David Baddiel discusses his latest entertaining and innovative work, THE INFIDEL, a comedy that explores the interactions of faith and culture in Britain.

David Baddiel is a comedian, novelist, columnist and screenwriter. He first found fame in the UK in the early 90s, for the BBC radio and TV series, THE MARY WHITEHOUSE EXPERIENCE.  Most recently, he created and hosted a Radio 4 comedy discussion programme, HERESY, and in November 2007, BBC1 screened his documentary, BADDIEL AND THE MISSING NAZI BILLIONS.

Luqman Ali explores the richness and relevance of theatre in Britain today and its resonances in the British Muslim community.

Luqman Ali is the Artistic Director and CEO of Khayaal Theatre Company, an award-winning theatre company which explores Muslim world culture through contemporary art forms. Luqman has a background in the Islamic sciences and the languages (Arabic, Persian and Urdu) of the Muslim world. He is African American of Fulani heritage, but has spent most of his life in the UK.

My biggest fear growing up was assimilation. I was desperate not to assimilate, to be different, to stand out from the crowd; as a teen my hair was the shortest in the class, I’d be listening to Prince when everyone else was into Nirvana, and later on in life I prided myself in making sure every major life changing decision was predicated on following the road less travelled. So it didn’t come as much of a surprise to my parents – both doctors – when I told them I was going to make movies for a living!

I’ve just produced my first feature film, THE INFIDEL which is a culture clash comedy written by David Baddiel and starring Omid Djalili about a Muslim man who finds out that he was adopted and born Jewish! For a small, independently made movie, the press and public reaction has been fantastic. We’ve doubled our screens since opening weekend and cinemas are selling out up and down the country. But getting to this point hasn’t been easy; producing an independent film is hard at the best of times but such a ‘controversial’ subject matter? It proved too worrying for many film financiers…

But I think they had a rather superficial understanding; at its heart THE INFIDEL is feel good, funny and fatwa free. Any perceived controversy is there for all the wrong reasons. What’s really controversial and unique about this film is that it doesn’t care to assimilate. Most other movies with ethnic minority characters, from EAST IS EAST to FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, are about a minority trying to orient and assimilate into the majority, mainstream and ultimately non ethnic culture. It’s amazing to think that Mahmud Nasir and his family are the only onscreen Muslims that I can think of who aren’t battling against who they are. They aren’t extremists, they aren’t oppressed, confused or embarrassed about their identity – they are just regular Muslims. Who come up against a really irregular problem! But by showing what life is like for most Muslims in this country what THE INFIDEL is also saying is “we are here, we speak the same language as you, support the same football teams… and we also hate terrorists!” And that is pretty fresh.

So I admit my fear of assimilation was rather naive, I didn’t realise that it had already happened and what I needed to concentrate on was finding my own voice and way of communicating that voice. For me, that means who I am as a Muslim, a woman, a filmmaker and a Brit. My hope for the next decade is that the new generation of Muslims are confident enough to listen to their own voice and stop hiding behind labels that others create. Whether it’s your parents trying to define you or the wider society, the Islamic way forward is to take responsibility for yourself, seek out knowledge and work on who you are and what you have to say.

That’s the only way you can really contribute to the culture around you…

Uzma Hasan is Development Producer at Slingshot Studios. She sits on the selection committees for MAISHA Labs and the British Independent Film Awards. She is London Chapter Head of Harvardwood, the official network of Harvard alumni in the entertainment and media industries. She graduated from University of Wales, Cardiff in English Literature and went on to study Film and Literature at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences.

In the future, what would I want? A world without the need for telephone helplines services providing listening ears and safe spaces for many members of our societies with no place/s to turn. As Head of Support Services of the Muslim Youth Helpline (MYH), Britain’s first and only telephone helpline service dedicated to Muslims, which may sound like a very peculiar wish, not to mention a “resignation letter”, for myself. So why make such a statement?

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” is an age old  philosophical riddle which at first hand raises questions regarding observation and knowledge of reality. However, dig a little deeper and it can be applied to a subject that is more synonymous with our daily lives, whatever strand of society we may arise from. To rephrase, if there no one there to listen, has something actually been said, or EVEN existed in the first place?

The many great orators and stories of modern and previous times would simply have not existed or been shared in the first place. Would a teacher have been able to teach if there had been no student to listen and absorb? When put within an Islamic context, how would the prophet Muhammed (pbuh) have propagated his message, if there had been no one able to listen and propagate his message to?

Although such examples may reside within the philosophical realm and also due to history may be difficult to relate to, what relevance would the art of listening have in our modern and more interconnected world? How would it feel, in both an individual and communal context, to live in a world where listening were to become a lost art? How would we share our lives, both the high and lows, with those around us, in such a society, and what effect would this have on us as individuals and as a community?

Would community thus cease to exist? Some may even argue that we live in such a world already, whilst for some members of the community, such a world is not just confined to this piece, but is lived by them every day. Our experience at MYH shows that young Muslims are increasingly reluctant to access mainstream support services for fear of being discriminated and misunderstood, and conversely mainstream support services are struggling to serve hard to reach minority Muslim youth.

What do we see as the as the key to overcoming such daunting challenges with deep seated roots? Many complex and varies “solutions” have been proposed, from various bodies, institutions, think tanks etc, but what of the art of listening? My vision for 2020; a world in which every person has someone who will listen to them, communities who will listen to each other, institutions and bodies who will listen…each empowering themselves and being empowered by each other. That is my vision for 2020 and one I will happily work towards, even if I work myself out of a job.

Milad Ahmed has been working in the field of youth and community work, primarily focusing on individuals from disadvantaged backgrounds. He is the Head of Support Services of the Muslim Youth Helpline (MYH). MYH is a free and confidential peer support service that provides pioneering non-judgemental and non-directional support. The service is operated by trained volunteer staff and can be accessed by phone, email, Internet chat or letters.

I often hear the complaint, with some justification, from many friends that Muslims are almost always portrayed negatively in the media; as wildly exaggerated caricatures of stereotypical backward types, or as the vanguard of the new feminist movement who are using driving lessons to kick start the revolution.

For some reason, they say, of all the immigrant religious communities that live in Britain, Sikhs and Hindus are seen as being more integrated and seem to get a better press. How do they manage it without trying, they wonder? It’s not like Muslims are so very different.

Of course, there’s a very simple answer to this. Muslims aren’t always portrayed negatively in the media. They’re portrayed mostly negatively in the news, because the news is there primarily to report on bad stuff, and unfortunately there are Muslims who are doing a lot of seriously bad stuff. And of course, during a time of economic doom and gloom, nothing makes people happier than communal moaning against a perceived enemy. You could argue some journalists are actually doing a public service. Obviously at the serious disadvantage of one community, but Muslims are always advised to act for the greater good. Being the scapegoat is almost like a charitable act. There’s probably a prophetic saying about it somewhere.

And in other media – documentaries, films and soaps, for example – watching decent, law abiding people would be about as interesting as watching a day in the life of Ned Flanders. You watch most programmes for the unfolding dramas, and drama only happens where there’s a rubbing point. Through them you find out who a person really is, and what makes them tick. You find them annoying, you hate them, you respect them, you grow to love them.

A prime example of Sikhs getting good press recently was Channel 4’s “The Family” which was brilliant. If you haven’t watched it, I recommend it highly. Here’s an average Asian family, where their Sikhness was a beautiful accompaniment to the drama of their lives. Despite all the ups and downs (often relating to cultural values), and character flaws you end up leaving with a really positive image of just a normal family.

The problem isn’t that Sikhs or Hindus get better press because there’s a vendetta against portraying Muslims in a positive light. The real problem is that there just aren’t enough Muslims willing to open up their lives, be the story and allow the development of a relationship with the audience.

I was recently working in development – that murky part of the television industry where people mooch around for a few hours on the internet, or reading newspapers, trying to come up with the next big idea that will keep them in employment for the next few months. It’s not like there’s not an appetite for life stories from different communities. If anything, there’s a thirst for it.

But there was clearly a disconnection. Nobody I spoke to really wanted to talk about their issues for any ideas I had about their family stories.

There are probably two main reasons for this. One; a sometimes justified distrust of how your story will be edited, but mainly; nobody wanted to air their dirty linen in public. What would the community say?

For this, I can only point to The Family and say there were any number of issues going on in that family – a daughter whose family had disowned her. A father who was slightly misogynistic (in a charming kind of way). An incredibly lazy younger son who just slept all day. But you never felt anything other than this was a charming family who were just getting on with their own lives.

There is a problem with Islamophobia in this country, but it’s not going to really go away, unfortunately, until people feel they know that Muslims are normal people. At the moment, most of what they see will be what makes the news.

In the coming years, the next challenge for Muslims will be to become comfortable with the media as a means of entertainment – rather than (mis)information. We need to have a laugh at ourselves, not take ourselves too seriously and not judge each other so harshly. Forget about what the community will say. Yes, any Muslim on TV for a non-news item is a bit of a novelty. But we need to get to a place where it’s just a normal part of British TV.

And next time, when I come knocking on your door asking about your 5 year old son’s drinking problem, please say yes.

Tamanna Rahman is a Broadcast Journalist with BBC News. In October 2009 she presented an eye-opening episode of Panorama dealing with racism in Britain, for which she was subsequently awarded the Royal Television Society award for Young Journalist of the Year in 2010. Tamanna read History at the University of Manchester.

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The sight of different cultures and religions coexisting is an inspirational one and worthy of preserving and sharing. I enjoy capturing the vibrant images of people and landscape from different parts of the world through the photographic medium. By doing so, I attempt to document and relay the atmosphere and richness of cultures from lands beyond Britain such that here we may share and learn from them. My images are snapshots of moments in time and I particularly enjoy natural portrait photography. With precision and care I seek to arrest not only an image, but the deep emotions imbued within it.

Suleman Khan is a professional photographer based in London. His diverse range of photography, from scenic to occasion, developed over the past ten years, has enabled him to explore a number of photographic areas and develop his own unique style. Suleman’s work can be viewed at www.321clickphoto.com

A few weeks ago, I found myself wandering through the Omar Khayyam exhibition at the British Library. The exhibition celebrated the 150^th anniversary of Edward Fitzgerald’s publication of ‘The Ruibaiyat of Omar Khayyam’ – it was a translation that would spark a cultural phenomenon, gaining popularity in the fashionable ranks of the British elite. These verses, written by a Persian polymath in the 12^th century, became a poetic sensation in the Victorian arts scene. Admirers in both British and American intellectual circles established clubs and societies in Khayyam’s honour, and even today the ‘Rubaiyat’ has barely been out of print.

Why then, when I’m to focus on the decade ahead, am I looking two centuries into the past? Because the story of the Rubaiyat is one that gives me inspiration. When I reflect on changes in the Muslim community in the last ten years, I’m overwhelmed by the growth and vibrancy that pulsates within us.  The last ten years has seen the first generation of young British-born Muslims blossom into an exciting movement: a generation who are educated, savvy and confident in their faith. We’ve seen more Muslims breaking barriers and establishing themselves in the highest ranks of law, politics, medicine, sports and the arts. You are now just as likely to find Friday sermons being delivered in the skyscrapers of the City of London, or even the corridors of Whitehall, as you are in a mosque in Leicester.

But one of the most impressive developments of all has been in our culture, and I don’t mean by the growth of curry houses. What I’m referring to is the creation of brand ‘British Islam’. The last ten years has seen something astounding: young British Muslims affirming the cultural heritage of their parents, and transforming it into a new British Muslim culture- our version of cool Britannia. It’s a culture which has enriched charity fundraising, produced glossy magazines, created a successful alternative music and entertainment industry, seen Muslim women become trendsetters (think pashminas, layering and dresses over trousers – you saw it on us first), committed the story of a Muslim woman seeking love to the legacy of British literature and, most importantly, seen a Muslim family on Eastenders. 10 years ago none of this would have been possible and this progress (by God’s grace) has been phenomenal. It signifies the level of confidence the British Muslim community have reached and will play a vital role in ensuring the next generation feel part of something distinctly British, while still affirming their Islamic values.

Now, where do we want this new culture to take us in the next 10 years? I see two scenarios. The first, is the ‘parallel society’; where I can wake up in the morning, read my Muslim newspaper, change into my Muslim designer hijab/jilbab, and pump out Muslim-music on the way to work (for a Muslim organisation). When home, I can watch a Muslim television channel, or perhaps read a Muslim novel or magazine. Somewhere in-between I will pick up my cousin from her Islamic primary school and drop her off to Muslim Scouts. To top it off, I could even eat some Muslim chocolate.

Unnerved yet? I am. The temptation for many of us is to stay within our comfort zones. As a community, it would be easy now for us to build a bubble around us, where we can remain safely protected from (what some assume are) the ‘corrosive’ influences and ‘Islamophobia’ of wider society. But there are many problems with this route; firstly, that it is simply not healthy for us to remain cut off from mainstream British culture – a lack of engagement will only perpetuate baseless fears of one another. But secondly, and more importantly, having gained such internal confidence and knowing how much artistic potential we have as a community, why should we not confidently engage with mainstream culture?

This leads me to my second scenario: the ‘Omar Khayyam’ scenario. Here ‘brand British Islam’ evolves into an intractable and influential part of wider British culture. Where value-based music is a regular feature on radio and where the fashion industry can empower rather than objectify young women. Where the music, or the poetry, or the art we produce is not necessarily self-consciously Islamic, or solely for the consumption of Muslims; but, like the writings of Omar Khayyam, it is influenced by the general values that Islam promotes, making ‘brand British Islam’ something that all of British society can benefit from.

Britain is blessed with a thriving cultural legacy; something that we can, and should, all benefit from. But for me, this is a decade where Muslim artists, writers, publishers, journalists, designers, presenters and musicians can become role models for young Britons across the country, whatever their beliefs. In a popular culture that is often value-lacking, I believe that Muslims have a great deal to offer their compatriots: a culture that can be sophisticated and vibrant, whilst adding realism and values in place of airbrushing and fantasy.  This ties in neatly with our Islamic duty to ‘enjoin good’, contributing our values in a way that would, God willing, lead to the betterment of the society around us.

The poet Rumi famously said “Be not content with stories of those who went before you. Go forth and create your own story”. Let us be inspired by the story of Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat – but let us not dwell on it. I believe the creative talents of our generation will lead us somewhere far more inspiring in the next decade. And we have the potential to create a great legacy.

Sadia Kidwai graduated in summer 2009 from the London School of Economics with a degree in History and International Relations. She is currently working as a research assistant and volunteer community worker in Cardiff.

Something struck me the other day whilst flicking through Facebook. I don’t have many white friends. Hell, I have around 20, from a list of 450. Damn. There’s a common conception I feel amongst many English people and non-Muslims in general – that Muslims “don’t mix”. Are we really that bad?

I think it’s important for Muslims to make that extra effort to integrate, but recognise it can be difficult at times. Like on my Law course for example. For a while I had a problem; every time I’d be invited out by my largely-white tutorial group, it would either be to a pub or a rave.

After having waited a few months, and in my determination not to appear anti-social, the first opportunity I got to extend my hand in a seemingly halal social context, I did so. Having trimmed my already tiny excuse for a beard down to size, I turned up to Covent Garden tube station. 6.45pm. Not used to seeing me “out”, I got a few genuine smiles and one or two funny looks. The plan was to eat out at a restaurant called Leon. First stop though, was Oddbins, to stack up on beer and wine of course.

“Ready fer a good piss-up maaate?”.

“Erm no (smiling nervously). Sorry I don’t drink”.

“Wahay, okay.”

We got to the dinner table and I was sticking out like a sore thumb already. Everyone was getting “licked”. I was in a corner trying to make conversation with the guy on my left, who, in all honesty was making an effort too. Could we talk politics? Sports? Music? Nope, it was never ending drunken stories all round. “You know in third year, I got so hammered I fell out of a balcony”. Hmmm. I tried desperately to think of something equally as fun to talk about but slightly more halal. “Ermmm so how did you find last week’s equity tutorial?” A ten-second response later, it was back to the drawing board for me. A good talking point would have been football. Everyone likes football. What didn’t help was that I know nothing about the game. My friends tell me I’m sad, don’t worry.

You would have thought I was out with a bunch of Sun-reading builders. But no, these guys were ridiculously smart. Firsts from Oxford, Cambridge, Warwick and all that. But things weren’t quite working. I could always get better conversations out of them during tutorials and lunch breaks.

So what is it that distinguishes this bunch from the non-Muslims I consider good friends?

I think it’s all about what you have in common. My closest non-Muslim friends, with exceptions, are either: 1) the left-leaning socialist type, 2) those with an appreciation for religion in general, and 3) those from Immigrant families. These categories of course aren’t mutually exclusive. With group one, they’re passionate about the same socio-political issues I’m passionate about. They understand why I get so worked up when I watch the news and see the Middle East burning. It’s a lovely feeling to be understood. The second bunch are cool in that they understand what it means to be bound by the rules of religion; be they Christian, Jewish, Sikh or Hindu, I never get patronizing smiles from them every time I mention the fact that I don’t go clubbing, or that I’d rather not talk about intimate sex. We regularly compare one another’s beliefs: fair enough each of us is secretly trying to convert the other, but it’s fun, you know? We all learn lots. With people from immigrant families, whether they’re black, brown or purple, they all know what it’s like to balance two cultures together, and at some point or another have felt sorta left out in society. Further to this, with my being British-Pakistani, there’s usually extra overlap with South Asians; second languages, family-traditions, cricket, and most importantly – Bollywood.

Alongside helping me re-enact filmi dialogues more accurately, hanging out with the people I’ve just described provides enlightenment in various forms: social, political, cultural, and religious. In fact, I’d rather hang out with any from the above categories than many of my Muslim friends. Growing up in Bradford and Slough -not to stereotype- but the Muslims I’m used to are the cannabis smoking rude-boy type with French crop haircuts and baggy jeans, who’ve convinced themselves that Scarface REALLY is their favourite film. The only political discussion you’ll get out of this lot will revolve around conspiracy theories. You know, the ones in which everything from crop circles to sneezing is attributed to 1) Jinns, and 2) Freemasons. It does eventually leave you wanting more from life.

I get the impression that in some respects it was a lot easier for our parents to integrate back in the day. I mean, all those years ago society was more kinda Christian. Nowadays though, every one’s got Richard Dawkins fever. Mention anything even remotely religious and you get people looking at you as if you’ve got “THE EARTH IS FLAT” written across your forehead. Spirituality is a big no no. And if you’ve got a beard you can forget it, coz you also look like a terrorist init. Sadly, I feel things will be worse in this respect in 10 years time – well certainly if there’s no revolution in modern British culture (and of course foreign policy, although I’ll save that for now). If I were an optimist though, I’d envision a UK in which people, believers and others, were better at finding common ground; I’m sure we’d all learn that we’re not so different.

Getting back to my Covent Garden story: it kinda ended there. I ordered my falafel wrap, knocked it down, tried my luck at a few more conversations, and then decided to leave. I can’t say everyone was unhappy at my departure, but hey, I tried! I guess that’s the most important part.

Saffi Ullah Ahmad is a University of London graduate who is currently undertaking a Law conversion course. Having a deep interest in politics, culture and religion, he regularly organises conferences at universities, and writes occasionally for internet blogs. Being quite the activist, he can often be found protesting.

Art, culture and the exhibition

Salt Water Tears: Lives Left Behind in Satkhira, Bangladesh. Munem Wasif©Prix Pictet Ltd

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By Munem Wasif A father, son and uncle cast their net to catch fish at dawn. One of the fishermen fell prey to a Royal Bengal Tiger five days after this picture was taken. Sunderban, Sathkhira. 2008

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Over the last ten years, art has increasingly become a forum for cultural exchange and expression.  This is particularly evident in London, where we are lucky enough to have world-class art on our doorstep from all over the globe.  Working for a cultural consultancy, I see on a daily basis the rich dialogue that exists between art and culture, and the contribution this makes to an integrated society.

Art has been a vehicle for communication ever since the first cave paintings and continues to have a contemporary resonance within the diverse society that makes up the United Kingdom today.  Art can bridge the barriers of language and nationality and help people understand and appreciate cultural differences.  The cross-cultural exchange represented in the art that is both produced in the UK and brought into the UK is evidence of the rich artistic enterprise that the meeting of cultures inspires.

Working for the afore-mentioned London-based cultural consultancy, I find that the cultural aspect within our exhibitions and projects is a daily reminder of the merit of being able to access art from across the world with relative ease – something that was perhaps not taken for granted 10 years ago.  We work mainly with contemporary Iranian artists and produce series of exhibitions to showcase their work within London.  Some artists have never exhibited out of Iran before, and their work illuminates a culture steeped in history, which manifests itself in a very unique artistic vernacular.  The legacy of the Persian Empire is often present within the shapes and colours on a canvas, and the influence of Western culture within Iran is a common theme.

The Masques of Shahrazad, part of an Iranian series of exhibitions, held in spring 2009, showcased 28 Iranian women artists spanning three generations since the 1979 Revolution.   Works of all disciplines – painting, sculpture, photography and video – were exhibited at the Mall Galleries in central London, and were seen by many visitors.  The exhibition shed light on to the rich cultural heritage of Iran and the dynamic contemporary art scene there – the creative impulse of which has parallels with contemporary British art production.

Simultaneously to The Masques of Shahrazad, there was an exhibition of photographs by Bangladeshi photographer Munem Wasif entitled, Salt Water Tears: Lives Left Behind in Satkhira, Bangladesh.  Munem was shortlisted for the Prix Pictet 2008, the world’s first major prize dedicated to photography and sustainability, and was awarded the Prix Pictet Commission.  He travelled to Bangladesh to photograph the impact of a rise in water salinity due to a number of factors, including rising sea levels and unsustainable shrimp farming.  The Satkhira region has been left with little fresh water supplies and villagers have to travel hours a day to find fresh water, risking attack from dog sharks, crocodiles, king cobras and the endangered Bengal tiger.  Photography has allowed the real human cost of increased salinity to be felt by audiences far removed from the problem.  Localised issues can travel across national boundaries within art.  The technological advances within the last decade and the efficiency of communications is such that we do not have to travel far to experience other cultures, and art forms can certainly deliver messages in a direct and contemporary way.

That Wasif’s photographs were exhibited in a gallery annexing The Masques of Shahrazad highlights the diversity of art within the UK, and its unique ability to reflect and convey the culture of the maker. Objects of art can educate us on other cultures, and with the ambitious and dynamic programme of exhibitions within the country today, we need only to open our eyes to witness the cross over in art forms between cultures.

The cultural exchange that has been cultivated over the last 10 years within artistic enterprise is to be celebrated.  We should take advantage of the fact the United Kingdom is one of the main forums for contemporary art across the world, and through the uncensored programme of exhibitions here, we can experience other perspectives and cultivate a better understanding of other cultures.  Art can transcend the barriers of differing language, race and heritage, and with its unique ability to speak to so many, art can act as a catalyst for a greater cohesion within British society.  This is a rare attribute and in light of the troubled times society faces, the power of art to bring unity should not be underestimated.   Hopefully it will continue to contribute to an integrated society for future decades.

Tamsin Silvey is a Production Assistant at a London-based cultural consultancy.  Prior to this, Tamsin graduated from the Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London, with a BA (Hons) in the History of Art.  During her studies she did a number of internships in arts-related industries, from a private gallery to a public museum, and also worked in a contemporary jewellery shop in Covent Garden.  Tamsin is interested in art and culture of all eras, and tries to see as many exhibitions as possible in and around London.

It is without doubt that Islamic ideology was pioneering in its re-assessment of women’s role and status in society and in its restructuring of social relations between men and women.

It broke away from two distinct heritages which immediately surrounded it. The first was Arabian pagan culture where women were considered chattel. They were items of property that belonged to their fathers and then their husbands, reminiscent of Europe till the 19^th and even 20^th centuries where women had no right to vote, nor to own property in their own name. In Arabia, in the 7^th century, it was worse still.

If a woman’s husband died, she would then be inherited by her son to be his wife instead of his mother.

Aside from the economic and material situation of women, there was a social stigma attached to being a woman. The birth of a female child was considered shameful for a man.  He could only be honoured by a male heir.  In fact, so horrifying was her birth, that female infants were customarily buried alive, to spare the father’s shame.  Even a supposedly more compassionate view of this action suggests that female babies were buried alive to protect them from the life of misery that a woman would suffer if she grew up.

Within this time and place, Islam’s very simple and clear views on women, and the roles and interaction of men and women must have felt liberating and refreshing.

The changes that Islam brought fell into two related areas – principles to act as the foundation for the philosophy of gender relations, and real laws which changed social reality itself.

Like all ideologies, the reality of the implementation of Islamic principles today is quite a different matter from the ideas and principles themselves. Social reality is quite a different thing to abstract concepts and in any context there is likely to be a difference between the two. Islamic principles and the reality of Muslim life are no exceptions. It is quite important therefore to create a distinction between the abstract and real life when looking at the subjects of Islam, women and feminisms.

Second, Islamic principles need to be interpreted and the idea that this interpretation is monolithic and set in stone is false. Both feminists and Muslims are guilty of this fallacy.  Qur’anic text is considered sacred by Muslims, and the actions and sayings of the Prophet of Islam are also of extremely high value. The wording of these texts will not be argued over by Muslims, but their interpretation is quite a different matter. What this means Muslims need to understand is that any discussion over interpretation and implementation is not an attack on the sacred but rather it is in pursuit of illumination.

One of the great challenges to the Muslim community is to see the debate over women and their rights and roles as a means to improve and develop society rather than a subversive action against scripture and Divine teaching.

There are two key principles which will enable us to lay the foundations for gender relations within the Islamic framework.

The first is that male and female are from the same spiritual origin, and that it is the spirit that is the essence of the human being, as the Qur’an describes “created from one soul”.

The development and refinement of the spirit is the purpose of human existence. Therefore, male and female are from the same essence and have the same cosmological purpose.

The second principle is that male and female are two inextricably linked halves of each other, one cannot exist without the other, one will not be fulfilled without the other.  Material and social completion are based on both male and female together, and these feed into spiritual completion at an individual and a social level. The Qur’an describes this as “finding peace and tranquillity in each other”.

By defining two separate entities – men and women – we do not make create a successful functioning whole. Rather, it is two halves – each of which is defined in relation to the other – that make a whole.

Using these principles as a basis, it is clear to see that a fundamental paradigm shift is required in the way that men, women and social relations between them are discussed. The focus of the gender relations debate should move away from women only to look at society as a whole, and the relationship between its two key components – men and women.

The challenge is, how do we build a model of inter-gender dialogue? What will be the key factors in shaping an environment which will be successful in creating a balanced whole with productive participation from both genders? How do we create a society of two equal and balanced halves that are garments for each other and which produce a climate of contentment, love and mercy?

Shelina Zahra Janmohamed is the author of Love in a Headscarf, a humorous and irreverent view of growing up as a Muslim woman. Her award-winning blog can be found at www.spirit21.co.uk