{"id":32299,"date":"2022-09-03T18:14:55","date_gmt":"2022-09-03T16:14:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.ilgrandecolibri.com\/?p=32299"},"modified":"2022-10-13T17:59:34","modified_gmt":"2022-10-13T15:59:34","slug":"fatima-daas-muslim-lesbian","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ilgrandecolibri.com\/en\/fatima-daas-muslim-lesbian\/","title":{"rendered":"Fatima Daas, Muslim lesbian writer in the time of Islamo-leftism"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cA girl who is not really a girl, who is neither Algerian nor French, neither from Clichy nor Paris, a Muslim I think, but not a good Muslim, a lesbian who has internalized homophobia<\/strong>\u201d<\/em>: this is how Fatima Daas<\/a>, a young French writer of Algerian descent, who grew up between Saint-Germain-en-Laye and Clichy-sous-Bois, in the suburbs of Paris, describes herself. Her novel, \u201cLa petite derni\u00e8re\u201d (The Smallest One; Noir sur Blanc 2020, 350 p., \u20ac16) is first and foremost the story of a girl growing up in a suburban town where \u201calmost everyone is a Muslim\u201d<\/em> of African or Maghrebi origin.<\/p>\n

It is a tale of the most mundane and daily labours<\/strong>, such as the daily three-hour commute in overcrowded public transportation to get to Paris, and the institutional discrimination that led her to drop out of preparatory school in Humanities despite her talent as a writer. In France, in fact, there are two types of higher education institutions: universities and the \u201cgrandes \u00e9coles\u201d, more prestigious institutions. After high school top students do not enrol at university, where they can get only a bachelor’s degree, but enter preparatory schools: usually a two-year course that prepares them to take the competitive exam to enter the \u201cgrandes \u00e9coles\u201d, from which they will then graduate with a master\u2019s degree.<\/p>\n

\"fatima<\/p>\n

Since preparatory schools are based in high schools, and among these same high schools there is a hierarchy from \u201cworst\u201d to \u201cbest\u201d according to their districts, suburban students like Fatima are fish out of water<\/strong> in these establishments. Therefore, when Fatima does an excellent Spanish assignment from home, the professor orders her to confess who helped her. Humiliated, Fatima leaves preparatory school.<\/p>\n

A lesbian and a sinner<\/h3>\n

In this discriminatory environment, Fatima discovers her attraction to girls. She learns about it while having fun with her male friends, insulting the young teacher whom all eyes – her classmates and also hers – are on. She talks about it with an imam, pretending her troubles are those of a supposed \u201clesbian friend\u201d; she talks about it with a psychologist; with the friend who can tone down embarrassment with a joke. She explores polyamorous dating, and struggles between fear and desire for a committed relationship. Faith provides a comforting perspective to her contradictions. But in relation to that faith, Fatima still feels like a sinner<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

The writer – who considers herself an intersectional feminist \u2013 indeed stirred controversy when she said in an interview that she considers homosexuality a sin: \u201cI am no one to reform this religion and say it is not a sin\u201d<\/em>. Fatima refuses to \u201cchoose\u201d<\/em> and claims the possibility of experiencing contradiction<\/strong> and \u201cshowing complexity\u201d<\/em>, of being equally \u201cimperfect\u201d<\/em> as a Muslim and as a lesbian.<\/p>\n