Dr Randa Abdel-Fattah is an author with great experience having written nearly 20 books over two decades. Most are for young readers, beginning with Does My Head Look Big In This?

Any Muslim girl wearing the hijab for the first time is likely to ask this, but it must have taken courage for Dr Abdel-Fattah to write creatively about such an intimate matter in Australia’s sometimes hostile cultural environment. There is always the danger that readers and reviewers will interpret such tales as autobiographical rather than about matters more general, and so discount the authorial skills required to produce such credible stories.

Dr Abdel-Fattah says in Discipline: “I humbly dedicate this book to all the Palestinian academics and journalists killed in Gaza who would be alive now if academics and journalists in the West had spoken and acted when they had the chance.” While this criticism is strongly and precisely worded, it is possible that it is the institutions employing academics and journalists — universities and the media — that have failed Palestinians.

Many Australian academics, writers and reporters have spoken and acted but have encountered negativity from mainstream media, the political classes and the Zionist lobby – Dr Abdel-Fattah was one of many writers who boycotted the Bendigo Writers’ Festival when the organisers sought to impose restrictions on what might be discussed. Speaking out has become difficult and not just for selfish career reasons. The costs include stress, threats, character assassination, financial loss and illness and the denigration of one’s work. There is a temptation to self-censor for a peaceful life.

The characters through which Dr Abdel-Fattah addresses these questions are two academics and a journalist. She establishes their personal lives and the humanity they share with readers by describing them at their most vulnerable. Ashraf is becoming secure as a specialist in Arabic studies, but his wife left him because she became fundamentalist in her religion and accused him of believing in nothing. Hannah is a reporter who knows that her status as a member of the Muslim community is being exploited by cynical media managers. Hannah must deal with responsibilities as a new mother, the messiness, unpredictability and worries they bring.

Linking Ashraf and Hannah is Jamal, Hannah’s husband, who is a postgraduate student supervised by Ashraf. These characters are thrown into personal and professional crisis by events here and abroad which challenge them to respond meaningfully. The frames and ignorance they encounter make them wonder if the struggle to maintain their integrity is worthwhile or even possible. Each character makes distinctive choices. All bring psychological costs.

These ethical dilemmas are set against a dramatic background. A boy at a local Sydney Islamic school, whose principal is Ashraf’s former sister-in-law, is charged with terrorism offences. In the resulting media frenzy, it becomes clear that the mainstream narrative finds the boy guilty and suggests that his action is reason enough to close all Islamic schools.

Hannah knows that the role she is expected to play is not to provide another perspective but to give a tokenistic perception of balance and to provide details supporting a newspaper’s stance. She knows the newspaper values her “ethnic Rolodex”, contacts and insights which can be used to suggest that more moderate voices find the school too radical. This wards off accusations of Islamophobia and news bias.

The international context is Israel bombing Gaza. Hannah’s husband Jamal’s family is still under threat there. To further complicate the choices available, these events occur during Ramadan. Hannah shuns even the small release which the odd swear word might provide.

A glossary of Arabic terms would be useful. At least the words are given in English script. This does not mean Dr Abdel-Fattah is writing in coded terms for a special readership. On the contrary, it is highly desirable that we monolingual Australians be immersed in community languages. I now have a clearer ideas about terms including iftar, Ramadan Mubarak, Kareem, Suhoor and Eid Al-Fitr.

Dr Abdel-Fattah uses some other thought-provoking shorthand for understanding the strains on Palestinians: the feminist dream, “unity intifada”, white magnanimity, big-picture value, everyday Armageddon, forever shadow, respectability politics, manufacturing consent, keyboard warriors, racial hypochondria.

In her acknowledgement of people who assisted and encouraged her in producing this book, Dr Abdel-Fattah blanked out several names. That she found this necessary for the protection of friends shows that critics are ready to pounce. That creative artists must look over their shoulders because they operate in an environment of fear is an indictment of Australian mores and the paucity of political leadership.

The book’s theme is the crushing weight of the identity crisis forced on Palestinians. They live in a perpetual state of tension which is partly created by Western expectations, assumptions and stereotyping. Dr Abdel-Fattah writes so well about our common humanity — the babies, the nappies and breastfeeding, the interactions between parents and teenaged children — that the reader might be tempted to judge the central characters and their problems in those terms.

Several recent Australian books assist our understanding of the plight of Palestinians in overseas diaspora or as exiles in their own land. These include Cactus Pear for My Beloved by Samah Sabawi, The Sunbird by Sara Haddad and Rock Flight by Hasib Hourani. All conjure some distressing images, but each, along with Dr Abdel-Fattah’s latest offering would make excellent Christmas gifts.

Discipline is a stark reminder that Arab Australians and especially those of Islamic faith deal with burdens most of us are spared every minute of their lives. This book should produce greater empathy in every open-minded reader. Dr Abdel-Fattah shows us that people with positions of privilege in academia, the media and the law can choose to use their skills in various ways. Sometimes their skills can produce social betterment. When they make such choices, we should all offer grateful support and hope that their efforts do not grind them down.

**Randa** **Abdel-Fattah** _**Discipline**_ (University of Queensland Press 2025)

The author dedicates this review to Mary Kostakidis.

The views expressed in this article may or may not reflect those of Pearls and Irritations.