….until the cruel joke that is the Bar exam.

My study buddy, Molly, has lost motivation. She either sleeps all day, or plays with a shiny ball. When she decides I’m done studying for the night, she comes and sits on my laptop or on my notes.

And I usually stop then. Who can resist that face?

There is a lot of cooking going on – a lot of new cooking – and I will eventually put it all up here. Ameir is also going to help me redesign this layout soon. But later. This Bar thing is taking up much more time than I thought it would. The whole “you’re done!” thing was a lie. Fraudulent misrepresentation.

Meanwhile…..

Fatimah made me this “Graduation Kunafa” because she thought it would be better than Graduation cake. I agree.

And here are some gratuitous Molly pictures….

because she’s so cute.

Many of you, dear Readers, have been asking why my blog has not been updated for a ridiculously long time. “Exam Week” came early this year and has rather turned into “Exam Two Months.” When one of your classes is a law clinic, where you have real life clients and conferences outside of the law school, things get hectic at random times of the year. I can only say that, though I’m overworked and rather stressed, I love the work I’m doing and am privileged to be a part of these projects. Alhamdulillah. I just pray for the strength to get it all done well in time! I’m counting down to Graduation on May 9, InshAllah!

The blog will return soon, InshAllah (God willing!). Thanks for your patience and dedication.

And no, Bagpipe Man has nothing to do with this post. I just liked the expression on his face. It’s about how I feel when I think about writing my Trusts and Estates outline.

I went with some colleagues today on a tour of the Raleigh Women’s Correctional Facility. It was one of the most “mixed feelings” experiences I’d ever had.

I walked in there having decided two things: first, that I’d smile at every inmate I made eye contact with; second, that I’d say “Wa alaikum assalam” to any of the Muslim inmates who called out to greet me (if there were any). I also was a bit apprehensive because…well….it’s a prison.

I had done some research for work about women’s correctional facilities, but I still wasn’t really sure what to expect. TV skews your perceptions of things – and indeed, the first thing the Deputy Warden, the two caseworkers, and the officer who walked us around said was – “This is nothing like what you see on TV.”

Best read in coordination with: “So, where are you from?” and “Law School Society and the “I’m Muslim” dilemma”
(Glossary at the end for those unfamiliar with the Arabic words).

As a law student-going-on-lawyer, I’ve realized that so much of being a perceived as a good attorney rides on your appearance. Well-tailored suits are an absolute must for both men and women. A lawyer does not look like a lawyer unless he or she is, as we say in Pakistan, “suited booted.” Business casual is rare, especially in government jobs, and even then is expected to be respectable enough to receive a client or colleague.

In some way, I win here. I recently read an article about male judges’ reflections on what female lawyers wear in the court room, and the “old boys” (and “old girls”) lawyers I’ve met through the Susie Sharp Inn of Court seem to echo the same sentiment – “You’re in court, not at a party. I don’t need to see that much leg or that much cleavage.”

Sweet – no problem on either front for me. Indeed, I agree with the sentiment itself, too. Showing that much skin is not only disrespectful to the court and the institution of the law, but also to yourself. It gets you stared at for the wrong reasons (yes, it does, even if you don’t ask for it, it does. Eyes wander, that’s what they’re meant to do – look) and diminishes you in the credibility and respect you deserve. Fine, Lady Lawyers, I’ll give you an okay on below the knee skirts and short sleeve shirts (maybe even sleeveless if it’s tactful), but no cleavage, please. Not acceptable.

But in other ways, I lose. Buying my definition of halal suits is not an easy task. Choices are limited to (at most) mid-calf skirts (more usually knee length or shorter). Jackets come up to right at or above the waist, and combined with a fitted pant or skirt, the butt is completely bare and distinguishable. Not okay for me. Blouses and shirts are either spandexy (too tight) or low cut or too short (again, see the butt problem). You can get suit jackets that are longer (mid thigh or knee), but they’re expensive and hard to come by (and often cut for an older fashion sense).

Alhamdulillah, I’m lucky that when I find one of these longer, well cut suits, my mom or dad will get me multiples stitched in different colors from Pakistan. That helps very immensely, so I’ve got a whole set of well cut, well covered suits. I shake it up with a pretty colored shirt and hijab (and apparently people notice), so there is an element of fun to it – but moreso once I’m comfortable with who I’m with and where I am. I stick to blues, grays, whites for first days and big meetings.

Here’s where the real issue is for me: my headcover.

I’ve worn hijab for 11 years now, Alhamdulillah. In that time, I’ve gone from tentative uncertainty to gradual comfort to unabashed self-confidence.

I believe that wearing hijab is good for me on many levels: it fulfills a religious requirement and provides spiritual and moral benefit, it allows me to express a carefully tailored Islamic identity, it makes me a walking (and hopefully, counter-stereotypical) symbol of Islam and gives me the opportunity to teach others the truth about my faith, and it earns me the respect of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends and colleagues.

I’m very proud of my hijab and my choice to wear it, and Alhamdulillah, I’ve never doubted my decision.

But in the past year, I’ve come to be uncomfortable and nervous in situations that would never have affected me before law school. It’s always been nerve wracking to be a muhajjibah when you’re going to a small Southern town, where the stereotypes in your head are activated and you find yourself thinking, “That man looks like he might shoot me if I make one wrong move.” But as long as you smile, stay polite, things usually turn out okay in those situations. (Note that sometimes, part of the art of wearing hijab also means gracefully ignoring prejudicial comments from the peanut gallery).

Wearing hijab as a law student, soon to be lawyer is nervewracking on a different level. For the first time ever, when I attended my first professional/social event, I found myself nervous when I walked into the hall full of attorneys and judges – butterflies-in-my-stomach, a stomach-twinging kind of nervous.

I couldn’t help thinking, “What will they think of me?” For some of them, especially the older men “old boys” types, maybe this would be their first encounter with a Muslimah, a brown and hijab-ed one at that. Would they doubt my abilities as a lawyer? Would they think I’m a little “too diverse” for their tastes? Would they let me fit in to their profession?

I hate feeling like that. I hate that, when I walked into my first job interview with Justice Timmons-Goodson at the NC Supreme Court, I thought “what if I won’t belong here?”

I had left those feelings behind on the first day of high school, when I started wearing hijab and emerging from my middle school chrysalis. What were those emotions doing back here, in my throat and stomach, when I was about to meet a state Supreme Court Justice?

I was nervous, shaky, and agitated – but thankfully (and this is a testament to her greatness), the Justice took me into her office, spoke to me kindly and with an obviously real interest in my opinions, and finally gave me the job. I still look to her, a beautiful African American woman (the first on the NC SC) who worked hard and proudly stands for what she believes in, as an example of who I want to be. Her clerks were also like her – Saad, a Muslim clerk of Pakistani origin whose intelligence blew me away from the start, and Jenny, a mother of four whose absolute skill in excelling in both work and family life inspired me and let me dream of having a life like that, too. And of course, there was the unforgettable Ms. Elaine – an open minded, loving woman with great hair who has deep and hilarious conversations with you no matter who you are.

I was ashamed of how nervous I was – not because I did not have confidence in my skills, but because of what I thought others would see when they saw my hijab.

Imagine my annoyance, then, when the same feelings sprang back up when I walked in for an interview with the NC Attorney General’s office for my current summer internship. Justice Timmons-Goodson had come with high praise from some of my most respected advisors, and I had a feeling that, being a minority herself, she would not be as weirded out by a muhajjibah. But I felt twice as apprehensive while waiting for my two interviewers at the AG’s office. I’d never seen these women before and had only spoken to them on the phone. They’d been attentive, engaging, and friendly on the phone – but what if they’d just been expecting a normal brown girl, not a muhajjibah?

They didn’t flinch when they both walked into the lobby, where I stood anxiously looking at pictures of former NC Attorneys General. They were everything kind, polite, engaging, and fair (and have continued to be so as I’ve started working here). I was simultaneously at ease, and exasperated and embarassed for my suspicions. Hadn’t I done just to them just what I was afraid they’d do to me?

Stereotyping is contagious.

Still, I can’t help feeling the nerves.

I still feel that when I speak in class or express an opinion (especially one having to do with war, national security, or civil rights), I’m often speaking as a symbol of Islam (this is part of what kept me relatively quiet in my National Security Law class, and if it was not for the absolute kindness and open mindedness of Professor Scott Silliman, I would never have opened my mouth. My classmates are the people I will be working with for the rest of my life, so I didn’t want to be branded as ‘That crazy liberal Muslim girl from law school.’).

I still feel that, to some degree, I will be judged by what I wear on a different level than a woman who wears a revealing shirt or skirt – because my kind of clothing marks me as distinctly different and possibly foreign (and to some, dangerous), instead of just a little too liberal in fashion sense. Maybe I’m just imagining the looks from the “old boys,” the lawyers who’ve been working for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe not.

But really, in the end, most of them will not treat me differently, at least not in the public interest law field that I’m working towards. I’ve still got the unabashed confidence for 99% of the time. In the end, overwhelmingly, I feel respected, not rejected.

And the most important thing is that I know what I am doing is right for me (both wearing hijab and being a lawyer), and it makes me happy to do it.

But it’ll always be in the back of…or, I guess, on top of…my head.

The last day of my internship at the NC Supreme Court, Jenny took me aside and told me how proud she was of me for wearing a scarf. She told me that there would always be people who would treat me differently because I wore a scarf, but that I wouldn’t want to work for those kinds of lawyers and law firms anyway.

Thanks, Jenny. You’re right.

Glossary:
Hijab: the Muslim woman’s (Muslimah) religiously mandated style of dress and behavior that is meant to embody and encourage modesty, spirituality, and ethical goodness. The term “hijab” means more than just a particular item of clothing, but it is commonly used to refer to the scarf that covers the head and neck. A Muslimah who wears hijab is called a muhajjibah.

Halal: (an extremely simplified definition) what is allowed by Islamic law.

Alhamdulillah: “Praise be to God.” Used to express thanks.

Last semester (yes, that is my turnaround time), I went to DC with my Constitutional Adjudication class. The highlight of the visit was sitting in on a Supreme Court oral argument. The Nine sat on the bench, regally robed, in the perfect stereotype of what I imagined them to be. Ruth B. Ginsberg focused the whole time, asking pointed questions. Scalia asked weird hypotheticals and kept beating the dead horse. Thomas sat back the whole time and looked like he was asleep. Stephens was just old – but you could tell his mind was as sharp as any of the rest. The clerk of court wore tails (tails!!!), and so did the lawyer from the Solicitors General – who was by far the most incredibly skilled appellate attorney I’ve ever seen. It was an incredible experience for a young law student to have.

Professor Muller, whose research focuses on Japanese American draft resisters and the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, took us on a little walk to an unknown memorial, The National Japanese Memorial to Patriotism, rather hidden between downtown office buildings. In fact, I almost kept walking, thinking it was just a little courtyard. It is built with dark grays and blacks, highlighted by a large waterfall in the center. All around, etched into the marble, are verses from Japanese American poets reflecting on what was a terrible time for their people. The verse by Ehrlich above touched me the most.

Professor Muller told us that this memorial caused quite a bit of controversy in the Japanese American community. There were two main opinions on the struggles of internment, curfews, and other racial persecution. As reflected in the memorial, a large group of Japanese Americans felt that, terrible as this burden was, it was their duty to patiently succumb to the American government’s rulings. America was their home now, and they had to make this ultimate sacrifice so that, one day, their children might be able to live a more comfortable life here. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

The other group, who took issue with this perspective, felt that it was instead the Japanese American’s duty to fight back against the American government’s oppression. The oppression should not be allowed to continue, and as Japanese and Americans, they should not allow themselves to be subjected to such. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

Now, I don’t presume to know much about Japanese culture, but from what I understand, it involves intense honor and respect towards elders and leaders, even if they are in error. Maybe the perspective of sacrifice is one that came from the Japanese immigrants, the parents who grew up in that culture – while the “fight back” perspective is from the American-Japanese children. I can understand both perspectives, because there is a similar concept in Islam about the respect towards a ruler, even if he or she makes a mistaken ruling. The Quraan constantly encourages Muslims to be patient through adversity and to have faith in God’s ultimate reckoning. But, there are also verses that one should aid a brother who is an oppressor by helping him to stop oppressing.

But, if I put myself in their shoes (which, I accept that I never truly can) – or, indeed, in the shoes of any people who are being oppressed by their so-called leaders – what would I do? Would I keep quiet, such that my children might be saved? Or would I fight back against the cage, risking my life and perhaps damning my children to a life of reproach for their parent’s actions?

I can’t honestly say. I begin as a pacifist, in all things. I dislike war and conflict, even to the point of avoiding confrontation with people I disagree with. I have a notorious weak spot for upholding rules and deferring to authority. My first impulse is always to defend the decisions and decrees of leaders, and only speak out against them after much deliberation. But I think I would agree with the younger group – the ones who would say “No, this is not America, and my honor is in refusing to go quietly.”

But that is hypothetical. The reality is that these people went through intense turmoil, and they should be honored for it. Their patience was of Quranic proportions. Their sacrifice was presented with pure hearts, with a desire to protect their families and their culture, and with an intense honor to which American youth of all ethnicities should aspire. Their stories are a lesson to every child of immigrants that grew up so blessed in America. May they be rewarded.

Resources for more info about and pictures of the internment:
War Relocation Authority Camps in Arizona
Exploring Japanese American Internment
Effects of the camps – life after internment
Children of the camps
Ansel Adams’ Photography of the camps
Large list of relevant sources

Also see Professor Muller’s Essay: Arab American Internment?

Slow Cooker Chili with Sweet Corn Rice and Cheddar Jalapeno Cornbread

I’ve got papers to write, exams to study for. On hiatus.

Alhamdulillah. We couldn’t have done this without the help, guidance, and support of Allah, our parents, and our community. Our parents sacrificed much to give us hope, love, and the ability to follow our dreams. We will never be able to repay them for that.

Also, as my friend Sophia mentions, this cultural and educational movement takes on a similar form in today’s Muslim students going into medicine: “While our parents encouraged science careers or medicine for the monetary stability and gain, their children who are pursuing such a career might not be doing it for those reasons– and while the shift the kids are making isn’t in careers to another field, it is an ideological shift as to why they are pursuing such a career– i.e. medicine as a means of empowerment, being a poor doctor by passing up lucrative specialties for something like family medicine, and then using that career in ways to help the community that hasn’t been done before. again, this kind of shift also requires the stability that comes with being a second generation . . . so hopefully in the future this shift that is occurring towards non-science careers will be accompanied by a paradigm shift in what a science career can be used for. i think the key is for people to realize that the possibilities are endless. we have to get past a “survival” mindset and think bigger.”

A particular moment comes to mind when I think about why I came to law school. Once, I was at the masjid after I had started my first year of law school. An older brother who was active in the Muslim political action sphere stopped to talk to me. He is a Palestinian who had to leave his homeland. He said Salaam and asked me how I was doing, what I was up to. I told him I was in law school. We were both walking away, but he stopped and smiled brightly. “You make us so proud, Sister Taiyyaba,” he said, “we are so proud of you.” That’s when I realized that going to law school isn’t just about doing it for me….it’s about doing it for them – for our parents who sacrificed for us, for our community who gave us a home. Inshallah, all of us youth who are working in any field now have to keep ourselves grounded in our roots and remember who we are.

And we don’t just have to work for “Muslim” issues to be true to ourselves. Being who we are makes us uniquely situated to empathize and sympathize with other communities who are finding themselves victim to the same discrimination and struggles. Being empowered by our careers makes us able to do something about it for all of us. We have to be fighters for justice for all.

O ye who believe! Stand out firmly For justice, as witnesses To Allah, even as against Yourselves, or your parents, Or your kin, and whether It be (against) rich or poor: For Allah can best protect both. Follow not the lusts (Of your hearts), lest ye Swerve, and if ye Distort (justice) or decline To do justice, verily Allah is well-acquainted With all that ye do. (The Noble Quran, 4:135)

Shout out to Natasha, Saja, Yasmin Amer, Shahid, and all the other Muslim liberal arts students who were interviewed in the article! Thanks also to Nigel Edwards, whose picture is in the article in the center of the section; he was also part of our group of four Muslim law students from UNC who interviewed for this article.

Students on course for empowerment
More young Muslims gravitate toward careers in law, journalism, acting and filmmaking
By Yonat Shimron, Staff Writer
http://www.newsobserver.com/105/story/1274326.html

Best read in coordination with: “So, where are you from?” and “The Professional Hijab”

One year ago: Jalaibi

I’m usually pretty good at standing up for myself with respect to making my personal religious boundaries known to those around me. It’s a deliberate action I think every Muslim in a majority non-Muslim society has to decide to do (or not, I guess, if that’s how you feel). Non-Mahram contact issues are especially predominant: Do I shake hands with someone of the opposite gender? Do I accept hugs from someone of the opposite gender (and how do I escape surprise hugs?) Then there’s the wudu and prayer time issues (getting caught with your foot in the sink).

Lawyers like to network. Networking means contacts, and contacts means jobs and referrals. But in the legal career, networking happens in places that I’m not to happy to be.

The newest thing I’m facing in law school is debating whether or not to attend social or professional events that significantly involve drinking. In college, I’d avoid having to make this choice by not involving myself with social groups that drank. Lawyers “network” by going to bars, cocktail parties, or hanging around the cash bar that inevitably operates at every legal event.

Case on point: UNC Law School organizations have “Bar Review” every Thursday night. Ten points for guessing what that means.

Clue: it’s not a study party.
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Imagine this: You live in a small, close-knit community in rural North Carolina, outside the limits of the neighboring city or town. Your family has been on this land for generations as it has passed down from parent to child. You don’t have much money, but you make do, and taxes aren’t much. You live a happy life.

Now imagine this: One day, someone knocks on your door and tells you that yesterday, the General Assembly decided to annex your neighborhood into the town next-door. No one asked your permission or advice, or heck, even told you in advance that now, you’re part of that city. On top of it all, you have to start paying city taxes in addition to the county, state, and federal taxes you already pay.

Okay, not so bad? Wait, there’s more: Because the NC legislature gave your neighborhood to the city (who’d long been after that area to send some developers in), the city doesn’t have to follow the usual rules about providing you municipal services. You’re paying taxes, but the city isn’t giving you running water, sewer systems, trash collection, paved roads, or street lights. And there is no law forcing the city to every do so.

Pissed? Yeah. So are the residents of newly legislatively-annexed communities all over North Carolina, such as the people of the Brandy Creek neighborhood, who are the new residents of Roanoke Rapids.

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