Journal articles on the topic 'Turkish Women poets'

Well-known are the poetic works of famous women poets of Turkic literature Gulten Akyn and Fariza Ungarsynova. However, these two poets tried to be harbingers of flaws in society, and not to become famous. Although she dealt with personal themes in the early stages of Gulten Akin's poetry, in her later poems she always dealt with social issues. In this regard, Fariza Ungarsynova also described the position of the masses in her poems. The image of a woman occupies a special place in the work of these poets, who lived simultaneously in Kazakh and Turkish literature and touching upon common themes. The aim of the research is to compare the image of a woman in the verses of two poets. In this study, the method of analyzing the text of Professor Sherif Aktash was used. The first part of article, which consists of two parts, tells about the life and literary personality of Gulten Akyn and Fariza Ungarsynova. The second part analyzes the poems of Gulten Akyn “Yaşlanmayan Bir Kadına Türkü” (“Folk Song for an Ageless Woman”) and Fariza Ungarsynova “Ayel” (“Woman”). The article reflects the ideology, structure (personality, time, space), subject matter, language and stylistic features of the poems, compares the similarities and differences of the two poems.

Mefkure Mollova, known as a scholar in Turkology, was the first poetess to publish poems in the periodic print in Turkish language in Bulgaria and the only woman who was fortunate to issue a solo poetic collection (1964). She emerges as the most sensitive of the time, whose work boldly touches on the intimate corners of the Turk's mentality and emotionality, to questions and problems close to all women. The sophistication of her work excites young women and crumbles the walls of the traditional taboo. Her contemporaries are delighted with the talent of the beautiful poetess and the "freedom" of her speech, she is perceived as the Turkish Bagryana, almost all young Turkish intelligents were in love with her. Suffocated by the repression of the socialist dictatorship, she was forced to give up poetry. Her work is not known outside the circles of the Turkish readership of the 1950s and 1960s, and like most Turks-poets she remains unknown to the Bulgarian readership. The article also presents the first translations of her poems in Bulgarian.

The tradition of “lamentation” seen in poets and minstrels is as old as the history of the Turkish nation. This article aims to explain the tradition of lamentation and focus on the situations in which laments are performed by our female minstrels. Our minstrels and poets evaluated in the article are respectively Makbule Leman, Yasar Nezihe (Bukulmez), Nigar Hanim, Ihsan Raif Hanim, Şukufe Nihal, Emine Hanim, Hasibe Ramazanoglu, Hasibe Hatun, Dudu Karabıyık, Minstrel Derdimend (Fatma Oflaz), Fatma Behice Batur, Minstrel Şah Turna, Asik Surmelican (Kaya) , Gulhanim Yildirim, Hatce Ana (Hatice Şahinoğlu), Dikmenli Emine Şener, Kamanli Minstrel Emine Baci, Minstrel Fatma Inan , Pîr Sultan's daughter Sanem, Minstrel Kevser Ezgili, Minstrel Ayse Çağlayan, Minstrel Yeter Yıldırım, Minstrel Gülhanım Yıldırım, Minstrel Nurşah (Dursen Mert). Female minstrels, who lived and are living in Türkiye in the last century, contributed to the survival of this tradition by lamenting painful events that affected them very much.

After gaining independence, the Republic of Azerbaijan, one might say, has always honored all our writers and poets from our classical heritage. Our President Ilham Aliyev has declared this year the Year of the classic poet Nizami Ganjavi. The main goal is the desire to lead our nation forward, to protect it, to preserve the legacy left to us by our great leader, world politician Heydar Alirza oglu Aliyev. He also pointed out the importance of preserving our classical poets such as Nizami Ganjavi and passing on their works to the younger generation. Female images play a key role in the works of Nizami Ganjavi. In his works, he highlighted the place of a woman, depicting a woman as a mother, an ornament of life. In Sultan Sanjar and the Old Woman Beit from Treasury of Secrets, the first poem in the five-verse Hamsa, Nizami Ganjavi describes a woman as the leading force of society, defending her rights. In the second poem — Khosrov and Shirin, Nizami Ganjavi always wanted to see women free and made it clear that a society without women would become an orphan. In his third poem, Layli and Majnun, he described in detail the image of Layli as a selfless oriental woman, attached to her family and devoted to her love. In fact, Nizami Ganjavi foresaw the role of women in society thousands of years ago. The fourth poem Seven Beauties shows the customs and traditions of Chinese, Russian, Persian, Indian, Arab and Turkish women. The poem describes in detail the maternal care of a woman, regardless of her nationality. In his works, Nizami Ganjavi called for an end to all forms of violence against women and wanted to see women free.

This study is about the life of Fazıl Yenisey. Fazıl Yenisey is especially known for his work called Bektashi Women Poets among his works, and his published works are also introduced here. Fazıl Yenisey worked as an educator and administrator for 39 years, 3 months and 18 days in public and private education institutions in Balıkesir, Bandırma, Malatya, Denizli, İzmir, Bursa and Istanbul between 1927-1967. The bibliography of Fazıl Yenisey, who has made important and pioneering studies on Turkish Culture, Turkish Literature, Bektashism and Bursa Folklore, has been discussed by including data in many accessible sources, especially archives. Despite all this, very limited is known about Fazıl Yenisey's life, works and public service. In the applications and examinations, it has been determined that the registry file has not been transferred to the present day. From the archive of Kandilli Girls' High School, the service schedule, and from the archive of Fatih Girls' High School, information about her last civil service was obtained. Although he does not express his identity as a poet, writer, novelist and educator, it is understood from his works and his close circle that he is a Bektashi-meshrep. In our study compiled in the light of the service schedule and information obtained from other sources; Fazıl Yenisey's importance in the history of Turkish Culture, his professional life and his contribution to the History of Turkish Literature were revealed for the first time and contributed to the publication to be made in the future. As a result, such an extensive and first biography has been prepared for the first time about Fazıl Yenisey, who remained in publication life for a long time with many of his works and reached many readers. Keywords: Turkish Culture, Turkish Literature, Bektashism, Bursa, Fazıl Yenisey.

The word “er (man)” in daily use in Turkish refers to “a male person,” but without reference to gender, it is often used to express a person who performs his/her job perfectly well. In Sufism, the concept of “er” is used to refer to al-insān al-kāmil (the perfect human being), who possesses the quality of being an exemplary servant. Although “er” denotes masculinity in its dictionary form, in mystical terms without reference to gender, the word includes all men and women who have the qualifications of a perfect human being and who gain Allah’s approval. Such Sufis as Aḥmad Yasawī (d. 562/1166), Mawlānā (d. 672/1273) and Yunus Emre (d. 720/1320) also used the concept of “er” in their works. In Sufism, this concept indicates maturity in religious and moral life. Farīd al-Dīn ʿAttār (d. 618/1221) is one of the leading mystics and poets of Persian and Classical Turkish Literature. He often used the concept of er in a symbolic way in his work Mantiq al-Tayr. The aim of the present study is to unearth and analyze what mystical concepts ʿAttār emphasizes through the symbolic meanings that he attributes to the concept of er. ʿAttār often uses the notion of er to mean al-murshid al-kāmil, al-insān al-kāmil, a saint, holy person or devotee. Furthermore, he uses the concept of er not only as a characteristic of humans but also that of some inanimate beings and animals. In his works, ʿAttār addresses this notion within Allah-servant relationships. He also uses the term for the Prophet, who is the master of every business and the goal of every human being in being a er. When considering the notion of er within the concepts of disciple/devotee, ʿAttār uses it to define people who are determined and patient on the way to the truth and who show a strong will in the face of the difficulties encountered. While emphasizing the importance of knowledge of marifāt, which is a special knowledge that Allah gives His servants so that they know themselves in their journey to wuslat, he emphasizes that the devotee should be a er of knowledge. In line with the intention to which people are attached and in which they put effort, ʿAttār uses metaphors, such as a man of path, a man of truth, a man of knowledge, a soldier of God, a man of journey; when they are attached to worldly things and serve for them, he uses the metaphor of "the man of the self". By using the concept of man, as used in daily life, ʿAttār tries to simplify meaning of the terms that are difficult to understand in Sufism, such as unity, abundance, non-existence, marifāt, al-sayr al-sulūk, fana, nafs for the reader so that they could comprehend them with ease. From this point of view, the concept of man in ʿAttār’s usage is far from a gender-specific meaning that denotes masculinity but has a usage that refers to a virtuous person.

This article uncovers women’s rights, education, and the appearance of women in the field of literature during the Tanzimat and Second Constitutional Period of Ottoman Empire in Turkiye and the contribution of several writers and women poets. Working with correspondence, institutional and Social Science Index, and Google scholar publications, I show how women were provided with educational opportunities, and what legal and social regulations were done for women to be seen in the field of literature during the Tanzimat and Second Constitutional periods. I argue the activities of Poets and writers like Namik Kemal, and Semsettin Sami and Women poets Makbule Lem’an Hanim, Yasar Nezihe Bukulmez, Nigar Hanim, Ihsan Raif Hanim, and Sukufe Nihal for women to be seen in the field of literature. This article concludes that during the Tanzimat and Second Constitutional periods, women’s liberation was experienced in all aspects of life. Women poets pioneered the beginning of women’s poetry.

This article is a review of the book “Turkology in Exile: Mefküre Mollova. A Biographical Study”, authored by Zeynep Zafer and Murie Muratova. Mefküre Mollova (1927–2009) was the first Turkish woman and university professor in Bulgaria, who gained international fame with her research in the field of Turkology. She devoted herself to unexplored issues of Turkish dialectology, related to the Turkish dialects in Bulgaria and other linguistic questions. Mefküre Mollova was among the founders of the Turkish Philology at the University of Sofia. She had worked for only about 7 years (1953–1961), when she and her husband were dismissed from their academic positions. Although unemployed and persecuted in communist Bulgaria, Mefküre Mollova continued to publish her work both in the country and abroad. She published her research in four languages – French, Turkish, Bulgarian, and Russian, but mostly in French. Mefküre Mollova was also the first Turkish poet to publish poems in Turkish periodicals and the only woman who managed to publish an independent collection of poems in Turkish in Bulgaria. In addition, she is the first author of several well-written travelogues. Having gained fame and recognition around the world, in her homeland she and her husband Riza Mollov are forgotten and neglected. Their refusal to collaborate with the communist authorities and to falsify academic research stigmatized them for decades and the autors hope that this book will contribute to correcting this injustice.

"Attitudes towards women define the moral side of all literature. In medieval Sufi literature, female protagonists always had female characters as its main characters. In our society, it is a common opinion that medieval works depict women as voiceless and repressed by religious prejudice and beliefs. Images of Muslim women have entered Sufi literature in line with religious beliefs and spiritual aspirations. They were the bearers of certain characteristic qualities of a socially significant woman, served as role models, and were not religiously repressive. On the contrary, their active life stance played an important role in the establishment of new social relations and new morals and manners. Apparently, literature was striving to solve the issues arising in the society in favor of establishing new morals. Sufi poets played an important role in this process. Their poetry portrays a woman as a morally stable and spiritually pure Muslim. The purpose of this paper is to examine the image of woman through Yasawi hikmets and to identify the feminine ideal in medieval Sufi literature. In order to achieve this research objective, a comprehensive analysis of Yasawi’s hikmets will be conducted and thus we will try to determine that the female ideal images were more vital, more earthly and rational in Sufi literature. Sufi traditions have so far been studied at different levels by philologists, musicologists and folklorists. However, among the available studies, the paucity of special papers on women image determines the relevance of scientific work. The hermeneutical, historical comparative analysis; literary-cognitive methods were used to address the research problem. According to the results of the study, it can be concluded that the ideal image of a woman in Sufi literature is a combination of the Islamic religion principles characteristic and the Turkic people female images characteristic, praised in Yasawi Hikmets. Keywords: Woman, Turkic literature, Diwani Hikmet, Sufi literature, Islam, Yasawi teaching, zykyr, female nature. "

It is a known that all societies have had a relationship with dance throughout history. In Turkish society, the origin of the dance dates back to the Shamans, independent of gender. In the Ottoman era, non-religious dancers were called çengi, köçek, tavşan/tavşanoğlanı, kasebâz, curcunabâz, cin askeri, beççegân, çeganebâz and çârpârezen. Among these nomenclatures, the most common literary terms were çengi (dancer/musician) and köçek (dancing boy). People who dance extravagantly to music were called çengi or köçek. While all dancers were called çengi, regardless of their gender in the old texts, later on, women were called çengi and men were called köçek. There is no clear date for this transformation on record. Information on dancers in general, and çengi and köçek in particular, could be found in travel books, surnâmes or the works of the authors of the period. The current paper aims to discuss the terms köçek and çengi, theatrical plays that became common with the encouragement and support of the Ottoman palace, including the reflections of these performing arts in classical Turkish poetry. Furthermore, “Köçek Süleyman”, mentioned in the Divan of Rodoscuklu Kömürkayâzâde Fennî, a poet of the 19th century, and a new name in the history of köçek at the time, was addressed. Thus, the study aims to emphasize to the poet's employment of the social approach to entertainment in his poetry and classical Turkish literature.

The ancient tale of Joseph, son of Jacob, and Zulaykha was a "best seller" on the Silk Road from Russia to China. Before the Bolshevik revolution of 1917, the Tatars, a Turkic-speaking people living in the middle Volga, used this tale to propagate Islam among the animistic and Eastern Orthodox Finno-Ugric and Turkic peoples. Tatars drew upon this famous tale to address the internal communal fractures caused by Russian colonization, which opened the doors to Eastern Christianity, a far stronger competitor than the local indigenous religions. While scholars have shown interest in the tale's literary value and linguistic history, there has been no effort to investigate its readership. Yet the story of Joseph and Zulaykha as presented in popular poems and religious books empowered both men and women on the Volga frontier to refashion their religious and national identities. Today proponents of national revival call for the reappropriation of such tales to restore boundaries between Tatars and Russians.

This article interprets O. Mandelstam’s poem, which is not quite clear in its content, and therefore controversial. To achieve this purpose, the author employs consituational and contextual analysis, as well as techniques of the experimental method, more particularly, transformational analysis. To confirm the linguistic reality of the revealed metaphorical images, the author uses the analogy technique, which determines the choice of sources of illustrative examples. The study demonstrates that in this poem, direct and indirect, primarily metaphorical nominations are intertwined, being significantly complicated and obscured by the tactics of “superimposing an image on an image” (A. N. Tolstoy). From this point of view, the poem should be characterised as a semantic palimpsest formed by a number of figurative layers: 1) speech sinks into silence (verses 3–4): a metaphorical motif of water appears; 2) as a development of this motif, the presentation of women (and hence the heroine) as fish and the hero as a fisherman becomes understandable (verses 5–8); 3) fish turn out to be nuns (verses 9–12), with the implication of humility, abstinence, and inner cold (“the moist shine of the pupils is in vain”); 4) the presentation of the hero as a janissary, and the heroine as a Turkish woman belonging to him (verses 13–20); further development of the motif of water: drinking the crooked (‘sinful’) water of passion for the heroine, i. e. ‘against her will’ (verses 17–20); 5) metaphorical recoding of the theme realised in verses 17–20: representation of the heroine in the image of the savior of those dying from sinful passion (verses 21–22). Behind these ambiguous images, the author of the article recognises an episode of the poet’s biography, i. e. unrequited love for poetess M. S. Petrovykh, a topic whose delicacy required the use of euphemistic codes. The multilayered imagery complicated by the incompleteness of the context makes the thematic outline of the text almost elusive.

Yaşar Kemal is considered one of the important writers of short stories and novels in the Turkish Literature in the 20th century. His real name is Kemal Sadık Gogecli. He was born on 6th of October in 1923, which means before 23 days of the foundation of the Turkish Republic. He was born in town of Hamida (which is known now as Gökçedam) which belonged to Ottoman city. He was known by being a writer of series of novels called (İnce Memed) or (The thin Mohammed), which he wrote and complete it in a series about 32 years. He lived a very long life and wrote several short stories and novels among them are novels for children and epic novels as well as poems. Yaşar Kemal, who has a very great position in the Turkish literature, on 28th of February 2015 in Istanbul. Yaşar Kemal is considered one of the successful writers in the 20th and 21st centuries. Moreover, he was a journalist too. He died in the hospital after taking him to it and died because one of his organs stopped. He was buried in Zincirlikuyu Cemetery in Istanbul. The writer, who signed on most of his writing, is the best example in writing his novel (If They Kill the Snake). It is a tragic novel that narrates the events happened in the town of Hamida in an Ottoman City where he was born. A woman whose name is “Ismi” and lives in the countryside plays the main protagonist in the novel. The year 1976 witnessed the publishing of several subjects by the novelist that deal with love, morality, mother mercy and many more. Forming a family means studying the family structure of the family. It can be seen from different perspectives especially in Turkey whose family structure is different according to the geography of each area. The form of the family, which includes several types such as the traditional and modern, is constructed according to the characters of the individuals by whom the family is formed. The writer in his novel “If They Kill the Snake” deals with to the subject of forming a family from different perspectives that is difficult to compare with the conventions and social structure of the modern time. This makes the novel in the first position among other novels written by out novelist. The abstract of the study includes a research about the life of the writer Yaşar Kemal and his literary personality as well as his literary writings. It introduces also a research about the concept of the family. In the end, there is a study to analyze the structure of the family from the point of view of Yaşar Kemal after introducing a plot summary of the novel “If They Kill the Snake”.

The article is devoted to the sources of the formation of a linguistic persona of the future famous scholar, writer, translator, and polyglot – Ahatanhel Krymskyi. In the article there has been conducted an analysis of the communicative geographical and epistolary discursive area of A. Krymskyi at the times of his childhood and adolescence. These periods of his life we consider the decisive ones for his linguistic individualization and the definition of the parameters of a linguistic persona. The linguistic persona’s features were caused by the origin of A. Krymskyi (the Crimean Tartar roots, an intelligent family of a teacher of history and geography and a Polish Lithuanian noble woman), and his unique abilities (the boy learned to read at the age of 3 and a half, had a phenomenal memory, and an analytical brain). A great role was played by the multilingual and multicultural places of dwelling and studying, namely the following towns and cities: Volodymyr Volynskyi, Zvenyhorodka, Ostroh, Kyiv (such languages as Ukrainian, Russian, Polish, and Yiddish were spoken there and different ethnic cultures cooperated), Moscow (A. Krymskyi was surrounded by the Russian, Ukrainian, and other languages; a Ukrainian community was actively working), Beirut (in the city, the Arabic, French, Russian, and other languages were spoken; there was a unique environment of Eastern/Oriental cultures). The formation of a polyglot was favoured by the study of classical languages, Western European, Slavonic and Eastern / Oriental languages at the secondary and higher educational institutions. The evolution of scientific abilities of the specialist in the Ukrainian, Slavonic and Oriental studies was supported by the highly professional teachers (first of all Pavlo Zhytetskyi in Kyiv and Vsevolod Miller, Oleksii Veselovskyi, Ihnatii Krachkovskyi in Moscow). The communication with famous people (Ivan Franko, Borys Hrinchenko, Omelian Ohonovskyi, Mykhailo Pavlyk, Lesia Ukrainka and others) intensified the Ukrainian vector of the linguistic persona of A. Krymskyi. Creative possibilities of the linguopersona-writer and translator are reflected in his literary and translation heritage (the collection of poems “Palm branches” (1901, 1908), “The Stories of Beirut” (1906), the novel “Andrii Lahovskyi” (1905, a full version was published in 1972), translations of the poetry by Hafez, Omar Khayyam, Saadi, Ferdowsi, Turkish folk songs and others into Ukrainian and Russian.

In Turkish poetry, the figure of women is important in university curricula. The images of women in the examples shown to students in the taught literary texts are also important in mastering the subject. Since ancient times, woman figure has been one of the most widely used figures in the Turkish literature. We meet women as a lover, a mother and a sister in the works of poets and writers for centuries. In classical poetry, the woman figure has been developed more as a symbol of beauty. When describing the beauty of a woman, the representatives of the Divan literature compared it with the beauties of nature and often equated them with various elements of nature. The value given to women began to change over the period of Turkish literature formed under the influence of the West. Poets and writers are already expressing their views on the role of women in social life and address the problems faced by women.

Mehmet Akif Ersoy defends the necessity of a society based on Islamic principles. He also dealt with social issues through his poems. In his poetry corpus called Safahat, he gave place to the wars, corruption, economic troubles, disagreements, and social changes experienced by Turkish society. Mehmet Akif draws attention to the excess and negative aspects of these great changes in society. He stated that the reason for the situations that cause enchantment in the society is the departure from the rules and rules of Islam. He states that the solution is only to live the religious provisions correctly. According to Akif, there is a need for good fiqh scholars who explain religion correctly to people in order to achieve this situation. The understanding of religion in the society; It should be corrected by filtering the mind based on the Qur'an, Sunnah, and consensus. Likewise, people's inadequate and wrong knowledge in the field of fiqh brings corruption into many issues in society. Undoubtedly, the concept of family is among those most affected by the bad consequences of being away from religion. According to Mehmet Akif, societies that do not have a proper family life are doomed to fall behind. The problems in family life that Mehmet Akif faced and criticized during his lifetime still remain valid today. For this reason, in our study, the social problems of family life witnessed and criticized by Mehmet Akif were evaluated in terms of Islamic law. Thus, it is desired to clearly reveal the corruption in family life caused by moving away from the rules of Islamic law. Due to the fact that they are within the scope of the subject, the poetic stories conveyed in the poems of Köse İmam, Meyhane, and Asım are emphasized. In the plots of the poems, we come across the subjects of dowry, alimony, polygamy, relationship between spouses, property regime, and divorce. Mehmet Akif's comments about the case studies in the work are included. Afterwards, a statement was made on the relevant subject, and the misunderstood/applied situations were explained according to Islamic law. As a result of the study, we see the damage to family life of the deactivation or misinterpretation of the provisions of religion. According to Mehmet Akif, issues such as giving women the value they deserve in family life, removing polygamy from being an arbitrary practice, correcting misconceptions about divorce, obtaining and protecting women's financial rights during the marriage process are only possible with the correct understanding of Islamic legal principles. Because, from a society where women are not even considered human beings, girls are buried alive, and there is uncertainty in family life, a society of the century of bliss has been reached only with Islam. For this reason, women, children, and family life suffer the most in societies where religion/fiqh is put into the background. Raising the generation that will carry a nation forward is only possible by removing the wrong information about the family and correcting the problems.

Introduction I am a transmigrant who has moved back and forth between the West and the Rest. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in a predominantly Muslim country, Bangladesh, but I spent several years of my childhood in Pakistan. After my marriage, I lived in the United States for a year and a half, the Middle East for 5 years, Australia for three years, back to the Middle East for another 5 years, then, finally, in Australia for the last 12 years. I speak Bengali (my mother tongue), Urdu (which I learnt in Pakistan), a bit of Arabic (learnt in the Middle East); but English has always been my medium of instruction. So where is home? Is it my place of origin, the Muslim umma, or my land of settlement? Or is it my ‘root’ or my ‘route’ (Blunt and Dowling)? Blunt and Dowling (199) observe that the lives of transmigrants are often interpreted in terms of their ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, which are two frameworks for thinking about home, homeland and diaspora. Whereas ‘roots’ might imply an original homeland from which people have scattered, and to which they might seek to return, ‘routes’ focuses on mobile, multiple and transcultural geographies of home. However, both ‘roots’ and ‘routes’ are attached to emotion and identity, and both invoke a sense of place, belonging or alienation that is intrinsically tied to a sense of self (Blunt and Dowling 196-219). In this paper, I equate home with my root (place of birth) and route (transnational homing) within the context of the ‘diaspora and belonging’. First I define the diaspora and possible criteria of belonging. Next I describe my transnational homing within the framework of diaspora and belonging. Finally, I consider how Australia can be a ‘home’ for me and other Muslim Australians. The Diaspora and Belonging Blunt and Dowling (199) define diaspora as “scattering of people over space and transnational connections between people and the places”. Cohen emphasised the ethno-cultural aspects of the diaspora setting; that is, how migrants identify and position themselves in other nations in terms of their (different) ethnic and cultural orientation. Hall argues that the diasporic subjects form a cultural identity through transformation and difference. Speaking of the Hindu diaspora in the UK and Caribbean, Vertovec (21-23) contends that the migrants’ contact with their original ‘home’ or diaspora depends on four factors: migration processes and factors of settlement, cultural composition, structural and political power, and community development. With regard to the first factor, migration processes and factors of settlement, Vertovec explains that if the migrants are political or economic refugees, or on a temporary visa, they are likely to live in a ‘myth of return’. In the cultural composition context, Vertovec argues that religion, language, region of origin, caste, and degree of cultural homogenisation are factors in which migrants are bound to their homeland. Concerning the social structure and political power issue, Vertovec suggests that the extent and nature of racial and ethnic pluralism or social stigma, class composition, degree of institutionalised racism, involvement in party politics (or active citizenship) determine migrants’ connection to their new or old home. Finally, community development, including membership in organisations (political, union, religious, cultural, leisure), leadership qualities, and ethnic convergence or conflict (trends towards intra-communal or inter-ethnic/inter-religious co-operation) would also affect the migrants’ sense of belonging. Using these scholarly ideas as triggers, I will examine my home and belonging over the last few decades. My Home In an initial stage of my transmigrant history, my home was my root (place of birth, Dhaka, Bangladesh). Subsequently, my routes (settlement in different countries) reshaped my homes. In all respects, the ethno-cultural factors have played a big part in my definition of ‘home’. But on some occasions my ethnic identification has been overridden by my religious identification and vice versa. By ethnic identity, I mean my language (mother tongue) and my connection to my people (Bangladeshi). By my religious identity, I mean my Muslim religion, and my spiritual connection to the umma, a Muslim nation transcending all boundaries. Umma refers to the Muslim identity and unity within a larger Muslim group across national boundaries. The only thing the members of the umma have in common is their Islamic belief (Spencer and Wollman 169-170). In my childhood my father, a banker, was relocated to Karachi, Pakistan (then West Pakistan). Although I lived in Pakistan for much of my childhood, I have never considered it to be my home, even though it is predominantly a Muslim country. In this case, my home was my root (Bangladesh) where my grandparents and extended family lived. Every year I used to visit my grandparents who resided in a small town in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Thus my connection with my home was sustained through my extended family, ethnic traditions, language (Bengali/Bangla), and the occasional visits to the landscape of Bangladesh. Smith (9-11) notes that people build their connection or identity to their homeland through their historic land, common historical memories, myths, symbols and traditions. Though Pakistan and Bangladesh had common histories, their traditions of language, dress and ethnic culture were very different. For example, the celebration of the Bengali New Year (Pohela Baishakh), folk dance, folk music and folk tales, drama, poetry, lyrics of poets Rabindranath Tagore (Rabindra Sangeet) and Nazrul Islam (Nazrul Geeti) are distinct in the cultural heritage of Bangladesh. Special musical instruments such as the banshi (a bamboo flute), dhol (drums), ektara (a single-stringed instrument) and dotara (a four-stringed instrument) are unique to Bangladeshi culture. The Bangladeshi cuisine (rice and freshwater fish) is also different from Pakistan where people mainly eat flat round bread (roti) and meat (gosh). However, my bonding factor to Bangladesh was my relatives, particularly my grandparents as they made me feel one of ‘us’. Their affection for me was irreplaceable. The train journey from Dhaka (capital city) to their town, Noakhali, was captivating. The hustle and bustle at the train station and the lush green paddy fields along the train journey reminded me that this was my ‘home’. Though I spoke the official language (Urdu) in Pakistan and had a few Pakistani friends in Karachi, they could never replace my feelings for my friends, extended relatives and cousins who lived in Bangladesh. I could not relate to the landscape or dry weather of Pakistan. More importantly, some Pakistani women (our neighbours) were critical of my mother’s traditional dress (saree), and described it as revealing because it showed a bit of her back. They took pride in their traditional dress (shalwar, kameez, dopatta), which they considered to be more covered and ‘Islamic’. So, because of our traditional dress (saree) and perhaps other differences, we were regarded as the ‘Other’. In 1970 my father was relocated back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, and I was glad to go home. It should be noted that both Pakistan and Bangladesh were separated from India in 1947 – first as one nation; then, in 1971, Bangladesh became independent from Pakistan. The conflict between Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) and Pakistan (then West Pakistan) originated for economic and political reasons. At this time I was a high school student and witnessed acts of genocide committed by the Pakistani regime against the Bangladeshis (March-December 1971). My memories of these acts are vivid and still very painful. After my marriage, I moved from Bangladesh to the United States. In this instance, my new route (Austin, Texas, USA), as it happened, did not become my home. Here the ethno-cultural and Islamic cultural factors took precedence. I spoke the English language, made some American friends, and studied history at the University of Texas. I appreciated the warm friendship extended to me in the US, but experienced a degree of culture shock. I did not appreciate the pub life, alcohol consumption, and what I perceived to be the lack of family bonds (children moving out at the age of 18, families only meeting occasionally on birthdays and Christmas). Furthermore, I could not relate to de facto relationships and acceptance of sex before marriage. However, to me ‘home’ meant a family orientation and living in close contact with family. Besides the cultural divide, my husband and I were living in the US on student visas and, as Vertovec (21-23) noted, temporary visa status can deter people from their sense of belonging to the host country. In retrospect I can see that we lived in the ‘myth of return’. However, our next move for a better life was not to our root (Bangladesh), but another route to the Muslim world of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia. My husband moved to Dhahran not because it was a Muslim world but because it gave him better economic opportunities. However, I thought this new destination would become my home – the home that was coined by Anderson as the imagined nation, or my Muslim umma. Anderson argues that the imagined communities are “to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined” (6; Wood 61). Hall (122) asserts: identity is actually formed through unconscious processes over time, rather than being innate in consciousness at birth. There is always something ‘imaginary’ or fantasized about its unity. It always remains incomplete, is always ‘in process’, always ‘being formed’. As discussed above, when I had returned home to Bangladesh from Pakistan – both Muslim countries – my primary connection to my home country was my ethnic identity, language and traditions. My ethnic identity overshadowed the religious identity. But when I moved to Saudi Arabia, where my ethnic identity differed from that of the mainstream Arabs and Bedouin/nomadic Arabs, my connection to this new land was through my Islamic cultural and religious identity. Admittedly, this connection to the umma was more psychological than physical, but I was now in close proximity to Mecca, and to my home of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Mecca is an important city in Saudi Arabia for Muslims because it is the holy city of Islam, the home to the Ka’aba (the religious centre of Islam), and the birthplace of Prophet Muhammad [Peace Be Upon Him]. It is also the destination of the Hajj, one of the five pillars of Islamic faith. Therefore, Mecca is home to significant events in Islamic history, as well as being an important present day centre for the Islamic faith. We lived in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia for 5 years. Though it was a 2.5 hours flight away, I treasured Mecca’s proximity and regarded Dhahran as my second and spiritual home. Saudi Arabia had a restricted lifestyle for women, but I liked it because it was a Muslim country that gave me the opportunity to perform umrah Hajj (pilgrimage). However, Saudi Arabia did not allow citizenship to expatriates. Saudi Arabia’s government was keen to protect the status quo and did not want to compromise its cultural values or standard of living by allowing foreigners to become a permanent part of society. In exceptional circumstances only, the King granted citizenship to a foreigner for outstanding service to the state over a number of years. Children of foreigners born in Saudi Arabia did not have rights of local citizenship; they automatically assumed the nationality of their parents. If it was available, Saudi citizenship would assure expatriates a secure and permanent living in Saudi Arabia; as it was, there was a fear among the non-Saudis that they would have to leave the country once their job contract expired. Under the circumstances, though my spiritual connection to Mecca was strong, my husband was convinced that Saudi Arabia did not provide any job security. So, in 1987 when Australia offered migration to highly skilled people, my husband decided to migrate to Australia for a better and more secure economic life. I agreed to his decision, but quite reluctantly because we were again moving to a non-Muslim part of the world, which would be culturally different and far away from my original homeland (Bangladesh). In Australia, we lived first in Brisbane, then Adelaide, and after three years we took our Australian citizenship. At that stage I loved the Barossa Valley and Victor Harbour in South Australia, and the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast in Queensland, but did not feel at home in Australia. We bought a house in Adelaide and I was a full time home-maker but was always apprehensive that my children (two boys) would lose their culture in this non-Muslim world. In 1990 we once again moved back to the Muslim world, this time to Muscat, Sultanate of Oman. My connection to this route was again spiritual. I valued the fact that we would live in a Muslim country and our children would be brought up in a Muslim environment. But my husband’s move was purely financial as he got a lucrative job offer in Muscat. We had another son in Oman. We enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle provided by my husband’s workplace and the service provided by the housemaid. I loved the beaches and freedom to drive my car, and I appreciated the friendly Omani people. I also enjoyed our frequent trips (4 hours flight) to my root, Dhaka, Bangladesh. So our children were raised within our ethnic and Islamic culture, remained close to my root (family in Dhaka), though they attended a British school in Muscat. But by the time I started considering Oman to be my second home, we had to leave once again for a place that could provide us with a more secure future. Oman was like Saudi Arabia; it employed expatriates only on a contract basis, and did not give them citizenship (not even fellow Muslims). So after 5 years it was time to move back to Australia. It was with great reluctance that I moved with my husband to Brisbane in 1995 because once again we were to face a different cultural context. As mentioned earlier, we lived in Brisbane in the late 1980s; I liked the weather, the landscape, but did not consider it home for cultural reasons. Our boys started attending expensive private schools and we bought a house in a prestigious Western suburb in Brisbane. Soon after arriving I started my tertiary education at the University of Queensland, and finished an MA in Historical Studies in Indian History in 1998. Still Australia was not my home. I kept thinking that we would return to my previous routes or the ‘imagined’ homeland somewhere in the Middle East, in close proximity to my root (Bangladesh), where we could remain economically secure in a Muslim country. But gradually I began to feel that Australia was becoming my ‘home’. I had gradually become involved in professional and community activities (with university colleagues, the Bangladeshi community and Muslim women’s organisations), and in retrospect I could see that this was an early stage of my ‘self-actualisation’ (Maslow). Through my involvement with diverse people, I felt emotionally connected with the concerns, hopes and dreams of my Muslim-Australian friends. Subsequently, I also felt connected with my mainstream Australian friends whose emotions and fears (9/11 incident, Bali bombing and 7/7 tragedy) were similar to mine. In late 1998 I started my PhD studies on the immigration history of Australia, with a particular focus on the historical settlement of Muslims in Australia. This entailed retrieving archival files and interviewing people, mostly Muslims and some mainstream Australians, and enquiring into relevant migration issues. I also became more active in community issues, and was not constrained by my circumstances. By circumstances, I mean that even though I belonged to a patriarchally structured Muslim family, where my husband was the main breadwinner, main decision-maker, my independence and research activities (entailing frequent interstate trips for data collection, and public speaking) were not frowned upon or forbidden (Khan 14-15); fortunately, my husband appreciated my passion for research and gave me his trust and support. This, along with the Muslim community’s support (interviews), and the wider community’s recognition (for example, the publication of my letters in Australian newspapers, interviews on radio and television) enabled me to develop my self-esteem and built up my bicultural identity as a Muslim in a predominantly Christian country and as a Bangladeshi-Australian. In 2005, for the sake of a better job opportunity, my husband moved to the UK, but this time I asserted that I would not move again. I felt that here in Australia (now in Perth) I had a job, an identity and a home. This time my husband was able to secure a good job back in Australia and was only away for a year. I no longer dream of finding a home in the Middle East. Through my bicultural identity here in Australia I feel connected to the wider community and to the Muslim umma. However, my attachment to the umma has become ambivalent. I feel proud of my Australian-Muslim identity but I am concerned about the jihadi ideology of militant Muslims. By jihadi ideology, I mean the extremist ideology of the al-Qaeda terrorist group (Farrar 2007). The Muslim umma now incorporates both moderate and radical Muslims. The radical Muslims (though only a tiny minority of 1.4 billion Muslims worldwide) pose a threat to their moderate counterparts as well as to non-Muslims. In the UK, some second- and third-generation Muslims identify themselves with the umma rather than their parents’ homelands or their country of birth (Husain). It should not be a matter of concern if these young Muslims adopt a ‘pure’ Muslim identity, providing at the same time they are loyal to their country of residence. But when they resort to terrorism with their ‘pure’ Muslim identity (e.g., the 7/7 London bombers) they defame my religion Islam, and undermine my spiritual connection to the umma. As a 1st generation immigrant, the defining criteria of my ‘homeliness’ in Australia are my ethno-cultural and religious identity (which includes my family), my active citizenship, and my community development/contribution through my research work – all of which allow me a sense of efficacy in my life. My ethnic and religious identities generally co-exist equally, but when I see some Muslims kill my fellow Australians (such as the Bali bombings in 2002 and 2005) my Australian identity takes precedence. I feel for the victims and condemn the perpetrators. On the other hand, when I see politics play a role over the human rights issues (e.g., the Tampa incident), my religious identity begs me to comment on it (see Kabir, Muslims in Australia 295-305). Problematising ‘Home’ for Muslim Australians In the European context, Grillo (863) and Werbner (904), and in the Australian context, Kabir (Muslims in Australia) and Poynting and Mason, have identified the diversity within Islam (national, ethnic, religious etc). Werbner (904) notes that in spite of the “wishful talk of the emergence of a ‘British Islam’, even today there are Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Arab mosques, as well as Turkish and Shia’a mosques”; thus British Muslims retain their separate identities. Similarly, in Australia, the existence of separate mosques for the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Arab and Shia’a peoples indicates that Australian Muslims have also kept their ethnic identities discrete (Saeed 64-77). However, in times of crisis, such as the Salman Rushdie affair in 1989, and the 1990-1991 Gulf crises, both British and Australian Muslims were quick to unite and express their Islamic identity by way of resistance (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 160-162; Poynting and Mason 68-70). In both British and Australian contexts, I argue that a peaceful rally or resistance is indicative of active citizenship of Muslims as it reveals their sense of belonging (also Werbner 905). So when a transmigrant Muslim wants to make a peaceful demonstration, the Western world should be encouraged, not threatened – as long as the transmigrant’s allegiances lie also with the host country. In the European context, Grillo (868) writes: when I asked Mehmet if he was planning to stay in Germany he answered without hesitation: ‘Yes, of course’. And then, after a little break, he added ‘as long as we can live here as Muslims’. In this context, I support Mehmet’s desire to live as a Muslim in a non-Muslim world as long as this is peaceful. Paradoxically, living a Muslim life through ijtihad can be either socially progressive or destructive. The Canadian Muslim feminist Irshad Manji relies on ijtihad, but so does Osama bin Laden! Manji emphasises that ijtihad can be, on the one hand, the adaptation of Islam using independent reasoning, hybridity and the contesting of ‘traditional’ family values (c.f. Doogue and Kirkwood 275-276, 314); and, on the other, ijtihad can take the form of conservative, patriarchal and militant Islamic values. The al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden espouses the jihadi ideology of Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), an Egyptian who early in his career might have been described as a Muslim modernist who believed that Islam and Western secular ideals could be reconciled. But he discarded that idea after going to the US in 1948-50; there he was treated as ‘different’ and that treatment turned him against the West. He came back to Egypt and embraced a much more rigid and militaristic form of Islam (Esposito 136). Other scholars, such as Cesari, have identified a third orientation – a ‘secularised Islam’, which stresses general beliefs in the values of Islam and an Islamic identity, without too much concern for practices. Grillo (871) observed Islam in the West emphasised diversity. He stressed that, “some [Muslims were] more quietest, some more secular, some more clamorous, some more negotiatory”, while some were exclusively characterised by Islamic identity, such as wearing the burqa (elaborate veils), hijabs (headscarves), beards by men and total abstinence from drinking alcohol. So Mehmet, cited above, could be living a Muslim life within the spectrum of these possibilities, ranging from an integrating mode to a strict, militant Muslim manner. In the UK context, Zubaida (96) contends that marginalised, culturally-impoverished youth are the people for whom radical, militant Islamism may have an appeal, though it must be noted that the 7/7 bombers belonged to affluent families (O’Sullivan 14; Husain). In Australia, Muslim Australians are facing three challenges. First, the Muslim unemployment rate: it was three times higher than the national total in 1996 and 2001 (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 266-278; Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 63). Second, some spiritual leaders have used extreme rhetoric to appeal to marginalised youth; in January 2007, the Australian-born imam of Lebanese background, Sheikh Feiz Mohammad, was alleged to have employed a DVD format to urge children to kill the enemies of Islam and to have praised martyrs with a violent interpretation of jihad (Chulov 2). Third, the proposed citizenship test has the potential to make new migrants’ – particularly Muslims’ – settlement in Australia stressful (Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79); in May 2007, fuelled by perceptions that some migrants – especially Muslims – were not integrating quickly enough, the Howard government introduced a citizenship test bill that proposes to test applicants on their English language skills and knowledge of Australian history and ‘values’. I contend that being able to demonstrate knowledge of history and having English language skills is no guarantee that a migrant will be a good citizen. Through my transmigrant history, I have learnt that developing a bond with a new place takes time, acceptance and a gradual change of identity, which are less likely to happen when facing assimilationist constraints. I spoke English and studied history in the United States, but I did not consider it my home. I did not speak the Arabic language, and did not study Middle Eastern history while I was in the Middle East, but I felt connected to it for cultural and religious reasons. Through my knowledge of history and English language proficiency I did not make Australia my home when I first migrated to Australia. Australia became my home when I started interacting with other Australians, which was made possible by having the time at my disposal and by fortunate circumstances, which included a fairly high level of efficacy and affluence. If I had been rejected because of my lack of knowledge of ‘Australian values’, or had encountered discrimination in the job market, I would have been much less willing to embrace my host country and call it home. I believe a stringent citizenship test is more likely to alienate would-be citizens than to induce their adoption of values and loyalty to their new home. Conclusion Blunt (5) observes that current studies of home often investigate mobile geographies of dwelling and how it shapes one’s identity and belonging. Such geographies of home negotiate from the domestic to the global context, thus mobilising the home beyond a fixed, bounded and confining location. Similarly, in this paper I have discussed how my mobile geography, from the domestic (root) to global (route), has shaped my identity. Though I received a degree of culture shock in the United States, loved the Middle East, and was at first quite resistant to the idea of making Australia my second home, the confidence I acquired in residing in these ‘several homes’ were cumulative and eventually enabled me to regard Australia as my ‘home’. I loved the Middle East, but I did not pursue an active involvement with the Arab community because I was a busy mother. Also I lacked the communication skill (fluency in Arabic) with the local residents who lived outside the expatriates’ campus. I am no longer a cultural freak. I am no longer the same Bangladeshi woman who saw her ethnic and Islamic culture as superior to all other cultures. I have learnt to appreciate Australian values, such as tolerance, ‘a fair go’ and multiculturalism (see Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79). My bicultural identity is my strength. With my ethnic and religious identity, I can relate to the concerns of the Muslim community and other Australian ethnic and religious minorities. And with my Australian identity I have developed ‘a voice’ to pursue active citizenship. Thus my biculturalism has enabled me to retain and merge my former home with my present and permanent home of Australia. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, New York: Verso, 1983. Australian Bureau of Statistics: Census of Housing and Population, 1996 and 2001. Blunt, Alison. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. 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Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>. APA Style Kabir, N. (Aug. 2007) "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>.