Islam in Denmark? Amira El-Naqeeb listens to another side of the story Asmaa Abdul-Hamid gets comfortable on the steps of the Denmark Radio (DR) Building in Copenhagen. It is a lovely morning, and the sun throws her nostalgic smile into relief: "I was six years old when I came to Denmark. As I stepped off the plane, the smiling faces of people I didn't know welcomed me in this strange country; they were holding flowers. The small world I had carried with me suddenly got bigger, to make room for all that newfound love..." At 24, Asmaa, a social worker, is fully aware of her Palestinian roots, but she will not deny belonging to her adopted homeland: "I am a Danish citizen. I grew up here." Indeed, active in a number of social and political fields, Abdul-Hamid is fast becoming a popular Danish figure, with the controversial TV show "Adam and Asmaa" turning her into a role model for Danish Muslim women. A DR initiative endorsed by editor Arne Notkin, the show features, alongside the veiled representative of an ethnic minority, Abdul-Hamid, a secular and democratic Adam, spokesman for the majority of Danish society. Abdul-Hamid was chosen for this role thanks to her activism, however. As a United List Party member, she is even planning to run for parliamentary elections. She is a member of Muslims for Dialogue, established two years ago with the object of gathering Muslims from a range of nationalities under the same -- Danish -- roof, which as a body representing Danish Muslims, took it upon itself to "further the knowledge of Islam in the West" following the cartoon crisis: "We concentrate on those things that draw us together, not those that drive us apart." According to Notkin, "the idea behind [Adam and Asmaa] existed before the cartoon crisis, but the crisis gave it the push it needed." It proved so successful, in fact, it was extended from six to eight episodes. Initially, Notkin recounts, people resisted the idea of a veiled TV show host, which runs against the grain of liberal norms, yet the show proved so popular it made a positive impact on the average Danish viewer: "My family were 100 per cent supportive, so were the vast majority of people I know. There were negative reactions from Muslims, but these were quite a minority in comparison." Significantly, it helped dispel post-crisis misconceptions. As a Danish Muslim woman -- also originally from Palestine -- Aisha Abu Labn, 28, testifies against notions that started to spread among Muslims in the wake of the crisis: "Personally I'm very happy to live in Denmark; I feel I am part of society. I don't have a problem being a Muslim here: I can were hijab, practise my religion freely and relate to other members of the community; we even have a prayer room at my university. Abu Labn studies archaeology. She is also working parttime as a member of a research group producing documentaries, currently putting together one about Muslims in Denmark: "It's atypical here to have a parttime job while studying, but they need researchers and advisors to help with contacts and material. Mind you, I have worked in the university's database, so it doesn't have to be related to Islam." It seems to be in the media, rather, that perception of the other becomes problematic: negative images of Islam and Muslims fuel antagonism on both sides of the divide. According to Notkin, "we treat Muslims the way we treat doctors. If a doctor makes the slightest mistake, that's a media story. If he does his job well, there is nothing to report." And at least, Andrea Nielsen, an editor at a major publishing house agrees: "I'd like to know more about Muslims, to fill the gap in my head with positive images. What the media provides is not helping, nor is the tendency of Muslim immigrants to look at us as the enemy." Well, is there such a tendency indeed? Abu Labn argues otherwise: "They think that, it's not true. My Danish friend always buys halal [religiously allowed] food just because I'm visiting her, and even though I've never asked her to do that. I too have a non-Muslim Danish friend who happens to be vegetarian, so when she visits me I make sure there is no meat on the table. It's about friendship, in the end, not creed." Abdul-Hamid has similar feelings about it: "I can never find anything in my heart other than love and gratitude for people who welcomed me into their country when I was a refugee. Discrimination is a problem in every society, even in Arab societies. The idea is how you deal with it. I can victimise myself and become homebound, or I can challenge and extend the boundaries of my existence by being Muslim and modern at the same time." Yet Abu Labn insists that Muslims, especially men, are discriminated against in the job market; women have lost their jobs because of the veil. This is the case even as campaigns encourage employers to offer jobs to foreigners, flouting equal opportunities and a fair economy. Muslim women are subject to pressures from within the community too, with fathers and husbands often opposed to the idea that they should have an education or find employment, though this problem is largely restricted to first-generation immigrants. As Abdul- Hamid puts it, "what held some minorities back in Denmark was that they initially thought of it as a temporary stop. They therefore didn't strive an education that would grant them better jobs. They made no real effort at integration." As a welfare state, however, Denmark remains the refuge of numerous immigrants from a wide variety of backgrounds. For those who have permanent residence and are therefore treated like Danish citizens, there are plenty of opportunities: free education, unemployment benefits and full political rights. At the age of 18, all active students receive a monthly stipend of 2,000 Danish Kroner. Do Arabs and Muslims make optimal use of such opportunities? "There are more women, of ethnic backgrounds, than men at Odense University, and this includes Danish women," Abdul-Hamid explains with pride. "Women are keener on education than men, particularly the difficult, sophisticated disciplines, even though the media sheds little light on this fact." Young Muslim women like Khadija Nasser, 17, also veiled, are just as positive: "I want to represent Danish Muslim women in parliament but most importantly I want to contribute to the progress of this as a whole, not only the Muslim community. Danish and Muslim is never a problem. Nasser is already on track, in fact: she is a member not only of the Social Youth Party, which consists of mainly Danish young people, but also the Marketing Committee of Muslim Youth in Denmark: "When you are a Muslim woman and you join parliament, that gives a positive image. It also gives you access to the media, so in the end your voice will be heard and people will know what you stand for." It is all a question of perspective, as these young women insist: it is about choosing to be an optimist even as you stay who you are.
