Muslim women of my mother’s and grandmother’s generations have complex, compelling webs of personal and global histories woven through migration, colonialism and geopolitics. Born into partitions, civil wars and dictatorships or far-right populism and racial slurs on the streets, they are armed with stories of personal loss and sacrifice, love and joy. Stories that deserve to be told and honoured.

We see a glimpse of this reflected in Blinded by the Light, the autobiographical tale of a Springsteen-obsessed British-Pakistani teenager living under Thatcher. Beneath the coming-of-age arc of the film is a harrowing exposé of the implications of race and class in 80s Britain, and the way immigrant hopes for a better life are rapidly dashed by the grim realities of a divided nation ravaged by recession and racism. Protagonist Javed’s mother is the long-suffering antidote to his father, who refuses to allow him to become a writer, claims that Pakistanis “don’t go to parties” and perpetually fails in his duty to provide for the family. Silently taking on extra sewing to compensate for her husband’s lack of work, Javed’s mother is a Muslim mother who is subtly strong. The hidden breadwinner of the family. It’s a picture that is at odds with the rudimentary portrayal in Citizen Khan where Muslim mothers do nothing but cook, clean and rely on their husbands for money. 

Even so, Javed’s mum is still relegated to a backstory, and his parents represent a regressive traditionalism that Javed must flee from to find himself. Muslim mothers on our screens deserve more than to be the springboard from which their children escape in search of liberation. 

I long for the day I see a programme like Workin’ Moms that spells out the ugly truths and heady joys of motherhood through the lens of Muslim women. I want to see women on my screen navigating breastfeeding or potty training whilst dealing with institutional islamophobia. I want comedies about returning to work from maternity leave into industries rife with structural racism and dramas about overcoming postpartum depression that feature women that look like me. I want my narrative to be central for once, not a convenient backstory about how my child wants to run away from home in search of a freedom that can only be found through rejecting their faith and culture. 

But we’re not there yet, so for now I’ll cling to my weekly episodes of Ms Marvel and hold onto the faint glimmers of hope. Because while on the surface, it may just be a story about an Avengers-obsessed teenager with superpowers, where do those powers come from? Her naani’s bracelet. Superheroes aside, dig a little deeper and we see it’s about a long line of strong and eccentric Muslim mothers – “fantasising, unrealistic daydreamers” as Muneeba herself says. A lineage whose collective strength turns a normal young girl’s life into something truly “cosmic”. 

Ms Marvel is streaming on Disney Plus, with new episodes every Wednesday

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Originally Appeared Here