Prayer is an essential element of faith. What I love most about Islam is that it recognizes the deeply personal significance of prayer. There is no prescription to be sought from a priest, no specific place you must be, and no vocal display you must perform. You can pray at home, in a car, or at a park. All you need is a mindful intention.
Yet Islam is also deeply social. It is grounded in the idea of togetherness. In fact the Quran explicitly states:
“Let there be a nation of you who call to charity and command beneficence”
- Surah Ali ‘Imran [3:104]
In large part, this sense of nationhood or community is found in the mosque. Those summer Friday afternoons were the most beautiful experience. I loved it, and as a child I went to the masjid regularly.
I was always a woman before I was anything else though, and that meant I prayed in a different room. Asking why, I was told “it is for the greater good”. Apparently, a man could be distracted by me prostrating (bending down) in front of him during the prayer. I tried so hard to swallow this rhetoric of men as morally weak and women as martyrs of virtue. I wanted so badly for this explanation to make sense. Eventually though, I grew tired of feeling invisible. Of listening to a voice I couldn’t see, of feeling like I was eavesdropping on a sermon not actually meant for me. I stopped going, and some days I really miss it.
In the eyes of God, men and women are equal – we are held to the same standard, will be rewarded in equal measure, and were created as such. In Mecca and Medina, the two holiest sites, we pray side by side. Yet in our mosques we are relegated to the back of the prayer hall or ushered into a separate room altogether. We are unable to see the imam and often unable to even hear clearly.
As it happens, it isn't just our bodies which are distracting. The seductive potential of our voice is apparently why I will never hear a female giving the azan. Similarly, I am told women simply cannot handle the stresses associated with being an imam. That we are too emotional to be community leaders at funerals, trials, or divorce proceedings. That because we menstruate and experience pregnancy, it is impossible for us to maintain consistency in the performance of any authority roles.
It is infuriating. I am exhausted of being told that estrogen has made me “a precious treasure”. That while Heaven is found at the feet of my mother, I should never expect to see her leading a congregation. This obsolete cultural prescription of wanton female emotions and uncontrollable male lust which I must compensate for is complete bullshit. It is as disrespectful of men as it is of women. Instead of encouraging me to uphold the vanguard of my dignity by praying in a back room and keeping quiet, tell the man who may find me distracting to please stay home until he can learn to control himself. Though if you insist that we fixate on the female form, then let’s discuss how it is that a woman willfully endures childbirth. She allows her body to incubate and nurture the continuance of a community which will in turn exclude her.
I am not an object and I’m done being told that I must walk, talk, dress, and even pray differently because God gave me ovaries. From the time of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) women have been warriors, educators, merchants, and healers. His wife Hazrat Aisha was not only an Islamic scholar, she also led troops into battle. This incredible woman narrated more hadiths than any other Companion. She taught, lectured, and was prized for her knowledge of poetry and medicine by men and women alike. One of the earliest Muslim saints was a woman. One of the first people to memorize the Quran was a woman. So how dare any man or entity reduce me to my body?
It makes me angry, but I’m not trying to argue that exclusion is the end of the line. There are spaces which have accepted women praying side by side with men and even leading congregations. Equally amazing are new ventures carving out space for women to share spirituality with one another at a women’s mosque (a structure which has also existed in China for a long time). The issue is not that tolerance cannot be found, it is that tolerance is not the benchmark. While there are women who are scholars and those who lead mosque boards, a vast majority of Muslim women are not elevated into that sphere of religious authority and public participation. They are not invited, they are not welcomed. Even when they demand to be let in, often the answer is a resounding no. Change is of critical importance, because until we have a balanced representation of gender and perspective alike, we can never have a true sense of community.