Being Muslim in the Irish Spoken Word Community

Raneem Saleh has been performing spoken word since college she reveals the reality of being Muslim in the Irish spoken word scene. 

I remember my first ever poetry slam. The year was 2015. It was the qualifier for the Inter-varsity poetry competition in UCD Dublin. I was nervous, scared and slightly intimidated. I am a visibly Muslim woman. I wear a hijab, shapeless clothing and have brown skin. As a woman who comes from the Middle East, I am someone who falls under many minority categories.

“I have always found the community welcoming to me and my voice. In turn, I have welcomed them.”

How would I ever be able to fit into the Irish poetry scene? As it turned out, not only did I fit in, but I was honoured enough to actually win the slam and represent UCD at the intervarsities. I have always found the community welcoming to me and my voice. In turn, I have welcomed them.

The more I listened to other poets and connected with talent across Dublin, the more I was astounded by how amazingly people use their words and the power that came with it. Relatable – that was a word that rang constantly in my head wherever I went to hear people perform their poetry. It is a daily struggle to be heard and not just listened to, and this was a common theme I found amongst my fellow Irish poets. Spoken word poetry allows me to convey the strongest of messages with the least amount of words possible, and this is why I fell in love with it.

“Talking about things I was really passionate about that crossed my mind, but I always held back for fear of people’s reception.”

My works initially all related to themes I felt safe to talk about: love and relationships. Talking about things I was really passionate about that crossed my mind, but I always held back for fear of people’s reception. Who would want to hear anything remotely related to struggles afflicting me, my faith and people outside the Isle? This all changed for me, when, four years ago, an Irish friend of mine got detained unjustly in prison. I wrote a poem titled ‘Hands’ braced myself and performed it in front of my peers.

“His hand broken and bruised / Because of a bullet that passed through /And while the rest of the world just sat down and listened to the news / He was lying there, /clenching his teeth /From the pain no one could relieve”

It was then, I discovered how much of an impact I could have through my writing, and how words transcend colour, religion, and gender. In a world that is so silent when hardships strike in certain parts of the world, poetry to me is a means to really break through this. Being Muslim in the Irish spoken word scene has been challenging and transformational.

Challenging for two reasons. The biggest reason (about 90 per cent) was because standing in front of a crowd of people is pretty scary. The other reason (10 per cent) was because half the crowd in the audience consists of my mom and sisters and they’re a different type of scary. It was transformational because I started out feeling like an outsider and eventually, I integrated into the scene without losing myself or my voice. I have been lost and found amongst the Irish poets.

As a practicing Muslim, alcohol isn’t something I consume nor do I really like to be around. One of the things I love about spoken word events in Ireland is that a lot of them are non-alcoholic. Going into college was a major shift from secondary school – the whole college scene revolves around nights out, pre-drinks and the clubhouse bar (if you went to UCD you know).

Finding a safe space was really difficult, especially for someone like me who loved people and was a loud extrovert (yes that is my voice you can hear across campus). I was so grateful to the English and Literary Society in UCD, who catered to this and had so much going on with tea, coffee and biscuits (what else could I ask for). Slam Sundays in Accents café was also a great scene to go and perform. It was also great to hang around and listen to fellow poets.

“There are countless opportunities for people from minority backgrounds to participate and share our work”

I have always felt included and heard in the poetry scene here – from big organisations such as Poetry Ireland to small-scale societies in college. There are countless opportunities for people from minority backgrounds to participate and share our work. Not only that, so much is invested in helping others developing a voice and writing technique, an opportunity unique to this beautiful country I call home. No longer am I the quiet Muslim girl who is stereotyped, here I am simply a poet who breaks barriers and misconceptions. Someone who is not only allowed, but encouraged to speak up. 

Hands

He woke up on mornings

Or was it the nights

He wouldn’t even know

Days drag by like a heavy bag of sand

that refuses to stop spilling over

And the time that passes makes it feel no time has passed at all

In that cell of his the snores

Of those he had come to know

Became a source of comfort

And the shadows of the bars that kept him caged

They guided him to the direction of the light where he prayed

And he prayed

And he prayed

Flashbacks of when he was 17

Young and free

To exercise the right to speak up

I guess believing in something so strongly

Exposes the weak points

Makes it easy to exploit

The truth

If you had told him two years ago

That he’d be stuck all alone

In this cell

Without his mother

Or his father

No matter how briefly they had stayed 

That contagious laughter of his

That no one had been infected with for awhile

It would’ve been ringing in your ears

And your ears

Wishing for that sound to never end

That sound has come to an end

I don’t know why it’s so hard to understand

That this boy, barely even a man

Is trapped with the keys of his future

In our hands

Our hands

Our functioning hands

Have you seen his hand?

His hand broken and bruised

Because of a bullet that passed through

And while the rest of the world just sat down and listened to the news

He was lying there,

clenching his teeth

From the pain no one could relieve

Through a screen

And I can’t help but stand here and think

That with a blink of an eye

The smallest breath taken

In a moment

I could have been in his place

Missing birthdays

Not getting an education

I would have tried to fit myself in a box so small

The only way I could think of to cry for attention

Because it just seems that the blatant ugly truth

That stares at the world so vividly

Is so easily ignored

We must come to terms with the fact that

Whatever nationality

Shouldn’t blind the reality

of the situation

 That our fellow brother has been detained

Unjustly in this so called system

That is supposed to protect the people

But today we say no

We say no to saying no

Because it’s time we stopped using our tongues

To form the words that breathe out our lungs

It’s time we deeply felt

The sufferings of those we have left

Behind

And we are standing here today

hands in the air

Hands linked together

Hands

 finally ready to do what we say

Written by Raneem Saleh
Originally published in BND Magazine Vol. 1 Issue 2

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