t my progressive Los Angeles high school, in addition to regular academic classes, drum circles and a two-hour class called Lifeskills were regular features. We passed around a talking stick, described our feelings and sang songs, including a perennial favorite entitled “Peace like a River.” Each year the senior class took a trip to a quasi-commune in Ojai, two hours north of Los Angeles. For three days they would sleep in yurts, participate in a sweat lodge, and paint rocks. At the end of the trip, each senior was given an animal “identity (mine was Curious Koala) by one of their classmates. The class and trip were supposed to foster a sense of community, camaraderie, and an emotional connection among the senior class.

I was not a big fan of any of this. I contemptuously viewed it as a weird vestige of hippiedom from the school’s founding in the early’70s. Each Lifeskills council began with the class holding hands while our “teacher” strummed on his guitar. While others spilled their guts during the council I just observed callously, only deigning to utter the occasional “I’m fine” when the talking piece made its way to me. Topics of discussion ranged from whether each person thought she had ESP to more serious issues, such as dealing with loss. I never felt a cathartic release in sharing intimate details of my life—far from it. I felt this exercise obliterated two whole hours of my Thursday afternoon.

I have since acknowledged my tendency to privilege the intellectual over the emotional. Eagerness is generally perceived as pathetic while intense interest in a particular subject is nerdy. Aloofness and utter disregard seem to dominate our social realm. Yet this phenomenon is not particularly new or groundbreaking. The dichotomy is represented in the conflict between the Enlightenment thinkers, with their focus on reason, and their Romantic counterparts. Rene Descartes, considered an early Enlightenment thinker, stated “Common sense is the best distributed commodity in the world, for every man is convinced that he is well supplied with it.” Although common sense and emotion are not mutually exclusive, it seems as though American society has followed Descartes’ line of reasoning. On the other hand, history has not treated the Romantics particularly well. They are frequently characterized as irrational floozies, concerned only with overwrought and melodramatic histrionics.

Superficially, the idea of being “passionate” about a cause or an ideology seems to have dissipated greatly since its peak in the’60s. Iconic student protests at Berkeley, Columbia, and Paris in May of’68 sought to legitimately change social infrastructure in regard to school’s administration or dissatisfaction with the war in Vietnam. During the’64-1965 school year, UC Berkeley was consumed with student activism. Students leading the Free Speech movement protested the university’s prohibition of political activity on campus, culminating in a massive and ultimately successful sit-in. However, it’s dangerously easy to idealize such movements with reverent sanctity. The protests of May ’68 only lasted a month and it could be argued that they were characterized by a bunch of pseudo-bohemian rich kids whose only motive was to piss off their bourgeois parents. Still, it cannot be denied that the energy they expended on the cause was great. Emphatic slogans uttered by the students attest to that; a popular parable during the events of May’68 stated: “We want nothing of a world in which the certainty of not dying from hunger comes in exchange for the risk of dying from boredom.”

Similarly, “Hippies” have been embedded in our cultural consciousness, along with their ubiquitous long hair and peace beads. They are exceedingly easy to mock because their ideology seems quaint and dated; their preoccupation with the ability of an abstract concept—love—to overcome strife and essentially heal the world seems laughably naïve only because we have witnessed its failure.

Currently, it’s difficult to find an “equivalent” to the hippie movement. Of course, crunchiness continues to manifest in different incarnations; the vegan and organic subculture owes much of their existence to their’60s forbearers. From Dartmouth students who have organized initiatives such as the Sustainable Living Center and the Organic farm to the national campaigns for reduced carbon emissions on college campuses, it’s clear environmentalism remains a popular site for student activism. Students are driven by a passion for the environment, often linked to an emotional connection to nature.

While environmentalists represent a small subset of progressive students, appeals to the emotion seem to be growing in youths on the other end of the spectrum. Evangelical movements recruit teenage converts through a series of highly emotional and passionate sermons, whether through Christian rock shows or other venues. The massive Acquire the Fire, a Christian rock concert that also serves as a venue for conversion, exemplifies just that. Teen Mania, which organizes the event, is a youth ministry aiming to “provoke a young generation to passionately pursue Jesus Christ and to take His life-giving message to the ends of the earth!” Acquire the Fire Founder Ron Luce is described by Teen Mania as a survivor of a broken home and alcohol and drug abuse before he found Christ. The heavy emotional impact of his life story is great—it’s a rags-to-riches story. Such a sentiment is echoed in the truly massive concert; it is not uncommon to see very physical, visceral acts of devotion.

Ostensibly, evangelists disregard the intellectual in favor of the emotional evinced by physically fervent outbursts of faith such as swaying, chanting, and crying. Such high emotionalism is a particularly potent tool in establishing a sense of community and belonging. The emotional provides a bridge that links us to likeminded people—we feel a certain kinship with those who can simply relate. In that sense, the hirsute hippies and the righteous young evangelicals share a common link.

Yet, what’s available to those who can’t get behind the evangelical movement? Although political activism is still very much part of the fabric of American society, its visibility has diminished. Members of our generation are often characterized as unduly narcissistic and complacent, simply unwilling to fight for change. The MySpace/Facebook generation has been the object of derision from our elders, our friendships accused of superficiality and inconsequence. Alternately, the ubiquitous hipster subculture’s aloofness and scorn for outlandish displays of emotion seem all too pervasive.

Until November 4th, I found myself torn between two extremes. Objectively, I believed in the power of grassroots movements but found myself overcome by ennui and cynicism as I acknowledged that sometimes ideals do not produce the hope they inspire. It’s not as if I am devoid of all emotion and subsequently empty; rather I felt as though a barrier existed between my emotions and myself. I don’t know whether it is a self-imposed shield against the potentially debilitating or upsetting or rather a symptom of a larger cultural shift that ignores the emotional in favor of something more pragmatic and tangible. In many ways my inability to fully commit to a certain ideology was directly related to my incapacity to monitor my emotions.

Thus, it is quite interesting to have come of age in an administration so corrupt and so bleak; the idea that this country could subsequently mend itself seems to be a revelation. Moreover, it is a testament to the value of ideology tied to emotion that Barack Obama could have won so decisively. In addition to outlining a comprehensive economic and health plan, he dared the American public to hope. This leap of faith m
andates a certain amount of emotional vulnerability: change, even when it is for the better, and it requires a belief in an abstract ideal and our ability to achieve it. The fervent outburst of emotion, evident the impromptu marches and celebrations that consumed the world on election night, is a triumph of human spirit and emotion.

o many in the Western world, Islam and feminism seem to exist as mutually exclusive realms. The hijab and honor killings are the antithesis of secular feminism—such symbols of oppression don’t correspond with their sexually liberated Western counterparts. Unbeknownst to many, however, women in the Muslim world are actively engaging the issues surrounding Islam and women’s roles, and they are doing it on their own terms.

This October, Barcelona hosted the Third International Congress on Islamic Feminism. The congress not only sought to explore the ramifications of women’s rights in Muslim countries, but also to open a dialogue between emergent feminists in Muslim countries and feminists in the West. Intellectuals and prominent Muslim figures spoke at the event, including Amina Wadud, a female iman, and Bouthaina Shaaban, a Syrian Cabinet minister. While much of the focus is on women’s roles in Islam, the congress is also exploring the issue of Islam’s tenuous relationship to feminism in general.

Surprising to many Westerners, a certain modicum of feminism has been brewing in Islam for at least a hundred years. Qasim Amin, an Egyptian jurist, is credited as being one of the first vocal objectors to the veil, polygamy, and sex segregation. His words have remained salient for many, and modern Islamic feminists often cite him. But following the publication of the women’s newspaper in‘92 and the growing availability of European feminist magazines in Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Turkey, and Iran, the Islamic community responded with a backlash against this new thinking. The nascent women’s movement was held at a standoff for much of the century.

During the’90s, however, Islamic feminism began to take root in its current incarnation. A perhaps overly broad definition of the movement lies in a reliance on the Qur’an as the central text, an obvious deviation from secular feminism. That said, there are many camps within the broad sphere of Islamic feminism. For example, there are those who believe Islamic feminism can flourish in a repressive political system like the one found in Iran, while others argue that their values and tenets cannot be fully expressed in such an environment.

Despite differences, Islamic feminism as a whole acknowledges the rampant misogyny that exists in Islamic countries. They hold that this is due to chauvinistic interpretations of the Qur’an rather than intrinsic sexism in the text itself. For example, Wadud controversially led a mixed-gender congregation in prayer, an act that many saw as flouting the conventions of Islam. The common interpretation of the Qur’an is that women are not allowed to lead men in prayer or in a congregation. However, no specific passage in the text can be indicated and Muslim jurists are not completely in agreement as to whether this interpretation is valid.

Indeed, there are many instances in the text that belie the common belief that Islam is inherently misogynistic. For one, the Qur’an explicitly states that both sexes are equal under the eyes of God. One particular verse known as the Al-Hujurat states “Oh humankind. We have created you from a single pair of a male and a female and made you into tribes and nations that you may know each other [not that you may despise one another]. The most honored of you in the sight of God is the most righteous of you [the one practicing the most taqwa].” Additionally, the Qur’an forbids female infanticide (practiced in pre-Islamic Arabia and other parts of the world), gives women the right to divorce in certain cases, gives women rights if they are divorced by their husband, instructs Muslims to educate their daughters as well as sons, insists that women have the right to refuse a prospective husband, and discourages polygamy.

Thus, Islamic feminists would argue that pre-Muslim traditions and even culture itself has perverted Islam’s benevolent view of women. And there has been a general upwelling of a visible rejection of some of the more restrictive laws in place in some Islamic countries. In Saudi Arabia, one of the more restrictive countries, women are forbidden to drive. Recently, a woman named Wajeha Huwaider posted an online video on International Women’s Day of herself driving. The video begins with Huwaider driving in a residential area, which she notes is legal since it is a private road. She then proceeds to turn on to a highway and calmly enumerates the reasons to lift the ban. In’90, Huwaider and dozens of other Saudi women were arrested for driving in Riyadh to demonstrate their dissent. The women were jailed for a day, stripped of their passports, and many lost their jobs.

While Islamic women are aware that their religious culture is not inherently misogynistic, many Americans do not hold that view. Many decry the wearing of the hijab, as Muhammad mandates in the Qur’an, as a symbol of patriarchal oppression. Yet this reaction exemplifies an ethnocentric view of the world. As outsiders, it easy for us to castigate those whose choices do not correspond with our own. The American psyche subscribes to the ideal of the rugged individual and the tenets of Protestantism upon which America was founded. Though it is deceptively easy, it seems wrong to apply the same values upon a heavily religious culture. The daughters of recent Muslim ÉmigrÉs to Europe, particularly in France and the Netherlands, have upheld their own cultures. In 2006, Dutch Muslim women protested outside the Dutch parliament building after the announcement of a proposed burqa ban. In France, young Muslim women were outraged at France’s proposed plan to ban the wearing of the hijab in school.

The hijab and burqa may represent just the opposite to a number of Muslim women than the Western world would imagine. Many have described it as an empowering symbol of their devotion. Feminism within the context of Islam is extraordinarily nuanced. It is issues such as these that necessitate a conference in the first place—to maintain some sort of dialogue between the West’s set of values and those observed in the Middle East, particularly on the subject of women’s rights. One monolithic feminism doesn’t—and can’t—exist. Furthermore, the secular feminism that is so pervasive in the West, though extremely influential, cannot simply be applied to Islamic women whose sense of self and identity differs. It is time for the West to recognize that Muslim women are working for change within their societies, but that change will come on their own terms within a viable Muslim framework.