Ending spiritual abuse
This week I talk to Maryyum Mehmood, founder of SAVE (Spiritual Abuse and Violence Eradication)
Welcome back to ‘Eyb, my newsletter! Each week I delve into topics or share life anecdotes that growing up as a Middle Eastern woman I was told were ‘eyb, or shameful. If you have just subscribed, welcome!
This week I am doing something a little different - I spoke to Maryyum Mehmood, academic, socio-political analyst, interfaith expert, and co-founder of podcast Diasporastan, about her new campaign project, SAVE (Spiritual Abuse and Violence Eradication)
Courtesy of Maryyum Mehmood
What was the major driver behind your A-Z of Spiritual Abuse series?
The A-Z of spiritual abuse series is part of a wider campaign project; the pilot stage of it, in fact. This project is called SAVE (Spiritual Abuse and Violence Eradication) and it is the first campaign that I’m running through my organisation, The SHIFT.
Spiritual abuse, or violence, is the misuse of religious edicts and precepts by those in positions of power to control, coerce and manipulate vulnerable believers into thinking and behaving in ways that are harmful to them. Spiritual abuse is a highly overlooked yet deeply insidious problem in many religious spaces. Very little is known about it, and some, quite wrongly, equate it with possession by spirits, or sorcery.
Although, this is slowly shifting in Muslim communities, I feel like a larger, global campaign of awareness is necessary to highlight the ramifications and negative consequences of spiritual abuse, particularly upon younger generations.
What has the response been like so far to your spiritual abuse series?
The response, towards the project as a whole, has been overwhelmingly positive. The series has gained much traction on various different social media, and garnered significant support. On day two of the series, I was approached by survivors who wished to share their ordeal and asked me to help them seek justice against their abusers. On day four, British Muslim mental health professionals wanted to know more about the project and what they could do to safeguard their patients, as they said this was something they had encountered countless times and there was just nowhere to seek help, no port of call. They found it incredibly frustrating to navigate, especially given the setbacks and fallouts it could incur in the wider community.
Other people from a variety of faith backgrounds got in touch to say that the series resonated with them; they said it helped them reflect upon their own harrowing experiences and that they ‘finally had a term to describe what they had been subject to.’ One survivor of spiritual abuse wrote to me saying that this ‘revelation’ gave her a sense of closure. Right now, there are a dozen different cases of spiritual abuse on my desk. So it’s definitely taking off, and growing as a project, because there is a huge need to raise awareness and address the issue of spiritual abuse, specifically in British Muslim spaces. Insha Allah I am able to do justice to the cause of survivors.
Speaking from my own experience, it can be quite frustrating when as a Muslim woman you are vocal about abuse in our community and some people say it’s old news or that it’s a subject that should only be discussed quietly within our community, away from the gaze of non-Muslims. Is spiritual abuse something that we can discuss openly, knowing that other communities can read and listen to what we are saying?
I can relate to your experience, sadly. I have always found it mind-boggling that some people will express greater outrage towards those of us addressing the issue of abuse than actual perpetrators of such heinous activities. For instance, I have been told that I need to be wary, lest racists catch hold of my content and try to exploit it to smear Muslims and Islam. More aggressive comments I’ve received include accusations of Islamophobia. I find the irony in this remark rather amusing because I have spent well over a decade researching Islamophobia, and the scapegoating, securitisation and stigmatisation of Muslim minorities. So, I of all people respect the need to be sensitive with such issues, but this idea of keeping ‘internal affairs’ within Muslim spaces- where accountability is non-existent - is nothing short of silencing. However, certain Muslim men (some much less qualified than me) go about campaigning without anyone so much as batting an eyelid.
Often, I feel because I am a woman - relatively young, and not visibly practicing - random people feel entitled to call my activism into question. Never mind that as part of day-job I train and lecture religious leaders as well as diplomats about social challenges. But that’s the patriarchy for you; as a Muslim woman criticism, vilification and interrogation are expected. What’s crucial though is forming coalitions and collectives with other likeminded Muslim women and those from other faith groups. There is immense strength in the sisterhood and I have been blessed with wonderful support networks that uplift and get me through.
In the long term, what are your plans for your work on spiritual abuse? Are we going to see a book perhaps? Few if not any books have been written on the topic in the Muslim community so far.
There are a few plans in order. While I do intend to write a book - that is still in the pipeline - there are a few other steps that I would like to attend to in meantime (whilst I write!) Firstly, the A to Z of spiritual abuse series will be published as a booklet available on my website around Ramadan time. A toolkit will be accessible on my website in the summer (Insha Allah).
The second part of the project is something I have just launched called Speak to SAVE sessions. This is a series of Zoom conversations with members of the British Muslim community. The conversation takes a not-so-formal format, wherein I ask my guest questions about the topic of spiritual abuse. My guests include experts, academics, healthcare professional, psychotherapists and community organisers as well as prominent imams, and survivors of spiritual abuse. I will also be speaking to Orthodox Jewish community grassroots campaigners about the overlap in our work. I am still in the midst of recording these sessions, so if any of the readers are interested in taking part, please get in touch via my email address: info@theshiftwithmaryyum.com.
For more information on SAVE, please visit www.theshiftwithmaryyum.com/save
You can also follow Maryyum on Twitter and Instagram.
This past week…
“The godmother of Egyptian Feminism”: Nawal El Saadawi. Credit: Kristina Budelis
We bade farewell to Egyptian feminist, novelist, activist and doctor Nawal El Saadawi. Those of you who know me know that El Saadawi has been a shaping force in both my life and my writing. Struggling to live in what was an extremely patriarchal environment in Doha in the noughties, I was given access by my professor to her cabinet of feminist books, which she kept locked, giving the key only to those she trusted. It was such a big deal because we were in the state university, and back then feminist books were considered extremely controversial. El Saadawi’s book The Hidden Face of Eve was the first book of hers that I read, and I finally felt that I was not alone in hating the patriarchy.
Mona El-Tahawy in her newsletter Feminist Giant, has written a brilliant essay about Nawal El Saadawi which you can read here.
Journalist and author of The Greater Freedom, Alya Mooro, likewise wrote a touching feature about Nawal El Saadawi for Restless Network. Read it here.
Hafsa Lodi, journalist and author of Modesty: A Fashion Paradox, featured me and my book Hijab and Red Lipstick in her inspirational feature for Vogue Arabia, “How These Pro-Feminist Books Emboldened a Muslim Woman’s Confidence in Her Faith.”
I wrote my very first piece for ELLE UK on embracing my individual beauty, and how my hijab actually helped me stop feeling as if I needed to adopt a specific beauty standard. Read it here.
Today Human Rights Watch published what is a landmark report on how the guardianship system affects women in Qatar. I feel a sense of validation as the report, which took two years of research, including qualitative and quantitative data, and first-hand accounts from 70 women, mirrors everything I wrote in my book Hijab and Red Lipstick. Read the full-length report here.