Racism: a collection of 'negative' views.

The topic of International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam came up at lunch at work, so I raved about Miguel Peres Dos Santos's film 'Voices' and how some of the things you see in the film in the 70s/80s are still uncannily being seen and heard in the media of contemporary Dutch society.

For example, the film has excerpts from news interviews of a White Dutch man in the streets, saying that he doesn't think it's fair that "Mr Foreigner [from Curacao]" should get a house before him.

A White Spanish colleague (married to White Dutch) at the lunch table starts getting agitated.

WSC: You cannot say 'Wow, things like that are being said in the 70s', this is how we are brought up in society and this is what we learn from our parents".

[Right about here I'm hoping she meant that therefore it's an subconscious narrative that should be changed]
Me [confused]: "No, my point is that these things are still being said today. They still talk about immigrants like this."
WSC [getting agitated and getting up to put her things away, ready to leave the room]: You keep saying "they", "they", who do you mean??
Me: The White Dutch! And the media.
WSC: Well you seem to have a very negative view of White Dutch people.
[Nope, I was wrong! Racism is something natural, socialised, and merely a faulty perception of a POC.]

WSC refuses to believe that I have heard White people say these things to my face. Woman, you are White. It's impossible for you to see this 'negative' side and hear such 'negative' comments directed to you or people that share your religion, skin colour, hair colour or dress code.

Just a couple of days ago, I was also describing an incident that happened when I was at the film screening in Amsterdam. I had no choice but to bring Nootje along (and just hoping for the best). He ended up sitting through the 20-minute film just about okay, but he was getting restless and needed to sit on the floor with his toys during the Q&A. I wasn't too optimistic about being able to stay the whole way, so I was ready to leave -- having already picked a seat close to the exit and given weary smiles to the kind-faced host who wished me luck when I walked in with Nootje -- if he needed to.

Nootje started to talk ("Airplane is taking off!") during the Q&A, prompting a series of Very Dirty Looks from 3-4 White women just in front of him. One old woman made a big fuss, after turning around pointedly to stare at Nootje, of moving to a different seat. It wasn't loud (a 2-year-old talking, seriously) but I left the theatre after that.

When I described the incident on Facebook, an acquaintance commented that the same would have happened even if I were white, since the problem, according to her, is that Dutch people don't like playful kids.

That's the two main issues right there: she spoke of "Dutch people" when she really meant White Dutch, because Dutch POC are usually friendly to kids. And then there's the obvious thing, I'm NOT White, am I?

While I don't expect her to be able to empathise that I faced such a hostile situation, she expected that I would know what it feels like to be White/the norm. And with one sentence she had managed to turn the whole situation upside down: now I was supposed to feel sorry for her and her unappreciated playful child too.

Leaping over language barriers

This article was first published on Aquila Style.

Adventures in picking up a new language doesn’t have much to do with meeting new people.

Image: Pixabay

At this moment, I live unwillingly in the Netherlands. I didn’t move here because I loved the language or the culture. After three and a half years, I can understand most of what people are saying, but since I haven’t had (read: couldn’t afford) any formal lessons and I’m not particularly fond of the language, the Dutch language requires the activation of a whole other part of my brain.

I’ve nothing against learning new languages. Or European languages for that matter. I stuck through French lessons in middle school before I finally realised how I actually loved speaking it when I participated in an immersion programme in a sleepy French town (and later, studied there for a year). I still speak decent French and try to not lose my skills by watching French films. And because I already speak English by virtue of being born and bred in a former British colony, I think two imperialist languages are enough for me, thank you.

The thing about speaking Dutch in the Netherlands is that… you don’t have to. Most people in the big cities speak decent English, which is enough to get by if all you want is to buy groceries at the supermarket, or find your way with public transport.

But there’s a double standard when it comes to speaking the local lingo. If you’re a Caucasian or European, you’re not expected to speak Dutch. Laws that allow free movement in the European Union also mean that for Europeans, learning Dutch is merely voluntary. However, for me as a non-European permanent resident, I have to take a language exam in the next two years or risk a severe fine.

Here, there are two types of people who are usually assumed to be unequivocally Dutch: White or Brown (thanks to colonial history). Because my appearance is typically Javanese or Indonesian, I’m often mistaken as being Dutch. Many Dutch people also have grandmothers or great-grandmothers who came over from the former colonies. These women often attempted to integrate totally by adopting the local language and ways of life.

At one point in time, I figured I’d similarly integrate by forcing myself to speak and listen to Dutch. I decided to start in a prenatal yoga group that I had just joined. I figured that I would do okay since I could understand most words relating to movement and parts of the body. Plus, it was a good opportunity to learn the relevant vocabulary for labour and delivery.

It turned out to be a very lonely 10 weeks. Even though I tried my best to speak a little bit of Dutch each lesson to the yoga instructor and to the other participants, I never got around to actually striking up a semblance of a friendship with the other mothers. Perhaps it was our age difference: Almost all the other women were well into their 30s, and some in their 40s. Perhaps we lived in different places: They live in the suburbs and I live in the city. Or perhaps I was just the only non-White person in the whole group.

I had a very different experience in a postnatal Pilates class I’m currently attending. It’s a small and cosy studio not too far from where I live, run by an English woman and attended by many English-speaking people (even though most of the instructors are Dutch). I take two different classes, and both instructors willingly carry out their lessons in a mix of Dutch and English to make sure I can understand.

I’ve also met some kindred souls in this class – a total change from awkward attempts at conversation in my previous yoga class. Whether it’s because women are more sympathetic when they can bond over how bad their hospital experience was, or whether it’s just a friendlier group of women, I haven’t needed to speak Dutch at all. (Besides, my go-to excuse is that my brain is too sleep-deprived caring for a baby to string together a sentence.)

I realised then that it’s not about the language we speak, but about our willingness to know the other. Now when someone speaks to me in Dutch, I don’t feel obligated to reply in the same language to prove I’m a “good” migrant. I’m perfectly happy to speak what is most comfortable to me because what is more important is our effort to communicate, not the language we communicate in.

"Do you work here?"

Institutional racism means that when you are Brown, you're taken to be a low-wage worker. Not that you might want or desire such a job, but that these are the opportunities open to you.

Institutional racism means that when you're in a clothing store, some White people will assume that you work there. You might be holding a few pieces of clothing over your arm, as you look through the shelves and racks. These are not things that you're browsing for and that you can afford to buy, but items that were already tried on or misplaced and it's your $5-per-hour job to fold and put them back.

Institutional racism means that when you are seeking something more beyond the 9-to-5 grind, some Rich people assume that you're unemployed and would be grateful for any job offered to you. You may have been privileged enough to get a degree, but educational qualifications are invisible. A rich person may look at your skin colour, and the skin colour of their loyal chauffeur and secretary, and offer you those jobs. These are not jobs you are necessarily interested in, but you are supposed to be grateful that you were offered them at all.

Institutional racism means that when you send out dozens of resumes with your Arabic-sounding Malay name, some White people will offer you a secretarial or administrative job, if it's not a cleaning job. Some White people will offer you unpaid internships. Some Rich people will, during your interview, tell you that they are glad you are not wearing hijab, because women that wear hijab "think differently". Institutional racism means that when you hyphenate your father's name to your husband's Dutch family name, you get an interview and you are assumed to be of mixed parentage.

Institutional racism means that when you find yourself too close to a person who has more privilege, other people might mistake you as the domestic worker of the person you are helping. You might be just offering a wet wipe to a Chinese woman who fell down, or helping a wheelchair-user buy something or get somewhere.

Institutional racism means that when you're doing anything resembling manual labour, some Chinese people will assume that you are the cleaner of the premises humbly doing your job. You might be moving boxes and equipment because you train with athletes in this hall everyday. It's your last day in this place and you have to pack everything to be picked up the next day. You know the Malay pakciks and Indian aunties that set up and put away sports equipment and furniture in this hall. Institutional racism means that a Chinese person may see you as just another Brown menial worker.

So the first thing he asks you is, "Do you work here?"

On feminist alliance and participatory media-making.

This post was first published on Muslimah Media Watch.

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Writing (for Muslimah Media Watch and other platforms elsewhere) has opened up many opportunities to collaborate with other activists from around the world. In particular, some articles I wrote on female circumcision (and also male circumcision) a few years ago attracted a lot of attention from activists and filmmakers, and a fresh round of conversations about these articles prompted me to gather and reflect on these transnational interactions.

A few years ago, while I was still living in the Netherlands, a Dutch non-government organization contacted me. They were looking for a gateway into the homogenized ethnic group of “Islamic Indonesian or Malaysian background”. Even though I specifically identified myself as being a Malay (ethnic group) Singaporean (nationality), they mistook me for an Indonesian. Indonesia and Malaysia are two different countries, and Indonesia alone has over 15 ethnic groups – facts that I would have hoped an NGO would be aware of if they were targeting this demographic.

Dispersing the misconceptions about ethnicity, nationality, and diasporic communities was work enough. Then they asked me to help them find other recent immigrants who “may not be informed about the consequences if they have their daughter circumcised.” Their assumptions about immigrant Muslim women and their culture(s) were ominously foreshadowing the recent Dutch policy to teach “gay rights” in refugee centres. Both parties paint immigrants and refugees as being inherently misogynist and homophobic.

(Can we get #NotallMuslimwomencircumcisetheirdaughters trending?)

Soon after, I received a request from an filmmaker working on the issue of routine male infant circumcision (MC). She was looking for doctors or parents in either Malaysia, Indonesia, or Singapore (though anyone from “Africa or Asia” would do) who supported the less invasive forms of female circumcision (pricking, slitting) – and she wasn’t planning on portraying them in a negative light. The purpose of juxtaposing FC (which is normally considered abhorrent) in other countries to male circumcision in the US was to help point out to Americans of their “cultural blind-spots” and “double standard”.

However, it would make more sense to change just one variable instead of two. For example, how about comparing “American” forms of genital cutting such as labioplasty/vaginoplasty to male circumcision? Instead of you know, using the rest of the world as a setting to help Americans learn more about themselves.

Most recently I was asked, by an photographer-filmmaker, to find some women or girls who had been through FC. More specifically, she wanted to film the procedure and some interviews – keeping all parties anonymous. Then: “They can wear their burqas if they want to.” #NotallMuslimwomenwearburqas

In all of the above interactions, I felt conflicting emotions. On one hand, I wanted to raise awareness about FC and MC. However, on the other hand, I felt like the person’s interpretations of the topic were being forced on me. In the case of being asked to provide contacts, I felt like they were forcing their way into an extremely intimate subject – information which had required time and emotional effort on my part to obtain – making me feel like an unwilling ‘native informant’.

As a result of feeling coerced, I curiously started to become defensive. In my mind, I even wanted to defend these practices – FC in particular because of the ‘milder’ nature more prevalent in Southeast Asia – against the onslaught of eager activists. It was a wholly reactionary defense mechanism.

Multiracial alliances can fail or be productive. As in all relations of power, there are lines of privilege to consider. I feel that immortalising representations of Muslim women through the making of media (books, films, policy papers) is something to be especially careful about. What would make me want to collaborate? What would make it worthwhile?

There was one more request by an European activist, who requested me to answer a series of questions on FC. Initially suspicious (seriously you can’t blame me though), I asked her many questions about her background, work, motivations and objectives, to get a better idea about how she was planning to represent the situation in Southeast Asia. In the end, our interactions were open, pleasant and productive, so I ended up contributing my experiences.

In her book Power Lines: On the Subject of Feminist Alliances (2008), Aimee Carillo Rowe writes:

“There’s the colour of the body, and then there’s the colour of the commitment that burns like hot blue flame in our hearts… Our work is to turn ourselves inside out. To locate ourselves through our loyalty and our bravery and our willingness to fight for radical visions.”

The only project I ended up contributing to was one that I felt I had the most control over. Not only did the collaborating activist ask mostly open-ended questions, the published text is also made up mostly of quotes. This shows a willingness to let people speak for themselves (as far as it is possible in a textual form). I suppose then, what makes a collaboration worthwhile is if we can control our own representations and get our message across at the same time.

PS: I almost forgot about the random White male law student who had written a paper about FC and was looking for my feedback. When I asked him why he wanted to send it to me, he said he thought it would be ‘as much for my benefit’ as others had been ‘extremely appreciative’. I think I forgot to give him any feedback.

With whiteness comes erasure.

I wish I could remember who wrote this. I would thank her or him profusely because when I read this, it resonated deeply with me. It was an articulation of feelings I had not been able to grasp; uncomfortable sentiments felt too often and so left no space for me to rationalise them away.

It's about being Brown and with someone White that renders you the Other. It's about White people universalising and imposing their life experiences in the 'noble' pursuit of assimilation and/or integration, so you never get to own and own and have pride in your childhood, your celebrations, your proverbs and your norms or traditions.

It's about having White people reiterating and reminding you of the 'freedom' they experience and that you are supposedly able to enjoy in their country. (They forget about anti-Brown or Black microaggressions, racism and violence, because they can't universalise something they don't experience).

It's about having a hybrid child who is part White and part Brown (never mind that he is descended more of Brown than White). A child who is seen to be a rich White charge when with his Brown mother and a poor saved Brown adoptee when with his White father.

It's about White people worrying that your child will not learn his White language if he goes to your country. Never mind that they never worried he wouldn't learn his Brown language in their country.

It's about having White people worry that your child will not be 'raised properly' amongst your Brown people. Perhaps too conservative or traditional or religious or backward or primitive or savage -- their worry has been the same for hundreds of years.

"Actually, I'm his mum."

It's been a whirlwind few months since the big move back to Singapore. It's had its pros and cons, but mostly I am very glad to be back. As a Kiwi friend once said, "Singaporeans always miss Singapore, right?"

My posts have been rather depressing of late -- the cons of moving back. One of the reasons I wanted to come back was to feel a sense of a Muslim community again. Back in NL, I had cobbled together a motley group of Muslim friends, which I was and still am very grateful for. In retrospect, I realise that I should not expect myself to be able to integrate seamlessly back here -- I've changed so much as a Muslim and as a person that the Sunni Shafii mainstream is not really an Islam I am 100% comfortable with anymore. Listening to people talk about how men should only marry women who can bear children is extremely triggering.

(I can't imagine being able to articulate that only just 5 or 6 years ago, which is when all my questioning started.)

Being a mum to 17 month old now, I've changed so much. While I already had to learn to put aside other people's opinions because of many of my feminist-social-justice beliefs, I definitely give even less consideration now -- in short, IDGAF. My priority is to advocate for my kid.

Staying in a neighbourhood with many White foreigners is also creating its own series of misconceptions. Because many of their kids are cared for by live-in Filipina oIndonesian migrant domestic workers white women assume I am also a domestic worker. Never mind that Nootje is practically a carbon copy of me (when compared to his dad at least). When he is near me my Brownness is enhanced. Especially if I'm out and about in my Tshirts and jeans/shorts as opposed to a fancier skirt or blouse, with makeup or accessories.

The privilege of being able to groom myself into socially acceptable femininity every day (or any day) is what distinguishes me from migrant working women. They only get Sundays (their day off) to dress up as they like. This counts for women who wear hijab as well, as the headscarf functions as a marker of urban modernity. If I wore hijab and presentable clothes at the playground, I would not be mistaken for an Indonesian or a Filipina. Hijabi migrants might be allowed a simple 'instant' hijab on trips to the supermarket, but only on Sundays can they go all out with their outfits.

Having had the last few months to process all this, and now that I am aware of how I fit into this intersection of race, gender and migrant status, what do I do?

The 'me' of 10 years ago would have detested being mistaken for a 'maid'. Her choice to wear hijab would have been partly influenced by this (not the only or the most important factor, but a factor nonetheless).

The 'me' today? IDGAF. I dress in what makes me comfortable in the heat, considering my need to safely cycle and run after, carry and breastfeed Nootje. When I'm in the mood, I take the opportunity to educate the adults and children who assume I am Nootje's 'maid', 'auntie' or 'bibik' simply because I have brown skin, plain clothes, a plain (and very Javanese) face, and I sit on the bench watching him at the playground instead of constantly following him around (aka "helicopter parenting", a fun post for another day).

When I'm not in the mood, I simply say, in the coolest tone I can muster and witness the offending adult flush with embarassment: "Actually, I'm his mum."

7 ways to ace the Dutch integration exam

Last month I spent eight hours in a centre proving how worthy I am of staying in this country. In other words, the Dutch integration exam or inburgeringexamen.

As I walk into the ordinary looking building that houses several other offices, about 30 faces greet me: mostly brown, some are white. Some are married to people holding Dutch passports and must do the exam or risk a fine, some are refugees who have lived here for almost a decade and need a Dutch passport, some are from rich countries looking to gain another citizenship in order to become "a world citizen", some have come in the 70s as guest workers and have to show that they haven't been creating their own ethnic ghettoes, others are economic refugees or students looking to escape their countries.

I fall under the first category. But I'm about to find out that this exam is not created to take all these candidates into consideration; it's just one long day of alternate feelings of embarrassment, amusement, outrage and pity.

It doesn't take long to be micro-aggressed. First I have to register, standing face to face with an overly chirpy Dutch woman who makes it a point to note on my paper that although my name is too long to fit on my residence permit, it is indeed my name and I am not posing as someone else. Smiling too much and enunciating each word slowly, she even tells me that since my hairstyle is different from my photo, I need to tuck my hair behind my ears because it's hard to tell brown people apart or something. 

I chose to do all 5 exams in one day: Dutch language listening, speaking, writing and reading skills, and knowledge of Dutch society (kennis nederlandse samenleving). Each test presents a few "cases" or situations, with 2 or 3 related questions. They're all done on a computer except for the writing test. One participant who is on her third attempt tells me that the speaking test used to be done with an examiner, which predictably makes things more stressful. With the new format, you watch a video of someone making small talk and asking a question. You record your reply in the software and you can repeat until your time is up.

I laugh out loud at certain questions, because they were so ridiculous. But I know I just have to put aside any critical thinking skills (saving it for this blog post) and just give the right answer. So here you go, here are 7 ways to ace integration, the Dutch way.

1. Work a labour-intensive job and don't study too much

One of the writing tasks is to compose an email to a colleague (you work together in a cleaning company) asking her to please vacuum the next day because you forgot to do so, and explain what you'll do for her in return. My vocabulary on household chores is pretty poor (because hey, I don't go around talking about it), so I come up with the only thing I knew the words for: that I'll clean the windows.

In one of the questions for the speaking test (which consists of only a handful of actual speaking into the microphone and then a series of multiple-choice questions on what your best response would be), you have to pretend to be a (Black) baker, busy packing something when your (White) boss asks you to get him coffee. The computer suggests that you can give a plain "no", you can tell your boss to get his own coffee or that you can tell him that you're busy. It's clear you need to say no without pissing off your boss. (No points for guessing the right answer.)

Other situations involve characters that work in a nursing home and supermarket. While their ethnicity or cultural background is not overtly stated, there are obvious clues that they are Moroccan, Turkish, or Black Antillean. There are some situations with characters pursuing some sort of education, but these are limited to vocational courses like cooking.

2. Submit to authority 

Meet Zam (not his real name). He has a headache and he goes to the doctor, who prescribes him a medication. He doesn't feel too good after taking the meds for a while, so he stops taking it. He shouldn't have done this even though he may know the best for his body (this is actually one of the answer options, but it's accompanied with a very Photoshopped photo of Zam looking like an arrogant know-it-all so WINK WINK). Instead, he should apologise to the doctor for not having consulted him first. (Though from my experience with medical professionals here and how some pretend they cannot speak English unless you're White, they should be the ones apologising to you.)

3. Learn the value of (White) opinions

In life, you will hear about the trials and tribulations of others. If you hear about a jewellery store robbery, you need to learn to accept that robbers are perhaps poor people who needed to eat (I'm pretty surprised at the compassion taught in this example but anyway). It's unacceptable to say that this is a ridiculous idea or that one is forbidden to have such ideas.

If you tell someone else that you plan to divorce your wife and said friend is not married, you must not assume that said friend doesn't know anything. White people can have an opinion on any and every topic (including how C-sections are not all that bad hey, true story) and you must listen to this opinion because, free speech. To be properly integrated, you should ask him why he holds such an opinion even though you're starting to feel mighty irritated.

4. Love gay people

This is very important. Probably the most important thing that determines your worth as an immigrant. It's not important to think of people as being on a continuum of sexual orientation, but rather that "homosexuals" are a simple alternative to "heterosexuals". Trans? Queer? What's all that complexity?

Just remember that gay people are allowed to hold hands anywhere in this country. Especially if they're white. Never you mind about the hostility faced by queers of colour (or God forbid, couples of colour!). Just love them for being lucky enough to be living in this country of freedom.

5. Love the police

Never mind that if you look Moroccan or Turkish, or if you have dark skin, you're more like to be stopped by the police on the street. Never mind also that you can be shot for merely putting your hands in your pockets because it looked like you were reaching for a gun.

Repeat after me: the police is your friend. If you are just taking an innocent walk around the block with your wife and you see a young man in a hoodie throwing a brick through a shop window, what should you do? (hint: call the police.) If you encounter a group of protesters who are suddenly attacked by a mysterious group of young men (with the same hoodies), what should you do? Just. call. the. police.

6. Accept whitewashing of history

Meet Dinh, a new immigrant from Vietnam. He wants to learn more about Dutch history so he goes to the museum. There he sees an exhibit about the VOC (Dutch East India Company). Now as a migrant from a former colony of France, Dinh probably knows a thing or two about colonial powers, so he knows that the VOC didn't just go what is Indonesia today to simply trade in spices so they could establish Conimex.

But just pretend that that is all they went there for. Colonisation, oppression, violence -- that's all much too messy for the integrated mind.

7. Know that this is not real life

It is striking how the test tries to consciously work against stereotypes. Although many practice questions for the test focus on how this country is the land of gender equality (where men and women split housework 50-50, where contraception is seen as female emancipation, and where men are not allowed to hit women), during the test you'll meet a white man who hits his wife and kids, while his Moroccan neighbours are left with the awkward dilemma of trying to get him to stop drinking, get a job and stop abusing his family (no idea why you can't call the police in this case, because it seems like a pretty good option).

This Moroccan couple has the darndest life. Not only does their daughter's bicycle get stolen, but one day they encounter a group of white protesters on strike, demanding higher wages. For some reason, they are attacked by a few young brown boys in hoodies (I get it, hoodies are scary).

The most important thing to know about the exam is that these situations do not reflect real life in the Netherlands. The test is a representation of what a few people in power thought Dutch life should be. If you can put this aside and put on your integrated-immigrant hat, you'll pass with flying colours.

At least I did. :)

In Their Own Words: The Ups and Downs of Fasting Abroad

This post was originally published in Aquila Style, 18 Jul 2013.
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Whether by choice or compulsion, sometimes we spend Ramadan away from family. Four Singaporean Muslim women speak to Sya Taha on their experiences fasting overseas.

For most of my life, I have spent Ramadan in my native Singapore. Since my family members have differing schedules, Ramadan was one of the rare periods in the year where we were able to eat together at least once a day.

While many Singaporeans try to spend Ramadan and Eid together, some may have to fast in other countries due to work assignments. Nadia, 27, a young Chinese woman, has experienced fasting a few days each in Hong Kong and Sweden:

The wonderful thing about fasting overseas is the high level of energy and enthusiasm I feel throughout the day, despite the lack of food or drink. Somehow the experience of being in a foreign land assuages any hunger or thirst or lethargy I may otherwise feel.

The variety of women who observe Ramadan abroad mirrors the diverse experiences they have. Syah, 24, a young Malay woman who did her undergraduate degree in Canada, saw her experiences change over the four years she spent in Vancouver:

It was very different from the first year I was here until now. The first year, I was pretty much alone in the dorms. It was winter so the hours were shorter. The dorms had a cafeteria which had this system of giving food from the previous day as the morning meal for those who fasted. But for sahur, I would just eat some cereal since there wasn’t a kitchen. My roommate was really nice and would often eat her dinner when I broke fast so I wouldn’t have to eat alone.

Syah started out rather isolated from Vancouver’s Muslim community, its ethnic segregation making it hard for her to connect. Now engaged to marry a white Canadian Muslim man, she says the difficulties largely persist, despite having eased somewhat:

Now, I’m a bit more connected to the Muslim community for Ramadan since I’ve made Muslim friends. Even so, I still pretty much fast alone otherwise, just with my fiancé because the Muslim community is still pretty rigid in terms of who they accept, [especially] us as an interracial couple. The Muslim community here in Vancouver is very divided along racial lines and there tends to be racial exclusivity in mosques, events, and so on.

On the other, young Malay women who have studied and lived in countries that have similar cultures and customs find a Muslim community that is welcoming. The presence of similar foods also makes for a more comforting Ramadan spent away from home.

Masaini, 29, did her undergraduate degree in Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of the small nation of Brunei on the island of Borneo. With more than 60 percent of Brunei’s population being Muslim, she found comfort in the similar foods that were available during iftar such as air kathira (a sweet milk drink with coloured syrup and basil seeds), and rice porridge with meat. Despite the similar Malay culture, Masaini found something different in Brunei:

My fondest memory was the Islamic atmosphere and ambience. I could feel the strong spiritual aura that is not present in Singapore.

Likewise, Liyana, 28, who spent Ramadan in Kuala Lumpur while she studied there, enjoyed the widespread availability of air kathira, halal-certified food and the company of Muslim students from the Middle East and African countries like Eritrea:

My friends and I always enjoyed the luxury to choose where to break our fast. The mosque in our campus always surprised us with different types of food every single day. There would always be a pool of students, both local Malaysians and internationals, who swamped the mosque area in the evening, filling up the seats while waiting for the adzan to break their fast. That was when I got the chance to get to know other students whom I had not met before.

Liyana has fond memories of the generosity of student associations in her university who sponsored food for iftars, and warmheartedly recalled discovering a surprising benefactor behind one of these iftars:

My friends and I were on our way to the campus bazaar to buy food for iftar when we were stopped by an Arab man who encouraged us to break our fast at the campus canteen. He told us to sit down while he continued to prepare the food. I saw huge portions of food being served: rice with lamb, salads, desserts and drinks. We were also given a Qur’an each. Exhilarated, I asked the man if he knew who had sponsored this iftar. He told me it was the courtesy of an anonymous Palestinian man. I was stunned and touched at the same time, to think of how much most Palestinians had gone through but that this had never stopped them from radiating blessings in the lives of others. It was a great reminder to myself.

Despite not looking like a typical Muslim, especially with her Chinese appearance, Nadia also points to experiencing the kindness of strangers when fasting overseas:

One of the things I’ve noticed about being a foreigner in a strange land during the fasting month is how warm and welcoming local Muslims always are towards their fellow Muslims who are travelling and fasting away from home. At times I’d even receive offers to break the fast with these locals, indulge in their local cuisines and join in congregational salat with them in a show of shared solidarity for a fellow fasting Muslim. Such occasions are both memorable and precious. I’m very much aware that I may not have been privy to such offers or opportunities had it not been for my status as a Muslim, and the occasion of the fasting month.

Thanks to such overwhelmingly positive experiences, even after all these years, Liyana sometimes longs to spend Ramadan again in her former university, where she had the chance to befriend many women from all over the world:

One of those moments that I truly miss during Ramadan is getting to know women from various countries and cultures in my campus mosque. Most of the married women would bring their children to the mosque, and they would get request any sister in the mosque who was free to help take care of their children while they were doing the tarawih prayer. Every sister would help each other. It was a place for Muslim women to befriend other Muslim women – each had her own story on how she ended up in Malaysia. It was a wonderful gathering of women.

Overall, the experience of fasting overseas was a learning experience for these young Muslim women. Despite the cultural similarities or differences of the places they found themselves fasting, they were able to derive social and spiritual benefits from being with another of God’s many nations and tribes (49:13). While it can be comforting to spend Ramadan together with our family, spending it outside our native countries also brings an array of benefits.

The Challenges of FWM (Flying While Muslim)

This post was originally published in Aquila Style, 20 Jul 2013.

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Having to fast in the summer months for the second year in a row, I’m escaping to the tropics towards the end of this Ramadan. After about 20 days fasting for 19 hours each day in the Netherlands, I’ll be over the moon thinking about fast for a duration that I am most used to: 13 hours in Singapore.

I realise that this is a privilege on my part, to be able to fly halfway across the world. I’m not doing it just for the shorter hours, though; I’m also looking forward to being with my family during what I consider to be the most special celebration of my entire year. I have explained it to fellow Dutch people that Ramadan and Eid ul-Fitr in combination is just like Christmas for them (perhaps a weak analogy seeing how Christmas and Easter celebrations have been secularised for most of the country, but it will have to do).

Today’s travel times are much shorter than what the 7th-century travellers mentioned in the Qur’an had to deal with. We can travel almost anywhere in the world in a matter of a few days. Some things, however, remain the same. Here are some things to consider if you are flying during Ramadan:

1. Fasting

Travellers are exempt from fasting during a journey (2:184-5), but some will want to anyway. Those whose work involves travel may decide to fast some days instead of missing out on the whole month.

For example, my friend works as an air stewardess and crosses time zones every three days. When Ramadan comes around, she eats a meal on board for sahur, and breaks her fast when the sun sets at the plane’s destination – wherever that might be, and however long her fast may be. At the end of the month, she tallies the total number of days and pays back a few days later in the year to make up 29 or 30 days.

2. Conserving energy

During Ramadan my energy levels are lower than usual, so I don’t want to deal with the extra hassle of luggage. I pack only the bare minimum and try to travel as light as possible. While I may have to carry on a heavy item like my laptop, I try to check in as much of my other belongings as possible.

As much as possible, I make use of online check-in (if available) so that I only have to drop off my luggage at the airport. This is often a separate and shorter line, or for some airlines a completely automatic process with the use of drop-off luggage machines. No more standing in long queues!

3. In-flight meals

As I booked my ticket for this upcoming journey, my husband realised that the flight was at 10pm – just after iftar time. I didn’t know if the airline would serve dinner so late at night, so I sent them a quick email. Happily, the airline responded that they would serve meals in time for iftar and sahur to any passenger that wanted it, throughout Ramadan.

If in doubt, ask in advance. Many airlines are happy to accommodate their passengers’ needs even though Ramadan may not be in their calendar. If there are no meals served, it is also possible to bring your own dates and meals onboard, and water is always available upon request.

4. Prayers

While this may not be a concern specific to Ramadan, it’s still helpful to know that many airports have a meditation or prayer room (specific or interfaith) in at least one of their terminals (even where you least expect it). While such rooms are expected and abundant in airports of Muslim-majority countries such as Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, I have been to prayer rooms in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok, Madrid Barajas airport, Schiphol airport in Amsterdam and, of course, Changi airport in Singapore.

I was once in Paris’ main airport, where there were separate Christian, Jewish and Muslim prayer rooms. When I peeked into the Muslim room, it was full of men in congregational prayer. Intimidated, I tiptoed over to the empty Jewish room. I opened the door tentatively and ready to explain myself, but there was no one there. It was also spacious and clean and I could do my prayer in total silence. Thank Allah!As for praying on the plane, while I have seen some passengers pray in the aisles in their best approximation of the direction of Mecca, I usually pray unobtrusively in my seat. By checking the ‘live’ flight path on your inflight entertainment screen (if available) or visualising the airplane’s general flight path, it is also possible to approximate the direction to Mecca from your seat.

The Qur’an also gives travellers the option to shorten their prayers when in unusual circumstances (4:101-3). The Shafi’i school of thought elaborates on how to do this through the use of qasar (shortening) and jama’ (combining) prayers. The Qur’an also gives the option of doing tayammum (dry ablution) in special circumstances (5:6). If water is available, one may also do only the obligatory ablution (5:6) – washing hands, face, arms, hairline, and feet, only once – to save on time and public water resources. Make the most out of these exemptions.

5. Security checks

I’ve been asked to remove my headscarf and cardigans at security checks. I’ve also had friends recount to me their unpleasant experiences being asked to remove their hijab or their dupatta. I have also been detained, without any explanation, in a room at Houston Airport, while my name (well, more probably my father’s name which contains ‘Muhammad’) was run through a database. I have also had immigration officers ask me unnecessary questions because of my name.

These experiences are indeed extremely unpleasant and I wish no one had to go through them. However, I try my best to get around the situation with excuses such as ‘I am bald and would rather not remove it’, ‘I’m not wearing anything else underneath’, or simply say ‘I cannot remove this’. Depending on the country I fly from, I have varying degrees of success when doing this!

I also try to get past security checks and get to the boarding area as soon as I can. This gives me some quiet moments to myself and also reassures me that if I ever fall asleep, someone will wake me up to make sure I board the plane!

Whether one travels for work or pleasure during Ramadan, I hope that it can be a pleasant experience for everyone. I believe that the reason God gives us exemptions while travelling is because it can indeed be difficult and God understands us best.

Fatima Hamed Hossain: Politician or Jihadist?

This post first appeared on Muslimah Media Watch on 3 Jul 2013.

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A few weeks ago, I attended the Critical Muslim Studies summer school in Granada, Spain. One of the speakers, Fatima Hamed Hossain, a lawyer, spoke to us about the social and political participation of Muslim women in Spain.

There are about one million Muslims who currently reside in Spain, with an estimated number of about 50,000 converts, and the rest being mostly of Moroccan, Syrian, Lebanese and South Asian origins. Immigration and growing rates of conversion of Spaniards from the late 1970s are the two biggest factors for the growth of Islam in Spain.

Fatima Hamed Hossain was born in Ceuta, and was trained as a lawyer. She currently practises as a civil and commercial mediator. In 2006 she joined the political party Democratic Union of Ceuta (UDCE) because she wanted to help marginalized groups, having grown up in a marginalized neighbourhood of Ceuta herself, and also because it was symbolically important:

“I have to say that for me it was a challenge, and I felt that despite all the difficulties and criticism it was necessary; it was about time to involve Muslim women in politics.”

She contends that the media creates a particular idea of Muslim women as being illiterate and submissive.

“My main motivation, in addition to fighting for social justice, is to break the prejudices and stereotypes that have been built on some Muslim women: we are not ignorant nor uneducated nor submissive. We rebel like any other woman against injustice and wearing the hijab does not prevent this. It shows my faith, my culture and my background that I’m very proud.”

She refutes the construction of Spanish liberal values as being superior as a recent phenomenon. This was because under Franco’s administration, married women needed their husband’s permission for all economic activities such as working or owning property. It was only in 1975 that this permiso marital (marital permission) was abolished.

Fatima was the first Muslim woman to be elected to the legal assembly of Ceuta in 2007.Her election became a question of national news – reported by the national newspaper El Pais. However, she is not the first Muslim woman with hijab to sit on a regional parliament: four years earlier, Salima Abdesalam was elected into the regional parliament of Melilla.

To conclude her short talk, she speculated that the newspaper El Pais had included a discreet message in reporting her new political position.

In an El Pais article after Fatima was sworn into the assembly, a photo of her is front and centre, with the accompanying headline below. “With the hijab and the constitution” implied that there was a need to reconcile her Spanishness with her own religiosity, given that she wore a visible marker of Islam, a religion that was different to the Catholicism associated with Spain.

The most telling message, according to Fatima, was the headline right next to her face, which said “Police warn of threat of second generation jihadists”. This clearly implied that she was such a threat, which – whether intentionally or unintentionally – aimed to bring down her political worth.

Despite such setbacks, Fatima states that her biggest task is to normalise the participation of Muslim women in social and political life in Ceuta, commenting, “If just one person changes their perception about Muslim women, my job is done.”

Boccia: Assisting precision

This post first appeared on Poskod.sg on 22 Jun 2013.
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Two years ago, I came back from a school trip to my sister announcing, “You can be my sports assistant? [Our domestic worker] Yuli cannot get a visa.”

I said yes, because it was almost impossible to find someone else who could leave with just two weeks’ notice. I had just graduated and had four months before leaving for further studies. I also had the privilege of a passport that allowed me to travel freely to Europe without being suspected of having links to terrorism, or intentions of overstaying for undocumented work. Before we went to the Boccia World Championships 2010 in Lisbon, Portugal, I had two weeks to learn the skills of being a boccia assistant.

The only catch: I had never seen my sister play boccia, and I had no clue about the game and what I would have to do.

I thought it would be easy; all I had to do was run around and pick up stray balls. Assemble and take apart her equipment. But what about her personal care: showering, getting dressed, preparing her food, packing her things? It had usually been our mother, and more recently our domestic worker who were almost wholly responsible for these tasks.

I only knew how to take out her books or pencil box when we were in Sunday school together, tap her EZ-link card when we took the bus or MRT together, or find wheel-chair friendly routes or entrances into cinemas.

Game of balls

Boccia is a target game played in mixed-gender singles or in teams (pairs or threes). The aim is to get the most number of your own blue or red balls closest to the white target ball, known as the jack. Each ball that is closer to the jack than the next closest ball of the opponent, at the end of four rounds, determines the number of points and thus the winner.

There are four categories for the game, with the first two reserved for athletes with cerebral palsy. The last two categories are reserved for athletes with a variety of conditions that result in limited control of their upper bodies, such as muscular dystrophy or spinal muscular atrophy. Before each competition, athletes are classified into one of the four categories based on their ability to throw or catch the hand-sized, soft, leather balls.
My sister falls into the third category called BC3, where athletes are allowed to use assistive devices such as ramps to roll the ball from various heights and angles, and head or mouth pointers to hold the ball. As an assistant, I was allowed to handle her ramp and balls during the game, although I had to strictly keep my back to the court, keep my eyes away from the play, ensure I was within the 2.5m x 1m playing box, and not talk or communicate to her during the game.

I had mixed feelings about waiting so long in between plays. On one hand, there was only so much I could see of the other games happening behind our court with a wheelchair in my way; on the other, continuous plays from the other team meant that our opponents were unable to get their ball any closer to the jack than my sister’s ball – she was winning! (At least, in that round.)

I amused myself by watching the game going on in the opposite court, looking at the linesman who penalises players whose wheels or devices are out of the box during their turn, or observing how the opponent sets up his devices and releases his ball.

Caregiving

While I had helped carry my sister to and from her chair, bed, and shower, it had always been with my mother or helper. I had never done it with anyone else, and I had certainly not been left to do everything else myself. When packing various clothes and personal items, I was confident that with my light-travel skills, we would be able to fit everything into one suitcase.

I was so wrong. There were so many items indispensable to her personal and psychological comfort as a para-athlete. Part of sports psychology called for reproducing her daily routine as much as possible in a new environment. This included the same types of soap, shampoo, deodorant, talcum powder and toothpaste; the same cereal drink for breakfast and daily vitamins (and sometimes the contraceptive pill to prevent the hassle of menstruation when traveling). There were bed liners and emergency diapers for the plane ride, in case we didn’t have enough time during the stopover for a toilet break (using the tiny plane toilet was impossible). We also packed lightweight cutlery that she could lift, and a pack of straws for drinks.

After a full day of being with her, I still had to get up once or twice during the night to turn her in bed (to prevent bedsores). Together our morning routine took almost two hours, and we had to factor in that time when getting up for breakfast and early practice. Exhausting!

Most of us go about our daily activities without even thinking about how we brush our teeth or put on our clothes. But for many para-athletes, they need assistance with every little part of their bodies’ actions – some even need constant towels because they cannot swallow their own saliva.

Competition

When we arrived at the competition hall, there was the business of unpacking the athletes’ ramps, which had been carefully disassembled and packed in bubble wrap. Weighing about five kilos, the ramp had to be stabilised with a five more kilos of hand weights during play. Her ramp had two additional pieces to make it longer, when needed to push the ball to almost nine metres away. These pieces were removed each time she took aim, and attached only during play.

My sister tells me to shift or turn the ramp left or right, forwards or backwards, “a little bit” or “a lot”. Then I pick up the ball she chooses and I place it along the ramp. She is the final one to touch the ball, and she releases it accordingly. Then, I adjust the ramp (turn it left and right to change its position from the last throw) and wait for her next instruction.

Competitions were always friendly, and I got to meet different kinds of athlete-assistant pairings: child-father, brother-sister, husband-wife (but no wife-husband yet), athlete-coach. For some countries with well-developed disability institutions: hired assistants paid per day. I was especially intrigued by a married couple who both had cerebral palsy. While the man had more mobility than the wife, both required a significant amount of help from a third party – reconceptualising the idea of marriage for me.

Communication

For those who do not personally know anyone with disabilities, the media is often the biggest influence. For example, television sitcoms that feature a mentally-challenged person usually feature an actor who imitates the spasms and movements similar to cerebral palsy. However, many people with this condition are highly functional and can pursue higher education, with the right facilities. Unfortunately, many people tend to assume that someone with physical disabilities also has mental ones.

I had never met anyone with cerebral palsy before helping out with boccia, and I was never aware of how much this condition could vary. For example, while the other athlete on our team could speak (and so often apologised if she hit us accidentally during her involuntary spasms), many others used customised sign language.

I communicated with one Colombian player for the first time on Facebook chat – he used discreet sign language with his coach, but he could type on a special keyboard (our communication barrier then shifted to my limited proficiency in Spanish). I also met a young man from the United States who drove his chair with the help of sensors around his headrest.

Connections

Since my first initiation into the world of boccia and caregiving, I’ve assisted my sister in two more international competitions in Belfast and Porto. It is heartwarming to see the same coaches, caregivers, and assistants with the same athletes, time after time.

For someone who uses her body and mind as creative expressions and doesn’t think twice about controlling locomotor movements, spending time with my sister as her assistant makes me realise that while I cannot live her life, I could very well do with understanding and remembering this.

Hard Day’s Night: A tale of two Indonesian domestic workers in Singapore

This article was originally published in Poskod.sg.

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I remember being 4 years old and pasting stickers with the letters R-I-T-A on my pink plastic chair – that was the name of our first domestic worker. I was young and didn’t remember much of her, but over the next two decades, my household benefitted from the help of almost 10 different Indonesian domestic workers.

But there was a stark difference from what I felt in my personal relationship with these women and sentiments towards them in public discourse. Complaints by relatives about their ‘lazy’ or ‘ungrateful’ maids were a reflection of the discursive representations by the Singapore state. The reason of ‘falling into bad company’ is often invoked to justify tight social control, which is in turn based on specific ideas about their sexuality.

Through coercive policies on immigration and migrant workers, the law sees domestic workers either as potential home-wreckers or naive dependants. In the mainstream media, they are alternately either helpless victims or deviant criminals. Rarely are they portrayed as sacrificing heroines who leave their families to earn a living.

An economic necessity?

To support our post-independence capitalist development, women have been encouraged to work outside the home since our 1970s manufacturing phase. At the same time, the state insists that the best care for our ageing population is to be found within the household and family. Meanwhile, our growing urban middle class aspires to a lifestyle that previously only the rich could afford.

In short, women are valorised as workers, mothers and caregivers. But the state has never explicitly encouraged men to take up their share of housework. So who is going to do all the housework?

The solution lies in ‘cheap and disposable’[1] women from poorer neighbouring countries. Much of our post-independence development has been and is based on migrant labour from nearby Asian countries to fill in labour gaps for low-skilled, low-paid and high opportunity cost jobs that Singaporeans are unwilling to do.

Domestic work is one of these jobs. Migrant domestic workers are the answer in order to free our high-skilled but limited female labour force to work outside the home. They are the convenient response to our ageing population as smaller families mean fewer potential carers in the future.

This idea is accompanied by state policies that make it cheaper and more convenient to hire domestic workers than professional care services or nursing homes. For example, the Jamiyah Darul Takrim nursing home will only take in patients who have ‘exhausted all possible care arrangements such as hiring a domestic helper’.

Today’s pattern of migrant work was characterised by the 1978 Foreign Maid Scheme, which allowed women from mostly Indonesia and The Philippines (but also from Sri Lanka, India and other southeast Asian countries) to migrate temporarily to Singapore to work as live-in domestic workers. There are currently about 201,000 domestic workers in Singapore.

Only as of last year were all domestic workers in Singapore legally entitled to a day off. Previously, about 50 to 80 percent of all workers worked 7 days a week. While the government of The Philippines has made it a law to oblige Singaporean employers to give their Filipina workers a weekly day off, the governments of Indonesia and other Southeast Asian countries have no such laws.

Negotiating freedoms

Despite these constraints, two Indonesian women tell their stories of how they negotiated for freedoms like regular off days and time during their working day to study for a degree.

Ati, 31, first left Java for Singapore 2000 and has since been working for the same Chinese family. She did not have any off days during her first four working years because she was scared to ask for anything from her employers when she first arrived in Singapore. She even had to work in two different households, which is illegal according to the Employment of Foreign Manpower Act.

 

However, after four years and having developed a relatively good relationship with her employers, Ati managed to negotiate for a day off.

Because after the first year I went home her child had a high fever… then my boss said “Please lah please come back to work for me again”. So when I came back I asked to not be too tired because they have three children right. Slowly slowly like maybe they liked my work and so because I was close with their children so they were happy lah. After that, no off day in four years so I said “Okay, I will renew my contract with you but I want to ask for rest day, once a month.” (Ati, 31)

Meanwhile, Mita, 34, who has also been working for the same Chinese family for 14 years, had been given days off from the start of her first contract. Even then, she used to encourage and advise other women to negotiate for days off or a higher salary. To her, a good working relationship is required for a successful negotiation – both parties must be “comfortable” with each other and the employer must want the worker to renew her contract. At the same time, Mita acknowledges that only the employer makes the final decisions.

If don’t have then you can ask, if they give you then your luck lah. If not, then no choice lah. Because sometimes after you finish contract and then let’s say you want to transfer or continue your employer if you are good and comfortable with employer then go ahead. If not, OK lah you ask your off day if want to stay. Because you bargain right, okay I will work for you and you give me money. So if you increase my salary I will stay. If not, I will change employer. (Mita, 34)

Student workers

Both Ati and Mita are working towards an undergraduate degree in communications from the Open University of Indonesia, through distance learning and tutorials at the Singapore Indonesian School. Their track record – whether as well-behaved, hardworking, trustworthy or efficient domestic workers – played a significant role in determining the success of their negotiation for time in their working day and access to resources like a computer. 

Sometimes if I finish work it’s usually 10p.m., so I study 10p.m. to 12a.m. That day I told him “I need laptop for tutorial online.” [He said] “You don’t have to buy lah, don’t waste your money, just use mine.” But it’s old so it’s lagging. Then that day I said again, “Your laptop is so lagging,” and “I want to buy”. [He said] “You don’t have to buy, use my the other one.” So in the end I use the other laptop. I mean, he’s good like that, he’s not, what’s that, stingy. (Ati, 31)

Ati has to use her employers’ computers to minimise distractions from her primary role as a domestic worker. Her employers’ control over her purchases is an outcome of power relations of class, since they provide her income. Although she could use her own money to make expensive purchases like a camera or a laptop, she still requires their permission, which illustrates the boundaries of their control. 

Mita enjoys more flexible working and studying hours; she says she is allowed to study any time she likes. She earned her employers’ trust and admiration by first going for computer classes on her days off and being open about how good her employers were. Today her employers pay part of her study fees and her phone bills.

The degrees that they are working towards points to their career goals. Ati plans to return in 2014 to her hometown and start a catering business. Mita wants to work in mass communications, and laughs when she says she wants to be a deejay. Their peers, who work and study like them have ambitions to be English teachers or businesswomen.

Even though these women are a small group and do not represent all domestic workers in Singapore, they help us to see a more optimistic side to domestic work in Singapore – it’s not just all about the abuse and crime we read about in the mainstream media.

Global chains of care

Even though more Singapore women are working outside the home, the inflow of women from neighbouring countries means that women (of a different class and ethnicity) remain responsible for the home – keeping state-endorsed patriarchy intact.

But in the end my boss don’t allow me to go home yet, until 2014, then I can go home if I want. But boss hopes I don’t go home, and stay here forever. I said “You ask me to work here OK lah, pay me $5000 a month as compensation, I don’t get married!” (Ati, 31) 

While family members (mostly women) carry out some household chores and do care work by themselves, other domestic work is transferred to domestic workers, allowing female employers to enjoy the emotional value of motherhood. As domestic workers are also women, with their own families, this shifting of the burden of care should make us think about whose children and whose families are more important and deserve care: the rich or the poor?

Domestic workers are not the economic necessity that the state and employers often say it is. They are a luxury because they facilitate aspirations and affirm status for those aspiring to a middle-class lifestyle. But they are also a symptom of our state policies and rhetoric on what makes a man, what makes a woman, and what makes a family.
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Photos: Ati
References
[1] Sassen, S. (2002) 'Global Cities and Survival Circuits', in B. Ehrenreich and A.R. Hochschild (eds) Global Woman: Nannies, Maids and Sex Workers in the New Economy, pp. 254-274. New York: Metropolitan Books.

Housework and the City: A Tale of Muslim Domestic Workers

This article was originally published at Aquila Style on 10 May 2013.
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Two women from Indonesian recount the challenges they face in practising Islam in a way that is important to them, while working with employers in Singapore.

It’s a combination of circumstances, time and the type of work that I do now to earn money to help my family.

Wati (not her real name) is a 31-year-old Indonesian Muslim woman from Java who has been working as a live-in domestic worker for a Chinese employer – who is Christian – for almost 13 years now. When she first arrived in her employer’s house 13 years ago, she was told that she was forbidden from performing solat, or ritual prayer, in the house. Afraid to anger her employer and her labour agent, and thinking about the debt of almost S$2000 (US$1600) she incurred in getting to Singapore, she meekly nodded ‘yes’. If she had protested, she might have been blacklisted, terminated and sent back to her homeland of Indonesia – just like the stories she had heard in the Jakarta holding centre before flying to Singapore.

Singapore is currently temporarily ‘home’ to at least an estimated 201,000 migrant domestic workers, who are usually referred to as foreign domestic workers or ‘foreign maids’. Since the 1980s, Singapore and other global cities in Asia and the Middle East have been looking to ‘cheap’ and ‘disposable’ (female) labour from poorer countries as substitutes for the high cost of local labour. This increasing demand over the last decade means that more and more Indonesian women are migrating for work, with their movement being made easier by offers of capital in the form of debt.

Why did Singapore allow the influx of migrant domestic workers in the 1980s? Why do Singaporeans today hire domestic workers? Economic necessity is the most popular answer to both questions. During the post-independence manufacturing boom of the 1970s, more women started working outside the home. Someone had to pick up the burden of housework and childcare in the (female) domestic sphere; domestic workers from poorer neighbouring countries were the most feasible and logical option in order to free Singapore’s scarce resource of local female labour to engage in high-skilled paid employment outside the home.

The existing pattern of migrant work in Singapore is characterised by the Foreign Maid Scheme of 1978, where women from mostly Indonesia and the Philippines were allowed to migrate to Singapore to work as live-in domestic workers. Most of the women from Indonesia are Muslim, while those from the Philippines are mostly Catholic. However, greater numbers of Indonesian workers were hired in 1995, after the hanging of Flor Contemplacion, a Filipino domestic worker, for murder. The execution strained relations between Singapore and the Philippines and resulted in a temporary ban on the deployment of Filipina workers to Singapore.

Two years ago, I spent a few months speaking to some domestic workers about their relationship with their employers; specifically investigating how they negotiated for certain freedoms such as what they were allowed to do while living in their employers’ houses (eg using mobile phones or computers). In this article I speak to the two of them again to find out how they expressed their Muslim identities while working.

‘Perhaps God will forgive me’

I was only following my employers’ demands. I had to accompany their children to church, and almost every day I had to handle and cook pork, which was clearly forbidden in Islam. That was perhaps my fault that I agreed and wanted to work in such conditions. But it was only because I desperately wanted to get an employer…

During the first few years of working for her Chinese employer, Wati was not allowed to pray, fast, eat the foods that she preferred (including halal food), or recite the Qur’an, as she was afraid of being caught. Even though she was receiving a salary far beyond what she could earn back in Indonesia, without being able to fulfil her religious obligations, her life felt dark, as if she had no religion at all. She would think, ‘Perhaps God will forgive me, because my intention is to work and to carry out my tasks.’

Some say such clashes of beliefs happen with Chinese employers, and that Malay employers, most of whom are Muslim, are generally more understanding to Muslim domestic workers. For example, my family not only encouraged our domestic workers to pray and fast, but they also expected them to, regardless of how the women themselves related to their faith. My family expected that a pious worker would not cause any problems such as running away, having a boyfriend, or expecting too much freedom.

‘No time to pray’

Sinta (not her real name), a 35-year-old from Java, was glad to finally be working with a Malay family after transferring between Chinese and Indian employers six times, ‘because those Chinese employers they eat pork. If I have to cook pork, every day I wash my hands with earth.’

Sinta so valued having an employer of the same cultural background and religion, that she was willing to accept a lower salary and less-than-ideal working conditions. Despite being paid late and about S$100 less than the market rate of S$500 (for an experienced worker), and having six children to take care of, she still felt it important to have a Muslim employer so she would be allowed to pray and fast, among other things.

Alhamdulilah, with this one, they let me pray, but no time to pray.

Unfortunately for a domestic worker, work always comes first. Live-in domestic workers are often expected to be on-call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, even though they are now entitled to a day off, by Singapore law. The finer details of how much privacy and day-to-day rest time are usually left to the goodwill of the employer. For Sinta, even though her employers had agreed to give her Sundays off, when they had to attend an event like a wedding, this usually meant that she had to stay at home to take care of the younger children.

When life gives you lemons…

Despite these gloomy accounts, these women also show us how to make the best of such a situation. During her first Ramadhan, Wati longed to fast and decided to do so in secret. She fasted for the first day of Ramadhan with just a glass of water for sahur (pre-dawn meal) because she was afraid to take any food without her employers’ permission. At lunch, she stored her share of food away neatly in the refrigerator for the next day’s sahur, and told her employer she had eaten. She managed to do this for two weeks until she was caught having sahur by her employer, who reported her to the labour agency. Rebukes and tears ensued. Although her employers feared for her safety and energy levels during Ramadhan, Wati was not convinced, but decided not to continue fasting and tried her best to be ‘good, hardworking and willing to learn’.

When her contract came to an end after two years, she wanted to go home. But when her employers wanted her to renew her contract by offering a salary increase, she took the opportunity to negotiate.

Okay M’am, I want to continue and work with M’am, as long as I am allowed to pray, and fast during Ramadhan, because these are my religious obligations, just like when M’am goes to church to pray and surrender to God.

Eventually her employer agreed, as long as she did not neglect her work and did not influence the children by praying or fasting in front of them.

As for Sinta, even though she does not get a consistent salary, she is able to bank on the common religion and cultural background of her employers to understand her religious and academic pursuits. She first asked to take an English class and a sewing course at a nearby mosque. Since she wears the hijab (which reassured her employers that she was a ‘good woman’) and the classes were held at a mosque, it was easy to convince her employers to give her a day off on Sunday to attend these classes.

Even when I used to work three days three nights because of Hari Raya Puasa [Eid ul-Fitr], we always work more, making cookies and whatnot, but the ang pow [cash gift] is only ten dollars. But grateful, alhamdulilah! At least got ang pow.

Sinta shows gratitude and relief for the ease of working with a Malay Muslim employer. Even though she could earn more elsewhere, she thinks she might not be able to practise her religion as freely as she could with her current employers. For Sinta, being able to be a Muslim without fear was the most important factor.

Reflections

While the experiences of Wati and Sinta are not representative of all Muslim domestic workers, Chinese or Malay employers, or non-Muslim and Muslim employers, they do help to make us aware of the situations faced by women who work in a legal labour arrangement where good treatment is highly dependent on the goodwill of one’s employer. Having an employer of a common cultural or religious background is no guarantee of their attitudes, which can also change over time.

So, who says it’s difficult to be a Muslim?

In fact, it depends on how an individual handles it, because from my own experience and patience, I managed to carry out my duties to my employer and to God.

While Wati and Sinta have shown extraordinary patience and tenacity in handling their circumstances, employers also have to go beyond the idea of treating their workers as subordinates and more as co-workers in managing a household. Treating workers with the dignity and respect they deserve is likely to result in cooperation and a more productive and pleasant working relationship.

Quotes from this article were sourced from Open SEAM and the author’s master’s thesis.

Colour, ethnicity, and privilege: A response to Disappointed Exchange Student.

It all started here. Someone identifying as "Disappointed Exchange Student" submitted a short article to The Real Singapore, recounting an incident at Clarke Quay, where she was molested by an "older very large white man". She concludes that she pities Singapore: for all its attempts at "artificial decor", we have not been able to create "MEN" (i.e. chivalrous men who are knights in shining armour) even though we have "mandatory military service".

This blog post responded to the comments on the first article; specifically how commenters tried to minimise the girl's trauma, blamed her, pointed to her non-Singaporean nationality as a reason, and claimed it a Singaporean characteristic to not be nosy. This blogger is "ashamed" for our collective lack of humanity for not helping the girl in distress and for their unhelpful comments.

What troubled me most when reading both articles was the dichotomies: 1) men versus women; 2) Singaporeans versus foreigners.

1) Men versus women.

Disappointed Exchange Student (DES) rightfully pointed out that no one helped her or "stand [sic] up" for her when she was harassed and molested. However, by specifically blaming Singaporean men and all men in general was counterproductive. Singaporean men became defensive, especially when told that NS did not make them men (even though the NS motto promises this!).

Yes, those men were bystanders. In Psychology 101, you will be taught concepts like the bystander effect and the diffusion of responsibility, using the case of Kitty Genovese, who was murdered near her home even when some people heard her cries and saw her struggling. In short, the more people there are at the scene of a crime or accident, the less likely that any of them will do something, unless you point to someone specifically -- this should make it more likely that the person will help.

Harassment is also very site-specific. Depending on where and what time of the day, men are more likely to harass and women are more likely to be victims. If Channel News Asia is to be trusted, this news clip shows that there have been increasingly more cases of harassment, molest and/or flashing in Clarke Quay (all tastefully lumped under the offence category of 'outrage of modesty'). I lived for some time in Morocco, and there were higher rates of harassment in urban neighbourhoods (compared to rural villages), and especially where there was high male unemployment.

The blogger pointed out how the commenters' responses to the girl's article were "inhuman", petty and "uncompassionate". Yet other commenters gave examples of how Singaporeans have helped each other. So it isn't about a crisis of masculinity, nor of humanity.

2) Singaporeans versus foreigners

Protests for our generation are a new thing; we grew up knowing almost nothing of civil society action. Today, activists have smart ways of going around the rules against "illegal assembly". In the most recent protest, there were placards saying "We are not xenophobic" (here and here), illustrating that foreigners are not the enemy (who are the people who work in our homes and build our roads?), but too many rich foreigners are.

By Ogawa Ryuju. Source.

Dividing the world into 'foreign' and 'non-foreign' makes sense when this is state rhetoric. 'Foreign workers', 'foreign domestic workers', 'foreign maids', 'foreign talent': these labels make 'foreign-ness' the most important thing, when what is more important is the class of the migrant (worker = poor, talent = rich), the work they do (low-skilled v. high-skilled), and the opportunity for long-term stay (yes to Chinese and Indian nationals getting permanent residence, no to migrant domestic workers and construction workers staying longer than 2 years at a time).

When our population increases rapidly by adding 'foreign talent', who pay little tax, inflate housing prices, increase consumption tax, and don't have to do National Service (NS), then all foreigners start to get lumped together (and not in a nice way!).

The rich from outside Singapore get tax breaks and all kinds of concessions to come and live in our post-colonial but still mentally colonised country. Check out this documentary about how Singapore is now a playground for the (white) rich.

A long time ago, our local rulers were happy to let the British come and occupy us. Then our own government built our country with the help of capitalists symbolically molesting our country's resources while indigenous peoples become increasingly marginalised, why wouldn't it ever filter down to other rich (white) men who want to grope a woman in Clarke Quay?

Which brings me to my main point...

3) Intersectionality matters.

When do we ever see a Singaporean (of any size or colour) standing up to a white man in Singapore? The average man and woman, socialised into docility and politeness, without having lived in a country with a different ethnic composition, would not stand up to a drunken white man in Clarke Quay. Either because of physical size, psychological intimidation, self-consciousness, etc. White men can get away with a lot of shit because of their privilege.

If it was a dark-skinned man (say, a Bangladeshi) who groped a woman, I bet everyone would be scrambling to get him. They have been vilified enough (as prostitutes, criminals, etc.) in our local media. 

In this case, the specific combination of dark spaces, availability of alcohol, and the entitlement felt by white men in Clarke Quay led to molest. This is the deeper and more systematic social problem: white/rich/privileged men in Singapore feel entitled to groping women of colour (I don't know what ethnicity DES is, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't white, because she wouldn't be expecting Singaporean men to save her).

Why did DES blame Singaporean men? Why didn't she blame the white man's friends (his immediate peer group), who were more likely to be able to stop him? Why didn't she blame white women there? Singaporean women? Everyone in Clarke Quay? The whole country?

I feel that DES, not disclosing her origin, thinks that ethnicity doesn't matter. But it does. Yes, harassment and violence against women in all forms is awful, but colour matters in determining who will help you, especially in a country so coloured by racial politics.

Meanwhile, the only person that wasn't blamed was the "older very large white man". He's the one that harassed and molested DES. He should be the one who is blamed, not half a people, an entire people or an entire country.