i Report Issue No. 3 2005 - Philippine Center for Investigative ...
i Report Issue No. 3 2005 - Philippine Center for Investigative ...
i Report Issue No. 3 2005 - Philippine Center for Investigative ...
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le Up<br />
le lim<br />
CHANGING FACE. Muslim<br />
women are slowly moving out<br />
of the safe cocoons of clan<br />
and community.<br />
like those I have, and so have yet<br />
to bridge a generational gap that<br />
has <strong>for</strong>med. During the National<br />
Muslim Youth Summit held at the<br />
Asian Institute of Management in<br />
2003, “confusion” was the catchword<br />
in the workshop discussions.<br />
The speakers were learned<br />
elders. The participants, meanwhile,<br />
were part of Generation<br />
M(uslim). Although they came<br />
from different cultural communities,<br />
they were all multilingual<br />
and educated in some of the top<br />
schools around the country and<br />
even abroad.<br />
One of the speakers<br />
crowed that this was the “new<br />
generation of future Muslim<br />
leaders”—mobile, techie, and<br />
assertive. But some of the participants<br />
expressed disappointment<br />
at their elders’ lack of<br />
sympathy <strong>for</strong> their “confusion.”<br />
“I don’t wear a veil but no<br />
one can question my faith,”<br />
said 24-year-old Maguindanaon<br />
<strong>No</strong>ra, a Manila-based nurse.<br />
“We are confused because we<br />
are curious.” She raised the<br />
issue of smuggling by a few<br />
Muslim entrepreneurs to which<br />
some elders had been willing to<br />
turn a blind eye, so long as the<br />
proceeds were given as zakat<br />
or charity. “Can (smuggling)<br />
be made permissible by giving<br />
(the proceeds) as zakat?” an<br />
incredulous <strong>No</strong>ra asked.<br />
“Have you read the whole<br />
Qur’an?” posed Lucman, offering<br />
advice from the elders. “Pray<br />
five times and affirm yourself<br />
with the graces of Allah.”<br />
All the speakers had advised<br />
us to “learn Islam.” Former MSU<br />
regent Ansary Alonto also said,<br />
“Islam is a system, a way of life.”<br />
But the older yuppies among<br />
the participants advised the<br />
youngsters to maintain an open<br />
mind. Said Aldean Alonto, who<br />
had gone to Ox<strong>for</strong>d University<br />
on an interfaith event: “Islam is<br />
a process, and (acknowledges)<br />
an ef<strong>for</strong>t to find yourself.”<br />
For me, that process is still<br />
ongoing. When I was a child,<br />
I thought I would end up as a<br />
singer. I had been starstruck as<br />
a kid and was a big movie fan;<br />
I loved per<strong>for</strong>ming as well. Yet<br />
being Maranao—and a girl—<br />
meant there were many things<br />
I could not do. Interest in the<br />
arts was discouraged because<br />
of its perceived anti-Islamicism.<br />
Even today many of us<br />
are still unable to deviate from<br />
professions chosen <strong>for</strong> us, like<br />
T H E L O S T G E N E R A T I O N<br />
nursing, medicine, engineering,<br />
and law. I took up law at the<br />
behest of my parents, although<br />
my heart wasn’t in it. It was<br />
only when I failed major prelaw<br />
courses that I allowed myself<br />
to follow my desire, which<br />
by then was no longer singing,<br />
but journalism.<br />
As the eldest of five, I had<br />
learned early on to be conscious<br />
of the larger group, to<br />
sacrifice and put the group’s<br />
interests first. Following tradition,<br />
we girls had to be very<br />
careful in choosing our friends.<br />
While my brothers had girlfriends,<br />
my sisters and I were<br />
chaperoned to avoid “developing”<br />
our crushes. We weren’t<br />
allowed to date or sleep over<br />
at other people’s houses. Contrary<br />
to what many outsiders<br />
assume, however, we girls—at<br />
least those in my family—were<br />
made to excel in academics.<br />
Mother wanted to be sure that<br />
if we were to marry and then<br />
were left by our husbands, we<br />
could use our education to<br />
survive on our own. (Mother’s<br />
own father had left their family<br />
<strong>for</strong> another woman.) Father,<br />
too, put a premium on education<br />
<strong>for</strong> his children. He was<br />
from a clan that placed professionals<br />
on pedestals and was<br />
himself an inspiration to many<br />
of his relatives to acquire an<br />
education and land a good job.<br />
Yet <strong>for</strong> all the restrictions and<br />
expectations put upon us, I still<br />
managed to have fun in high<br />
school. I was lucky because Father<br />
was a career diplomat and I<br />
was exposed to Western education.<br />
Traveling was an eye-opener.<br />
I learned to be sensitive and<br />
be open to other cultures aside<br />
from my own. Practicing my<br />
faith had its ups and downs, but<br />
I was soon to learn that to know<br />
my religion, I had to experience<br />
the lack of it.<br />
THAT CAME when I reached<br />
college. I suddenly had the<br />
freedom to party and socialize.<br />
That freedom, however, also<br />
brought me one dilemma after<br />
another. While my upbringing<br />
taught me precaution, the<br />
ethos on campus was to live<br />
life. While I was boxed in by<br />
rules be<strong>for</strong>e, I was now being<br />
urged to make my own rules.<br />
My response in part was to<br />
widen my search <strong>for</strong> myself. I<br />
met atheists who questioned<br />
God and all the fundamentals<br />
of existence. I attended masses,<br />
learned of the Christian faith. I<br />
read alternative literature aside<br />
from the religious text. Yet as I<br />
searched, I had one tangible evidence<br />
of my Muslim identity: my<br />
hijab, which I began wearing at<br />
age 17. I had made the decision<br />
to wear one on my own, without<br />
any parental prodding, without<br />
a mullah lecture, without<br />
pressure from my peers. I had<br />
read through the Qu’ran and<br />
saw in there the rationale <strong>for</strong> the<br />
veil. Rather than being segregationist<br />
or purist, the hijab is an<br />
acknowledgement that women<br />
can work alongside any individual,<br />
male or non-Muslim. I do<br />
not have to be judged based on<br />
my physical appearance, even as<br />
my hijab makes me aware that<br />
I have to be “good” to earn my<br />
keep <strong>for</strong> the afterlife.<br />
I have since noticed that<br />
others wear the veil as a matter<br />
of convenience or culture,<br />
with the hijab taking on different<br />
nuances, depending on the<br />
wearer’s community or tribe.<br />
Women of the Tausug tribe wear<br />
their caps with sequins, those<br />
in Maguindanao prefer colored<br />
nets, and the Maranao go <strong>for</strong><br />
PHILIPPINE CENTER FOR INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM<br />
I REPORT<br />
53