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<div class="at-above-post-homepage addthis_tool" data-url="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/covid-19-made-immigrants-us/"></div>I find myself pulled into memories of my childhood as I fall asleep in the passenger seat of the car on a long drive. The sound of a turn signal, my body weight shifting as a car turns right, even now, has the ability to take me back in time to when I was a nine- or ten-year-old sleeping in the back of the blue Toyota Corolla station wagon we had. It was always the right turn signal for our street that would bring me back to consciousness. The memory comes without calling — incoherent feelings and sensations all at once. In a split second I am wrenched out of my current life and into another. Pried from this country into another. I wake up disoriented and look up at the sky out of the car window.
Blue sky, white clouds.
The same sky hangs over my parents in Pakistan. The thousands of miles between us seem insurmountable in that moment. What my unconscious mind is able to traverse unexpectedly, I physically cannot. While my memories are able to pour through the barriers of time, I cannot ignore the barriers between countries.
I’ve been living in this country since the age of 18. I came on a student visa, eventually got a green card after I got married, and some years later became a citizen. I was never undocumented. I did not have to live in fear of a detention center, being deported, or being exploited for my labor due to being an immigrant. Those are realities I cannot comprehend or speak for. But there is something about the immigrant experience at large, that must be acknowledged, especially in these times. There are two feelings that go hand in hand for most immigrants: deprivation and a lack of control.
For me, to be an immigrant is to be deprived of the deliciousness of the sound of my name being spoken correctly by everyone and without hesitation in my native tongue; deprived of the smell of food cooking with the “correct” ingredients;  deprived of the taste of my favorite meal, the way it’s supposed to be; deprived of the sounds of kids playing cricket on the hot streets of Karachi in the late afternoon; deprived of the texture of my mother’s clothes and her skin as I put my head in her lap while she strokes my hair.
It is a deprivation of the senses. And so it is my senses which, when ignited in particular ways, jolt me into reliving a particular moment from another time, another country. When these senses latch on to a sound, a smell, a feeling, a taste, they pluck me right out of my life and drop me in the middle of another.
Deprivation. Lack of control. They go hand in hand for immigrants.
Of course, not all immigrants have the same experiences, and there are non-immigrants who experience the world in this way. But while the intensity of these experiences of deprivation and lacking control may differ by degrees for various immigrant groups depending on their country of origin and how that intersects with race, gender, language, religion, and particular governmental policies, the feelings are always there.
In early 2001, I was in graduate school. Among other things I was planning my wedding to a fellow student in my graduate program. My husband, who is Italian-American, had never traveled to Pakistan at that point. Our plan was to have a wedding in Pakistan and then have another in Connecticut. Then 9/11 happened. Still on a student visa, and the US embassy closed temporarily, there was no way for me to leave the US and be guaranteed a return. I got married in 2002, in Connecticut. My parents couldn’t be there, nor could my oldest brother. They didn’t have visas to travel to the US nor would they be granted those visas after 9/11. Travel remained precarious for those of us from countries known as the “axis of evil” — or close enough — and I found myself not being able to return to Pakistan until December of 2003. By that point it had been over four years since I had seen my parents. My parents met my husband for the first time then, after we had already been married for nearly a year and half.
September 11, 2001 made things worse, but my family had been missing out on each other’s important life events long before then. Previously, my sisters had all had children born without each of us being present. Similarly, my family would miss the births of my daughters in 2005 and 2008. In fact, it wouldn’t be until my daughters were 8 and 11 that they would meet my sister’s children, who were roughly the same ages as them, for the first time. It was the impending threat of a ban on travel from Muslim countries, and her children’s distress that they would never see their cousins in the US, that pushed my sister into making that trip here.  My parents have yet to meet my younger daughter, who is almost twelve now. As a family, we’ve gone through life’s happiest moments, and life’s most challenging moments without being able to hold each other and offer a physical shoulder to cry on. That is the life of an immigrant — even under the best of circumstances.
Lack of control. Deprivation. These have marked the immigrant experience and now they mark us all. With social distancing, stay at home orders, and quarantining of those who are ill with COVID-19, we are all feeling:
<blockquote>The hunger for our favorite foods, going to our favorite restaurant, hanging out with friends;
The desperation to get to the groceries we need;
The longing for a parent, sibling, or friend to share the trials of child-rearing with us;
The ache of not being able to put our arms around our loved ones and hold them close in moments of distress or joy;
The fear of not being able to travel if something happens to our parents or other loved ones who don’t live with us;
The fear of not being able to say goodbye except perhaps over the phone;
The trauma of burying our loved ones in isolation and bringing them into the world in isolation.</blockquote>
These are the immigrant experiences that COVID-19 has universalized. We can forget about these experiences once life returns to “normal.” Or we can let them change how we relate to one another, the kinds of policies we support, and the kinds of politics we tolerate.
Let us use this moment to reach out with empathy and compassion towards those who have been marginalized, and separated from their loved ones and their homes.  Let us not let this virus be another occasion to carve deep trenches, erect tall walls, and build detention centers that separate us. Let us not allow fear and fear mongering to lead us to blaming, distrusting, or scapegoating those who are already suffering.
COVID-19 has forced us, as Harper Lee’s Atticus Finch put it, to climb inside someone else’s skin and walk around. Let us remember how it feels even when this crisis is over and let our walk lead to a place of understanding, compassion, love, and human connection.
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How COVID-19 Made Immigrants of Us All

burkini_cover

<div class="at-above-post-homepage addthis_tool" data-url="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/celebrate-sports-illustrateds-burkini-cover/"></div>Is a burkini-clad Muslim woman on the cover of a magazine known for skimpy bikinis and objectified naked bodies of women a sign of progress and empowerment, or is it exploitative and oppressive? That seems to be the question on people’s minds after seeing <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2019/04/30/making-history-sports-illustrateds-swimsuit-issue-will-feature-model-burkini-hijab/">Halima Aden, wearing a burkini</a>, on the cover of the recent swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated.
The response to the cover, so far, <a href="https://www.si.com/swim-daily/2019/05/09/halima-aden-si-swimsuit-hijab-burkini-criticism-social-media-comments-inspiration">has been sharply split</a>. There are those who believe that a burkini on the cover of Sports Illustrated represents progress and empowerment, indeed a shattering of perceptions — which is the <a href="https://www.si.com/swim-daily/2019/03/25/si-swimsuit-2019-issue-shattering-perceptions-beauty">theme of the edition</a>. And there are those who believe that this is <a href="https://www.csmonitor.com/The-Culture/2019/0508/How-first-burkini-in-SI-swimsuit-edition-is-shaping-gender-debate">exploitative and manipulative</a> on the part of the magazine and doesn’t do much to challenge stereotypes.
So which is it?
If we listen to the words of Halima Aden herself (in the <a href="https://www.goodmorningamerica.com/culture/story/halima-aden-makes-history-model-wear-burkini-sports-62688135">various videos</a> where she discusses this photoshoot, or on Twitter), we see that she finds the experience personally empowering and believes this development is “monumental.” She talks about being a seven-year-old girl flipping through magazines and not seeing anyone wearing the hijab. She has since gone on to become Miss Minnesota, land a cover on Vogue, and now Sports Illustrated — all while wearing a hijab. In a behind-the-scenes video for this photoshoot posted on the Sports Illustrated website, while looking over the pictures from her photoshoot, she gleefully declares at one point: “I am sexy!”
I do not doubt that the experience is liberating for Aden. I also do not doubt that for some women and young girls it is heartening to see a woman with dark skin wearing a hijab, walking the runway, or gracing a magazine cover.
Yet <a href="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/new-muslim-woman-fashionista-suspect/">visibility does not mean empowerment</a>, even though we know visibility and representation are crucial in challenging stereotypical views. Is this representation going to advance new understandings of Muslim women? Are people going to look at her image and stop making assumptions about Muslim women as oppressed? Will France or other Western nations become more accepting of the burkini on their beaches? Probably not.
To be fair, Halima Aden’s interviews do challenge the stereotype of a non-agentic Muslim woman. Aden has successfully demanded and held strong to the restrictions she imposes on her contracts and what she’ll wear; she travels independently; she is outspoken and determined. But a still photo in a magazine, which is likely to get much more attention than any of her interviews, is unable to capture who Aden is as a woman, and may inadvertently create new impositions on Muslim women.
What does the audience see in these photos of Aden wearing a hijab and burkini on the pages of Sports Illustrated? We see that Aden is “different” than other models — she wears a hijab and burkini. But we also see that she’s not really different — she poses seductively in the same kinds of poses that other nearly nude models are in; she wears make-up; she is slim, beautiful, with a bright smile. While she transgresses some ideals of beauty and self-presentation, she reinforces many others.
Or perhaps it is because she is reinforcing and upholding some of those other beauty ideals that she is able to transgress by wearing the burkini — and still be celebrated for it.
Thus, more disturbingly, I would argue that this new representation of a Muslim woman has the potential to impose further restrictions and expectations on Muslim women who wear the hijab. The hijab, currently met with uncertainty, disdain, and suspicion for being perceived as oppressive or as a symbol of radicalization, could become further subject to surveillance and scrutiny: you can wear the hijab — if  you also present yourself as a consumer of fashion, makeup, and sexiness. Soon there will be a right way — cute, attractive, beautiful, and sexy if you can swing it — and a wrong way — not wearing make-up, wearing dull colors, not being fashionable, being unattractive — to be a hijab-wearing Muslim woman.
The Sports Illustrated cover also cements the view that all Muslim women wear headscarves. Aden is not perceived as a Muslim woman who chooses to wear the hijab — she is seen as a Muslim woman. Period.
The hijab, then, has become more and more important in defining a “true” or “authentic” version of Muslim womanhood. Other representations of Muslim women are left out or seen as “inauthentic.” But Islam, like any other religion, is practiced in a variety of ways. The Sports Illustrated photos of Aden create an understanding of the hijab as simultaneously more important than it should be, by reinforcing its status as the defining symbol of a Muslim woman’s identity, and less important than it is by implying that wearing a hijab doesn’t mean you have different values (you can still be sexy!). This, of course, is totally contrary to the motivations of many Muslim women who adopt the hijab in order to be modest and to avoid being objectified (among other motivations).
To be clear, as I said earlier, seeing an image of a woman in a hijab and burkini might resonate with some young girls and women who have never seen that represented before. And I certainly do not doubt that Aden herself feels empowered in the act, nor do I fault her for it. But we must distinguish between personal forms of empowerment and whether they translate to wider benefits for a marginalized community or group.
In the absence of challenges to discriminatory policies and behaviors towards Muslims, a fashionable, slim, attractive, sexy Muslim woman isn’t likely to change the way Muslims are treated. In fact, it may bring a new set of pressures and expectations for Muslim women to navigate.
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Photo by Yu Tsai for Sports Illustrated.
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Should we celebrate Sport&#8217;s Illustrated&#8216;s burkini cover?

Should we celebrate Sport&#8217;s Illustrated&#8216;s burkini cover?

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<div class="at-above-post-homepage addthis_tool" data-url="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/fan-fat-shaming-stop-thin-praising/"></div>Kelly Clarkson, the Grammy-winning singer, <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2017/07/05/entertainment/kelly-clarkson-body-shaming/index.html">simply wanted to thank service members</a> on July 4th. Natalie Hage, a model, simply wanted to <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-40479311">fly to her photo-shoot</a> in Los Angeles. Instead of being the somewhat ordinary events they should’ve been, these occasions turned into direct attacks on these women and their weight. <a href="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/fan-fat-shaming-stop-thin-praising/#more-4682" class="more-link">Read more</a>
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Not a Fan of Fat Shaming? Stop Thin Praising.

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<div class="at-above-post-homepage addthis_tool" data-url="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/dress-codes-discipline/"></div>By <a href="https://lareviewofbooks.org/contributor/afshan-jafar">Afshan Jafar</a>
As we shed winter coats and layers as days grow longer and warmer, as we delight in the tingling sun beating on our exposed skin, we&#8217;re confronted with a round of stories that remind us: our bodies are not our own. <a href="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/dress-codes-discipline/#more-3914" class="more-link">Read more</a>
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Dress Codes and Discipline

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<div class="at-above-post-homepage addthis_tool" data-url="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/believing-seeing/"></div>By <a href="https://lareviewofbooks.org/contributor/afshan-jafar/">Afshan Jafar</a>
As chair-elect and long-time member of a university faculty steering committee — the academic equivalent of a senate executive committee — I have been accused of many things over the years: having an “agenda”; being “aggressive”; being “strident”; being “blunt”; being “obfuscating”; looking for “special treatment”; and not being “forthright” are just a few of those. These negative responses were often prompted by what I believed to be innocuous actions, such as reading a piece of legislation to answer someone’s question (“obfuscating” and “not forthright”); pointing out that our evening faculty meeting time was not convenient for parents and especially mothers (“having an agenda” and “looking for special treatment”); trying to finish my sentence while somebody was trying to interrupt me (“strident” and “aggressive”). <a href="https://blog.lareviewofbooks.org/essays/believing-seeing/#more-3746" class="more-link">Read more</a>
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Believing is Seeing

Afshan Jafar is an associate professor of sociology at Connecticut College. She is the author of Women’s NGOs in Pakistan, and the co-editor for Bodies without Borders and Global Beauty, Local Bodies.