think Muslim women like to wear burqas and it is government of France, not Islam, violates Muslim women’s human rights. My mother used to wear burqas. Once I wore one of her burqas only to feel how she feels when she wears that. It was hot and suffocating. I could not feel I was a human. I just felt I was a nobody. I felt I did not have any identity and I did not exist. There was no reason for my mother not to feel the same I felt. But my mother could not stop wearing burqas only because her misogynistic patriarchal society wanted her to wear burqas.

If burqa is not good for Western women, it is not good for Eastern women. If burqa is good for women, it should also be good for men. But men don’t wear burqas. Men wear burqas when they go to kill or commit crimes, because they need to hide their faces. Women are forced to wear it because they are women and because men may look at them and get sexually excited. Instead of blindfolding men, society is forcing women to wear burqas. Women have to suffer only because men can not control their sexual urges. How pathetic the whole purpose behind the burqa is!

Liberal women discussing about multiculturalism believe that ‘Western people are racist, they hate Muslims’. It can be true. Suppose it is true, or it is very true, but it is wrong to think that because the West is against Muslims, it is alright for Muslim women to wear burqas. Whatever happens, it is never alright for anyone to wear burqas. Wearing Burqas is not the ‘culture’ that we should respect. We must not accept misogyny in the name of culture. If Western women need to fight misogyny, Eastern women also need to fight misogyny. Misogyny is Muslim culture, so Muslims should have the right to practice misogyny — this idea is racist. In the name of fighting Western racism and so called Islamophobia liberal Westerners show their own hidden racism which is the most dangerous kind of racism.

Islam has relation with terrorism

A film at the soon-to-open National September 11 Memorial Museum on the roots of the attacks has been denounced by an advisory group made up of clergy from different faiths. Here is the news.
Clergy of every religion try to save all religions. Religion is their bread and butter. They know that during the crisis they have to save each other’s ass. They now try to say, Islam had nothing to do with 9/11. But the truth is, Islam had a lot of things to do with 9/11. Most of the religious terrorism we witness in today’s world, is Islamic. Islam is related to terrorism doesn’t mean that all Muslims are terrorists, it means Islam has relation with terrorism. Many Muslims do not believe in terrorism, or they are afraid to be involved in terrorism. But Islam didn’t establish itself as a religion without terrorizing people. It has a bloody history. The terrorists of 9/11 might have some political agenda but it was Islam which made them so desperate to kill kafirs. Muhammad the prophet of Islam himself killed kafirs and inspired his followers to kill kafirs or the enemies of Islam. All 9/11 terrorists were the blind followers of Muhammad and Islam, the religion he created more than 1400 years ago.

Why deny the truth?

Why do we all have to be afraid of Muslims?

Remember Katy Perry’s music video?

Muslims believed the video was a blasphemous video. They sincerely believed that Islam would be saved if the video was vanished.

Katy Perry has now removed the scene from her video where a man wearing a pendant forming the word Allah was melted into sand.

Katy Perry has saved Islam. She edited the video. She did not need to edit her video, but she did. People everywhere fulfill the wishes of Muslims. We all give them everything whatever they demand for. We do not care if those demands are anti democracy, anti human rights, anti free speech.

How long Muslims would threat humanity for their myths? How long Muslims will keep Islam as an untouchable religion? The answer is very simple, as long as we are afraid of them.

God in flames! Blasphemous music video!


Muslims are saying that ‘Dark Horse’ music video is blasphemous.
“Dark Horse,” is sparking harsh reactions from the international Muslim community for disrespecting a symbol representing their God, Allah.

A petition launched Tuesday on Change.org is urging supporters of Islam as well as other religions, to ask YouTube to remove the “blasphemous” music video. Thus far, the petition has received 35,000 signatures.
Perry portrays an animated representation of Egyptian Queen Cleopatra, and she is seen using her powers to destroy those who oppose her. One character in the video is seen wearing a religious symbol around his neck, who she then zaps into a pile of sand, along with his pendant.

“At 01:15 into the video Dark Horse; a man is shown being burned, whilst wearing a pendant (also burned) forming the word ‘Allah’, which is the Arabic word for God,” says the online petition.

A man wearing a pendant forming the word Allah was turned into a pile of sand in the video. Muslims are sure that this video is a blasphemous video. They believe that Islam would be saved if the video gets vanished.

Islam-believers are becoming increasingly insane. Is it because we fulfill all their devilish demands, satisfy all their weird wishes and make all their dreams come true? I think it is time to stop treating them as spoilt children. Better we should treat them as responsible adults. And if they don’t behave next time, we should seriously teach them how to behave.

Slaughter Festival and uncle Siddique

Muslims are going to celebrate Eid al-Adha tomorrow or day after tomorrow. Eid al-Adha or the slaughter festival makes me remind of my childhood days:

”On the morning of Eid, everyone had a cold shower, using a bar of red Cosco soap. I was dressed in a new frock, new shoes were put on my feet, my hair was tied with a red ribbon; then a drop of scent applied on me, and another put on a tiny piece of cottonwool, which was tucked into my ear. The men wore white pajamas and panjabis and donned caps on their heads. They, too, placed bits of cottonwool dabbed with scent into their ears. The whole house was filled with the beautiful smell of atar.
I left for the open prayer ground with all the men. What a huge place it was! Large sheets were spread on the grass for the Eid-namaz. With the sole exception of uncle Siddique, all my uncles, Baba, Dada and Chhotda stood there with everyone else. The field was packed with people. When the namaz started, everyone bent down together. I watched the spectacle, enchanted. It was a bit like doing Physical training during our school assembly. When we bent down to touch our toes, perhaps this was how we looked. After the prayers, Baba and the other men embraced one another. Only men were allowed to do that. When we got back home, I said to Ma: “Let’s embrace each other for Eid!” Ma shook her head and said, “No, females aren’t supposed to embrace.” When I asked her why, she simply said, “That’s not the custom.” The words ‘why not?’ sprang to my lips and struggled to get out.

People started to make arrangements for the sacrifice. A black bull had been brought three days ago, and was tied to the banyan tree. Tears were streaming from its dark eyes. I felt sorry for the bull. Here was a living being, chewing the cud, switching its tail; yet, only in a few moments, it was going to turn into buckets full of meat. The Imam of the mosque sat under the tree and sharpened his knife. Uncle Hashem went and brought a heavy bamboo pole. Baba spread a large mat in the courtyard, for the men to sit there afterwards and chop the meat into pieces. Having sharpened his knife, the Imam called from where he was sitting. At once, uncle Hashem , Baba and a few other men tied the bull with a rope, placed the bamboo pole between its legs, so that it stumbled and fell. The bull cried out in pain. Ma and my aunts were standing at the window to watch the sacrifice. All eyes were dancing with joy. Only uncle siddique, still wearing a lungi and devoid of any scent of atar, stood in one corner of the field and said, “A poor, defenceless animal is going to be killed so brutally, and people are actually happy to see that happen? And so is Allah? None of you have a shred of sympathy in you. That is the real truth.”

He removed himself from the horror of the sacrifice. I kept standing. The bull thrashed its legs and bellowed again. It took as many as seven strong men to hold it down. It threw them off desperately and rose once more. Again, the bamboo pole was used to make it stumble and fall. This time, the Imam acted quickly. As soon as the bull fell, he raised the knife, shouted “Allah hu Akbar! Allah is the great.” and slashed its throat. A stream of blood spurted out. The bull was not yet dead, it continued to roar with its half-slit throat, its legs still trying to get away.

An ache started in my heart, sharp, persistent, like a pin-prick. I was not required to stand and watch any more. Ma had told me, as she did on the morning of every Eid, that it was my duty to watch the sacrifice. When the Imam began skinning the dead animal, its eyes were still full of tears. Uncle Sharaf and uncle Felu remained glued to the spot, refusing to move from the scene of action. I left for Monu mia’s shop to buy balloons.

The meat was divided into seven portions. Three of those were for Grandma’s family, three were for us, and the remainder was distributed among our neighbours and the poor. The best thing about Eid was that Baba stayed in a good mood all day, speaking gently, not shouting at or beating any of us for not studying. We spent all our time eating pulao, korma, shemai and jarda, whatever mistake we made, everything was forgiven by elders. The work of cutting the meat went on all day. Huge ovens were lit to cook it in very large pans. In the evening, when the cooking was over, Ma and Grandma bathed and wore new sarees for Eid. Aunt Runu and aunt Jhunu got dressed and started to look for an opportunity to slip out to visit their friends. Guests to the house started pouring in. uncle Siddique, still wearing a lungi and an ordinary shirt, returned after a walk round the whole neighbourhood. He said, “There is so much blood everywhere … the entire area is drowning in it. I don’t suppose anyone knows how many bulls were killed today? Those animals could have been given to farmers. So many of them can’t plough the land because they don’t have oxen. Why are men such monsters? I just don’t understand. One single family wants to eat all the meat they can get from a bull. And yet, think how many don’t even get a handful of rice!”

There was no point in asking him to have a bath and put on new clothes. Grandma gave up, and simply said, “All right, so you did not wish to take part in the celebrations. Don’t you even wish to eat? Aren’t you hungry?”
“Why, yes! Give me whatever you can. I’ll eat anything, except that meat,” uncle Siddique replied, heaving a deep sigh.
Grandma’s eyes brimmed over. How could she bear the fact that her eldest son, her first-born, would not touch the meat from the sacrificial bull in Eid day? She wiped her eyes, vowing silently not to touch the meat, either. When did a mother ever eat anything, anyway, without first feeding her child?

Very soon, the news of uncle Siddique’s refusal to have the special meat spread through the house. The grown-ups began to feel a little uncomfortable. Ma said, serving the meat on our plates, “Miabhai is going to return to Dhaka without eating this meat. He says he can’t bear the idea of a sacrifice. What about the meat we buy in a butcher’s shop? Does that come without killing an animal?”

After Eid that year, uncle Siddique stayed a long time with us. He spent the whole day reading, reclining in a chair, and walking in the courtyard in the evening, wooden clogs on his feet. Sometimes, he came over to chat with Baba at night. Uncle Siddique always spoke in an even voice. He never raised it. If he heard anyone else do so, he clicked his tongue regretfully. Uncle Hashem had a habit of shouting every now and then: “I’ve fallen! I’ve fallen in!” This brought everyone running to the spot, and they found uncle Hashem clutching the edge of the well, his body swinging inside.

“Stop this dangerous game, Hashem!” Grandma scolded him. “One day, you really will fall right into it.”

Uncle Hashem clambered out, grinning. Uncle Siddique stared foolishly, his mouth hanging open. “That was a game?” he asked. “And it was supposed to be funny? I found nothing funny in it. Has Hashem gone mad?”

But uncle Hashem did not stop there. Sometimes, he caught either uncle Felu or me, held us upside down over the well, and said, “Drop you! I’m going to drop you!” When he did that to me, I screamed with all the power in my lungs, and everyone rushed out once more to see what uncle Hashem was doing. Again, uncle Siddique just stared blankly.

One day, aunt Fajli turned up, fully aware that uncle Siddique was at home. “I have something to tell you,” she declared as soon as she saw him, without wasting any time on greeting him, or any other preliminaries. Uncle Siddique smiled and laid a hand on aunt Fajli’s back. “Why are you so cross? You were not like this before. At least take off your burkha and sit down. Then we’ll talk.”

She brushed his hand off and replied, “No, I have not come to this house to sit and chat. I have only one thing to say, and I will leave as soon as I’ve said it.”

She took only the veil off her face, sat down on a bed and went on, “You said the other day that Allah has said a man can sleep with his maidservant. Where did you find such a thing? In which verse of the Quran? It’s wrong, totally wrong! Allah did not mean a maidservant. The Quran is quite clear about this. It mentions female slaves. A sexual relationship with a female slave is considered legitimate. But now there are no slaves. After all, we pay a salary to our maids, don’t we? We don’t actually buy them!” Aunt Fajli smiled. It was a smile of triumph.

Uncle Siddique sat cross-legged on the bed, hugged a pillow and said: “Ah, is that all? And this was so important that you would not take your burkha off, relax for a minute, but just say your piece and walk off? All right, tell me this: why do you think the system of slavery disappeared? Why do we not have it any more? Can you tell me? Who stopped the system? Your Allah? Or was it your Prophet? It was simply the people, do you understand? If the people had not put a stop to it, can you imagine how terrible life would be, even today? Besides, just think for a moment. Whether it’s a female slave or a maid, how could Allah decree .. ”

Aunt Fajli interrupted him, raising her voice: “What Allah said was valid in those days. Women had no one to take care of them, offer them security. A female slave had nowhere to go. That is why Allah …”

This time, uncle Siddique cut her short. “If you think the Quran was written for a specific period of time, that’s fine. Remember that, and kindly let it remain in the past, in that particular period. What’s the point of making a song and dance about it today? And there’s something else. Why did Allah say things that related only to those times? He knew the past, He knew the future, He is omnipresent, He is a know-all. Then why didn’t he write in his Quran that in the future slavery was going to be abolished? He could even have written that one day, the world would have electric lights, motor cars, aeroplanes, rockets … why, He could have mentioned about man going to the moon! I totally fail to see why you are so concerned with things that do not apply to this age, the times that we are living in. You worry too much, you’re afraid of nothing.”

Aunt Fajli got up with a long face. She lifted her veil with one hand and said, “I had no idea how you had sunk so low, brother. Shame on you! Even to look at you would be a sin for me.” She shot out of Grandma’s house, came over to our house and promptly lay down, saying, “please let me sleep here for a while, I’ve got such a raging headache!”
Ma went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for her: fine white rice, and roasted pigeon.

When uncle Siddique talked to Baba, it was usually to discuss the purchase of land. “Buy some land in Dhaka, Rajab Ali. You can get it cheap right now. Later, you’ll never get it at the same price.”

Baba nodded and said, “Yes, let me think about it.”

I longed to talk to uncle Siddique and hear stories of Dhaka. What was Dhaka like, what did it have? But I noticed that he never even looked at me, possibly because his ‘princess’ was now an ordinary creature, raised in the dirt and dust. However, on one particular occasion, and that, too, on his last day before he left for Dhaka, I did get to talk to him directly. I was on my way to the lavatory, when I found a torn piece of paper lying on the ground. It had a few words in Arabic written on it, so I gave it to Ma. Ever since I had learnt to recognise the Arabic letters, Ma had taught me to collect anything I found written in that holy language, to make sure it did not get mixed up with other rubbish, or was stepped upon. I was to pick it up and throw it away into water. Normally, that was exactly what I did. I kissed it quickly, then floated it on water, like a boat. Today, I took that piece of paper to show Ma, simply to prove that I was a good girl, I had not stepped on it. Ma was shaking some clothes out to dry on a rope. “I can’t take it right now, give it to your uncle,” she said to me.

Uncle Siddique took it from me, and read the words aloud fluently. This made Ma cast him an admiring glance. Anyone who knew Arabic was immensely honourable, and ought to be revered, although uncle Siddique did not go to the mosque on Fridays, or do his namaz for Eid . No one seemed to mind.
“What will you do with this piece of paper?” he asked me.

I clutched Ma’s saree, leant a little against her — more mentally than physically — and replied, “I shall give it a little kiss, then throw it into the pond.”
Uncle Siddique threw it down on the ground at once. “You want to kiss that? Do you know what’s written in it? It says, you son of a bitch, I’ll fuck your mother.”

Ma flushed with embarrassment. The wet clothes remained in her hands, she could not shake them out. Phulbahari was walking from the well towards the house with a full pitcher under her arm. She stopped in her tracks. Grandma was watering a chilli plant. The jug slipped from her hand, and all the water ran out, making a wet patch on the ground. I took a couple of steps towards uncle Siddique, my eyes nearly popping out with amazement, and said, “Uncle Siddique, isn’t Arabic Allah’s language? You mean it can be used to write dirty words, too?”

Uncle Siddique walked about, his clogs clicking on the floor, and replied, “Why not? Arabic is spoken by the Arabs. They drink alcohol, they do other things that are wrong, they murder. They use foul and abusive words. They take as many as thirteen wives, or even a hundred.”
“Stop it, Siddique!” said Grandma.
Grandma’s first-born, brought up with a great deal of care and affection, sent to a ‘madrasa’ where he learnt Arabic so well — stopped at his mother’s command.”

(From ‘My Girlhood’, my memoir)