Beyond Amira Elghawaby: what do women affected by Islamophobia say in Quebec?
The appointment of Amira Elghawaby as Canada's special representative in charge of the fight against Islamophobia has provoked numerous reactions and criticisms from the political and media classes. Some of his old statements have been researched, and his credibility has been questioned time and again. Despite his excuses, the National Assembly unanimously called for his resignation, some even going so far as to demand the abolition of his post.
As part of Islamophobia Awareness Week in Quebec, which commemorates the attack on the Grand Mosque of Quebec in 2017, this controversy was painful for many people of the Muslim faith. Although some members of the community spoke on social media, they did not have the opportunity to express themselves in a discussion setting. In order to fill this gap, La Converse invited racialized and Muslim women from different backgrounds to start a dialogue on the subject in a caring and safe environment.
“You have to talk about it, you always have to talk about it”
The soft lights of the Maktaba bookstore welcome Idil Issa, Safa Chebbi and Nafija Rahman on a Friday evening. As the owner, Sundus, greets us with hot tea, she asks us to take off our shoes before sitting in the Majlis. “[The Majlis is] traditionally the place where community members come together to discuss events, local issues, and exchange news, receive guests, and socialize,” she explains. In this intimate and warm atmosphere, our guests indulge in us.
Idil, a law student, founder of Muslim Women Against Racism and co-founder of the Montreal Movement, opens the discussion by explaining the importance of having this kind of conversation. “First of all, I have known Amira for a long time, she is a close friend. What happens with her is not only important in itself; it is also the Islamophobia issues it raises that affect me personally, but also professionally.”
Idil's words echo those of Safa, who does not know Amira, but who is also feeling the repercussions of this controversy. ” In a way, Amira represents me. Every time a woman with an Arabic or Muslim sounding name is in the media, I feel concerned,” says Safa, a decolonial anti-racist activist and master's student in sociology. She also expresses her dismay at an impression of deja-vu of exclusion, adding that “she finds it sad that we are doing the same thing again... We saw that with the nomination of Bochra Manai. and we're going through that again, but it was predictable.” Recall that, when Bochra Manaï was appointed to the Office of the Commissioner for Combating Racism and Systemic Discrimination, the Legault government ruled that” It was a mistake on the part of the city ” since Ms. Manaï, like Ms. Elghawaby, is actively opposed to Bill 21.
Nafija, a committed community organizer, is still struggling with the consequences of this controversy. With sincerity, she admits that “it fell like a hair out of thin air.” Exasperated, she continues: “I said to myself: “Oh no!” We are starting this chapter again! We have to say why, why we must exist, and why our existence is valid.” She tells us about her fears about her safety, she who has had traumatic experiences during similar controversies. “I have already been attacked several times in the street, and now I say to myself: will all these things happen again? Do I have to go through that again?” However, she is determined to break the silence. With a surge of hope, she insists: “You have to talk about it, always talk about it. We're going to do that in a Safe Space and we're going to talk about it.”
“A double standard”
Reflecting on the strong media reaction and the political turmoil caused by the appointment of Ms. Elghawaby, Idil expressed her sorrow: “It was a difficult moment for me, I was shocked. It is possible to disagree with Amira's words, but these attacks went beyond measure.” Safa points out that “although Amira apologized, it did not change the situation.” Nafija adds that this was not enough to appease the anger of the political class, who seemed to want to humiliate her. “You have to be very small, you have to bend. I had the image of public punishment, of the witch hunt [as in medieval times]”, she tells us.
Idil deepens the considerations of her interlocutors by stressing that Muslim women are constantly dehumanized. “Muslim women are not allowed to have made mistakes, to be human. Comments were made by Quebec politicians who deserved to be asked to resign, but they are still in office,” says Idil. The latter refers to erroneous remarks on immigration made by Minister Jean Boulet during the last election campaign. The official reaction of the government was to remove the Department of Immigration from Mr. Boulet, but it should be noted that Mr. Boulet remained at the head of the Department of Labour.
A former candidate in municipal elections, Idil believes that Muslim women experience a lot of political violence. “Muslim women are being used for political gain,” she said. In the same vein, Safa affirms: “Racism pays off again politically: the more racist remarks you make, the more votes you win.” She is adamant: “Criticizing Quebec is a right and a duty in a democracy.” With a determined look, she declares that “what Amira said was a criticism that could have been made by a white person; but if it had been a white person who had held on.” these comments would not have been taken into account in the same way. There is a double standard,” she says. Nafija and Idil listen attentively, agreeing while Safa continues: “Even if she did not say these words, the problem is in who she is and not in what she is saying,” she believes. Safa adds: “This position [Canada's special representative in charge of the fight against Islamophobia] is still being questioned. We must go back to the root of the problem: the denial of Islamophobia in Quebec. For me, Amira, that's not the problem; this controversy is just the tip of the Islamophobia iceberg.”
Nafija, with a heavy heart, expresses her outrage at the way in which the French-speaking press in Quebec presented the appointment of Amira, her words, and Ms. Elghawaby herself. “We always see her with a tense expression, [as if she were mean], the ugly one. She is never seen smiling, she is described as an activist. All of this reminds me of the comments I am often given. “You don't have Quebec values, you don't understand Quebec, you don't belong here, especially in a high-level position. How dare you?” ”
Idil admits that, had she been content with the media, she would have been angry, because the story was presented in a sensationalist way. She explains: “If I was born here, if I had been raised here and I only read the big titles without looking any further, I would be upset. [The media] presented this in the worst possible way: it was deliberate to elicit these kinds of reactions,” said the young woman. She's not happy with how the rest of Canada handled this case either. “It's very easy and too simplistic to point the finger and pretend that it's Quebec's problem.” She recalls the murder of The Afzaal family in Ontario. Okay, Safa adds that “racism and Islamophobia are not limited to this geographic area; it's a whole system.”
“These are not values that are 'ours'”
Nafija, who identifies with Amira Elghawaby, notes that one of the recurring criticisms against people of color who enter the public sphere is “their 'foreign' origin, regardless of how long they have been here or how they identify themselves.” For her, who only knew Quebec, the conception of her identity was not easy. “Before, I refused to be a Quebec woman, because they refused to do so. I only know Montreal, only Quebec. I don't know about Bangladesh. I grew up here,” she says.
Nafija's life was deeply disrupted when she chose to openly come to terms with her identity. “The moment I started wearing the veil, I was suddenly not the same person. The way others looked at me changed, as did their attitudes. I was no longer the same person in the eyes of my community,” she says bitterly. “I grew up in a Quebec community that calls itself feminist, but that same community said that my choices were not the right ones and that I had to think differently. I could not consider myself a feminist, or even a Quebec woman, because these are not values that are “ours”, and that follows me all the time,” she says.
Moreover, it is this difference that means that the three women do not recognize themselves in the requests for an apology and resignation from Ms. Elghawaby formulated by the National Assembly on behalf of Quebec. “Who is this Quebec that does not agree with Amira's words or who does not accept her apologies? asks Nafija. “Either they think we all agree, or they think that some people don't matter in Quebec, because I wasn't polled, and yet I am one of them.”
Safa joins Nafija when she disagrees with the conventional definition of Quebec. “I identify more with Montreal. As soon as I leave Montreal, my outlook changes,” she explains. Safa remembers Tunisia, which she left in the middle of a dictatorship, when the veil was forbidden. “Here, frankly, in a country that prides itself on being a democracy and has a fairly long history of democracy, I find myself facing the same thing [with Law 21]”, she says in a disappointed tone.
Idil, for her part, says that she “adopted Quebec, but in terms of belonging, it is difficult to feel that I am part of Quebec.” She recognizes that Muslim Quebecers “have gone through several trials: Bill 62, the Charter of Rights and the Charter of Values, the Quebec attack, Bill 21 and now, this [the Elghawaby case].” Having lived in several Canadian provinces where the Somali community is larger, Idil says she feels more Canadian. Being a black and Muslim woman, she feels that this does not prevent her from identifying herself as a Canadian. “Recently, I decided that I did not want to be identified as a Somali-Canadian. I want to be seen as Canadian. If a white woman can say she is Canadian, so can I. ”
“The machine is on; now we have to continue”
As night sets in on Old Montreal, the conversation, more lively than ever, hints of hope, with women discussing possible solutions to bring about changes in the way some politicians treat Muslim Quebecers.
The law student believes that the provincial and federal governments are exploiting Quebec's history. She points out that “Quebec claims the primacy of individual rights, but violates the right of visibly Muslim women to work.” She says, “Law is power.” She expresses her despair at the National Assembly and says: “If the 2017 shooting at the Grand Mosque of Quebec did not make politicians understand that there is a real problem of Islamophobia, I don't know what will convince them. Islamophobia does not exist, and yet it kills.”
According to her, the solution would be to engage in the public and political sphere by saying that “we must take action, we must use democratic tools, we must represent ourselves in elections. Civil society needs to be stronger.” Although Safa does not expect anything from current politicians, she insists on the importance of “recalling the values of democracy, with justice and equality as a compass.”
Nafija, for her part, calls for the responsibility of politicians: “We are the Quebec people, the Canadian people. We elected them, they are accountable to all communities. With great power comes great responsibilities.” She encourages her fellow citizens not to give up the fight: “It's always a struggle — the machine is on; now we have to continue.”
The city around us is starting to come alive, the tea is now cold. We put our shoes back on and get ready to leave the Maktaba bookstore. Idil, Safa and Nafija thank us for this opportunity to share. Sundus, the owner, wishes us a good evening and reminds us that everyone is always welcome at the Majlis.