In exploring the number of labels that can be applied to Egyptians in Chapter 1, Ahmed pinpoints a problem of identity that is uniquely Egyptian and anticipates the challenges of identification that arise for any minority group. As Ahmed shows, Egyptian identity is inextricably tied to a turbulent history under which Egyptians were ruled by, and absorbed the influences of, a number of different ruling parties, from the Arabs to the Turks to the British. The “land of Egypt” itself defies category, situated as it is between Africa and the Middle East. With that taken into account, and with all of the influences that have shaped Egypt over the millennia, is there a distinctly “Egyptian” identity? This is one of the central questions that directs Ahmed’s inquiry into her past and the history of her homeland. Her investigation reveals a complex answer to this question—that yes, we are defined by our religious faith, our culture, and our national identifications, but ultimately, we are uniquely formed out of multiple influences.

Through the quote and the general thrust of her book, Ahmed reveals that questions of national identity cannot be answered with simple labels. To be called “Egyptian” in the world today carries the weight of thousands of years of history, not to mention the associations placed on the Islamic faith in a time of numerous world conflicts over faith exist. In describing her childhood in Cairo, where ancient ruins and modern sprawl coexist, Ahmed contemplates how complex those identifications can be. In some ways, labels are what she carries with her, categories that change shape and meaning depending on her surroundings. While in England, Ahmed will be labeled a “black,” the catch-all term for any person of color, sparking a renewed interest in exactly the issue that she talks about in this quote. Are Egyptians primarily Africans? Or is their major identification with Islam? The answer that Ahmed arrives at is a complex consideration of the disparate elements that have made her: she can take ownership of labels like “Egyptian,” “Muslim,” and “feminist” and still assert her identity as an individual.

In this remark from Chapter 5, Ahmed explores the inherent conflict between “written Islam” and “living Islam”—that is, the oral tradition of religious stories and teachings that she knows from her grandmother’s circle. In Ahmed’s eyes, written Islam has been given more authority than it deserves, partially through the Western academic world, which values texts over all other manifestations of a given faith. The contrast to the official Islam of ancient texts is the living Islam that Ahmed experiences in the company of women in Egypt. This type of Islam is welcoming and humane, yet its ethical core is often rejected by the sheiks and ayatollahs who hold sway in the Muslim world. Ahmed argues that such an oral and aural component of Islam is intrinsic to the faith and also the Arabic language. She highlights a similarity between Arabic and Hebrew: no vowels are seen in written text, and so in a sense, the text cannot fully be realized until someone literally breathes life into it through voice. In this way, she emphasizes the importance of people who “live their knowledge,” as their knowledge is more alive, possessing many more dimensions than a rigid, literal interpretation.

This comment also points to the high esteem in which Ahmed holds the example set by the women around her. She indicates how much she has been shaped by absorbing their values and interpretations of Islam. She also recognizes the impact on the lives of the women around her the realities of living in a society where women’s prerogatives are not honored. She witnesses the fate of her Aunt Aida, who, forbidden to leave an unhappy marriage by her strict father, commits suicide. Ahmed views with disdain her mother’s traditional values and lack of a professional identity. She also feels pity for her grandmother, who is sentenced to a life of grief after the suicide of her son—a suicide that came about because of the son’s conflicted relationship with the family’s strict patriarch. Though she benefits greatly from the teachings and influence of the women around her, Ahmed is still critical of their refusal to see the implications of their roles in society.

In this passage from Chapter 5, Ahmed further explores the conflict between the way religious ethics are lived and the way they are taught, especially pertaining to our contemporary global political climate. Though some may see Islam as a violent faith, Ahmed writes that it is violent only when it falls into the hands of extremists and fundamentalists, who bend and twist ancient texts to support their fanatical world views. Such a major world faith must leave room for multiple interpretations, even for those who want to go by “the book.” Ahmed writes about how Muslim scholars used to study many texts in order to understand various objections and debates and to come to an informed consensus regarding theological interpretations. More radical Muslims today, Ahmed writes, take their literal truth from one text only.

Written Islam, Ahmed points out, is not the Islam of the “book,” the Quran, but the Islam of medieval texts that give rise to rigid, fundamentalist interpretation of religious doctrine. This is also what Ahmed recognizes as “official Islam,” something that the Muslims she identifies with, conditioned by living under numerous authoritarian regimes that co-opt their faith, reject on principle. Her critique of this narrow view emphasizes the importance of considering multiple points of view, whether evaluating a text or examining the larger implications of the ethics that grow from faith. Ahmed sees the living manifestations of religious ethics all around her, especially in women. This is a living, expansive expression of faith, in contrast to the type of Islam she talks about in this quote, which is restrictive and often hostile.

In this phrase describing the landscape of her childhood from Chapter 6, Ahmed finds herself at the crossroads of influences and culture that will so often haunt her sense of identity. Ain Shams is the name of Ahmed’s childhood home in Cairo, where, in the grand and sprawling garden, she develops an imaginative identity that permeates her lyrical writing about this time in her life. Zatoun is her grandparents’ house, a place where Ahmed grows acquainted with a rich community of female relatives and the oral tradition through which they experience Islam. Ahmed identifies this interpretation of Islam as feminine and humane, accepting of multiple interpretations, and a rich, living manifestation of centuries-old religious ethics. Ahmed’s school is British, where speaking English is second nature and ideas and values central to the Western tradition supersede those belonging to the Arab world.

Ahmed’s analysis of how easily she moved between the three worlds is significant in the way it contrasts with her adult understanding of the more rigid boundaries and categories that apply to women and Arabs in the world. While at Cambridge, she finds herself lumped together with all other students from the third world and subjected to a sort of “genteel” racism that inherently devalues her non-Western perspective. She also comes to understand the implication of the “colonial consciousness” that afflicted the Egypt of her childhood, especially through her father, who revered all things British while failing to see the ways the British colonial authorities held back his career as an engineer. As an academic in the United States, she experiences difficulty getting her voice as a foreign woman heard in women’s studies departments in the early 1980s. Whether in Egypt or elsewhere in the world, she comes to understand the overt and more subtle ways racism is used to marginalize the perspective of minorities.

In this quote from Chapter 10, Ahmed explores a feeling of cultural displacement that comes through being viewed as “other” by the dominant class in whatever culture she finds herself. In this passage, Ahmed details her dawning consciousness of what it means to be “marked” with a label and how such categorization is inherently limiting. Ahmed had faced this sort of discrimination before, during her school days, through British teachers who accused her of plagiarizing her papers and discouraged her from pursuing math or science, subjects that weren’t considered appropriate for a young Arab girl. Ahmed’s experience of this kind of labeling and subtle racism is a major factor in directing her academic interests toward advocating on behalf of minority perspectives. During the 1980s, she witnesses an academic revolution in which the fields of women’s studies and cultural studies flower into vibrant disciplines with much new scholarship.

Ahmed compares the “genteel racism” she experiences at Cambridge to the feminist writer Betty Friedan’s description of the “problem that has no name.” Just as Friedan wrote about women who predated feminism—women who were unable to give voice to their dissatisfaction—Ahmed demonstrates how minority perspectives are undermined in a pervasive and yet subtle way. The problem runs much deeper than instantly being cast as a member of a minority group, and correcting such simple categorization is a complicated task. It begins with naming the problem and offering a wealth of minority voices that, before the 1980s, were virtually unheard within campuses in England and the United States. One of the objectives of her memoir, as well, seems to be that by grappling with such artificial categories, she can transcend them. Ahmed dedicates herself to changing the status of women and minorities in academia, and this quote traces the experiences that first galvanized her.