Reblogged from https://troublesomethirtiesblog.wordpress.com/
It is becoming more and more difficult for me to pretend that I’m not completely disgusted and disillusioned with Academia. I realize that my position is a tad bit unusual as the lone hijab-wearing, abaya-clad “angry minority” (yes, I’ve been called that), reciting Fanon, Guevara, Ibn khaldun, Ibn Taymiyyah, Azzam, Biko, or Nkrumah like a mantra and refusing to apparently ascribe to Western Academia lock, stock, and barrel. Clearly, such a person is bound to stand out like a sore thumb in the oh-so-civil world of Graduate studies. But even then, the illusion of belonging there can be maintained with a healthy dose of denial and cognitive dissonance. However, ever so often something happens that rips away this thin veneer of carefully concocted self-delusion.
I don’t know about you, but participating in panels filled with privileged Westerners and their native informants debating about whether or not…
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