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Recommended: Articles on British Muslim Converts (The Guardian) and Neo-Imperialism In Africa (Robert Fisk)

Article One: Converts’ Tales

Converting to Islam: British women on prayer, peace and prejudice

Around 5,000 British people convert to Islam every year – and most of them are women. Six of them talk about prejudice, peace and praying in car parks

  • The Guardian, Friday 11 October 2013 18.15 BST
Ioni Sullivan

Ioni Sullivan: ‘In my heart, I began to consider myself a Muslim.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian

Ioni Sullivan, local authority worker, 37, East Sussex

I’m married to a Muslim and have two children. We live in Lewes, where I’m probably the only hijabi in the village.

I was born and raised in a middle-class, left-leaning, atheist family; my father was a professor, my mother a teacher. When I finished my MPhil at Cambridge in 2000, I worked in Egypt, Jordan, Palestine and Israel. Back then, I had a fairly stereotypical view of Islam, but became impressed with the strength the people derived from their faith. Their lives sucked, yet nearly everyone I met seemed to approach their existence with a tranquillity and stability that stood in contrast to the world I’d left behind.

In 2001, I fell in love with and married a Jordanian from a fairly non-practising background. At first we lived a very western lifestyle, going out to bars and clubs, but around this time I started an Arabic course and picked up an English copy of the Qur’an. I found myself reading a book that claimed that the proof of God’s existence was in the infinite beauty and balance of creation, not one that asked me to believe God walked the Earth in human form; I didn’t need a priest to bless me or a sacred place to pray. Then I started looking into other Islamic practices that I’d dismissed as harsh: fasting, compulsory charity, the idea of modesty. I stopped seeing them as restrictions on personal freedom and realised they were ways of achieving self-control.

In my heart, I began to consider myself a Muslim, but didn’t feel a need to shout about it; part of me was trying to avoid conflict with my family and friends. In the end it was the hijab that “outed” me to wider society: I began to feel I wasn’t being true to myself if I didn’t wear it. It caused some friction, and humour, too: people kept asking in hushed tones if I had cancer. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how little it has mattered in any meaningful relationship I have.

Anita Nayyar, social psychologist and gender equalities activist, 31, London

Anita Nayyar Anita Nayyar: ‘One of the biggest challenges I face is the prohibition of women from the mosque.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian As an Anglo-Indian with Hindu grandparents who lived through the partition of India and Pakistan, and saw family shot by a Muslim gang, I was brought up with a fairly dim view of what it was to be Muslim.

I was a very religious Christian, involved in the church, and wanted to become a vicar. At 16, I opted for a secular college, which is where I made friends with Muslims. I was shocked by how normal they were, and how much I liked them. I started debates, initially to let them know what a terrible religion they followed, and I started to learn that it wasn’t too different from Christianity. In fact, it seemed to make more sense. It took a year and a half before I got to the point of conversion, and I became a Muslim in 2000, aged 18. My mother was disappointed and my father quietly accepting. Other members of my family felt betrayed.

I used to wear a scarf, which can mean many things. It can be a signifier of one’s faith, which is helpful when you don’t wish to be chatted up or invited to drink. It can attract negative attention from people who stereotype “visibly” Muslim women as oppressed or terrorist. It can also get positive reactions from the Muslim community.

But people expect certain behaviour from a woman in a headscarf, and I started to wonder whether I was doing it for God or to fulfil the role of “the pious woman”. In the end, not wearing the scarf has helped make my faith invisible again and allowed me to revisit my personal relationship with God.

One of the biggest challenges I face is the prohibition of women from the mosque. It’s sad to go somewhere, ready to connect with a higher being, only to be asked to leave because women are not allowed. In the past, I have prayed in car parks, my office corridor and in a fried chicken shop. The irony is that while my workplace would feel it discriminatory to stop me praying, some mosques do not.

Dr Annie (Amina) Coxon, consultant physician and neurologist, 72, London

Dr Annie (Amina) Coxon Dr Annie (Amina) Coxon: ‘After 9/11, my relationship with my sister-in-law changed and I am no longer welcome in their home.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian I’m English back to the Normans. I was brought up in the US and Egypt, before coming to boarding school in the UK at six, then doing medical training in London and the US. I’ve been married twice, have three stepchildren and five stepgrandchildren.

I converted 21 years ago. It was the result of a long search for a more spiritual alternative to Catholicism. Initially, I didn’t consider Islam because of the negative image in the media. The conversion process was gradual and ultimately guided by the example of the mother of the current Sultan of Oman – one of my patients – and by a series of dreams.

My family were initially surprised, but accepted my conversion. After 9/11, however, my relationship with my sister-in-law changed and I am no longer welcome in their home. I have friends for whom my conversion is an accepted eccentricity, but I lost many superficial ones because of it.

When I converted, I was told by the imam that I should dress modestly, but didn’t need to wear the hijab because I was already old. During Ramadan, however, I do warn patients that I’ll look a bit different if they see me coming back from the mosque. The response has been fascination rather than repulsion.

I tried to join various Islamic communities: Turkish, Pakistani and Moroccan. I went to the Moroccan mosque for three years without one person greeting me or wishing me “Eid Mubarak”. I had cancer and not one Muslim friend (except a very holy old man) came to pray with me in nine months of treatment. But these are small annoyances compared with what I’ve gained: serenity, wisdom and peace. I’ve now finally found my Muslim community and it is African.

Many Muslims come to London as immigrants. Their ethnic identity is tied to the mosque; they don’t want white faces there. We are pioneers. There will be a time when white converts won’t be seen as freaks.

Kristiane Backer, TV presenter, 47, London

Kristiane Backer Kristiane Backer: ‘It has been a challenge transforming my TV work in line with my new-found values.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian I grew up in Germany in a Protestant but not terribly religious family, then in 1989 moved to London to present on MTV Europe. I interviewed everyone from Bob Geldof to David Bowie, worked hard and partied hard, but something was missing. At a moment of crisis, I was introduced to the cricketer Imran Khan. He gave me books on Islam and invited me to travel with him through Pakistan. Those trips opened a new dimension in my life, an awareness of spirituality. The Muslims I met touched me profoundly through their generosity, dignity and readiness to sacrifice for others. The more I read, the more Islam attracted me. I converted in 1995.

When the German media found out, a negative press campaign followed and within no time my contract was terminated. It was the end of my entertainment career. It has been a challenge transforming my TV work in line with my new-found values, but I am working on a Muslim culture and lifestyle show. I feel I have a bridging role to play between the Muslim heritage community and society at large.

Most Muslims marry young, often with the help of their families, but I converted at 30. When I was still single 10 years later, I decided to look online. There, I met and fell in love with a charming, Muslim-born TV producer from Morocco who lived in the US. We had a lot in common and married in 2006. But his interpretation of Islam became a way of controlling me: I was expected to give up my work, couldn’t talk to men and even had to cut men out of old photographs. I should have stood up to him, because a lot of what he asked of me was not Islamic but cultural, but I wanted to make the marriage work. Insha Allah my future husband will be more trusting and focused on the inner values of Islam, rather than on outward restrictions.

I have no regrets. On the contrary: my life now has meaning and the void that I used to feel is filled with God, and that is priceless.

Andrea Chishti, reflexologist and secondary school teacher, 47, Watford

Andrea Chishti Andrea Chishti: ‘Islam has strengthened my ethics and morals.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian I have been happily married for 18 years to a British-born Muslim of Pakistani origins. We have a son, 11, and a daughter, eight.

Fida and I met at university in 1991. My interest in Islam was a symbiosis of love and intellectual ideas. Fida wanted a Muslim family, and by 1992 my interest in Islam had developed significantly, so I chose to convert. It took us three more years to get married. During that time, we battled things out, met friends and families, agreed on how to live together.

I grew up in Germany, in a household where religion did not play a prominent role. My father was an atheist, but my mother and my school left me with a conviction that spirituality was important. When I converted, my father thought it was crazy, but he liked my husband; even so, he bought me a little flat so I “could always come back”. My mother was shocked, horrified even. We had a typical Pakistani wedding with Fida’s large extended family, and I moved to another country, so it was a lot for her to deal with. His family were not all happy either, because they’d have preferred someone from a Muslim background.

I don’t feel I need to dress differently. I don’t feel I need to wear hijab in my daily life, but I am very comfortable wearing it in public when performing religious duties. I don’t wear it also out of consideration for my mother, because it was a huge issue for her.

I was a sensible teenager. I didn’t drink. I am a teacher. So, I didn’t drop out of an old life to find a new one. But Islam has strengthened my ethics and morals, and given a good foundation for our family life.

You sometimes feel like a “trophy” because you are white. If you go to a gathering, everyone wants to help and teach you and take you under their wing, up to the point where I found it suffocating. But, mostly, a lot of conversion problems are human problems, women’s problems.

Anonymous, software developer, East Midlands

Women islam converts: Anonymous ‘I feel my family will be disappointed, somewhat embarrassed and also scared that the world will treat me unfairly if I’m Muslim.’ Photograph: Felicity McCabe for the Guardian I was the talk of the student Islamic society when I became a Muslim: happy-go-lucky, trendy, outspoken me. After meeting Muslims at university, I’d become intrigued. I started studying Islam and taking heed of the Qur’an’s teachings. Two years later, at 23, I took my shahadah (Islamic profession of faith).

The fact that my family were Sikhs intrigued many Muslims. I was handed many sisters’ phone numbers and people wanted to meet me. Then it all went quiet: the sisters were too busy. It hurt; I was alone.

I am single, 26, and live at home with my family who are non-practising Punjabi Sikhs. My family and Sikh friends have yet to learn of my conversion, but I am not hiding my copies of the Qur’an. I want my family to see that I’m studying Islam with a fine-tooth comb, so they’ll know I’ve made a well-informed decision; Islam has given me a sense of independence and serenity, I’ve become more accepting of what life throws at me and less competitive. But I feel they will be disappointed, somewhat embarrassed and also scared that the world will treat me unfairly if I’m Muslim.

Becoming a Muslim is not easy: people say hurtful things about your faith, and it’s a struggle to fit in with pious-looking sisters who wear traditional Arabic dress. It’s also hard to kiss goodbye to nights out in bars with friends. I loved to party; I still do. I take pride in my appearance: I wear makeup, dresses and heels. Initially, I went in all guns blazing and covered every inch of my body. I used to go to work in the hijab and remove it as I drove back into my home city. It was as if I was leading a double life and that became tiresome and stressful, so I stopped.

I would like to marry sooner rather than later, but how will I ever find a suitable husband? Most Muslims find mingling with women haram [forbidden by Islamic law]. Because I am not fully out in the open, Muslim men won’t know I exist.

• This article was edited on 14 October 2013. Since the interviews, Kristiane Backer’s personal circumstances have changed, and the piece has been changed to reflect this. Also, an additional, anonymous interviewee has been added at the end.

Article Two: Neo-Imperialism

More than jihadism or Iran, China’s role in Africa is Obama’s obsession

Where America brings drones, the Chinese build roads. Al-Shabaab and co march in lockstep with this new imperialism

Hu Jintao Dar es Salaam

Hu Jintao, who stepped down as Chinese president last year, in Tanzania on a tour intended to cement China’s ties with Africa. Photograph: STR New / Reuters/REUTERS

Countries are “pieces on a chessboard upon which is being played out a great game for the domination of the world”, wrote Lord Curzon, the viceroy of India, in 1898. Nothing has changed. The shopping mall massacre in Nairobi was a bloody facade behind which a full-scale invasion of Africa and a war in Asia are the great game.

The al-Shabaab shopping mall killers came from Somalia. If any country is an imperial metaphor, it is Somalia. Sharing a language and religion, Somalis have been divided between the British, French, Italians and Ethiopians. Tens of thousands of people have been handed from one power to another. “When they are made to hate each other,” wrote a British colonial official, “good governance is assured.”

Today Somalia is a theme park of brutal, artificial divisions, long impoverished by World Bank and IMF “structural adjustment” programmes, and saturated with modern weapons – notably President Obama’s personal favourite, the drone. The one stable Somali government, the Islamic Courts, was “well received by the people in the areas it controlled”, reported the US Congressional Research Service, “[but] received negative press coverage, especially in the west”. Obama crushed it; and last January Hillary Clinton, then secretary of state, presented her man to the world. “Somalia will remain grateful to the unwavering support from the United States government,” effused President Hassan Mohamud. “Thank you, America.”

The shopping mall atrocity was a response to this – just as the Twin Towers attack and the London bombings were explicit reactions to invasion and injustice. Once of little consequence, jihadism now marches in lockstep with the return of unfettered imperialism.

Since Nato reduced modern Libya to a Hobbesian state in 2011, the last obstacles to Africa have fallen. “Scrambles for energy, minerals and fertile land are likely to occur with increasingly intensity,” report Ministry of Defence planners. As “high numbers of civilian casualties” are predicted, “perceptions of moral legitimacy will be important for success”. Sensitive to the PR problem of invading a continent, the arms mammoth BAE Systems, together with Barclays Capital and BP, warns that “the government should define its international mission as managing risks on behalf of British citizens”. The cynicism is lethal. British governments are repeatedly warned, not least by the parliamentary intelligence and security committee, that foreign adventures beckon retaliation at home.

With minimal media interest, the US African Command (Africom) has deployed troops to 35 African countries, establishing a familiar network of authoritarian supplicants eager for bribes and armaments. In war games a “soldier to soldier” doctrine embeds US officers at every level of command from general to warrant officer. The British did this in India. It is as if Africa’s proud history of liberation, from Patrice Lumumba to Nelson Mandela, is consigned to oblivion by a new master’s black colonial elite – whose “historic mission”, warned Frantz Fanon half a century ago, is the subjugation of their own people in the cause of “a capitalism rampant though camouflaged“. The reference also fits the son of Africa in the White House.

For Obama, there is a more pressing cause – China. Africa is China’s success story. Where the Americans bring drones, the Chinese build roads, bridges and dams. What the Chinese want is resources, especially fossil fuels. Nato’s bombing of Libya drove out 30,000 Chinese oil industry workers. More than jihadism or Iran, China is Washington’s obsession in Africa and beyond. This is a “policy” known as the “pivot to Asia“, whose threat of world war may be as great as any in the modern era.

This week’s meeting in Tokyo between John Kerry, the US secretary of state, Chuck Hagel, the defence secretary, and their Japanese counterparts accelerated the prospect of war. Sixty per cent of US naval forces are to be based in Asia by 2020, aimed at China. Japan is re-arming rapidly under the rightwing government of Shinzo Abe, who came to power in December with a pledge to build a “new, strong military” and circumvent the “peace constitution”.

A US-Japanese anti-ballistic-missile system near Kyoto is directed at China. Using long-range Global Hawk drones the US has sharply increased its provocations in the East China and South China seas, where Japan and China dispute the ownership of the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands. Both countries now deploy advanced vertical take-off aircraft in Japan in preparation for a blitzkrieg.

On the Pacific island of Guam, from where B-52s attacked Vietnam, the biggest military buildup since the Indochina wars includes 9,000 US marines. In Australia this week an arms fair and military jamboree that diverted much of Sydney is in keeping with a government propaganda campaign to justify an unprecedented US military build-up from Perth to Darwin, aimed at China. The vast US base at Pine Gap near Alice Springs is, as Edward Snowden disclosed, a hub of US spying in the region and beyond; it is also critical to Obama’s worldwide assassinations by drone.

‘We have to inform the British to keep them on side,” McGeorge Bundy, an assistant US secretary of state, once said. “You in Australia are with us, come what may.” Australian forces have long played a mercenary role for Washington. However, China is Australia’s biggest trading partner and largely responsible for its evasion of the 2008 recession. Without China, there would be no minerals boom: no weekly mining return of up to a billion dollars.

The dangers this presents are rarely debated publicly in Australia, where Rupert Murdoch, the patron of the prime minister, Tony Abbott, controls 70% of the press. Occasionally, anxiety is expressed over the “choice” that the US wants Australia to make. A report by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute warns that any US plan to strike at China would involve “blinding” Chinese surveillance, intelligence and command systems. This would “consequently increase the chances of Chinese nuclear pre-emption … and a series of miscalculations on both sides if Beijing perceives conventional attacks on its homeland as an attempt to disarm its nuclear capability”. In his address to the nation last month, Obama said: “What makes America different, what makes us exceptional, is that we are dedicated to act.”

John Pilger’s new film, Utopia, is released on 15 November


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