Tag: Bohra

My parents would not have cut me if they had the right information, says a Sri Lankan Bohra

On By SahiyoIn Sri Lanka, stories and narratives5 Comments

By: Anonymous

Country: Colombo, Sri Lanka
Age: in her 50s

Circa 1970s, I was seven years old.  

I hardly have any memories of my life during this period and most are vague, but I do remember almost every waking minute of one particular day.

I woke up, I guess like any other ordinary day, had breakfast, and then was told by my mother to get in the car and that she was taking me somewhere. 

Whilst in the car, my mother who was driving, told me I should not tell anyone nor talk about where I was being taken that day. I was a fairly obedient and non-confrontational child, so obviously didn’t ask too many questions.

We arrived at a house, not too far from our own place, and I was taken in by my mum. My favourite Aunt was there too. I was happy to see her.

Next thing I remember I was in a room, laying on a table. I remember my aunt by my side, the doctor and his wife were in the room as well (I came to know that this was the doctor and his wife, later on in my life, I didn’t know this at the time). I don’t have a memory of my mother in the room, maybe it’s something I’ve blocked out, or maybe she was upset at what was going to happen and didn’t stay in the room. I remember two or more people holding down my legs. I’m not sure if I was screaming or protesting, I don’t have a memory about this, but I do remember PAIN, EXTREME PAIN, UNBEARABLE PAIN. Throughout this ordeal, my favourite aunt was by my side, obviously comforting me.

My next memory of the day was arriving home, I remember there being discomfort between my legs. I was kept in my parents room the entire day. They were exceptionally caring and sweet to me that entire day, and my naughty mischievous brother was not allowed anywhere near my vicinity.

I do not have any further memories of the immediate days that followed, which obviously would have been some sort of recovery period.

During my mid-teens is when I realised exactly what had been done to me that day as a seven year old child – circumcision, the cutting off of the clitoris, also known as female genital mutilation – FGM. As a young teenager I did not have access to much information about what a terrible act this was, but I knew enough with the trauma I went through, to know that this should never have been done to me.

At this point I would like to state that although the responsibility for this act, which we call Khatna in our community, lies solely with my parents, I DO KNOW, that if they had ACCESS to the right information, that FGM was a heinous act of violation upon the female body, they would not have gone ahead with it. (After all, it was officially banned by the UN sometime in the 1990s, so there must have been so little awareness about this in the mid 70s).

I know this, because when my daughter turned seven years old, this topic arose, and we were expected to do this for her as well. Both my husband and I were vehemently against this and were not willing to budge on our decision. We explained our case to my parents and made them aware that the UN banned it, they realised then that they were not informed of these views and easily accepted our decision.

I belong to the Bohra community which has its roots in Mumbai India, and I am born and bred in Sri Lanka. The practice of FGM or Khatna has been in our community for many generations. The apologists in our community often argue that we in the Bohra community administer this in a hygienic sterile environment, performed by formally qualified MBBS doctors in our community, thus claiming that unlike the ways it’s done in Africa, where many of the cases are prone to severe infections and sometimes fatalities, we don’t have such cases. I firmly believe that FGM, regardless of how, when and where it is performed should not be done to children who have NO SAY in it. No one has the right to violate or mutilate the body of young girls and modify them permanently. Many clerics in our community claim that this is done to cull the sexual pleasure in a woman, allowing her to be more devoted and committed to her husband’s desires. From my own experience, there is no truth to that idea. Thus the whole purpose of this practice is not achieved.

I’m happy to have shared my experience, and sincerely hope that the purpose of publishing my story will be achieved with the immediate banning of FGM in Sri Lanka.

At Sahiyo’s third Thaal pe Charcha, Bohra men attended too

On By SahiyoIn News, Thaal pe charchaLeave a comment

In October 2017, Sahiyo hosted Thaal Pe Charcha (loosely translated as ‘discussions over food’) for the third time, with 22 participants from the Bohra community. Thaal Pe Charcha is a flagship Sahiyo programme that brings Bohra women together in an informal, private space, so that they can bond over traditional Bohra cuisine while discussing Female Genital Cutting and other issues that affect their lives. While Sahiyo’s first two TPC events were open only to women participants, the October event included 15 women as well as three men from the Bohra community in Mumbai.  

Most of the women who participated in the event had already attended the previous two TPC events held in February and July. With this third event, their comfort level in discussing FGC had grown. These women also brought their friends, cousins, and other relatives to join in on the discussion. Some women expressed that they had cautiously begun speaking about FGC with their families, friends, and spouses, which they had never done earlier. The women also spoke with their spouses about not performing FGC on their daughters.

The new women participants were able to clear some of their doubts about FGC and asked questions about why it is performed and why we need to stop practicing it on the next generation. Conversations about FGC have always been taboo and secretive in the community, so being in a safe and intimate space at the TPC helped the women discuss it openly.

By listening to the stories and concerns of the women, the men who attended the Thaal Pr Charcha were able to get a deeper understanding of how the practice affects women. They were very open to discussing FGC and even suggested several ways to raise further awareness about the harms caused by the practice and how to promote abandonment of FGC.  

One of the highlights of the event was having one of the women participants, Saleha, share her story of undergoing FGC. After listening to Saleha’s story, a few women and men were in tears. Some women said they experienced flashbacks to their own experience of undergoing FGC. Saleha sharing her story helped make other women feel comfortable talking about their own FGC experiences. Many women’s stories were similar in terms of how the cutting occurred, how they felt anger, fear, shame, depression and a sense of being cheated by those they trusted.

Over lunch, men and women continued their discussion on FGC, as well as other various issues occurring within the Bohra community. Participants also discussed ways in which they could all work at the grassroots level to raise awareness about ending FGC.

 

‘I feel dirty and violated’: A Bohra survivor of Female Genital Cutting shares her story

On By SahiyoIn stories and narratives5 Comments

By Shaima Bohari

Age: 21
Country: India

I don’t remember how old I was. I remember just that I was a very young girl. My family and I were vacationing in Indore, Madhya Pradesh, in a small house not far from my maternal grandmother’s in Noorani Nagar. My mother called me, told me to change and said my grandmother was going to take me out for a little while. Me being the weird kid I was, I got excited.

So we set out, my nani and I, on a little walk around the block. She explained to me that we were going to see an older lady who was going to help me with something that was for my own benefit. When we reached the house, my nani talked to this lady and introduced me to her. We went into a room in the back where three other older ladies were present. I was told to remove my pants and lie down on a mat laid out on the floor. I felt afraid and naked and my nani told me to just relax and held my hand. The women around me held down my arms and legs, keeping my legs apart. The lady of the house came in with something sharp in one hand and a cloth in the other, and she knelt down beside my legs. She used something like a glass to make a small cut and then pinched something near my vagina. I vividly remember screaming my lungs out and hitting and punching whoever was near my hands, flailing around like I was possessed. It was a short ordeal but it felt like hours had gone by since I’d left the house.

I was told to get up and get dressed. As far as I can remember I wasn’t bandaged or covered with anything but the clothes that I came with. My nani gave me an envelope with some money and asked me to give it as salam to the lady who had mutilated me just minutes before. I was crying even as I kissed her hand and then left with my nani for the walk back, in my blood-stained clothes. After we came home, my mom laid me down on the bed on a set of sheets. Again I was naked from the waist down, and was told to stay there until the bleeding had stopped.

I pushed that memory down and out, or at least I tried to. I could never really forget it though, and now I’m not sure I want to. It was a barbaric and horrible event that I had to go through, but I don’t want to repress it because clearly, that hasn’t worked until now.

I suffer from a myriad problems because of that one incident in my life. I still don’t know how to deal with it. I suffer from pain in my vagina, I can’t look at myself naked, I have self-esteem and body issues because every time I look at myself I feel dirty and violated. I doubt I will ever be able to have a relationship with my future spouse if I decide to get married because I can’t imagine it. I suffer from severe depression which, at least partly, stems from this.

To all the men who have the audacity to tell me that this barbaric mutilation of the female form is inconsequential and alright because it is a religious act: it’s easy for you to say this since you haven’t gone through the trauma. Also as we all know, this systematic, brainwashing and torturing of women is a weapon in your hands.

To all the women who defend female genital mutilation, I want you to know that you are an insult and a curse to all the women who have suffered from the traumas of FGM, and it is YOU who make it okay for men to abuse us. You give them the power to mutilate and oppress us when you stand against other women. Although I cannot speak for any higher power out there, you will find no forgiveness from me.

I also want to point out that although I do blame my grandmother, and my mother, and every member of my family who didn’t stop them, and those who let their own daughters, nieces, cousins, and granddaughters be mutilated, I understand that the majority of the blame lies with the institution that made them believe that this is righteous.

Finally, I ask anyone who reads this to talk to any woman you know about this. Tell them they’re not alone, and that it doesn’t make them any less of a human for having gone through this. Talk to other people, raise awareness about this inhuman practice, so that it is no longer a taboo topic. So that women everywhere are able to open up about their horrific past and know it wasn’t their fault.

‘Can I Check Your Khatna?’

On By SahiyoIn stories and narrativesLeave a comment

by Anonymous

Age: 32
Country: Bahrain

One of my male cousins married a lady who is not Bohra and not Muslim. He had a court marriage with her in the country where he resides, while his mom (my aunt), lived in Bahrain. For the sake of his mom’s happiness, he decided to get a nikah done by the bhai saab of the Bahrain Dawoodi Bohra masjid.

When my aunt went to this bhai saab to inquire about what needs to be done and how to go about it, the bhai saab told her that the girl should have ‘sunnat’ done to her. Meaning, khatna. How creepy! Being a man and asking that a young girl’s genitals be cut. My aunt was really irritated by this but she said nothing. She decided that she’d just go back to the bhai saab a few days later and tell him that it was done, without actually doing it of course, and sparing her daughter-in-law the trauma and humiliation.

When my aunt went back to the bhai saab to say it was done, guess what he said this time? He said that the ben saab (his wife) would need to check that it was done to the bride. Yes! He actually said that his wife would have to check a grown woman’s genitals to make sure she had undergone the process of female genital cutting.

Needless to say, my aunt was enraged by now and my cousin dropped the idea of getting the nikah done by the Bohra masjid in Bahrain. According to my cousin, this happened in either 2011 or 2012.

Female genital cutting or khatna, as it is known in the Dawoodi Bohra community, is already rampant and is done to girls as young as 6 years old, without their consent. This in itself is horrifying. It is sexual abuse and child abuse.

But to ask a grown adult woman who isn’t from your community or religion that she needs to undergo a process that’s traumatizing, humiliating, and completely unnecessary, JUST so she can be a part of the community, and as if the khatna is the only thing that makes us Bohra – this borders on cult behaviour! As if getting khatna done is the way for the bride to prove that she will do anything to be a part of the community ‘legally by nikah’ (even though they are already legally married). But what’s more disgusting is that the bhai saab had the gall to ask that his wife check whether the girl’s khatna was done or not.

Sometimes I wonder if these priests even know what they’re asking, and how would they like it if the situation were reversed? Would they be willing to show their private parts to a higher priest to check if they were circumcised properly when they were children? Or show their private parts for any other reason, to someone who is not even a medical professional, just a high ranking person within the community?

No, right? Then how can they ask that for a woman?

And then the bigger question:

What does this have to do with the girl’s nikah or being a part of the community? Nothing. It has nothing to do with it. They could have asked my cousin sister-in-law to recite something, or done any other simple ritual like the misaaq (which just involves answering a few questions and confirming that you’ll be a part of the community, follow its rules, etc) that doesn’t involve having any part of her body cut, let alone a part of her clitoris! How dare you think you have any right over a woman’s body and what has to be done to it?

The thought that angers me the most is that this story has only just reached my ears now. Other Bohras probably don’t even know about the creepy thing this bhai saab demanded, or about the fact that my aunt didn’t get enraged and yell at him for asking such a thing for her daughter-in-law. It also angers me that so many other Bohras would have probably still continued to follow his words even if they came to know of this story.

A priest from your community should NOT be telling you that the women in your community need to have their genitals cut. And if they are, why would you still listen to another word they’re saying or follow any other advice they’re giving you? I’m sure you have a capable enough brain and conscience to know what’s right and wrong, and to act upon it. It’s high time you stop letting bhai saabs get away with things like this.

 

Why I am a proud supporter of Sahiyo

On By SahiyoIn stories and narrativesLeave a comment

By: Qudsiya Contractor

Age: 38
Country: India

As a Dawoodi Bohra woman, I am proud of Sahiyo and the work it is doing.

Because I am tired of people assuming that we as Muslim women are hapless victims that need to be rescued from their Islamic cultures steeped in orthodoxy and patriarchal traditions. Or that we are consenting participants in our own oppression and so self absorbed that we cannot look beyond our homes, families and ourselves.

It is because of Sahiyo that I can feel proud of my roots again and be aware that there are responsibilities that come with the privilege that we have gained as a community in society. And that change begins with oneself.

I am proud that Sahiyo is reminding us to think and act for ourselves and uphold the true spirit of Islam – reason, justice, fairness and benevolence.

It is high time that Dawoodi Bohra women speak out fearlessly against patriarchal censorship within the community.

Whenever Muslim women raise their voices they are accused of playing into orientalist projects or the Hindu right.

When will you stop suspecting our motives and listen to what we have to say?

I think Sahiyo is reminding us to put our liberal education and economic freedoms to the right use. To speak up so that mindsets of our brothers and sisters change and our coming generations make true progress.

Let us not be known as women who quietly suffered from the practice of khafz and looked the other way when our sisters and daughters suffered too. Let us not be known as women who unquestioningly perpetuated the practice on our young girls. Rather let us be known as women who questioned a harmful practice, putting an end to it to begin a new chapter for themselves and the community for generations to come.

 

Announcement: A new research project on Khatna in Mumbai

On By SahiyoIn News, Research1 Comment

by Keire Murphy and Cleo Egli

An exciting new research project is being undertaken in Mumbai and its environs this summer which hopes to bring a new perspective to the international discussion of khatna. The project, which is a cultural study on khatna, the Bohra community, and the current activist movement against the practice, is being carried out by Keire Murphy from Trinity College Dublin and Cleo Egli from University of North Carolina, who have been awarded the Mahatma Gandhi Fellowship in order to complete the project.

It will be interesting to see how an entirely external perspective engages with the Bohra culture and cultural specificities of khatna, which is so distinct from the practice portrayed in Western media. The stated goal of the project is to explore and understand not just the practice but also the culture (or cultures) of the Bohra community. The researchers hope that this will enable them to make recommendations to activists coming from outside of the community hoping to work on this issue on how to engage with this issue in a culturally sensitive and culturally specific way.

Murphy and Egli claim to have undertaken this project because of the lack of research that has been engaged in not only on the subject of khatna but also on the Bohra community itself, which they believe is an essential step to effecting lasting social and cultural change. For them, “In order to change, we must first understand”. The women want to explore the identities of the members, particularly the female members, who comprise the Dawoodi Bohra community, how the community defines itself, the tensions and divisions within the community as well as its unifying factors. They want to explore the “beauty and pride of the community in order to better understand its controversial underside.” They are particularly interested in exploring the current movement within the community, led by SAHIYO and Bohra women; how the movement is perceived by the people it is aimed at and what factors are integral for a woman deciding whether to continue the long-standing tradition or face the possible repercussions of breaking with the ancient mould; and what distinguishes a woman who simply doesn’t continue the practice from a woman who goes further and actively campaigns against it.

This project will hopefully be a significant stepping stone to bringing global humanitarian and academic attention to this issue that has often been overshadowed by African practices that, although put in the same category globally, so little resemble the experience of the Dawoodi Bohra. This project is also hoping to act as a precursor and guide for the more comprehensive studies that this issue deserves. This is an incredibly important time for the Bohra community both within India and Pakistan and abroad, with media attention being dramatically drawn to the issue by the highly publicised arrests of practitioners of khatna in the United States. The community may be facing a large amount of media attention in the coming years and it is the aim of this project to provide the members of the community with an opportunity to set the story straight from the beginning about who they are.

The study will take place in Mumbai from the June 24 to July 23, 2017, and researchers are calling for research participants, both in Mumbai on these dates, or in other parts of India from July 24 to the August 7. They also have an open call without date restrictions for participants who would like to engage in interviews over Skype. Participants can be male or female, and do not have to speak of their experience of khatna if they would prefer not to.

All Bohras are encouraged to participate, so that the research will be representative of all groups and opinions in the community. Submissions are also welcome, but interviews will be given more weight. All interested parties should contact mgfmumbai@gmail.com.

A part-time translator job opportunity is also available. To view job description, click here. 

‘Far from enhancing my marital bliss, khatna had all but devastated it’

On By SahiyoIn Detroit FGM, sexual health, stories and narratives, Trauma, United States2 Comments

by: Anonymous

Age: 30
Country: United States

I first learned that khatna had been performed on me when I was 11 years old. My mother told me, and even then the hair on my neck rose and I had a clear instinct that what had happened wasn’t right. I asked my mother why Bohra girls were cut when there was no evidence that it had the same benefits as male circumcision. She responded with the familiar refrain: hygiene, marital bliss.

At that time, I had no idea what a clitoris was supposed to look like. My mother described it to me, never using that word, but saying that it was a “long thread of flesh” that hung out of the vaginal hood. It had to be cut because it would otherwise rub constantly against my underwear. For the Potterheads out there, the image that sprang to my mind was of an Extendable Ear in my panties, a long flesh-colored string that had to be snipped to curb continuous arousal. I had never seen a picture of a clitoris, nor could I. I’d grown up in a country where the Internet was heavily censored and the chapter on reproduction was ripped out of our Biology textbooks. That image of the clitoris as a long flesh-colored string stayed with me until I looked at cartoon pornography as a teenager in the United States. But let me be clear, because this detail about my education is a gateway to Orientalism: I had an excellent primary education, and I was far better prepared for graduate school than many of my US-educated peers. The fact that schools in that region refused to include human reproduction in the curriculum was shortsighted and foolish, but not unlike the abstinence-only curriculum I’ve learned about since moving to the US.

But let me return to that moment my mother told me I’d been cut: since it never crossed my mind that I would or could be sexually active before marriage, I only thought about khatna once or twice a year until I was married. And that’s when I realized that sexual intercourse was extraordinarily difficult for me. My vagina would convulse, and even the thought of using a tampon triggered these convulsions. My condition went undiagnosed until years later, when my OB/GYN attempted to do a pelvic exam. She had no warning because I did not tell her about my difficulty with intercourse. Peering over the stirrups, she apologized for causing me pain, and asked me to breathe deeply while apologizing rapidly: “Just one finger, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry almost done almost done and relax.” I learned that I had vaginismus, and needed physical therapy.

As I talked through my condition with my wonderful doctor, I learned that an early childhood trauma was likely the cause for my vaginismus. The symptoms pointed towards a psychological trigger rather than physical limitations, and the more I reflected on my condition the clearer it became that I had always been unable to tolerate even the idea of penetration from around the age khatna had happened to me. Any kind of insertion seemed laughable to me as a teenager, whether I was washing myself in the shower or attempting to masturbate. This points to the idea that women who don’t consider themselves victims – and I certainly didn’t and don’t – can experience long-term effects of khatna that we may not even (or ever) be aware of.

When I eventually saw a picture of a healthy and anatomically accurate clitoris for the first time, what I’d already suspected was confirmed: there was no hygiene-related reason to snip it, and far from enhancing my “marital bliss” it had all but devastated it.

But learning about khatna revealed something about me to myself: even as a child, I recognized the value of empirical research when it came to making decisions about altering bodies – particularly female bodies, which have historically always been more vulnerable. Even as an 11 year old, I knew the benefits of male circumcision – I had just learned about trench warfare during World War II, and the infections that raged among uncircumcised men living in those filthy conditions. And as I reflect on that moment when I was 11, it makes perfect sense to me that I chose a career in research.

Another thing I recognized is that not only is the term “victim” disempowering when referring to women who have experienced khatna, but also entirely inaccurate. Activists have argued against the term “victim” for decades, particularly when it comes to describing women and gender-queer survivors of physical abuse. However, the term is misleading too. It is an easy label assigned by the status quo, and a particularly effective way for those in power to demonstrate their investment in “women’s issues.” It is a gateway to continued imperialism, where the narratives of marginalized groups are stripped of nuance, or hidden entirely.

It has been incredibly easy, even comforting, to vilify Dr. Jumana Nagarwala for performing khatna in the US. But let us not buy into the clash-of-civilizations narrative. Each time a US news outlet says the practice will not be “tolerated in the US,” there is an implied comparison to those “backward” countries that tacitly endorse it. Additionally, it implies a wounded nationalism, where (White, male) individuals are almost more outraged that it is happening in the United States than that it is happening at all. And so we are forced to view the practice through an imperial lens. We must not let khatna become a political talking point for US politicians to show how they have “zero tolerance” for “brutal” practices while forwarding a facile concern for women’s rights.  We must not forget that khatna is endorsed by the largely male leadership of the Bohra jamaat. While Dr. Nagarwala is culpable, and there is no question that she must face legal action, she has been turned into a scapegoat by both US discourse and the Dawoodi Bohra leadership.

This is a brief account of how khatna shapes my personal narrative, but I want to complicate some of the stereotypes that public discourse about khatna is attempting to forward: that it is an Islamic practice (it is not), that it is a result of poor formal education (again, no), or that it is a violent and barbaric practice that consumes the victim – the answer to that is more complicated than a yes or a no, should someone actually care to engage those who have experienced khatna.

The story of my start to the holy month of Ramzan

On By SahiyoIn stories and narratives1 Comment

by Insia Dariwala, Sahiyo

Ramzan — the time of peace, love, and prayers; a time for family gatherings, breaking fasts together and collectively praying for individual good, and the good of all in this world.

Unfortunately, this Ramzan is showing me exactly the opposite, as I see the entire Bohra community (well almost), rising up to bring us down, in the guise of reinstating religious freedom.

Over the past few days, as this circus on social media unveiled, I have been inundated with text messages, phone calls and emails about how Sahiyo is being talked about at every community gathering. We are being called names, our personal lives are being attacked, our religious loyalties are being questioned, and anyone who speaks for us is being targeted with a lot of viciousness.

Many of those who speak for us have come back to us feeling saddened and helpless. Helpless because they want to stand up to the bullying, but are very afraid of the verbal attacks on their parents, on their relatives, and other family members. They are afraid of the humiliation, of the subtle ostracism, and the backlash from their jamaats, so they choose to stay anonymous.

Anonymity has its own comfort. It allows you to speak up. It allows you to have a voice, and that’s exactly why we have so many girls and women who have chosen to let go of their right to be visible, only to stand up against this practice. They choose to live the duality of having a voice, and yet pretend they are voiceless, because that is the only way they will be accepted into the fold.

For these very reasons, when I am asked why I, or my other Sahiyo girls, are not responding to the ‘Sahiyo is not my voice’ campaign against us, my answer to them is very simple — we never ever claimed to be anyone’s voice. We just made space for the women who wanted to have a voice. Why then are all these people feeling so threatened?

It amuses me to see how a few voices of dissent could become such a big threat to an entire community. I am also amused to see the kind of efforts put into creating content to beat us up, acquiring social media handles, blocking our social media handles, and going to such great lengths to reinforce their identity.

It’s sad to see how our attackers are just dismissing what so many women went through after they were cut. This backlash is exactly what prevents survivors of any trauma to share their stories. The pain endured may or may not have been the same for all, but the shame which they are being put through for speaking up about it, is the same.

Unfortunately, it also reminds me of what so many survivors of domestic violence, child sexual abuse, and rape go through. It’s always the fault of the one who went through it.

“She should have shut up.”

“She should have been clothed more appropriately.”

“She should have never disobeyed her husband.”

And so the cacophony of society’s empty culture and tradition continues.

Would it be safe to then say this has nothing to do with ours or anybody else’s religious beliefs? Would it also be safe to say that it’s disheartening to see, how an entire community’s faith rests on what’s cut between a girl’s legs? Is faith so weak, that it requires to be enforced through archaic and harmful traditions carried out thousands of years ago? Is it so weak that one needs to resort to bullying, and exploitation, in order to sustain its own existence?

This message is for all the women who want this practice to continue — You can hate us all you want, and trick yourself into believing that you are doing this for your religion. But no religion practices hate. No religion asks you to put someone down to look good. No religion asks you to hurt, humiliate, threaten, and isolate someone who has a different point of view. Religion is what you ‘are’, not what you ‘pretend’ to be. It is about forgiveness, compassion, empathy, and the ability to reach out and accept.  

Today, as you pray while breaking your fast, do ask yourselves, Am I all of this? Then and only then, will it truly be the month of Ramzan.

‘I want Bohras to wake up and stop practicing Khatna’

On By SahiyoIn stories and narratives2 Comments

By: Anonymous

Age: 32
Country of current residence: Bahrain

I’m a victim of FGM and this is my story. It’s the same as every other FGM survivor. India. A dingy house. An old woman. A blade. Pain. Blood. Being given chocolate. And then being yelled at to stop crying.

And the thing that hardly anyone talks about is how ANGRY it makes you and how you can’t find ways to release the anger. It’s been 25 years and I’m still so, SO angry. Why was a piece of me cut off for an unnecessary reason? Why was psychological trauma inflicted on me at such a young age? Why am I suffering from horrible period pain every month just because my mother blindly followed what was expected of her to do? Why do I have to feel the pain of seeing the guilt and shame on my mother’s face now whenever this topic is raised because she hates herself for what she did? And why is it STILL being done to little girls who don’t have the power to stop it? It makes me mad, mad, MAD!

And this always makes me wonder how others follow this religious leader or even stay in this community. Why don’t more Bohras question the teachings? Why don’t they protest? Does the dream of heaven make them so blind that they approve of abuse on young girls?

I’m so, SO happy to see FGM get media traction and be publicized for the world to see. I want to see FGM STOP. Let the leader declare that khatna needs to be stopped so the Bohras who follow his every command will stop mutilating their daughters. I want Bohras to realize they CAN decide for themselves what is right and wrong. Cutting off a part of girl children’s genitals without their consent, for no medical reason, is completely, and unequivocally wrong.

 

We need a Bohra Revolution

On By SahiyoIn Detroit FGM, men, stories and narratives, United Kingdom1 Comment

By: M Bohra

Age: 23
Country: United Kingdom

The ongoing investigation into Dawoodi Bohra doctors engaging in khatna, or female genital cutting (FGC), and the community leadership’s ambivalence regarding this practice, have once again brought up unanswered questions. What message is the leadership in India sending to the Bohra community when it disowns the doctors’ acts, not for their irreligiosity, but for their illegality in the West? Must the Bohra leadership accept the legal and moral responsibility of promoting khatna, especially since they advocate travelling to countries without FGM laws to continue this practice? Or can we expect them to continue throwing their misinformed, fanatical and grovelling followers under the bus to save themselves?

Many Bohris, in the privacy of their friends and families, will complain about the strict social norms that regulate every act of our lives within the community: where we pray, what we wear, who we do business with, what our family roles are, who we befriend, what we say, how we dissent, how we think. These criticisms are kept out of the community arena by the authoritarian diktats of the leadership. They hold the power to socially boycott (which, for many community-linked businesses is linked to economic loss), extort money for officiating religious ceremonies (including permitting travel to the Hajj pilgrimage), and even denying burial in Bohra cemeteries. While we continue to chafe under this authoritarian religious regime, however, we must acknowledge our own prejudices.

Bohris, despite all evidence, believe that we are God’s chosen people. We consider ourselves not only superior to non-Muslims (which is a broader Islamic problem), but even non-Bohra Muslims. We call our own community “mumineen” (the believers), and the others “musalmaan”. Even other Shia groups are generally only respected during the first ten days of Muharram, when we enthusiastically join our “Shia brothers” in the Ashura processions and sermons, only to exclude them from our lives on the eleventh day. We consider our mosques cleaner, our prayers more spiritual, and even our cemeteries as somehow more special. We are “blessed” to be ruled by tyrants, who guarantee us a heavenly afterlife in exchange for worldly money.

Are we surprised that the leadership continues to promote a domesticated and desexualised ideal for our women, when it promotes a passive and unintellectual ideal for our men? It is important to remember that their power comes from our submissiveness, which is the result of our own prejudices. We need to introspect and question the foundations of our own biases. What is unclean about a non-Bohra mosque? What is inappropriate about performing the Hajj without being led by a Bohra priest? What is the problem with marrying outside the community? Can Bohra women question the religiously-sanctioned ideal of making rotis and handicrafts confined to their homes? Why do we have to control women’s sexuality through physical means, but not men’s? If the current system is broken and cannot be reformed, are we ready to create new religious and social spaces with other disillusioned Bohris? Can we create new inclusive and non-hierarchical spaces to end religious dogmatism, bring financial accountability, provide spiritual healing and engage in progressive social reform without prejudice?

Here’s a little history lesson to conclude this piece. The office of Dai Al-Mutlaq, which is currently held through hereditary means by Mufaddal Saifuddin, is not the same as the position of the Imam, who is considered as the rightful spiritual and political successor of the Prophet in all Shia traditions. The first Dai was appointed by Arwa Al – Sulayhi, a long-reigning queen in Yemen, as a vicegerent (deputy) for the young Imam At-Tayyib. The succession of Dais was not always hereditary, and was likely based on spiritual and political merit. Increasing persecution drove the leadership to settle in Western India, where they were welcomed by a community of religious converts. Note how the position of the Dai was created by a powerful woman ruler (who probably wasn’t told to make rotis and handicrafts), not as a hereditary office, and owed its continuity to the goodwill of the new community of Bohris in India. Over the centuries, the leadership has forgotten who was in charge. It’s time for a reminder.