#and we give them little presents for Eid

[salvadorbonaparte]

Regarding my last reblog about Christian hegemony and holidays. Something I find really annoying is that Germany is officially secular but Christian majority and keeps forgetting it's secular (stores closed on Sunday etc).

And then people get really weird about immigrants and refugees because they think people from other cultures and religions are a threat to us. It's mostly Muslims they're worried about. And they're like "they need to integrate themselves" and I'm like yeah sure learn the language etc. But then they actually don't mean integration they mean assimilation. They want people to if not convert then at least to stop being Muslim because "we're a Christian Country" (we're not, we're secular).

So they get upset when people continue being Muslim and speak their native language at home. But then there are some immigrants, usually with children, who decide to go an extra step and they start celebrating Christmas and Easter. Usually so that the children aren't isolated from their peers at school. I think that's fine as long as they're having fun, you know.

But then some of the same people who want integration to be assimilation still are weird about that because oh? Those strange foreigners celebrate our holidays?? Despite not having grown up with the religion?? But aren't they Muslim??? A Muslim with a Christmas tree??? How strange how wrong!!

So people really can't win no matter what they do.

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Hi 🍋

I know you're busy with your rewatch but I was wondering cause I miss your rec lists: do you have a rec list for fics that heavily feature the 126's different religions? Them celebrating different holidays or discussing stuff or such?

Would love to see such a list, I feel like the fandom should have a general list where these fics are featured 💙

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for this lovely ask! Perfect timing, actually, because the fic I’m writing now, which I’ve affectionately been calling Eid Fic, centers around Marjan’s relationship with her faith and her family. It will heavily feature Marjan & TK discussing their own faiths, and sharing memories of holidays, fasting and family. And also how they grow together over the years and form their own found family.

I’m sorry my rec lists have fallen to the side lately! You are not the only person who’s asked me about them, and I promise they’re coming back! I’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately (can you just be whelmed?). But I love any excuse to rec some of the amazing fics in this fandom. And this theme in particular is really exciting to me because we don’t have nearly enough of it! I have scoured by memory and my bookmarks for you, and here’s what I’ve found. Unsurprisingly, it mostly focuses on Carlos and TK’s faiths.

Disclaimer: this is by no means a comprehensive list, it is just what I remembered and what I found. If you know of other fics that feature religion, especially other characters, please reply/reblog with the links!

Carlos - Catholicism

The Line I'd Walk (For You) by TearsThisSideofHeaven Carlos lights a candle and says a prayer to St. Florian, the patron saint of firefighters when TK returns to work after being shot. TK asks him where he goes, so Carlos brings him to church one morning.

What is Sown, What is Grown by @never-blooms Carlos character study, beautiful glimpse into Carlos’s experience growing up Tejano and how his family shaped him.

I Swear I Love You (Te Juro Que Te Amo) by @never-blooms Nochebuena fic!! Beth gives us a really beautiful look at Nochebuena, which is the Christmas Eve holiday in Latinx cultures! This fic is full of everything you would expect from a good Nochebuena party: family, nosy siblings and aunties, chisme, delicious food and so much music.

to build a home by @freneticfloetry Carlos Begins, this fic follows Carlos from childhood through present day. Courtney gives us a lot of beautiful insight into Carlos’s background and culture, and there is some exploration of religious aspects especially in the last chapter.

And if you will allow a couple from me 🤭

I'm Not A Fortress, But I Will Try To Protect You TK & Marjan get together for pie after Marj breaks up with Salim and before TK goes back to Carlos. Marjan voices her fear of disappointing her parents with the news of the breakup, and TK offers to be there for her when she makes the phone call. Marjan also gives TK some perspective on what it was probably like for Carlos growing up in a conservative religious home.

The Greatest Gift I’ve Found, The Sweetest Thing I’ve Known My Nochebuena fic!! It’s got some holiday traditions and a lot of family love.

TK - Judaism

knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door by rakketyrivertam Five prayers TK sang for other people, and one he sang for himself

a case of cruel to be kind by @maxbegone This is a really lovely AU based on the movie About Time. The plot is that TK discovers he can travel back in time to events in his past, and that he inherited the gift from Gwyn. But at the heart of the story is a really beautiful examination of Gwyn and TK’s relationship. This includes a look at some traditional Jewish funeral and grieving practices, through the eyes of TK after Gwyn’s passing.

The last day of Hanukkah by @ladytessa74 A very sweet little Hanukkah fic set in Tessa’s Elijah verse, in the future where Tarlos has a four-year-old named Elijah. This story gives us a glimpse of Hanukkah in the Strand-Reyes house, the little traditions and the food.

Looking at it now, it all seems so simple by @liminalmemories21 Enzo and Jonah come to town, set between seasons 3 & 4 (though S4 kinda makes it an AU now 😖). Explores TK’s relationship with his faith through Carlos’s eyes, they celebrate Hanukkah and have a Shabbos dinner, and there are a few conversations about what parts of their own cultures and religions they want to bring into the family they’re forming, and how they want to raise any future kids.

Rosa Mundi by fiddlersgreen TK, Carlos and Owen go to New York for Gwyneth's funeral. I must admit it’s been a minute since I read this, but this author gives a really lovely perspective of what Gwyn’s funeral might have been like with the Jewish traditions and customs.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

I just got an Another Sagau!Idea-

So you know the latest Archon Quest regarding about Khean'riah (or however you spell it), Caribert?

Yeah, so slight spoilers:

What if the Reader, before they lost their memories of being the Creator and all that, met the Traveler's sibling while they were meeting Eide, Caribert, and Chlotar Alberich? Let me explain:

The Reader's presence is special. → I based this fact from the way the Traveler's presence was enough to lessen Xiao's karmic debt. What if the Reader's presence does the same thing to the hilichurl's curse, but by a somewhat larger scale? Just having the Reader present is all that is needed to have the medicine work faster than it did before.

I also think Reader wouldn't reveal themselves as the Creator, instead taking up a disguise when they meet the Abyss Twin and Eide.

The Reader Might Be Eide's better Choice to Ask For a Blessing? → Allow me to elaborate. So, as we all know, most, if not all, kheanrians are atheists or just don't have much faith in gods in general. The Creator is a little different here—the Creator's presence is more of a feeling of safety, a feeling that they have some sort of familiar bond of sorts between the two.

I would think that Eide was see the Creator, aka Reader, as a being far greater than the Dendro Archon, a being with more power. This may have him beg for the Creator's blessing in the end instead of the Dendro Archon. The only problem? We know what the strange mushroom is made out of—the fertilizer to grow it is legit dead humans. I would honestly think the Creator is against this idea, which thus leads to the Reader denying his prayers. Eide may then be forced to beg to the Dendro Archon because of this.

I would honestly imagine that the Creator gives blessings more than most gods, even if they are just small miracles. Reader has balanced the consequences of giving the blessing to Eide, which leads them to refuse to accept his request. However, I think the Reader would change their mind, hoping that if they allowed Caribert to gain consciousness would stop Eide from killing more humans to make fertilizer—

The Reader Could Be Against Chlotar Alberich, Founder of the Abyss Order. → I'm mainly basing this idea off of the beginning of the game. To this, I'm referring to the intro cutscene, where we have to choose a sibling to be the Traveler. I would think the Reader shares a similar mindset to the Traveler—they do not believe what happened to the people of Khean'riah was deserved, but they are against joining the Abyss Order to cause harm to other nations.

I personally believe that Reader would be unhappy that Chlotar has started the Abyss Order to kill of the rest of their precious world. I can't really see the Reader agreeing with killing their own creation, instead trying to convince the Abyss Twin to not join him.

The Reader does not like this "new god" that's being created. → As you may know, human-made gods aren't exactly amazing. Scaramouche is a slight example of that. The Sages tried to create a god from human knowledge, and, in result, Scaramouche became a fake god. But, as you know, his power wasn't exactly as strong as a real god's power would be.

Reader does not like the fact that the Abyss/Abyss Order would go this far to making a god to get rid of the curse befalling on all hilichurls. To them, I would think it's some sort of severe risk. They are highly suspicious of this "god" and would rather find out its true intentions in other methods than cooperate with them. The Creator may be lenient on their creations, but they have to draw lines against them, unfortunately.

Alright, that's all I got for today! I'm sorry if it's a little confusing lol- I didn't fully understand the Archon Quest. See you around :)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I have honestly no idea how this idea emerged into my head lol- but I'm glad it did! Sorry for any grammar mistakes too btw—I don't exactly proofread before I post things.

Check The Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Mailbox is Open!

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Eid gifts arrived! Alhamdulilah in good time

I was gonna get mum a notebook but then remembered she wouldn’t use it as usual because she hasn’t even touched the last notebook I gave her on Eid (I have learnt prints are good though so instead I’ll save to get her one of the masjid prints next Eid Insha’Allah)

I figured something small that she’d actually use would be good. Hence, watch strap with flower engravings in her favourite colour. It’s really hard to give mum gifts tbh she rarely if ever uses them but I didn’t want to not give her something either, art print next Eid Insha’Allah

Art kits for the littles, baby girl’s one is much bigger though so to make it fair I got my baby brother the art kit and the personalised art planet lamp, Insha’Allah he’ll like it

And Ace attorney game for my brother since he loves Ace Attorney, also seems like a fun game to play together Insha’Allah?

I’m usually really rubbish at Eid gifts but as the kids have gotten older it’s been easier to figure out things they will actually use and play with, their personalities have developed a bit more. Individually I didn’t spend too much on each gift either Alhamdulilah which is good because I always feel this odd pressure to make sure it’s a pricier gift when… I don’t even work part time lol I can’t afford that. I’ll keep a price limit in mind for future presents now since it’s actually a good guide and works out better for me and prevents me overspending

For my friends I got masjid notebooks yes ^_^

And for friend I (ex-student friend) I really had to brainstorm, but in the end I got her a We Hunt The Flame bookmark from Etsy AND a starry candle wax melter, the reason being my sister accidentally ordered these Gilmore Girls Luke’s Diner wax melts last year but left them untouched since she meant to order candles. These wax melts are super exclusive, the shop only opens a few times a year and it’s a fight to get anything from it, and they smell amazing

Since Friend I has gotten into Gilmore Girls in the past year I figured she’d love the wax melts. I feel kind of weird about it being a thrift gift but it’s not like we ever touched it, just opened it and put it away somewhere AND I am buying the candle burner new so… that’s a pretty good gift I think? Insha’Allah

I’m also planning to (because I can NEVER stop making life harder for myself XD) craft up a cardboard box so it’s a really pretty gift box Insha’Allah that she can keep

Will it work and have I ever done it before? No

But one of my favourite little sentimental items is this handmade fabric covered box mum bought at an event when I was 13 and I’ve always wanted to learn how to make something like it so stand by for crafting chaos :D

[giftsonclick9]

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[sleptwithinthesun]

jesus fucking christ i'm now aware that i am positively incapable of writing a drabble-length fic. i did not edit this at all so what you see is the product of severe sleep deprivation and a desperate need for serotonin, so i hope you enjoy a healthy 1.0K words of chaos written for s/pencer r/eid from c/riminal m/inds :D

Morgan glances up from his ever-present stack of paperwork as the lights flicker yet again, too exhausted to even try to be annoyed. The BAU had returned from a five-day case in Atlanta barely an hour ago, and in that time, the light rain they flew back into picked up to a severe thunderstorm accompanied by several flash flood warnings, meaning they’re all stuck in Quantico for the time being. 

“What’s that, the fourth time in ten minutes?” Prentiss asks, looking over to Reid for a more accurate number. Her mouth falls open in shock when she actually sees him, however, and her attention rapidly switches to Morgan, searching for confirmation that her eyes aren’t deceiving her. “Wait, is he—” 

The other agent nods sagely. “Sleeping, for once in his life? Yep.” 

“Holy shit,” Prentiss whispers, turning back to the kid. “It’s a miracle.” 

It truly is a sight to behold, their resident genius passed out at his desk. Reid had pulled two consecutive all-nighters trying to get ahead of their unsub, brain working overtime on the case. He was barely conscious on the plane ride back; it’s really not a surprise that he’s crashing now. The real kicker is that there isn’t a mug of coffee on his desk, signaling that he didn’t even attempt to stay awake before surrendering to the wills of his body. 

“What I would give to be Penelope Garcia right now,” Morgan sighs, a wistful expression crossing his face as he leans back in his chair. “Back at home, finally in my own bed…” 

Prentiss makes a sympathetic, albeit slightly mocking, noise in the back of her throat. “Yeah, don’t we all. I just wish they’d dim the lights a little, make it seem a little less like the middle of the day.” 

And it’s at that moment, the second the words leave Emily’s lips, that the power goes out. 

All of it, gone in an instant, plunging the bullpen and surrounding offices into complete, utter, darkness. There’s a brief second of stillness before Morgan turns to her, eyes wide, and whispers, “What did you just do?” 

“N-Nothing, I didn’t— I didn’t do anything,” Prentiss stammers. “The lights just… went out. It was a coincidence.” She’s saved from having to defend herself any further by the sound of JJ stepping into the room, who cases the three of them before letting out a tired sigh, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Not that it matters, really, since no one can see anything. 

“Wake Reid up; we’re moving to Hotch’s office,” she informs them. At Morgan’s raised brow and Prentiss’s quizzical look, she adds, “Just trying not to lose track of anyone. You never know.” 

They nod in acquiesce, standing in almost perfect sync. Morgan fumbles his way over to Reid’s desk, accidentally slapping the kid on the shoulder in the process. On the bright side, it wakes him up. On the not-so-bright side, though, it startles Reid, and he comes up swinging. 

“Woah! It’s just me, Reid, it’s Morgan,” he says, and though he can’t see the kid, Morgan can still imagine his face. His hair is undoubtably mussed up in a loose approximation of a halo around his head, eyes wide with shock. Likely a bit of fear, too, considering that he never really was comfortable with the dark. “It’s alright, the power just went out.” 

“We’re heading up to Hotch’s office for company,” Prentiss adds, obviously picking up on the tension. Her hand fishes backwards, eventually making contact with the youngest member of their team, and she grabs his fingers. Morgan takes the other, and they follow the shadowy outline of JJ towards the stairs. Navigating is a tricky task, but they eventually make it through and are greeted by the beam of a flashlight. 

Reid drops their hands once it registers, pressing a knuckle firmly under his nose before sneezing softly. “ht’shuu!” 

“Salud,” Rossi calls from inside the room, the door now open, courtesy of JJ. They file in, Prentiss sitting with Rossi on the couch while JJ leans against the wall. Morgan simply sits on the floor, tugging Reid down next to him. Hotch hands them each a flashlight, face softening when he sees the weariness on all of their expressions, his own barely concealed. 

Reid hums his appreciation, already starting to slump in on himself. Morgan wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to his body. There’s a beat of silence between the six of them, then half of the flashlights click on, immediately followed by Reid sneezing again, face buried in his sleeve. 

“What’s that called again?” Prentiss asks. “The reflex thing?” 

“Mm… photic,” Reid murmurs, repositioning himself so that he’s leaning heavily into Morgan, as if the exhaustion is a physical thing, weighing him down. He’s still half-asleep, moving like someone’s put him on a slower setting. 

The older agent chuckles softly, the vibration passing though his chest to where Spencer’s now practically draped across him. “I forgot about that little quirk of yours,” he says, grinning. 

“Sorry if I’m a little out of the loop here, but what’s the Boy Wonder talking about?” Rossi’s puzzlement is written on his face, clear as day, even with the deep shadows the angles of the flashlight beams are adding to his face. 

“The photic sneeze reflex,” JJ supplies helpfully. “Basically, Reid sneezes anytime there’s a sudden source of light. It’s kind of adorable, actually.” 

He looks at the flashlight in his hand, considering. “So if I do this—” 

“h’shuu! it’shhiew!” 

Rossi nods, pointing the light back away from Reid’s face. “Good to know.” 

The kid’s still hitching, breath stuttering in his chest. His hand hovers in front of his face, and he shudders forward with a final, quiet, “ishoo!” 

“Bless you,” Hotch murmurs, casting a stern look towards Rossi. “Maybe we don’t test it out any further.” 

“’S okay,” Reid interjects. “It’s not like the power’s going to come back anytime soon, and besides, there’s a refractory period that can last up to twenty-four hours. It doesn’t matter if we try to trigger it or not at this point; it’ll happen regardless.” He sniffles softly, and Morgan squeezes his shoulder in a small gesture of comfort. 

[crazy-sevens]

Heyo, I wasn’t sure eid you took requests, but if you do could you do a part two to “An Excuse to make Christmas Jokes”

This was a long time coming but hope you like it!

Part one here

***

The hero had never felt more humiliated in their entire life. Not when their voice cracked at an eighth grade talent show. Not when they tripped into the punchbowl at prom. Not even when they had to dress up in a pink rabbit costume for Halloween at fifteen because their parents made them match with their little sister. At least there weren’t any witnesses to their embarrassment this time. 

The hero sat tied up in a red ribbon, gagged, and sitting under a Christmas tree. The flush in their face being almost the exact same shade of red as the ribbon. 

The villain had been gone for about ten minutes. And the hero knew that because there was a clock on the wall. Weird for what was basically a prison cell, but the room where they were sitting in was actually a really nice living room. 

Great. That made them feel so much better about this.

They looked up at the Christmas tree as the ornaments glinted in the light. Soon enough the villain would be back bringing whatever torture device that they called the hero’s Christmas present. The hero would have to be gone before then. Gone with what they had come here for. 

But no matter what they couldn’t think around this. The ribbon was tight, binging their arms and legs together so they could barely move. They couldn’t use their powers with the gag on their mouth and nobody around to use them on. And there were dozens of guards out there, so they wouldn’t even make it out, let alone with the device. 

The hero closed their eyes and leaned against the tree. The ornaments clattered together with a soft clink. They were made of glass. At least the villain had some taste.

Wait. Glass. 

The hero scooted themselves around and kicked the tree over. They winced at the sound of the ornaments shattering, but they couldn’t worry about the noise right then. They flexed their fingers and grabbed a shard from the wreckage. It was a little difficult but they managed to cut through the ribbon with the shard. They then tore the gag off. 

They felt in their sleeve and breathed a sigh of relief when they found it; the one thing the villain’s guards hadn’t taken from them- a hairpin. They picked the lock quickly.

They smirked. Sometimes they were so good it was frightening.

And on that note, they tripped on their way out. 

Nevermind. 

Before they could pick themselves up, a boot pressed against the small of their back. “What do we have here?”

The hero reached out with their power. “Hey get off of me!”

The boot’s pressure lessened, but that was about it. Of course it wouldn’t work that easily. “And why should I do that?”

“Um, because,” the hero scrambled for a convincing story, “because you’re unsatisfied with your boss and you want them to respect you more,” they blurted out. “I can help you.” They hoped they had struck the right cord. When trying to convince someone to do something, it helped to give them a good reason to. The power enhanced those feelings and moved the person to act. The hero could only hope that the guard was unsatisfied with his boss. How that fact might relate to letting the hero go, they weren’t sure. Maybe they would actually believe the hero could help.

Who knows? This wasn’t their best work anyway.  

But it actually seemed to be working. “Really?” the guard asked.

“Uh, yes,” the hero said. “Just let me up and we can talk all about your feelings and maybe try to start a union or something.”

The boot left their back. The hero stood up and brushed themselves off. Then they punched the guard square in the jaw. The guard fell over unconscious.

Then they dragged him back into the room, tied his hands and feet together with scraps of the ribbon, then they tied the gag around his mouth. They smirked. Now they were starting to feel better.

They walked over to the foyer, the sounds of music and chatter echoing through the door to their left. They could leave. Sneak out through a vent or something. But they couldn’t pass up this opportunity. The villain thought they were taken care of, so it would be perfect to find the device. 

They snuck through the house. 

No, house wasn’t really a good description. More like a mansion. Or a palace. It wasn’t very inconspicuous, but it was one of the most guarded places in the city so it didn’t really have to be. With that in mind, the hero knew they had to keep sharp, and they had to be patient. 

The latter being the most difficult. 

They regretted knocking out the guard. He could’ve given the hero a tour. But now they were just stuck checking every room. There was nothing for a while. 

Nothing until they found the villain’s office. 

It was pretty average in terms of officeness. No signs of villainy about it. No giant swirly chair to turn dramatically in, no assortment of stuffed creatures, no giant red button that opened a trap door for someone on the other side to drop through. 

It was disappointing to say the least. 

They searched all the drawers, checked for false backs or secret openings, but still nothing. But then they looked in the file cabinet. There were multiple files for people whose names the hero didn’t recognize, but at the front of them all was a file marked, Arch Nemesis.

Of course. 

They grabbed the file and tucked it under their arm. They couldn’t read it now. They only had so much time left before the party ended. If the device wasn’t in the next room they would cut their losses and leave.

But one thing they failed to notice: it was quiet. That wouldn’t be much of a problem normally, but when they had searched before they could still hear pieces of loud conversation and music through the hallways. There was none of that now. The party was already over. 

And the hero realized that too late. 

“Really you couldn’t wait ten minutes for me to come back? Admit it, you missed me.”

Before the hero could turn around, strong hands grabbed their arms, pinning them behind their back. The file dropped out of their hands.

The villain hummed into their ear. “Someone’s been looking into things they shouldn’t have.”

The hero tried to kick but the villain only responded by kicking the hero’s legs out from under them. They bracketed the hero’s hips with their own, and they kept the hero’s arms pinned above their head. 

“Get off of me.” The hero growled.

The villain rolled their eyes. “You really can’t get it into your head that your powers don’t work on me, can you?”

“What can I say? I’m stubborn,” the hero said. “And you’re a liar.”

The villain laughed. “You can hide it all you want, hero, but I know the curiosity is driving you crazy. A problem you could never solve.” 

The hero struggled, but the villain’s grip was like iron. “It’s not a problem. I can beat you without my powers.”

They could taste that lie in their mouth like bile. No they couldn’t. They could never beat the villain without backup and the villain knew it.

They shook their head. “You know I wasn’t going to tell you before I gave you the present, but I really think you’ve earned it.” They leaned in close. “I have the same powers as you do.”

The hero stopped struggling. “What?”

“I know! It was a little . . . frustrating at first, I can’t use my powers on you either, but you’ve been the most interesting hero yet.” Using one hand the villain pulled something out of their pocket. It looked like a dog collar. “I have learned that if you simply disable the other person’s powers, instead of cancelling out, your powers will finally work on them.” 

The hero’s heart stopped. That’s what the agency had sent them looking for. 

It had all been a setup.

The villain’s smile widened. “So, Merry Christmas. I know it’s early, but, hey, you’re worth it.”

“Keep that thing away from m-”

The hero’s voice died when the villain clipped the collar on.

[evanescentjasmine]

I’m going to talk about a little pet peeve of mine with regard to portrayal of poc in fic, TMA specifically since that’s what I mostly read and write for. 

I suppose I should first start by saying that, of course, poc are not a monolith, and I’m certain there are other poc who have many different views on this issue. And also this post is in no way meant to demonise, shame, or otherwise discourage people from writing poc in fic if they’re doing something differently. This is just a thing I’ve been noodling on for a while and have had several interesting conversations with friends about, and now that I think I’ve figured out why I have this pet peeve, I figured I’d gather my thoughts into a post.

As a result of the fact we have no canonical racial, ethnic, or religious backgrounds for our main TMA cast, we’ve ended up with many diverse headcanons, and it’s absolutely lovely to see. I’m all for more diversity and I’m always delighted to see people’s headcanons. 

However, what often happens is I’ll be reading a fic and plodding along in a character’s PoV and get mention of their skin colour. And nothing else. I find this, personally, extremely jarring. In a short one-shot it makes sense, because you’re usually touching on one scenario and then dipping out. Likewise if the fic is in a different setting, is cracky, or is told from someone else’s PoV, that’s all fine. But if I’m reading a serious long-fic close in the poc’s head and...nothing? That’s just bizarre to me.

Your heritage, culture, religion, and background, all of those affect how you view the world, and how the world views you in return. How people treat you, how you carry yourself, what you’re conscious of, all of that shifts. And the weird thing is that many writers are aware of this when it comes to characters being ace or trans or neurodivergent—and I’m genuinely pleased by that, don’t get me wrong. Nothing has made my ace self happier than the casual aceness in TMA fics that often resonates so well with my experience. But just as gender, orientation, and neurodivergence change how a character interacts with their world, so do race, ethnicity, and religion. 

As a child, I spent a couple of years in England while my mother was getting her degree. Though I started using Arabic less and less, my mother still spoke to me almost exclusively in Arabic at home. We still ate romy cheese and molokhia and the right kind of rice, though we missed out on other things. She managed to get an Egyptian channel on TV somehow, which means I still grew up with different cultural touchstones and make pop-culture references that I can’t share with my non-Arabic-speaking friends. She also became friends with just about every Egyptian in her university, so for those years I had a bevy of unrelated Uncles and Aunties from cities all over Egypt, banding together to go on outings or celebrate our holidays.

As an adult who sometimes travels abroad solo, and as a fair-skinned Arab who’s fluent in English, usually in a Western country the most I’ll get is puzzled people trying to parse my accent and convinced someone in my family came from somewhere. When they hear my name, though, that shifts. I get things like surprise, passive-aggressive digs at my home region, weird questions, insistence I don’t look Egyptian (which, what does that even mean?) or the ever-popular, ever-irritating: Oh, your English is so good!

At airports, with my Egyptian passport, it’s less benign. I am very commonly taken aside for extra security, all of which I expect and am prepared for, and which always confuses foreign friends who insisted beforehand that surely they wouldn’t pull me aside. Unspoken is the fact I, y’know, don’t look like what they imagine a terrorist would. But I’m Arab and that’s how it goes, despite my, er, more “Western” leaning presentation. 

This would be an entirely different story if I were hijabi, or had darker skin, or a more pronounced accent. I am aware I’m absolutely awash with privilege. Likewise, it would be different if I had a non-Arab name and passport. 

So it’s slightly baffling to me as to why a Jon who is Pakistani or Indian or Arab and/or Black British would go through life the exact same way a white British character would. 

Now, I understand that race and ethnicity can be very fraught, and that many writers don’t want to step on toes or get things wrong or feel it isn’t their place to explore these things, and certainly I don’t think it’s a person’s place to explore The Struggles of X Background unless they also share said background. I’m not saying a fic should portray racism and microaggressions either (and if they do, please take care and tag them appropriately), but that past experiences of them would affect a character. A fic doesn’t have to be about the Arab Experience With Racism (™) to mention that, say, an Arab Jon headed to the airport in S3 for his world tour would have been very conscious to be as put together as he could, given the circumstances, and have all his things in order. 

And there’s so much more to us besides. What stories did your character grow up with? What language was spoken at home? Do they also speak it? If not, how do they feel about that? What are their comfort foods? Their family traditions? The things they do without thinking? The obscure pop-culture opinions they can’t even begin to explain? (Ask me about the crossover between Egyptian political comedy and cosmic horror sometime…)

I’m not saying you’ll always get it right. Hell, I’m not saying I always get it right either. I’m sure someone can read one of my fics and be like, “nope, this isn’t true to me!” And that’s okay. The important thing, for me, is trying.

Because here’s the thing. 

I want you to imagine reading a fic where I, a born and raised Egyptian, wrote white characters in, say, a suburb in the US as though they shared my personal experiences. It’s a multi-generational household, people of the same gender greet with a kiss on each cheek, lunch is the main meal, adults only move out when they get married, every older person they meet is Auntie or Uncle, every bathroom has a bidet, there’s a backdrop of Muslim assumptions and views of morality, and the characters discuss their Eid plans because, well, everyone celebrates Eid, obviously.

Weird, right? 

So why is this normal the other way around? 

Have you ever stopped to wonder why white (and often, especially American) experiences are considered the default? The universal inoffensive base on which the rest is built? 

Yes, I understand that writers are trying to be inoffensive and respectful of other backgrounds. But actually, I find the usual method of having the only difference be their skin colour or features pretty reductive. We’re more than just a paint job or a sprinkle of flavour to add on top of the default. Many of us have fundamentally different life experiences and ignoring this contributes to that assumption of your experience being universal. 

Yes, fic is supposed to be for fun and maybe you don’t want to have to think about all this, and I get that completely. I have all the respect in the world for writers who tag their TMA fics as an American AU, or who don’t mention anyone’s races. I get it. But when you have characters without a canonical race and you give them one, you’re making a decision, and I want you to think about it. 

Yes, this is a lot of research, but the internet is full of people talking about themselves and their experiences. Read their articles, read their blogs, read their twitter threads, watch their videos, see what they have to say and use it as a jumping-off point. I’m really fond of the Writing With Color blog, so if you’re not sure where to start I’d recommend giving them a look. 

Because writers outside of the Anglosphere already do this research in order to write in most fandoms. Writers of colour already put themselves in your shoes to write white characters. And frankly, given the amount of care that many white writers put into researching Britishisms, I don’t see why this can’t extend to other cultural differences as well.

[hotwings0203]

PART THREE LES GOOOOO

once again, all of these are headcannons, nothing more. And so without further ado, I present you to: Muslim Hawks

Aka Hani, aka Hamza, aka Haider, aka Kashif,(for keigo) Aka Kamran

This man is nothing if not a smooth talker

Knows absolutely when to give chai to uncles and have a chat about politics and religion with them, and when to shut it off to complement blushing aunties on their lenghas

Absolute sucker for any chicken dish. I’m talking korma, karhai, butter chicken, chicken tikka, the likes and all.

Definitely can cook from all the food he inhales, but you’d have to coax him into cooking for you. Instead of Dabi’s way of refusing to cook, which is usually “that’s a women’s job”, he uses his smooth words to tell you to “show me how to do it, I doubt i could make it as good as you”

Puts the gaslight in girlboss.

Even kids love him. When he’s at a dawat or an iftaar, children are swarming him and begging to be picked up. He surprisingly likes the sound of their squeals of joy as he spins them around, and it doesn’t hurt that cute girls clad in dupattas are witnessing how good he is with kids-they never leave his presence without giggling from his notorious winks

Loves wearing subtle gold in his clothes and earrings, which gets him in trouble occasionally

He’s known for wearing some of the drippiest clothes on eid and chaand raat, or on any dinner parties. People almost eagerly look for Dabi and his counterpart to see how they’re matching this time around-Hawks with his white and gold kurta and Dabi with his black and blue kameez

Somehow weasles his way out of every chore instructed at him, whether it’s helping in cleaning up an after-party, or shoveling food into little containers for the guests take home, or if it’s helping the masjid members carry chairs away. He’s using his silver tongue to distract his friends and act like he’s helping them, but in reality he’s got a toothpick between his pearly whites and an arm lazily draped over the poor schmuck’s shoulders.

He’s that one desi dude who can actually talk to girls and not make them uncomfortable. Sure, he might fluster a few of them (as he should, in his opinion), but he ultimately actually likes having good conversation with them and discussing modern day life without it being this whole weird thing…at least in front of them, that is. No one said he wasn’t going to go back and rate them all in front of Tomura and Dabi. But he truly enjoys talking to them otherwise!!😀

Drinks chai, non fucking stop. Or tea, like the Turkish kind. His teeth somehow manage to stay white through his addiction, the lucky bastard

Definitely a lightskin kind of brown dude. He’s got thousands of followers, looks like a model, has models following him…but he’s kind of like a Muslim influencer.

100% has done photoshoots endorsing Muslim brands, like shirts (or his favorite, jewelry)

Is known to go to those big galas that host different Muslim charities. Somehow donated a couple K each time he goes

His family (or just him) hosts some of the best kind of dinner parties. This boy is loaded, the doctor kind of rich, so his mansion is always brimming with guests and food

Has rumors that he’s not a virgin, but people like him too much to actually slander his name(except maybe the guys who are jealous of him)

Is the type of annoying fucker who will not.shut.up.about those videos on tiktok with people saying “can’t wait to have this one day🥺” and it’s a video of a Muslim couple waking each other up for fajr. He likes to talk a lot, but at the end of the day he’s still following half naked models

Does not ask your baba for his number. Your baba asks HIM for his number

He’s also known for being a great Sunday School teacher, or volunteer. He always has little candies to pass out for kids who get the answers right, and he’s super patient and gentle with kids who struggle with fiqh or recitation of the Quran

^^^this doesn’t mean he doesn’t go to his boys afterwards and groans about how stupid kids are. Remember, the ladies are watching him!!

Always smells nice, like sandalwood and cinnamon. Maybe old spice too

As one anon stated, he’s also been caught at shisha lounges and playing pool with with guys

When we he leads jummah, you can hear a pin drop silence because his qirat is so beautiful. Like he deadass has the voice of an angel

[spinningjupiters]

// Lessons in being //

Ramadan entered so subtly. Marked by loss of my Nana Abu. I was fasting when he was being carried for his final burial. And for the most days, it felt like I was in a haze. A ricocheted molecule of air looking for an understanding to deal with the pain of loss, the ability to experience pain of a core family member away from home after marriage, to watch my nani's health deteriorate drastically, and not being able to get through to my mama about how she was holding up through it all. And yet, I fasted. Juggled baby routine and work routine and house chores routine and within that tried to find my spirit of worship. I found that apart from Allah our religion focuses so much on our fellow beings. I learnt how hard it can be to be kind to people who are less privileged than us. I figured out that its always the hard way but its still the right way, to think about others as you think about yourself. To not burden them beyond their capacity. To try to be generous in acts of selflessness not because anyone has earned it, but because you're better than most. Not in a conceited way at all. I also figured out how important it is to be kind to self. We live not only for ourselves but also others. There are so many roles associated with us. And if we burn out, give up. Who will fulfill those roles? It is better to take a few days off than to be stretched beyond your own capacity to please others. I also learnt that you can't run away from your problems or complicated people verging on strained relationships. You have to pick your battles. Mental or physical. And you have to follow your gut. You may feel like you have to make boundaries at one point and prove something to the world by acting against your nature, but you can't put up with it if you're not wired that way. You can't expect the world to reciprocate your emotions (no matter what kind). You need to accept them as they are. Flaws and all. Just as you accept yourself. And build a strategy on how best to protect yourself from their toxic behaviour. It is good to have goals but not at the price of your mental health and personal relationships. And finally, how to find happiness when you're struggling. Barely managing to keep afloat. Surrounded by news of horror and pain. Seeing so many in pain, hurt by barbarians. How do you muster the courage when your Muslim brethren are suffering? You don't. You incorporate them in your prayers and hopes. You try to spread awareness. You acknowledge that you're conflicted and that's what makes you human. And ultimately you watch your own children, with their whole hearts and intact souls. Full with life. And you want to show them they too have a chance at conscious happiness if they try.

So I guess, my point is there's little in life that's black and white. People can tell you to behave a certain way, but not know what your circumstances are. The only question you need to ask before any choice you make is, 'will this ultimately hurt me?'. You need to be more mindful of others. You don't know what's it like to visit graves of loved ones in times of happiness such as Eid. There's no word to describe how it feels to want them to be present in this sweet moment and be torn apart by reality of life. And there's no way to handle your parents falling sick or aging. You just want to cherish them eternally. And lastly, you become what you think. So let's make room for thoughts that believe that even in a world of hatred, narcissism, unfairness we're planting seeds of kindness for a new tomorrow.

[nolabballgirl]

Hello. Do you mind if I ask what is your issues with the slave comment? I think it's a joke from Elias and Sana in original SKAM. Can you explain?

hi, Anon! thanks for your ask! i strongly dislike the slave storyline for two main reasons: (1) use of the word itself; (2) the storyline in context of the depiction of muslim men in sana seasons and in media generally. sorry this got sooo long and definitely falls into the rant category! 😅

(1) use of the word itself: so personally, it just rubs me the wrong way. i joke around all the time with my brother and male cousins, but if any of them called me a slave (or bitch tbh) especially in front of their friends...yeah ain’t happening! 😅 for starters, the word slave has such a fraught history in both the islamic and american context that i just don’t find it funny. but also we still have intracommunity issues around misogyny (every community does) so i personally don’t find it to be innocuous or would give it tacit approval, especially when said in a gathering of young muslim men. i get that others may not find it that offensive, but that's my personal take.

(2) in context of the season and in media: but more importantly, it perpetuates stereotypes about muslim men and their oppression of women that never gets rectified throughout the season. and it just adds on to the media's depiction of muslim men that's overwhelmingly negative. in the first half of OG s4, we have these scenes throughout the season re: muslim men and women:

slave storyline between elias and sana (ep. 1)

elias criticizing sana for being on a russ bus when he was on one himself and says: "I just don't want people to hate you. It's for your own good. I'm a boy so I don't get hate. I can just chill." and in the same scene talks about how hot sana's friends are. (ep. 2)

and in the very next scene with noora, sana says: "Trust me, you don't want a muslim boy. They just get together with Norwegian girls, just to take advantage of them. And as soon as they want to get serious, when they want a proper woman in their life, then they marry a muslim girl and ditch you." (ep. 2)

sana's mom asks why she didn't go to friday prayer, and sana says that elias never goes,. in response, sana's mom says: "Elias is just as ditzy as your dad. While the two of us, we're a little more focused." (ep. 3)

elias gets wasted and responsible, non-muslim yousef calls sana for help. (ep. 4)

sana tells her mom there's thing in islam she doesn't agree with like how muslim men can marry non-religious women (btw, that's not scripturally accurate! muslim men cannot marry atheists!) (ep. 5)

fight between balloon squad and boy squad, after when sana is washing blood off her hands, she overhears the pepsi max girls talking about her brother and the balloon squad and that they are probably homophobic because they are muslim and that vilde told them elias calls sana "slave." (ep. 5)

meanwhile throughout s4, yousef is presented as this mature, respectful, honorable and all around amazing guy (i mean he IS amazing!) and that it shouldn't matter that he's non-muslim, because he's so much better than all these hypocritical jerks who are muslim that sana knows. so the good/desirable love interest is equated with the non-muslim man, whereas the muslim man is problematic.

we put all these statements and scenes out in the universe, but there's no rebuttal or examination of these stereotypes about muslim men in the show. we simply have a magical eid party in the very last episode where everyone is automatically getting along and enjoying spicy meatballs. there's no indication that the pepsi max girls have gotten over their stereotypes of muslim men or that vilde still thinks it's weird that sana's brother called her a slave or that even though sana's mom is coming around to liking her white, non-muslim girlfriends, will she stop treating her male and female children differently? so we are left with more fodder to pile on to the overwhelmingly negative portrayal of muslim men in media. 

at the end of the day, it's very hard for me to divorce the slave storyline from the context of the show. and i can't help but think that julie andem and many other showrunners have this weird feministic take on islam - that it's not really compatible with "western" culture until it reforms; that practicing muslim sana should not be so rigid and open herself up to non-muslim yousef (a stand in for norwegian society) if she really wants to be happy.  

[contrabbandiera-di-elia]

Elippo Week 2020 Day 4 Canon compliant.

—

Salento was supposed to be a small trip. Only the five of them, at most six, if Gio would manage to convince Sofia to go. But somehow it became a journey with over fifteen people, including those who Elia knew not that well or not at all. Elia didn’t have much of the problem with that, although the perspective of a trip consisting mostly of couples (including his very recent crush and her new boyfriend) and strangers seemed like quite a challenge. Good thing that Elia liked challenges.

It turned out not to be so bad. After they planned out how to transport and accommodate so many people, the trip itself was great. A little bit crowded and chaotic, and too many kissing people around, but Elia really enjoyed himself. His friends turned out not to be a bunch of douchebags who would spend time only with their significant others, the girls were cool, although he subconsciously avoided being alone with Sana, Rami and his friends proved to be chill guys, Edoardo Incanti was trying his best to fit in, and he was doing a great job at it, and Filippo...

Filippo was the biggest surprise of all. Elia was surprised himself how quickly they clicked together. He had so many chances to talk to him before, but it was Sana’s Eid party that brought them closer. Maybe that was this whole renting thing, which was a sure thing for Filippo even trough Elia still didn’t give him a clear answer. Or maybe it had something to do with how similar they turned out to be. Elia couldn’t help but enjoy their little exchanges of sarcastic remarks and light jokes. Or maybe it had something to do with how somehow they were around each other more often than before. Whenever they were all meeting together, Filippo was somewhere close to him. And even if he wasn’t, Elia would somehow make his way towards Filippo. He wasn’t sure why himself. He simply decided it’s fun to be around Filippo and didn’t pay it any more attention.

With so many people around, it was loud and chaotic all the time. And even though Elia was generally a personification of these two words, sometimes even he needed a moment away from all this mess. Which is why one day he found himself on the beach, all alone. It was an early evening, quiet and peaceful. Everyone divided themselves into smaller groups or couples and tried to find their own quiet corner. Elia took this occasion to sneak away with his guitar and play a little. He could always use some additional training, Gio was constantly on his back telling him to play more because “he couldn’t carry the whole band on one guitar alone, for fuck’s sake.” He was surprisingly dedicated to this whole idea, even though Elia wasn’t sure how much longer they could last without a proper drummer and with their shitty songwriting.

“There you are! Luchino was looking for you everywhere!”

Elia looked up to see Filippo going towards him. He was waving at him as if he really thought Elia couldn’t notice him. It was impossible, not with Filippo’s splendid collection of colorful shirts. Right now, he was wearing a short-sleeve shirt, light pink with colorful flowers all over. Elia often thought about his own style as simple and toned down, but comparing to Filippo, everyone was simple and toned down.

“What does he want?”

“Marti and Gio were telling some story from the middle school, but it turned out they both remember it differently. Their argument got too heated, and Luchino hoped you’d provide some details to settle who’s right,” Filippo explained. Still, instead of waiting for Elia to get up, he sat down himself. Elia looked at him, amused. Typically for Filippo, he didn’t even ask if Elia want his companionship; he decided it himself.

“And what was it about? That story.” He asked, turning his eyes back to guitar’s strings as Filippo seemingly decided to stay instead of going back.

“Something about a school trip and how they both got terribly lost. Something like this. And they can’t decide whose fault it was.”

“Mine, actually,” Elia decided, smiling widely while remembering the story. “I mean, theoretically, Gio. But I kinda got them more lost.”

“You little piece of shit!”

“No, no. It’s their fault for being stupid. It was like… Gio accidentally joined the group from another school, he got distracted while he was picking a present for Eva. And Marti wouldn’t stop freaking out, obviously. So I kinda worked him up even more, so he went to look for him. Long story short, they got terribly lost, Peccio and I wouldn’t pick up our phones just to make it all more fun, the teachers finally figured out they were gone, they found him, Gio and Marti wouldn’t stop arguing whose fault it was that they got lost, because yes, Gio was the one to get lost at first, but Marti was the one who made them even more lost… And over the years, they magically forgot that I had something to do with it.”

Filippo was laughing, and it made Elia smile himself. That wasn’t their peak comedy story, but he was glad that it managed to make Filippo laugh. He liked this honest, spontaneous laughs of his. It made Elia think that he is, in fact, funny. Most people thought he’s just dumb, so it was a nice change.

“What a good friend you are, really.”

“I told you, it’s their fault. They could have been smarter.”

“It still makes you a little piece of shit.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Are you into sightseeing?”

Elia raised his head, looking from his guitar to Filippo. There was something in Filippo’s eyes that made him feel uneasy. Something he has often seen in the looks Filippo was giving him, but couldn’t clearly interpret. A glint, a sparkle, some deeper meaning. Elia wasn’t used to people looking at him like this.

“Eh... Yeah, sure. If there’s something cool to see, why not?”

“Ostuni is cool to see. Have you ever been there?” Elia shook his head, and somehow, it made Filippo smile. “Okay. Do you wanna go? It’s nearby, we can make it a one day trip, or maybe even half-day, it depends. I’ve heard it’s gorgeous, and it’d be a shame not to see it when we’re so close.”

“And who else is going? Or are we all going? Did I miss some planning, or did you guys made some plans when I was not around?”

There was a bit of silence that made Elia uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to sitting in silence with Filippo. It was the first time it happened, and it felt unnatural. Finally, Filippo sighed, which made Elia partly relieved and party stressed. He felt as if he said something wrong, but he had no idea what exactly.

“You’re quite clueless, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“There are no ‘others,’ Elia. I meant you and me only.” Having no answer, Filippo clarified after a short while. “I’m trying to ask you out.”

There was another moment of silence, but this time Elia wasn’t even thinking about whether it was uncomfortable or not. He simply didn’t know what to say. Filippo asking him out was the last thing he expected. Yes, he knew Filippo was gay. But it never crossed his mind that he could be possibly interested in him. Not that he was used to people being interested in him. Each of his serious crushes ended with his object of affection getting together with somebody else. It was pretty unusual for him to get somebody’s affection. And even more unusual to get it from a man. He never really thought about himself with another man. He didn’t have an occasion to.

“Look, it’s—”

“There you are!”

Elia turned his head so quickly that he was almost sure that something cracked in his neck. The rest of the boys were slowly approaching him, seemingly fed up with waiting for them. Typical for Gio, he liked resolving misunderstandings as soon as possible. The problem was, Elia wasn’t really ready to end the conversation.

Filippo, however, was.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said quietly. “This silence was quite telling. But that’s fine.”

He flashed him one last smile before getting up. Elia didn’t make a move, trying to analyze the situation twice as fast as he usually would. On the one hand, he definitely wasn’t gay. And he was never really interested in guys. So there was no reason for him to go on a date with Filippo.

On the other hand, there was no reason not to. He was never really interested in dating guys, but did it really mean that he couldn’t give it a try. And Filippo… Well, he had to at least hope Elia will say yes. So maybe he wouldn't mind being Elia’s first guy experience. Maybe he wanted to be. Otherwise, why would he even ask?

“Yes,” he spoke up. Filippo looked at him visibly confused. Theoretically, he could withdraw. He could change his mind. But he didn’t. Instead, he got up, looked Filippo straight into his eyes, and repeated. “Yes. Yes, I’ll go out with you. Hope you have a plan because I’m terrible at making them.”

He gave him one last smile and went to join the boys. He still wasn’t sure if that was the right decision. But did it have to be?

[writingwithcolor]

British Bangladeshi Muslim 21 Year Old

I’m usually a lurker on this blog but, I’ve decided to send in a POC profile - mainly because it’s so rare for me to see someone like me represented in the media. In fact, I’m not certain I’ve ever seen someone Bangladeshi represented in mainstream media 

Beauty Standards 

Colourism is a very big thing still in the Bangladeshi community. My parent’s generation, despite liking to think that they’re very open minded still fall into the trap of the narrow minded view so present in the older generations. I’ve always fallen on the fairer side and as I grew up and developed mild iron deficiency, people would comment on how beautiful my skin was (and some people use the Bengali word for beautiful as being synonymous for fair), whilst my younger sister who is on the darker side but very rarely gets such comments. 

Clothing 

On a day to day basis, I wear casual English clothes or more casual Asian clothing around the house. But, for special occasions where I’m going to be with other Bengali people, I do tend to wear traditional clothing. Essentially, all the women in our house have two wardrobes; one with English clothes and one with Asian clothes. Although, nowadays, the English wardrobe seems to be growing more and more packed. A quick thing - traditional Asian clothes, especially those that are very flashy and embroidered, are heavy and so people don’t tend to wear them that often. 

But - it differs between person to person. My mum wears English clothes around the home but her older sister wears a saree - a plainer saree but a saree none the less. 

Culture 

Culture is an odd one for me because I’ve never felt as if I belonged to either one. Growing up, I didn’t fit into the typical English stereotype because I wasn’t Caucasian and I grew up bilingual. I’d also hear all these bad things about Bangladesh, and the experiences others had around me would mould the opinion I had of a country my family still refer to as their motherland. But, as I’ve grown older and actually started to make opinions for myself, I’ve begun to accept that I can be a part of both, I don’t need to be one or the other. 

Dating and Romance

In my family at least, ‘dating’ is done with the intention to marry. It all remains very chaste - with very little/no physical affection - until after marriage and almost all dates are with chaperones. The only ones that happen without chaperones are those in secret or those happening after the engagement. Nowadays, I feel like love marriages are the norm and most couples meet through being introduced by other people. 

Food

Food is a big part of our culture. In fact, if you’re invited to someone’s house, or if you pop in for five minutes, it’s considered rude to not sit down and have a cup of tea or even to have an entire meal. Food is one of the ways that we show affection for each other and, especially for important days like Eid, food plays a central role. Eating a meal together on a festival day like Eid is one of the few days of the year when all the adults and all the children gather together and spend time together. 

In my home at least, rice and curry is a staple. As Bangladesh is mainly riverine, fish is an important part of the diet. In fact, there’s a saying that if you can’t eat fish, you’re not really Bengali (which makes things a bit awkward for my uncle who is allergic to fish) and in some families there’s a tradition of a new bride cooking a fish curry on the second day of marriage. I’m not sure why, but it’s a thing. 

Home/Family life/ Friendship

I could talk about family for ages … 

My family is on the big side with my Mum being one of eight and my Dad being one of six. I’m one of three, but all of my cousins are considered like siblings - because we were raised as siblings. The familial bond is an important one and it’s often one that’s a burden to bear. For instance, as I’m the oldest granddaughter/niece/cousin I’m called affa by every cousin younger than me (Affa meaning older sister) and this burden is quite a heavy one to bear. It means that when the cousins experience any issues, they run to you to sort it out whether it’s something small or something big and it’s a burden I don’t mind shouldering. After all, it’s one I’ll likely have to carry for the rest of my life. 

Everyone older than you is treated with respect - even if you don’t want to respect them at all. For some reason, it’s an important thing.

Friendship between Bengali girls is … something else. Often we’ll break off and have our own conversation in Bengali as if it’s some sort of secret code and this usually comes in extremely handy when discussing secret birthday party plans in front of the person whose birthday we’re planning. Personally, my parents have never been strict that I can’t have any male friends - I honestly don’t think they care but I know of other parents who insist that their daughters can’t have male friends. 

Language 

To me particularly, the language was an important thing. I grew up bilingual because my grandparents lived with us and they couldn’t communicate in English. But, I don’t remember ever making the effort to learn it - it was something I picked up. I certainly can’t read or write in Bengali but I can speak it. However, this ability doesn’t seem to have transferred to my sister and most of the younger cousins. Most of my younger cousins can’t speak Bengali and so struggle to communicate with our grandparents and it’s sad to say but this isn’t strange at all. Many of the new generation British Bangladeshi’s can’t speak the language and in fact, they don’t care to learn it because they don’t see it as being worth passing along. 

Religion

As a Muslim woman, I find myself being constantly policed. Whether it’s by the media or by those around me. There seems to be a misconception that if a woman wears a hijab (the head covering) then she is the epitome of all things chaste and virtuous - but that’s not always the case. There are so many hijabis I know that don’t pray five times a day or keep their fasts or they drink etc. In fact, I’ve met a lot of muslim women who don’t wear hijab but their niyyah (intention) and their behaviour is inline with religion - my sister being an example. 

The basic 5 pillars of islam, the first of which is the shahadah which is the declaration of faith. This is whispered by father’s into their children’s ears at birth and is the last thing whispered into someone’s ear as they pass away.

The daily prayers are the second - with 5 prayers throughout the day and this is something I know many people struggle with, but I personally think that faith is a personal thing - you alone know your struggles. If you are praying 5 times a day and you are ridiculing someone who only prays once, you may think you’re doing the right thing. But for all you know - that person who prays once a day may be someone who reverted to the faith (revert being what we call converts) and they may be on the road to accepting Islam. Your two minutes of ridicule may even turn someone else away from peace they were hoping to find in Islam.

Zakat is the third which refers to giving alms to the poor and this is often done in the month of Ramadan. 

Fasting in Ramadan is the fourth pillar and during this month, Muslims fast from sun rise to sunset and we’re not allowed to drink or eat anything. (And yes - this includes water. Not even water? Is a question we always get)

The final pillar, the fifth refers to Hajj which is the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca. Everyone who is able to afford the trip and can make it, should complete it at least once in their lives. All my family who have been, have said that it is the most peaceful time they’ve ever spent in their lives. 

Things I’d like to see less of…

Muslim girls being ‘repressed’ by wearing the hijab and having a curfew and being secretly rebellious once they leave the home.

 Yes, I have a curfew but mostly it’s because my parent’s are terrified after hearing of all the stabbings and the acid attacks that happen to hijab wearing Muslim women

The overly strict father figure who is unreasonable and adores sons over his daughters. 

My father was on the strict side yes, but I realise now, after growing up and talking to him that it was all shaped on his own experiences. Yes, he might not have let me play in the streets until late like other kids but it was because when he was young, if he stayed out too late the racist teens would approach the Bengali children and attack them. My father was strict, but in the way that other parents in his position will be. (If anything, my mother is stricter … and the worst thing she does is text me a list of chores that she wants me to do whilst she’s at work)

That brings me onto the next point; the mother who stays at home being uneducated and relying on her husband for everything. 

There’s nothing wrong with that - but the issue comes when this character is used to put down Bengali women, to try and show how much better Caucasian educated women are. 

Another thing I absolutely can’t stand is the idea of a Bengali girl falling for some plain, boring Caucasian boy and he removes the wool from over her eyes, teaching her how repressed she was and how she should embrace this Western lifestyle. When a boy tried that on me in my first year of uni, I walked away from him the moment he told me that he has a hijab kink because Muslim girls are and I quote ‘untouched and I can teach them everything’.

Things I’d like to see more of…

Supportive family units. 

Whilst I might fall out with my parents every now and then, as is natural, they still support me. My father and I often head out for little ice cream cafe dates and my mother is teaching me to cook (although her cooking style tends to be put enough of this in and enough of that - there’s no measurements of anything) and my siblings and cousins and I gather as a whole every weekend. Those of us that live close enough to anyway. The 20+ of us that do gather, take over a house and all between the ages of 21 and 5 tend to be unruly and can go crazy but it’s a dynamic no one seems to want to represent.

The educated hijabi. 

Goodness, I can’t stand seeing the trope of a girl wanting to marry and pop out babies and etc - yes, it’s a valid trope but again, so many people use it to show how backwards we are. My eyes are even rolling now - Bengali Muslim girls are amongst some of the most driven people I have met and this is usually because the older women in our families weren’t given these opportunities and most people instantly assume that we’re not going to get far. 

Casual mentions of Islam - religion is a big part of a character. 

But I hate it being a controversial thing especially since Islam literally translates to ‘peace gained through submission to Allah’ and newsflash, Allah is the arabic word for God. That’s it. Why can’t we have characters who have to be home before sunset because they need to pray? Or hijabis needing to go shopping for a new headscarf or even phrases like 'this top would be so cute if it weren’t see through’ or 'if only this dress was floor length and then I wouldn’t have to wear leggings with it. I hate having to wear leggings in the heat’. These are things I regularly say! 

Wooow, this is long and I kind of ended up rambling. But I hope it helps someone! 

Read more POC Profiles here or submit your own.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

In Sorrow and In Joy- Part 8: To Be Grounded

Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.

CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.

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No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well

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Luke’s sure prayer is still going on, so he moves about the kitchen as quietly as he can. But that assumption is proven wrong when he hears Zahra’s cry from upstairs. “I have nothing to wear!” He knows for a fact her closet is packed to the hilt with clothes. But that’s not what she wants to hear. So he pauses in the kitchen, waiting for another huff to come. He knows it will. There’s some thuds from above him, sounds like stomping. Please, he begs silently, please just let today go well. Gripping the counter, Luke inhales for three seconds and exhales for five. That’s what his therapist warned him to do when he feels overwhelmed again. 

He passed overwhelmed a couple weeks. Right now he’s hanging on by threads. Though he’s positive those threads are gone too now, especially after last night. Last night, he fucked up. He knows he did. He slipped out of bed, snuck into the kitchen, grabbed whatever bottle he got his hands on and sat in the backyard, drinking right from the bottle. It felt good. He felt guilty too, but there was just an ounce of relief behind the guilt. Just enough for him to go for one more swig, when he knew he should’ve stopped. He feels terrible now, thinking about it agan. He feels even more like garbage because he keeps eying the stash. 

The stash only exists under the pretense that it’s there for company and company only. And for a while, that’s exactly what it was. Just for company. But now, it’s becoming his solace again. The thing that screws his head, or even unscrews it, when he’s overwhelmed so he doesn’t have to feel again. He has no clue how Calum does it, with three kids. Granted, Calum was always more level headed than he. But still Luke just can’t some days. He tries hard to be there for everything, he tries to understand the nuisance by being a teenager. He remembers what it feels like to have no control over your life. He knows, all too intimately, what it feels like to be someone else’s puppet. 

Luke slowly opens his eyes as he hears the soft click of dress shoes on the floor. Zeek rounds the corner, flashing a small smile to his father. “Upstairs is a warzone,” he laughs. “Shoes are flying.”

“It sounds like it,” Luke agrees. He pushes away from the counter, necklace hitting his chest and he waves Zeek over to the stove. “This look right?” he asks, waving over to the dish now simmering. 

Zeek nods. “Dad, you’re actually getting better at the whole cooking then.”

Luke’s chest bubbles with laughter. He was not the greatest cook, still isn’t the greatest. But he’s definitely gotten better. “Alright, smart alec,” he teases, ruffling the close crop of Zeek’s hair. Zeek huffs at his father’s antics. 

Noor’s the next one to survive the storm, covering the back of her head with her arms. “It’s dangerous up there,” she grins, finally standing to her full height. She pulls at the sleeves of her kurta. It’s similar to the grey one with a green pattern in your possession. Her’s is a light pink with gold accents around the neck and buttons. Noor took once glance to the one in your possession and fell in love with in it. So she begged her grandmother on the next adventure overseas to grab her one. 

Luke nods at her comment. He can only imagine the chaos happening up there. He doesn’t mean to leave all the messes to you. But he just can’t handle it right at this moment. He’s barely holding on anymore. He’s probably not holding onto anything anymore. But he can’t give up just yet. So he grabs the oven mitts and moves all the food to the table and kitchen island buffet style. 

After a few more minutes, the periodic stomps stop and the rhythmic sound of feet on stairs echoes. He knows it’s Zahra gate. She’s forgone anything too fancy, but still fancy enough in a blouse and billowy pant combination. “She’s arrived,” Luke teases. Ra huffs a little at Luke’s comment. She knows it’s just the band coming over, it’s nothing. But it’s one of the few things that Zahra does that makes her feel wholly herself. The day is hers. Well not really hers, but it puts her in the center. She has no one teasing her, no one prodding her about it. She can exist with no push back. 

You follow close behind Zahra, praying that the rest of the day goes without any more issues. With the kids focused on the food, you duck into the back room and grab the gifts. They’re all settled down, eager to receive what they know is behind your back in bags and envelopes. You hands the kids their gifts first, “Eid Mubarak,” falling off in rushed mumbles from their lips. You and Luke return the phrase. Zahra grins, peeping at the green in her hands. 

Luke hands his them his gifts. It’s always something extra. Noor immediately places the teardrop earrings on after cracking opening the box. Luke helps Zahra with the necklace and Zeek hugs you over the engraved pen. He’s always wanted a fancier pen to write and sign things his prints with, tired of using his drawing pens. The kids smile at you and Luke before all three rush back up stairs. 

“Do you know what’s happening?” You ask Luke. 

He shakes his head, asking you with his eyes if you know. You shake your head no, but grin as you hand over the gift for him. He always gives the same reaction, a head shake no, and a half step back. “You didn’t have.” You would think after nearly 15 years of marriage, he’d be used to this. But every year, it’s the same deal. 

You roll your eyes. “You are family.”

Luke’s never sure how to handle that. He knows he’s family. But he’s not family like this, this isn’t his holiday. He wasn’t raised on this. He doesn’t want to intrude. “Sweetheart, I’m being serious. Every year you do this.”

You huff a laugh. “And yet, every year you still refuse me.” Shaking the bag at him, you urge him to take the gift. He’s not sure what’s inside, the bag’s big, but not heavy. Cracking it open, he notices the record. He looks to you, eyes widened, jaw dropped. 

“How did you--What in the word?”

You just grin. The Rolling Stones record was not easy to come by. But you don’t let on to that. There’s no need. He pulls the record completely from the bag, the neon orange, yellow and red finally exposed. He grins, clutching it to his chest for a second, before flipping over to the back. “God, how long did this take to get?”

“Don’t worry about that. But you like it, right?”

“Babe, I love it,” he says softly, stepping into you. He places the record onto the counter before wrapping you up into a hug. Soft kisses line up around your forehead. The action reiterates his happiness with the gift. But you notice the hug’s not as tight as it usually is. You’re losing him. But you should you bring it up right now. You squeeze him just a little tighter for a beat and then pull away. 

The kids return. Noor holding a box and Zeek with a bag. He hands you the bag, watching your reaction. It’s just a book, one you mentioned in passing a couple weeks ago. The note is signed by all three kids. Luke feels his chest constrict as the sight of the necklace in his box. It’s a simple silver chain with a small pendant. On it there’s a circular design that just looks like an amalgamation of swirls. But Zeek talks about how there’s two different Z’s and an N inside the design to stand for the three of them, with your initial made up in the middle. “Guys, I love it. You three at the best thing to ever happen to me,” he says quietly hugging them. 

“Besides the band right?” Zeek teases. 

“He means before the band,” Noor corrects, lightly slapping at Zeek’s arm. 

Zeek rolls his eyes, but laughs. “Forgive me.”

There’s a twinge of disappointment when you realize Luke hasn’t given you anything. He’s always had something at this time. You woke in the morning and expected Luke to shove it into your hands almost immediately. But it didn’t happen, never one to try to make too big a scene you figured to wait. But here you are, waiting, still. 

“We waited to get you something else, Mum. But we were stomped,” Zahra confesses, hugging your side briefly.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the dreading feeling of disappointment from Luke’s lack of a gift. A smile lifts your lips. “I love it. I don’t need much.”

She nods. “But still, sometimes we want to spoil you.” You kiss the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her. As the kids settle down in the living until the rest of the boys and their families arrive, Luke pulls you into the kitchen. “I didn’t forget about you,” he whispers, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. 

You only nod. He’s saying that but you notice how his eyes keep leaving your face. What’s catching his attention so much? “You okay?” you ask, forcing his attention back to you. 

He’s not okay. He’s not. Luke pushes the glasses up on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know Michael’s bringing your gift. I didn’t forget. I swear to it.”

You nod. Why Michael has your gift is beyond you. But Luke’s not looking you directly in the eye, he keeps fidgeting with fingers. He’s slipping. The album’s taking longer than they originally thought, also they’re slowing down. Now with two of the four of them will fully established families. Michael’s on the verge of a family. He and his wife talk about having kids, but aren’t sure. Ashton’s settled down. But they’re antsy, they need an edge. They feel like they’ve lost it. But it can’t just be the record that’s getting to him. 

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” you state. “Whatever’s going on, tell me.”

He shakes his head. Was he that bad already? “I’m okay.”

“Find me when you feel like telling the truth.” You exit the kitchen. Normally, you aren’t this direct, this confrontational. But you refuse to watch Luke spiral again. Whatever the reason doesn’t matter, you just want him to be honest, to stop bottling things up. 

Luke watches the spot you were occupying for a beat too long. His body freezes and his chest squeezes. He’s all too reminded of the day you actually moved out of the house. Harlowe had helped you move your things. She carried Zahra on her hip and you and Luke stood on the porch. He couldn’t beg you not to leave. He begged you instead to remember that promise of a second chance. To let him get himself together. But it still hurt, still made him feel like someone had replaced his air with fire watching you walk down those steps and to your car. It still made him cry for an hour on his front porch when your car backed out first, Harlowe in the U-haul behind you. 

Oh he is not going through that again. But he can’t spill his guts right now. He clears his throat and steps out of the kitchen, knowing your gaze is locked dead on him. The doorbell sounds and Luke walks over to answer it. Michael grins at him, the small holding cage in his hands. “Babe,” Luke calls, waving Michael inside. 

You immediately notice the small kitten, clawing at the cage. A black persian cat. You know the breed all to well. Luke unlatches the door. He reaches inside and carefully collects the cat into his arms. “You’re not even a cat person,” you whisper. 

He crosses the hallway to you. “But you are.” Silently, he offers to small ball of fur to you. “He doesn’t have a name yet.”

Noor walks over, gently petting the cat in your arms on the head. “So we might’ve known about the cat. Do you know how hard it was to keep that a secret?”

“He’s very sweet. He climbed up my arm. I have video,” Michael laughs, pulling out his phone. You’re too busy with the kitten in your arms. His smoked gray almost black fur. The melancholy gaze behind bright blue eyes. For a moment, you are a kid again. You have no worries, no traveling from country to country. There’s no harm, no death, no pain. His fur is soft and thick between your fingers. He studies you intently for a moment, before bringing his gaze around the room. 

“He’s absolutely the cutest thing.” The awe is evident in your voice, your voice thick and vision blurring just a hair. 

“I told you, I didn’t forget.” Luke scratches the top of the kitten’s head. As you gaze up at him, he thinks for a moment, he’s back on track. It took him weeks to pick out the right cat. He even brought the kids to the shelter several times. It did not take much to get Michael in on housing the kitten until the holiday. Michael, after fostering his first kitten, started undertaking some furry friends into his care more often. 

“You don’t like cats,” you huff. You want to keep it together. But the tears are already rolling. 

Luke shrugs. “He’s cute. I miss having a furry friend in the house.” You two had Petunia until her end. Which was a hard hit. But sometimes the only way out is through. “It’s not a dog, but he’s still company.”

The kitten peers over your arms, a clear indication that they want to get down, so you gently lower to the ground and watch him inspect the foyer and kitchen. “What are you gonna name him?”

“Oh shit,” you huff. “I-I don’t know.”

Noor gently taps your arm, a warning glare for the curse word. But she grins. “I say Floyd. Because you like Pinky Floyd. But Zeek said Smoke. It sounded dumb to me. But I didn’t say it.”

“I can hear you!” Zeek shouts. 

“Love you!” she returns, ducking behind Luke. Zeek peers around the corner and rolls his eyes. She always uses Luke as a shield. But it’s okay, he’s going to get her back. Luke places a hand on her back, laughing. This is what he missed. He misses his kids needing him. Zahra spends most of her time in her room or with her friends. Zeek has always been reserved. He’s close, but he’s not affectionate all the time. Noor at first and to this day is still very close to Luke, but lately instead of running to him for help she calls you more often. If she’s out shopping and can’t choose between a top, she turns to you now. Luke feels like he’s not needed anymore. His whole recovery hinged on his family needing him.

Luke recognizes that he had to get better for himself too. He couldn’t keep down that path, but it was much easier to tell himself it was for the benefit of someone else too. It felt more urgent that way. And now that urgency was leaving him. He had been feeling it for weeks. Just lacked the right way to bring it up to anyone. As the house fills up with Ashton and his partner, followed by Calum and Harlowe and their crew, Luke finds himself able to forget the urge in the pit of his stomach. He’s able to gaze at the stash and not long for it. 

“You cannot bring Floyd to the table,” Luke smiles, watching Noor with the cat in her lap. 

“Please?” she pouts. 

A sigh escapes his lips but he nods. He can’t say no to her. She beams up at him, collecting the kitten and rushing to the table. She throws her free arm around Luke’s waist. “Love you, Dad.”

A few tears prick behind Luke’s eyes. He rubs her back for a moment. “Love you too. Now c’mon, let’s eat.”

__

Luke’s been on the deck for a while. After the boys left and the kitchen was scrubbed down, Luke slipped out of the house. You had only noticed as the backdoor slipped close. You wanted to walk out after him, but you know better. If he’s not willing to talk, you can’t force him. The kids settle down for a movie after a twenty minute argument of who gets to decide. Floyd’s already asleep in your lap. Another reason for your lack of escape to the backyard. But as the backdoor cracks open and Luke leans into the house, you know you’ll have to move now. 

You slide Floyd into Noor’s lap, the closest one to you. Normally this sight would make Luke feel at peace. Normally he’s slide in next to you and tussle Zeek’s hair. He’d do something, but all he can muster right now is the slight nod to the outdoors. You slip through the small crack in the door, brushing up against Luke’s chest in the process. He closes the door behind you. The sky is clear and still. You’d normally ask, pry into what’s going on. But you don’t have to, as soon as the glass shuts, Luke grabs your hand. 

“I’m not okay,” he starts. “I feel useless again. I know I was doing so well. The whole point of me getting better was to be here for my family. And I feel like I’m fading.”

“Why? Why do you feel like your fading”

“The kids don’t need me like before.”

“They grow up. Things change. It’s an unfortunate truth.”

“I just--I’m not equipped for it. It feels like it came without a warning.”

“Just like you weren’t equipped for fatherhood. No one can really fix that. I can’t snap my fingers and make things better.”

He sighs, looking out to the night. “I know.”

“Tell me what I can do. What do you need?”

Luke runs a hand over his face. He needs help, he needs to be grounded again. “Come with me to my next appointment. I-I don’t know what I need. I just know I need help.”

Wrapping an arm around his waist, you tuck your head to his chest. “I can do that.”

When shouts start up from the inside of the house, the all too distinct sound of the kids shouting at each other, Luke tenses. It’s too much, his feet are planted to the ground. He needs to be grounded. He has to keep it together. He can’t bare the thought of be separated again from his family. You rub his back. You know you’ll have to do some more heavy lifting in the house. “We’re getting rid of the alcohol too.”

He nods, face buried in your hair. He’s fine with that. He’d prefer it actually. He just doesn’t trust himself to do it. No one said being a parent would be easy, but Luke never thought it’d be this hard for him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I don’t have it together.”

“No one does. It’s okay to not have it together.”

“I’m sorry to do this on Eid. I really couldn’t have picked a worst time even if I tried.”

You laugh, softly, shoulders shaking just a tad. “Just as long as the kids got their gifts, we’re fine.”

“I’ll try to keep it together for the next two days.”

“If you need a breather, just let me know.” They’re kids aren’t particularly known for being the quietest bunch. It’s nothing but love, but it’s a well known fact. 

Luke lifts his head after kissing the crown of your head. “Thank you.”

You could say, ‘You’re welcome.’ You could tell him it’s your responsibility to care about his mental health. You could tell him a lot things. But the truth of the matter is that you will always care, you will always be there. “I love you,” you return. The truth of the matter is that even though it’s rocky you’re still by his side. That even though your heart breaks to see the man you love in such anguish, you are not going to give up on him. 

[mrjcollection]

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[justsomeantifas]

When Rokhaia Naassan gives birth in the coming days, she and her baby boy will enter a new category in the eyes of Danish law. Because she lives in a low-income immigrant neighborhood described by the government as a “ghetto,” Rokhaia will be what the Danish newspapers call a “ghetto parent” and he will be a “ghetto child.”

Starting at the age of 1, “ghetto children” must be separated from their families for at least 25 hours a week, not including nap time, for mandatory instruction in “Danish values,” including the traditions of Christmas and Easter, and Danish language. Noncompliance could result in a stoppage of welfare payments. Other Danish citizens are free to choose whether to enroll children in preschool up to the age of six.

Denmark’s government is introducing a new set of laws to regulate life in 25 low-income and heavily Muslim enclaves, saying that if families there do not willingly merge into the country’s mainstream, they should be compelled.

For decades, integrating immigrants has posed a thorny challenge to the Danish model, intended to serve a small, homogeneous population. Leaders are focusing their ire on urban neighborhoods where immigrants, some of them placed there by the government, live in dense concentrations with high rates of unemployment and gang violence.

Politicians’ description of the ghettos has become increasingly sinister. In his annual New Year’s speech, Prime Minister Lars Lokke Rasmussen warned that ghettos could “reach out their tentacles onto the streets” by spreading violence, and that because of ghettos, “cracks have appeared on the map of Denmark.” Politicians who once used the word “integration” now call frankly for “assimilation.”

That tough approach is embodied in the “ghetto package.” Of 22 proposals presented by the government in early March, most have been agreed upon by a parliamentary majority, and more will be subject to a vote in the fall.

Some are punitive: One measure under consideration would allow courts to double the punishment for certain crimes if they are committed in one of the 25 neighborhoods classified as ghettos, based on residents’ income, employment status, education levels, number of criminal convictions and “non-Western background.” Another would impose a four-year prison sentence on immigrant parents who force their children to make extended visits to their country of origin — described here as “re-education trips” —in that way damaging their “schooling, language and well-being.” Another would allow local authorities to increase their monitoring and surveillance of “ghetto” families.

Some proposals have been rejected as too radical, like one from the far-right Danish People’s Party that would confine “ghetto children” to their homes after 8 p.m. (Challenged on how this would be enforced, Martin Henriksen, the chairman of Parliament’s integration committee, suggested in earnest that young people in these areas could be fitted with electronic ankle bracelets.)

At this summer’s Folkemodet, an annual political gathering on the island of Bornholm, the justice minister, Soren Pape Poulsen, shrugged off the rights-based objection.

“Some will wail and say, ‘We’re not equal before the law in this country,’ and ‘Certain groups are punished harder,’ but that’s nonsense,” he said, adding that the increased penalties would affect only people who break the law.

To those claiming the measures single out Muslims, he said: “That’s nonsense and rubbish. To me this is about, no matter who lives in these areas and who they believe in, they have to profess to the values required to have a good life in Denmark.”

Yildiz Akdogan, a Social Democrat whose parliamentary constituency includes Tingbjerg, which is classified as a ghetto, said Danes had become so desensitized to harsh rhetoric about immigrants that they no longer register the negative connotation of the word “ghetto” and its echoes of Nazi Germany’s separation of Jews.

“We call them ‘ghetto children, ghetto parents,’ it’s so crazy,” Ms. Akdogan said. “It is becoming a mainstream word, which is so dangerous. People who know a little about history, our European not-so-nice period, we know what the word ‘ghetto’ is associated with.”

She pulled out her phone to display a Facebook post from a right-wing politician, railing furiously at a Danish supermarket for selling a cake reading “Eid Mubarak,” for the Muslim holiday of Eid. “Right now, facts don’t matter so much, it’s only feelings,” she said. “This is the dangerous part of it.”

For their part, many residents of Danish “ghettos” say they would move if they could afford to live elsewhere. On a recent afternoon, Ms. Naassan was sitting with her four sisters in Mjolnerparken, a four-story, red brick housing complex that is, by the numbers, one of Denmark’s worst ghettos: forty-three percent of its residents are unemployed, 82 percent come from “non-Western backgrounds,” 53 percent have scant education and 51 percent have relatively low earnings.

The Naassan sisters wondered aloud why they were subject to these new measures. The children of Lebanese refugees, they speak Danish without an accent and converse with their children in Danish; their children, they complain, speak so little Arabic that they can barely communicate with their grandparents. Years ago, growing up in Jutland, in Denmark’s west, they rarely encountered any anti-Muslim feeling, said Sara, 32.

“Maybe this is what they always thought, and now it’s out in the open,” she said. “Danish politics is just about Muslims now. They want us to get more assimilated or get out. I don’t know when they will be satisfied with us.”

Rokhaia, her due date fast approaching, flared with anger at the mandatory preschool program approved by the government last month: Already, she said, her daughter was being taught so much about Christmas in kindergarten that she came home begging for presents from Santa Claus.

“Nobody should tell me whether or how my daughter should go to preschool. Or when,” she said. “I’d rather lose my benefits than submit to force.”

Barwaqo Jama Hussein, 18, a Somali refugee, noted that many immigrant families, including her own, had been settled in “ghetto” neighborhoods by the government. She moved to Denmark when she was 5 and has lived in the Tingbjerg ghetto area since she was 13. She said the politicians’ description of “parallel societies” simply did not fit her, or Tingbjerg.

“It hurts that they don’t see us as equal people,” she said. “We actually live in Danish society. We follow the rules, we go to school. The only thing we don’t do is eat pork.”

About 12 miles south of the city, in the middle-class suburb of Greve, though, voters gushed with approval over the new laws.

“They spend too much Danish money,” said Dorthe Pedersen, a hairdresser, daubing chestnut dye on a client’s hairline. “We pay their rent, their clothing, their food, and then they come in broken Danish and say, ‘We can’t work because we’ve got a pain.’”

Her client, Anni Larsen, told a story about being invited by a Turkish immigrant to their child’s wedding and being scandalized to discover that the guests were separated by gender and seated in different rooms. “I think there were only 10 people from Denmark,” she said, appalled. “If you ask me, I think they shouldn’t have invited us.”

Anette Jacobsen, 64, a retired pharmacist’s assistant, said she so treasured Denmark’s welfare system, which had provided her four children with free education and health care, that she felt a surge of gratitude every time she paid her taxes, more than 50 percent of her yearly income. As for immigrants using the system, she said, “There is always a cat door for someone to sneak in.”

“Morally, they should be grateful to be allowed into our system, which was built over generations,” she said.