A Muslim Reflection on September 11th

Originally published on Muslim Reverie.

Dear Readers,

On the morning of September 11th, 2001, I remember the students and faculty members at school talking about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, but everyone was getting mixed messages.  Finally, in my algebra class, my teacher blurted out the truth, but before I could even process what she said, a classmate sitting next to me said, “Is it those damn Palestinians again?!  They should be wiped off the face of the earth!”

I had been on the receiving end of racial slurs before, but this was different.  This was an attack that killed nearly 3,000 people.  I prayed that the people who did this were not Muslim.  I wanted to confront my classmate, but I didn’t know what to say to him.  I was 17 years old, I never stood up for myself before, so what was I going to say to him?  I didn’t do anything.  I said nothing.  Suddenly, the door opened and they called my name.

My mom was coming to pick me up from school.

My mother was in tears.  She was frightened and told me the country was under attack.  I asked her why she pulled me out of school and she said, “Because I don’t want someone to beat you up.”  I knew what that meant.  The media was already saying that Muslims were behind the attacks.

When we got home, my mom and my friend’s mom were incredibly distraught.  My mother couldn’t even stand on her feet.  She wanted to know if there was something she could do.  My friend’s mom said, “We have to say our prayers.  Don’t worry, we have a brave and God-fearing President and he’s going to take good care of our country.”  As an aspiring filmmaker still in high school, I felt inspired.

I popped in a VHS tape into my VCR (remember those things?) and started recording broadcasts about September 11th.  I listened to people deliver sweeping speeches to rekindle our spirits and remind us that America will not fall.  The media replayed footage of the Twin Towers crumbling to the ground over and over again.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was there before.  In that building.  With my family.  I see those buildings all the time when we travel to New York.  I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t there anymore.

My friend and I even took all of this footage and put together a short commemorative video for the victims of 9/11.  We were working on a short film at the time and we put a huge American flag on our website in honor of those who were killed and lost their lives trying to save others.

But soon, things turned ugly.

Racism, hatred, bigotry, and violent threats pushed me out of the video project we were making.  When kids at school mentioned how Arabs were being discriminated against, I heard one of my classmates say, “I don’t care, they deserve it.  Most of them are assholes anyway.”  I found my voice for the first time in my grade school experience, but it was confused and premature:  “No, they’re not!  You don’t know what you’re talking about!”  My lips were trembling, my hands were shaking, and I felt like I was going to break into tears.  A girl came to my defense and told the other kid to shut up.  It felt good.  To speak up.  But it also scared me.

Another kid called me “Osama bin Laden” while we were playing volley ball in gym class.  “Why did you call me that?!” I shouted across the court.  “What are you, racist?”  He ignored me until we went to the locker room.  While I was changing, he shoved me and I nearly fell hard against the lockers.  “C’mon, p***!” he shouted.  “F***ing Arab, what are you going to do?!”  One of the gym instructors broke it up and told him to calm down.  I don’t know what I was going to do.  I never fought anyone before.

I looked at the American flag on the website my friends and I posted, and for the first time ever, I felt like an outsider.  I felt like I didn’t belong.  I hated everything that Osama bin Laden did to the United States.  He made it worse for people like us.  The crazy thing is that before 9/11, I had no idea that people like bin Laden existed.  But why are people mistaking me for him?  Why were they associating my religion with him when I was proudly wearing my American shirts and waving my American flag?

I went to Pakistan in early 2002 and listened to what many Pakistanis had to say.  They said it was a horrible atrocity and prayed for all the victims, but they also told me about the atrocities that Muslims suffered, not just in Pakistan, but all over the world.  I never really gave the issue of Palestine much thought before, but I started to read more.  I listened more.

I prayed more.  For everyone.

My religion – it became more than a label to me.  It started to become my “way of life.”  If I wanted to defend myself in school, I needed to know what I was defending.  When I returned to the United States, I was more outspoken than ever before.  I made sure that I told people that Islam was a religion of peace and that the 9/11 attacks had nothing to do with Islam.  A kid in class looked at the newspaper and said, “What kind of name is that?!  Why do they have weird names?!”  I opened my mouth and asked him “What kind of name is [his really long last name]?”  He was silent.  The teacher told me to step outside.  She started to lecture me instead of him.  “Maybe you can educate us on why those people have those kind of names?”  Um.  What?

“Those are just their names.  That’s how the names are.”  What kind of answer was she expecting?

Another student made fun of Arabs in my psychology class.  I called him out on it.  I called him a “racist scumbag.”  The teacher told me to step outside.  He asked me if I needed a place to talk.  I told him, “No.  I want you to correct him on making those racist statements against my people” (I was Arab that day).  He told me, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”  The next day, I was called to an office I never been to before.  It was some kind of school counselor who asked me if I needed help with socializing with classmates.

They all missed the point.

I experienced racial slurs and ignorant questions almost every day at school.  There was only one teacher who actually listened to what I said and did something about it.  Someone was playing anti-Muslim song in my “website design” class and after I told my teacher about it, he shouted at the students playing the song.  He took the time to speak to me after class and offered genuine support.  He told me he would address the students about it next class.  I believe he did.

My cousins had their tires slashed and windows smashed.  Another group of cousins had their cars pounded by baseball bats.  Most of my cousins were telling me stories about anti-Islamic bigotry and slurs they received; similar to my own experiences.  I asked my dad that if we’re Americans, then why aren’t we treated like Americans.  My dad told me to just ignore the racism and don’t talk about politics and religion.

My parents started to hide their ethnic and religious identity.  When non-Muslim guests came to our house, we hid the Islamic decorations.  My parents and I got into heated arguments about this.  Many times, they would bring me to tears.  I was being taught to feel ashamed of being Muslim.

I carried on with my filmmaking hobbies.  I was making a “Batman” fan film of all things at the time, and people started to stop us from filming.  People were calling the cops on me and my friends.  They were worried that there was going to be a terrorist attack.  That’s what the cops told us.  My friends were all White.  I was the only brown guy.  We all knew that people were calling the cops because of me.  My friend started to get all cinematic on the cops until they threatened to arrest all of us.

My next film was about a man who goes insane after a serial killer murders his wife.  The movie is about vengeance mostly, but it has a strong spiritual message as well.  I threw in a post 9/11 metaphor in it, criticizing the Bush administration’s war in Iraq and Afghanistan.  It pissed my Republican friend off.  I didn’t care.

We were filming one night  and one of the neighbors looked out the window and panicked.  They first asked us what we were doing, but I noticed they were eying me.  I explained were just filming an independent film, but the man simply said, “I’m calling the cops on you right now!”  I didn’t care.  I filmed the scene anyway.

Three cop cars came and told us to pack our things up and go home.  The next time we filmed, a cop had to stop traffic to get to us.  I was glad that this was near the end of the film I was making.  I needed to do something different, something beyond a metaphor.  I needed to be direct and tell a story about the Muslim-American experience.  So I did.  And those are the kind of stories I’ve been telling since.

I heard people on the news vilify Islam, as if it was acceptable to hate an entire group of people.  I heard my friend’s mom preach Christianity to us and indirectly tell us that Muhammad, peace be upon him, was a “false prophet.”  I listened to these same “friends” and “neighbors” rave about Jews around me and my family as if being Muslim automatically means “you hate Jews.”

Today, I speak out against Islamophobia as much as I can.  I was discriminated two years ago at my workplace after a customer called me a “terrorist” and I reported it to CAIR.  They helped me win the case, but it took a while for me to realize, “Wow, I was actually discriminated against because of my apperance and religious affiliation.”  I wrote a 21 page research paper on Islamophobia in post 9/11 America and was just moved to tears when I read all of the incident reports that we never heard reported by the mainstream media.

Throughout the years, I have seen other atrocities in the world receive very little attention (and sometimes, none).  The invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan received plenty of media attention, but very little was said about the innocent Iraqis and Afghans who were killed.  We saw the prisoner abuse in Guantanamo bay, and yet, people debated endlessly on whether or not “torture” was acceptable during war.  I think about the 2006 bombings in Lebanon and how Israel was defended so proudly by right-wing Americans and George W. Bush.  I think about the nearly 1,400 Palestinians killed in Gaza last winter.   These are all atrocities and people will never forget them, just as Americans will never forget 9/11.

Today, I feel my soul screaming at all the chaos in the world – the intolerance, the bigotry, the apartheid, the hate, the racism, the apathy, the ignorance, the cowardice, the injustice, and so many other things that are just pleading to die out.  There must be hope and a brighter future because that is all there is to live for.  We create the future.  Right now.  Today.

I am an American.  No one can take that away from me.  I am a Muslim.  That is the eternity of my being.  I am a Pakistani.  That is my blood, ancestry, and history.  I am a human being — connected to all of you, no matter what your religion is, what your skin color is, or what your gender is.  I will not fall into despair.  If you can listen, like I do, then you know the earth is crying for peace.  It is begging us, for once, to behave like decent human beings.  It is the least we can do to make up for all the damage that has already been done.

Salaam/Peace,

~ Jehanzeb

Muslim in America: Defining an Identity

This post is by guest contributor INAL, a mixed-heritage Muslimah in America. INAL is the writer behind the blog Shadjar Al Noor . . . Really?. Her article was originally published under the title “Who are We Really as Muslims in America, Really?” on her blog and is republished here with the author’s permission. To see the original post, click this link.

Some have given what others never considered possible.

This afternoon as I was walking down the block away from my apartment building I started looking- really looking at the people that would come my way. I normally don’t do that…I just go where I have to and I leave the “Fashion” police to someone else.

But what struck me was that every one person was different from the next. Oh sure, some shared a language, a culture, a dress code (even our teenagers have their particulars)- but really no shared commonality other than living in the same area. Here in NY who people are, how they act changes from block to block; from uptown to downtown- east and west side.

I can go to the upper West-side and feel all the Dominican come right at me- the language, the music, the clothes women wear; the clothes men wear- the types of shops and the restaurants- fast food or sit down- with some of them having the “Bellonera” or jukebox blasting the latest merengue or bachata. And for a quick moment I can identify with them because they are a part of my culture- but then I remember I have hijab on- and that immediately sets me apart. Some shops who have Spanish speaking Lebanese or Jordanian will Salaam me as I pass and I greet them warmly…they get few chances to encounter another Muslim in their daily work up in “Dominican City”.

Soho is a totally different world…you have the chic boutiques and cafes; the run down book stores every one loves to come into and just sit and read- or the posh stores like Dean and Deluca or the skateboard & snowboard stores my youngest daughter loves to shop in because they also sell the kind of clothes she wears. Here its white city- and by that I mean most who live in the renovated lofts and buildings of Pre WWI and WWII are upper middle class white. It is also close to NYU and you’ll see tons of students hanging about- doing what they do when not burning the midnight oil. There again once in a while you will see a hijab- maybe a student- maybe a vendor- or a sight-seer. But rarely in a large enough group- so when I go buy something I need I get the looks, sometimes the smiles of good morning- sometimes the looks of hatred…

When we sign up our children’s life….

I remember in one of those non-credit courses I love to take at NYU a very “red neck” ex-marine sat through one of our lectures on  Afghanistan; taught by a professor who has been going there on and off for the past thirty years and a journalist by profession. This “student” was an angry man an ex-marine (considering what my son has told me about that particular branch of the service -at times I don’t blame them)-but he felt that the Muslims in the class couldn’t identify with blood and gut mentality and that while some came from war torn countries- those of us “Lily White” couldn’t comprehend his view of giving your life for your country- And he asked me point blank since he knew I had been born in America if I had done anything for my country as a Muslim? I said yes- I had signed off my only son’s life to the US government’s Navy. That when it came to sacrifices that one was a good one- had he given up his only Son’s life for “the cause”? No- he had not…the man never bothered me again.

The professor was overjoyed when we would sit after class, those of us who were Muslims and sort of have a second class with him where he learned from us- as we were all as different as night and day. He learned of the things no one really knows about Muslims- their personal lives- the lives they lead in their homes; their personal thoughts and opinions…We would talk about what it was like in Turkey, in Afghanistan, India, Lebanon, Jordan and other places.  We would bring family photos for him to look at and it enriched his life he said in ways journalism had not- because as much as he had been staying in Afghanistan he only knew some of the men; and only in certain situations. The last question he asked us was “Who are you really- as Muslims in America?”

One young guy from Lebanese parents said, “I don’t speak for anyone, but I’m just an American who happens to be Muslim is all.”

And I have to agree, I don’t have a country that is my one and only home to go back to…this is it. America is my home. Yes, Jordan and Spain and even Yemen are my ancestral homes in my heart. Yemen because it is the homeland of the man I adore; Jordan is because half of my genes comes from there and my brothers now all live there with their families…and Spain because technically that is where my mom’s family came from as Moorish as they are.

The first, second generations, even the third generation Muslim families that have another ancestral home sometimes mystify their homeland, because it helps, especially for the first generation, to cope with living in the States- others because it is their subliminal message to their offspring to keep them attached to their traditions, culture and religion. To others, only Allah knows why they say what they say, and do what they do…it is what it is.

We are threaded to one another in a fabric called Islam by the faith and its precepts we may follow completely, partially or not at all…But many of us are also American born and bred here; we don’t have those threads that bind us more tightly to particular ideas, traditions and culture…I will not, nor ever will speak for another Muslim and be their spokesperson- because we are as diverse as the drops of rain that come down on a rainy day…we just have to understand that some of us will be standing in the middle of the umbrella; some of us on its edges; and others will just stand in the rain and let it pour on them…

That to me is Islam and who we are.

Searching for My Pakistani Identity

By Jehanzeb Dar

It started off funny. I was at the mall buying a birthday gift for a friend of mine and, as usual, the store manager was friendly and conversational. After she took a good look at my gift, the following conversation took place:

MANAGER: Aww, is this for your girlfriend?

ME: She’s not my girlfriend.

MANAGER: That’s an awful lot of money for just a friend.

ME: (smiles) Well, maybe you can lower the price for me.

She laughed as she scanned the item through. Another customer approached the counter and waited patiently. She decided to chime in:

CUSTOMER: Ooh, you’re buying gifts!

ME: (smiles) Yeah, it’s for my friend’s birthday.

CUSTOMER: Aww, that’s so romantic, your girlfriend is going to Love it.

ME: She’s not my girlfriend.

CUSTOMER: Hmm, maybe she’s a special friend!

I laughed at how both of them were teasing me while I waited for the manager to package the gift. The manager was really helpful that day, so I asked her if there was a number I could call to give her an “outstanding” customer service rating. She showed me the number on the receipt and thanked me for asking. As the manager wrote her name on the receipt, the customer waiting in line caught me off guard with an unexpected question:

“What country are you from?”

For some reason, the question struck me in an odd way, as if it triggered an alarm in my head and sprung forth countless things I’ve been ruminating about over the past few weeks. It wasn’t a new question at all. I have brown skin; it’s easy to notice, so I understood. People ask me where I’m from all the time, but it was different now. Almost immediately, I thought about the current crisis in Pakistan, I thought about the corrupt Pakistani president Asif Zardari, I thought about the Taliban taking control of Swat Valley – a beautiful place that I visited once – and I thought about the U.S. drone attacks in Pakistan and my sheer frustration with Obama’s foreign policy. Even though it only took me about two seconds to respond, I still had more thoughts and feelings swell inside me. I feared that disclosing my nationality would disrupt the friendly interaction I had with the manager and customer. I worried that their response would be offensive or ignorant and that I would go home feeling like an “outsider.” It was too late for that. And it wasn’t their fault.

“Pakistan,” I said slowly with an unfamiliar discomfort in my voice.

I was shocked at the way I responded, it sounded like I was ashamed of it. I noticed the shift in her body language when she replied with a simple, “Oh.” It was the typical response I usually get after I tell people I’m Muslim. An awkward silence followed before she politely said, “cool.” Again, it was nothing new to me, but when I nodded and forced a weak smile, I suddenly felt the urge to leave. I left quickly after the manager handed me the gift. “It’s ok” I told myself as I heard the fast paced rhythm of my shoes walking on the marble floor, “they didn’t say anything wrong.” I thought about the possible conversation that took place behind me. Maybe they said something ignorant. Maybe they didn’t say anything at all. Maybe they had negative thoughts about Pakistan, maybe they didn’t. Maybe they wondered where it was on the map. Whatever they said or thought didn’t matter. What mattered were the countless thoughts that surfaced in my mind.

As I walked to the other side of the mall, my memory traveled back to January of 2008. Former Pakistani Prime Minister, Benazir Bhutto, had been killed in late December and it was the hot topic for a while in the mainstream media. I was on my way out of a post office one afternoon, minding my own business, when an older man smiled at me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you Indian or Paki?” Caught off guard by the random question and his use of the word “Paki,” I smiled at the silliness of the question. “Umm, I’m Pakistani…” I said. The man’s face turned grim. “Shame on you!” he growled. Since there were so many things I was going through at the time, my grief reached a point where I couldn’t even get angry anymore. I laughed instead. “Excuse me?” I asked. He threw his hands in the air, “Your country is a mess! You guys are killing your leaders and your women!” You can’t be serious, I thought to myself. I couldn’t believe I was standing in a post office and listening to a man flipping out on me just because I’m from a certain part of the world.

I stood my ground and called him out on his ignorance. I told him he was generalizing about me, as well as the people of Pakistan. I also told him that it wasn’t fair for him to treat me as if I had control over what country I’m from. He apologized, “I’m sorry, you’re right. See, you’re good because you’re here. You’re good because you’re an American.” Right. Typical “melting-pot” remark. Let’s mix everyone together, cut them off from their culture and heritage, and give them one identity: American. “So what about my family members who live in Pakistan?” I asked him. “Are they ‘bad’ since they’re not American?” He replied, “Well they should come over here.” Yeah, like that’s a piece of cake. And besides, what’s up with the assumption that people living in the Muslim world want to come to the United States (or any Western country)? He apologized again and then asked, “Are you Muslim?” Oh boy. “Yeah,” I said. Before I know it, he was going on about Christianity and how democratic values are also Christian values, so Muslims could benefit a lot from Christians. I tried to enlighten him about Islam, coexistence, and how we’re all created by God, but it didn’t seem like he was receptive to what I was saying. He ended up making an insensitive remark about Muslims standing at the end of the line in the afterlife. He was trying to be funny. I couldn’t stay there. I shook my head, “whatever.” As I walked out the door, I heard him say “Ah, I’m just kidding!”

I had to disengage from the conversation because it brought back memories of something that happened to me in the summer of 2007. I was working a part-time job in the photo lab at CVS Pharmacy. I Loved my job, which is why the managers always called me first whenever they needed help. It was a really happy time in my life, I had friendly relations with my co-workers, and I was really good with customers. We were incredibly low on help that day though and at one point, I was the only person on register. The line only got longer and longer, and eventually, a cranky customer started swearing at me for moving too slow for her. I ignored it at first, but then she cursed at me again and told me that I “shouldn’t work here.” I explained that we were short on help and I politely asked her to stop cursing at me. It only made things worse. “Who the f*** are you to tell me to stop talking?!” she shouted.

Finally, my manager rushed back to the front of the store. He couldn’t help but notice the angry customer and her friend. “What’s the problem here?” he asked. Before I could answer, the customer pointed at me and said, “You better watch out for this kid otherwise he’s going to blow up the store.” I froze in utter disbelief. I felt the anger rushing through my blood and then I broke out, “What did you say?! Are you judging me by the color of my skin?! Why did you say something like that?!” She shouted back, “man, just do your f***ing job!” My manager intervened and told me to take a break. I listened and began to the break room, but I heard the customers talking behind me, “if he’s going to wait for us in the parking lot, we can take him! There’s two of us.” I was so outraged and furious. I turned around and said, “Who’s talking about violence here?” She said I threatened her first because I told her to “stop talking.” I shook my head, “No, I told you to stop cursing.” My manager stepped in between me and the customers. He pushed me back, as if I was going to hit the customers or something. “Just stop,” he said to me, “Just ignore them.” The customer’s friend stepped forward and said, “F*** you, terrorist!” I was so angry that I just stormed out of the building and drove home. I was notified a week later that I was terminated because the incident “created a problem” for the store and I was supposed to “bite my tongue” just like the “company policy” expected all employees to (how I handled the case, with the help of CAIR, is another discussion!).

I reflected on these two experiences as I walked out of the mall with my friend’s birthday gift. When I started my car, I sat and spaced out for a while. I thought about how my past experiences sometimes make me so tense and uneasy whenever non-Muslims ask about religious and/or ethnic background. With the current crisis in Pakistan, I worry that the ignorant and offensive remarks will only get worse, but amidst all the politics and personal fears, I am also bothered immensely by how distant I am from my ethnic background.

The next morning, I stood in front of the mirror and felt so unusually distraught. I stared at my brown skin, my black hair, my half-Kashmiri and half-Punjabi nose; I thought about my suburban-American accent and my inability to speak Urdu and Punjabi fluently. I felt a mismatch, like I was some kind of cheap import. I felt fake and counterfeit. I thought about all the times I see older South Asians working at local stores and feeling terrible for speaking to them in English when I could be speaking in Urdu or Hindi. When I walk away, I always wonder if they’re thinking, “oh the kids in this country forget their culture and their language, it’s such a shame.” In South Asian culture, we always refer to elders as “Auntie” and “Uncle,” so whenever I see elderly South Asians, I want them to know that they are “Auntie” and “Uncle” to me. Sometimes, it feels like my skin color and name are the only Pakistani things about me. What does it mean to be Pakistani? I can put on my shalwar kameez (traditional South Asian dress) and attend a South Asian event on campus, enjoy the music, dances, and food, but does that make me Pakistani? What do I know about Pakistan – the history, the culture, the people, the great mystics, thinkers, and leaders of the past, or even the politics? Although I’ve made attempts to re-connect with my Pakistani identity in recent years, I feel that current events (as well as things I’ve observed in other Pakistani-Americans) have caused me to turn inward again in efforts to attain a richer understanding of what my ethnic identity really means to me.

I was born in Lahore, Pakistan. My father’s family descends from Kashmiris who migrated to Lahore, and my mother’s family is Punjabi. Although I’ve never experienced what it’s like to live in Pakistan (since my family moved to the United States shortly after I was born), I’ve stayed there on long visits. The first time I visited Pakistan was in 1999 and I remember hating it. The bumpy roads, the crowded traffic, the poverty, the pollution, the electric cutting out randomly – it all made me miss the United States. At the time, as a 15 year-old, I admit that I felt better than everyone else because I was an American citizen. When I returned to the U.S., I would tell my White non-Muslim friends how proud and grateful we should be to live in America. Like many other Pakistani-Americans that I knew at the time, I made fun of Pakistani/Indian music, culture, language, accents, and dress. I associated all of those things with my parents; it had nothing to do with me. I was American.

I went to Pakistan again in 2000 for my Uncle’s wedding and my opinion of the country didn’t change much. I still thought it was backwards and uncivilized, although I remember seeing something that struck me as oddly positive. On our way to the wedding, a truck accidentally hit one of our party’s cars. The respective drivers – complete strangers – got out and shook hands! Then, we invited the truck driver to the wedding! That was something I don’t ever recall seeing in the United States. Still, I longed to leave Pakistan, so much so that I couldn’t even appreciate the fact that my Uncle’s wedding lasted for three days (as opposed to the typical single-day weddings I would see in Hollywood films). I couldn’t appreciate the decorations, the dancing, the beautiful South Asian dresses, or the immense amount of preparation that went into it all. I regret that now.

It wasn’t until I visited Pakistan in early 2002 when I really learned to appreciate it. As many of my friends know, 2002 was a special year for me. It was the year I discovered my inner voice. I remember sitting in the car while the driver navigated us through the busy traffic of Lahore and without warning, a question struck me in such a profound way. The question didn’t come from someone, it came from within: I asked myself, “Why do you hate this place so much?” I stared out the window and saw people walking with their spouses, children, and friends. They were going somewhere. To school, to work, to buy something, to have fun with their friends – every day activities that my friends and I would do except in a different part of the world. This place was home to them. “This is where you were born,” I said in my thoughts, “This place is in your blood.” It helped that I had a great time with my family that year too, but I also believe that these questions didn’t come to me randomly or without meaning. For the first time, when I left Pakistan, I was sad. Sure, I was happy about going home and seeing my friends again, but I also felt like I didn’t get enough of a chance to explore more, i.e. explore more about myself.

Since it was post September 11th, I was already experiencing a lot of hostility and prejudice in my predominately White non-Muslim high school because of my religious background. When I returned from Pakistan, classmates and teachers asked a lot of ignorant questions. Questions like: “Why do they have weird names?” or “Are they Taliban?” or “Don’t they hate America?” The most insulting one probably came from my friend’s mom, “Are they very pro-bin Laden over there?” I told her that Osama bin Laden was the last thing on my mind when I was there and I also added that she should visit Pakistan some time since it’s a beautiful place. As a result of my new appreciation for Pakistan, I started to become more religious and spiritual. It was the first time in my life when I read the Qur’an on my own free will and it was the first time I prayed without anyone instructing me to do so. It was a very special turning point in my life since I began to contemplate religion and spirituality in ways that I never did before, but what I didn’t realize was that my attempts to become a better Muslim actually distanced me from my ethnic identity rather than compliment it. In actuality I was doing something that many young Pakistani Muslims do these days: I was trying to be Arab.

Over the years, I’ve found that discussing Pakistani identity is quite problematic and controversial at times because it’s often perceived as “religion versus culture.” Generally speaking, we Pakistanis try to distance ourselves from India as far as possible because we think India is synonymous with Hinduism, therefore “kuffar” (nonbelievers/infidels). It’s silly actually considering that (1) India has the third-largest Muslim population in the world and (2) prior to the partition in 1947, Pakistan was part of India; therefore the similarities in culture, dress, food, and language are inescapable. In any case, many Pakistani Muslims in America cut themselves off from India and Indian culture in pursuit of an “authentic Muslim” identity, which happens to point to the Middle-East. In other words, we take on a pseudo-Arab identity.

So many times, I’ve heard fellow Pakistani Muslims saying that we should abolish culture completely because there is no culture in Islam. We’re Muslim and that’s it. I bought into that for a while. “Yeah, we Pakistanis watch too many Bollywood movies,” I would say, “We have girls dancing at our weddings, that’s not Islamic!” As I condemned Pakistani culture, I didn’t realize that I was adopting another culture: Arab culture, or at least what I perceived to be “Arab culture” (saying “Arab culture” is inaccurate since the Arab world is filled with diverse cultures, religions, and dialects, it can’t be narrowed down into “one culture”). In my freshmen year of college, I would wear my keffiyeh (traditional Arab scarf), drive around blasting Arabic music, and making enormous efforts to learn Arabic. To give you an idea of how much I studied Arabic, I can put it like this: my Arabic pronunciation is much better than my Urdu and Punjabi pronunciation. I don’t regret learning the amount of Arabic I know now; I admit that it helps understanding your prayers a lot better, but I feel a tremendous amount of shame when I make pathetic attempts to speak Urdu. When I throw in some Arabic phrases when I meet Arab-speaking people, they smile and tell me how good my accent is. When I try to speak Urdu with South Asian friends and family, they laugh because they can hear it mixed with my American accent.

I became discouraged when I saw the same Pakistani Muslims who despised culture taking dabkeh lessons (folk dance of Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, Jordan, and Iraq), smoking hookah, or wearing thobs (traditional Arab dress for men), as if there wasn’t anything cultural about those things. They would also rebel against the South Asian pronunciation of their names and pronounce them the “correct Arabic” way. It dawned on me that we weren’t getting rid of culture; we merely getting rid of South Asian culture – our culture. As Fatemeh Fakhraie writes in her brilliant article, “The Arabization of Islam:”

What is troublesome about all this is that most Muslims who are non-Arabs complain that they’re not seen as Muslims because they’re not Arab (or ethnically Middle Eastern, in some cases). But when non-Arab Muslims take Arab names or wear Arab clothes under the guise of “Islamic authenticity,” we’re all reinforcing the idea that we’re not really Muslims unless we have some link to Arab culture.

I have seen many Pakistanis Muslims using Arabic words like “akhi” (brother), “ukhti” (sister), “wallahi” (I swear to God), and even non-religious words like “yanni” in their conversations. There’s nothing wrong with this, but if they inserted Urdu words instead of Arabic words, they wouldn’t be taken seriously. Why? Because we don’t take Urdu seriously. The only time we’ll use Urdu is to be funny. It’s like, “haha, you sound like a FOB!” The only time we’ll use Urdu in a serious manner is when we’re speaking to elders (because it’s an “older people” thing, right?). Speaking Arabic, on the other hand, is taken seriously and even makes you look like a better Muslim. We attribute more religiosity to Muslims who can give khutbahs or speeches with “proper Arabic pronunciation.” Even at the recent CAIR event I attended, one of the guest speakers was a South Asian Muslim woman who made sure she pronounced every Arabic word and Muslim name “correctly,” as if not doing so would lower her credibility. It was interesting because I didn’t hear any of the Arab speakers pronounce Pakistan correctly (they said “Pack-istan” rather than “Paak-istaan”), and yet you see young South Asian Muslims striving to pronounce Arabic correctly.

But it’s not just pronunciation that’s changing. Words are changing and being replaced too. The best example is how the Urdu phrase, “Khuda hafez” (God be with you), has been replaced with “Allah hafez.” They both mean the same thing, but thanks to the growing influence of Salafi movements among Sunni Muslims in Pakistan, the use of “Khuda hafez” became gunah (sinful). “Khuda” comes from the Persian word for God (pronounced “Khoda” in Farsi), but since Arabic is taught to be the “Muslim language,” it has been replaced with “Allah hafez.” I remember, on one of my trips to Pakistan, I heard some of my relatives say, “don’t say ‘Khuda hafez,’ it’s gunah! Say ‘Allah hafez.’” As Pervez Amirali Hoodbhoy elaborates:

Persian, the language of Mughal India, had once been taught as a second or third language in many Pakistani schools. But, because of its association with Shiite Iran, it too was dropped and replaced with Arabic. The morphing of the traditional “Khuda hafiz” (Persian for “God be with you”) into “Allah hafiz” (Arabic for “God be with you”) took two decades to complete. The Arab import sounded odd and contrived, but ultimately the Arabic God won and the Persian God lost.

And of course, there’s nothing wrong with saying “Allah hafez.” I say it now and then, but why are we labeling “Khuda hafez” sinful? Is one “more Islamic” than the other? Have Muslims forgotten that God teaches logic and reason? Does it make any sense that God can only understand Arabic? The same kind of propaganda was used against those who followed Jesus, peace be upon him, when they were told that Angels could only speak Hebrew and not Aramaic. Consider this Qur’anic verse:

“Call upon God, or call upon the Merciful; by whatever name you call upon Him (it is the same), to Him belong the most Beautiful names.” (17:110)

Avoiding the use of “Khuda hafez” is also an example of how Salafi Muslims strive to abstain from biddah, or innovation, which in turn explains their strong opposition towards culture. Subsequently, we see Salafi Muslims seeking to purge Sufism (Islamic mysticism) out of Pakistan. The Sufis are Islamic mystics, who do not see Sufism as a separate sect of Islam, but rather an inclusive and necessary mystical dimension of Islam that explores one’s inward journey for God, self, and Divine Love. The Sufis often express their Love for God and the Prophets through music, dancing (notably whirling meditation), and Divinely-inspired poetry. Conservative Muslims perceive this as “Indian Islam” and accuse the Sufis of committing biddah and even shirk (associating partners with God), even though the Sufis, like all Muslims, don’t worship anyone else besides God. Qawwali music, for example, is a Sufi musical style of South Asia, but since Salafi Muslims condemn music, many Pakistani Muslims don’t learn to appreciate Qawwali for what it is. I remember one of my dad’s Pakistani co-workers was sitting in my car and he heard me listening to Qawwali music. He said to me, “man, why are you listening to this? You’re not supposed to sing about Allah in songs, that’s a sin.” I couldn’t help but think about the times I sat in his car and heard him listening to hip-hop music with excessive profanity and pornographic lyrics – he’s telling me that listening to Qawwali is sinful? This is just an example of how deep the conservative Salafi brainwashing is on Pakistanis. As is evident from my father’s friend, the conservative teachings even affect those who aren’t as vocal about their Muslim identity. As Sufi Muslims teach to be accepting of others, I’ve often found that conservative Muslims tend to be more about conformity, and this is a huge problem because it’s not only an attempt to pull us away from ethnic identity, but it’s also a way of “infidelizing” Sufi Muslims or anyone else who doesn’t agree with Salafi interpretations of Islam.

Recently, I gave a Pakistani cricket jersey to a friend of mine who became Muslim earlier this year and a couple of Pakistani Muslims in their mid-twenties made silly remarks about the jersey. They said, “We should get him a shirt that says ‘Islam.’” I felt like responding, “If he wore a shirt that said ‘Free Palestine,’ you wouldn’t say anything, right?” And it’s true, we see Muslims – both Arab and non-Arab – wearing Palestinian keffiyehs or “Free Palestine” shirts in the Mosque and no one makes an issue about it. No one accuses them of being more cultural than religious.

The little secret about us Pakistani Muslims is that we like when people mistaken us for Middle-Eastern. We get all flattered. Really? You thought I was Arab? Wow, thanks! But when people ask if we’re Indian, we respond in disgust. The first time I noticed this difference was in college when my professor felt like bashing on Muslims one day (she was one of the most Islamophobic teachers I’ve ever had). She asked, “Where are all my students from the Middle-East?” She immediately looked at me because she knew I was Muslim. “I’m actually from South Asia,” I said, “but thanks for the compliment.” Smile. I said that in defense of Middle-Easterners since there’s such a negative perception of them in the media (and also because Middle-Easterners get lumped together with Muslims). About a week later, I remember asking a non-Pakistani girl if she was Pakistani, and she responded with disgust, “No! I’m not! Why does everyone always think I’m Paki?!” Well, excuse me, I didn’t mean to offend you. I mean, ew, Pakistani? Who wants to be Pakistani? Ask us if we’re Palestinian, Lebanese, Egyptian, or even Iranian, and we’ll totally be cool with that. Why? Because we don’t want to look like Pakistanis. We don’t want to look like what we are.

The “Arabization” of Islam has gotten to the point where religious scholars from immensely popular Islamic websites like SunniPath.com teach that Arab Muslims are superior to non-Arab Muslims and that praying behind Shia Muslims will invalidate your prayer! If Malcolm X was Pakistani, he’d have a lot to rip into us about. On one hand, we have Pakistanis completely emulating the images and behavior they see in Western pop culture and on the other, we see Pakistani Muslims trying to behave Arab in order to “authenticate” their Muslim identity. Either way, we’re distancing ourselves from our Pakistani and/or South Asian roots. Where did all of this internalized racism and self-hatred come from? Malcolm X was Muslim, but he also taught African-Americans to be proud of their roots and heritage. Why can’t Pakistani Muslims do the same? When bombs fall on Gaza, Pakistani Muslims throw on their keffiyehs, pump their fists in the air, and chant “free Palestine,” but where are they for Pakistan? Now, our country is in trouble. There are U.S. drone attacks killing innocent Pakistani civilians in tribal areas. The Taliban have taken control of Swat Valley, imposed their oppressive Taliban law, and destroyed over 200 schools, mostly girls’ schools. Did you read that? Good. Read it again. According to Tariq Ali, Pakistani author of “The Duel: Pakistan on the Flight Path of American Power,” the majority of Pakistanis are not only anti-Taliban and anti-extremism, but 70% of them perceive the U.S. as the greatest threat to peace in Pakistan. Will we Pakistani Muslims in America start educating ourselves about Pakistan or will we do what most of the Pakistanis at my Mosque do when I tell them the latest news from Pakistan: shrug their shoulders, shake their heads, and simply say “yeah it’s crazy”?

I have always told people (and myself) that I am Muslim first. I still say this, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t be appreciative or proud about being Pakistani. I am not encouraging fellow Pakistanis to support the Pakistani government – that’s not what I’m suggesting at all since the government is absolutely corrupt. What I am encouraging is that we care about the country we come from as much as we care for the country we live in. As Tariq Ali writes, the people of Pakistan cannot be blamed for the failure of their politicians or the recent violence that is unfolding. I am not saying we shouldn’t learn Arabic either. I still want to learn Arabic, I still wear my keffiyeh to represent the Palestinian people, and I still listen to Arabic music, but not at the expense of forgetting my South Asian heritage.

I try to make as many efforts as I can to brush up on my Urdu and Punjabi, and I also read about the history of Pakistan and India. I know all humanity descends from Adam and Eve (peace be upon them both), but why do I have to ignore the people in between? I am not ashamed of my Buddhist, Hindu, or possible Jewish (many Kashmiris claim to be one of the ten lost tribes of Israel) ancestry. I embrace that. Why should we ignore the great mystical poetry of Amir Khosrow, Mirza Ghalib, Bulleh Shah, and Allama Muhammad Iqbal? Why should we ignore the beautiful architecture of Shah Jahan (he built the Taj Mahal)? I remember when I was listening to a Qawwali song by the legendary Pakistani singer, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, I felt like I was reconnecting with a missing part of me. I would constantly listen to his beautiful wailing and hear so many emotions being expressed: Love, yearning, pain, sorrow, grief, joy, and happiness. “This is the voice of my soul,” I would think to myself, “this is that other side of me that I have forgotten.”

The last time I went to Pakistan was in 2004 and it was the first time I visited the country with respect and appreciation. I hope to visit again someday. I often wonder if the country will recognize me as the child of its land or as some tourist just passing on by. I know I stand out when I go to Pakistan. It’s in my body language, the way I walk, the way I speak, but all that doesn’t matter to me because I know that I am striving to re-connect. I know I am making an effort. I would like to revisit the Tomb of Jahangir in Lahore to reflect on the timeless history. I want to see the city of Muree again and enjoy the beautiful mountains. I want to visit the Sindh and let my heart mourn with the tragic Love story of Sohni and Mahiwal (depicted left). I would like to visit Mohenjo-daro, one of the largest cities of the ancient Indus Valley Civilization. I would like to trace my ancestry, visit Kashmir and then India.

I am a Pakistani who has grown up in the West and I know that my experiences may be completely different from what people in Pakistan experience, but it still hurts me to see what is happening in Pakistan today. I still care. It hurts even more when I see such a strong anti-Pakistani sentiment in the United States. Discussing Pakistani politics is another blog post, but I would like others to know that Pakistan is a beautiful place filled with a rich culture that is struggling to survive amidst Westernization and heavy Salafi influences. I find hope in the fact that the majority of Pakistanis are strongly against the Taliban and the corrupt politicians governing them.

Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said in his last sermon: “All humankind is from Adam and Eve, an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over a black, nor a black has any superiority over a white- except by piety and good action.” The Prophet would not have addressed this issue if there weren’t noticeable differences among human beings. As the Qur’an says: “Another of His signs is the creation of the heavens and earth, and the diversity of your languages and color. There truly are signs in this for those who know” (30:22). There is also this famous verse: “O people, we created you from the same male and female, and rendered you distinct peoples and tribes, so that you may know one another.” (49:13)

In closing, I would like to share that as I wrote this reflection on Pakistani identity, I found myself asking, “Why is Pakistan so important to me?” I responded simply: I was born there. Many of family members are there. My ancestry is there.

Those answers suffice for me.

Khuda hafez

Know Your Islam: Speak Out Against Domestic Violence

Before I discuss the recent brutal beheading of Aasiya Zubair, a Muslim-American mother of four, I would like to stress on something that is very important and close to my heart: The majority of Muslims should never apologize or be held accountable for the atrocious actions of others who happen to self-identify as Muslim. The murder of Aasiya Zubair could have happened to anyone, of any religious and/or ethnic group, and the actions of her murderer, Muzzammil Hassan, should never be associated with Islam. Anyone who studies Islam honestly will understand that Mr. Hassan’s actions clearly violated Islamic teachings, therefore the last thing that anyone should call this murder is “Islamic.” It’s very frustrating when I read the ignorant comments posted under articles around the blogosphere — comments like, “Violence against women is considered a religious and cultural duty in the [Muslim] Ummah; don’t try to deny it,” or “Until we in the west see better behavior and adherence to accepted social values from Muslims, I guess we remain to be convinced.” Such ignorance doesn’t help our efforts at all; instead it makes things more difficult. If there weren’t so many ignorant Islamophobes attacking Islam and blaming Muslims for not displaying “accepted social values,” then I wouldn’t have written this paragraph in the first place.

In any case, Muslims must speak out against this horrendous crime not because we’re responsible or should apologize for it, but because this kind of behavior cannot, should not, and will not be tolerated in our community. We, as Muslims, need to turn inward and acknowledge the problems within our communities. It was comforting to see such an immediate reaction from Muslim organizations to call for swift action against domestic violence. As cited by Wajahat Ali, Imam Mohamed Hagmagid Ali, Vice-President of The Islamic Society of North America, wrote a public response:

Our community needs to take a strong stand against abusive spouses…This is a wake up call to all of us, that violence against women is real and can not be ignored. It must be addressed collectively by every member of our community.

As some will argue, this murder was due to “culture,” but what’s problematic about saying this is that the definition of culture gets limited to barbarism and backwardness. In actuality, culture cannot be fixated to these stereotypes because it is, in fact, diverse, flexible, and adaptable. This is not to deny the incredible amount of misogyny that is present in certain Muslim societies, it’s simply to put the true meaning of culture into perspective. To blame a culture for something like Aasiya Zubair’s murder would be impossible without asking: Which culture? Pakistani culture? Okay, what is Pakistani culture? There is no one and singular form of culture because culture is reactive to stimuli. It gets shaped and reshaped, so the problem is not culture itself, but rather how we shape culture. A culture influenced heavily by the mystical traditions of Islam, for example, may differ immensely from a culture influenced heavily by Wahabism in terms of gender issues. Or perhaps there is no religious stimuli and the culture is more secular than anything else. Anyway, my point here is that we need to understand the diversity of culture instead of easily pointing our fingers at it.

But the reality is that there are cultures that have been shaped to be more sexist and misogynistic than others. In respect to the Muslim community, these issues need to addressed because our Way of Life, Islam, strictly condemns this kind of behavior. I do not intend to speak of Islam in a limited sense; on the contrary, when I speak about Islam, I am also speaking about our God-given human rights and how every human being, regardless of their gender, race, culture, religion, sexual orientation, etc. deserves to enjoy their humanity. As the Qur’an says repeatedly, Allah’s grace is Infinite. He is All-Embracing, All-Forgiving; Most Merciful, Most Compassionate. The Qur’an is clear about gender equality, and even historically, the revelations abolished primitive practices like female infanticide and abuse towards women. Many may say they’re frustrated with the Muslim community because the lessons of compassion, gender equality, and Love are right there in front of us, but people also need to understand something else, which is often overlooked: Not everyone who self-identifies as a Muslim is a practicing Muslim. And not every practicing Muslim is a “perfect Muslim.” Sorry to disappoint the Islamophobes, but there is no such things as a perfect human being, let alone a perfect Muslim. A Muslim, just like everyone else, is not immune to sexism, misogyny, anger, hatred, violence, and murder. Did Mr. Hassan self-identify as Muslim? Yes. Did he speak out against Islamophobia through Bridges TV, a television network he co-founded? Yes. Did his murder reflect Islamic teachings. No.

Someone on “Yahoo” asked the question: “What does this murder say about Muslims?” And in my response, I said: This atrocious crime does not say anything about Muslims. To generalize about an entire group of people is not only inaccurate, but it is also a very uneducated thing to say. When we hear stories about a Texas mother drowning her own children, her religion is never blamed or even mentioned. Whenever Muslims commit crimes and murder, on the other hand, it is unanimously assumed that it was because of their religion.

Islam prohibits the killing of other human beings. Even during war, which is strictly permitted in self-defense, the Qur’an prohibits the killing of innocent people.

[5:32] … we decreed for the Children of Israel that anyone who murders any person who had not committed murder or caused corruption in the land, it shall be as if he murdered all the people. And anyone who saves a life, it shall be as if he saved the lives of all the people. Our messengers went to them with clear proofs and revelations, but most of them, after all this, are still transgressing.

As the Hadith (sayings of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him) say:

A wife of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said: (The Prophet) never hit anyone with his hand, neither a woman nor a servant.” (Sahih Muslim, Hadith 1082)

The Prophet said: “The most perfect Muslim in the matter of faith is someone who has excellent behavior; and the best among you are those who behave best toward their wives.” (Al-Tirmidhi, Hadith 106)

These are the kind of teachings that we need to re-emphasize on in our communities . We also need to open our doors a little more and understand what it truly means to be a community. For too long do we push people out of the Mosques and Islamic conventions without even realizing it. Should any issue of domestic violence arise, Muslims should feel comfortable and secure about reporting these incidents instead of worrying about being stigmatized. Insha’Allah, as Muslims across North America address this issue, I hope it remains persistent and creates new opportunities to prevent things like this from happening again. I also hope that certain non-Muslim groups realize that such violence exists everywhere and, contrary to what some say, is not and never has been considered a “cultural and religious duty” for Muslims.

May Allah bless Aasiya Zubair’s soul and grant her justice and peace. Ameen.

A Muslim’s Memo to Obama: Words Cannot Camouflage Cluster Bombs

This post comes to IOMS from Junaid of Crossing the Crescent and is republished with the writer’s permission.

A fair number of liberals swooning over President Barack Obama’s recent speechmaking are also impressed by his rhetorical overtures to Arabs and Muslims, first articulated during his inaugural address and reiterated on a major Arabic-language news channel.

The sharp divergence in tone and tenor from Bush’s rhetoric is certainly welcome after eight years of hubris and arrogance.

Quoting from a New York Times article today:

In the interview, which was taped on Monday night and broadcast throughout the Muslim world on Tuesday, Mr. Obama said it was his job “to communicate to the Muslim world that the Americans are not your enemy.”

He added that “we sometimes make mistakes,” but said that America was not born as a colonial power and that he hoped for a restoration of “the same respect and partnership that America had with the Muslim world as recently as 20 or 30 years ago.”

But while the best orators can massage reality through rhetoric, rhetoric cannot reshape reality when there is a vast, yawning chasm between mellifluous words and murderous weapons.

Obama’s silence-and, ultimately, lame endorsement-of Israel’s murder of hundreds of civilians is an example of such a chasm. It is one that will not easily exit the collective memory of the Muslim world by dint of a few pretty pronouncements.

Was it a “mistake” to stand by Israel as it ruthlessly and deliberately destroyed and deracinated Palestinian neighborhoods in a ghastly display of cheerful brutality? Obama certainly didn’t think so, as he told State Department employees. He obligatorily invoked the usual AIPAC-induced buzzwords that exude a perverse “blame the victim” vibe, championing Israel’s “right to defend itself” as it left mountains of corpses in the wake of its massive attack of hospitals, depots, journalists, and human rights infrastructure. He even spared a moment to demand that Hamas recognize Israel’s legitimacy as it illegitimately rampaged through Gaza, and reminded us all of Israel’s right to exist.

But was Israel’s “right to exist” ever threatened by unguided rockets that failed to kill more than three or four civilians while Israel itself was swiftly slaughtering five or six hundred innocents? Should Obama have not rather concerned himself with the “right to exist” of a people–a stateless, homeless, blockaded, people–who were being flattened inside their refugee camps as he was lecturing?

Obama’s decision to emphasize the absurd instead of the obvious was very revealing. It was a message that Muslim life is expendable. It was a message that Muslims can be killed en masse. And it was a message the Muslim world heard loudly.

If one hundred Palestinian corpses are placed next to one Israeli corpse, the “new” White House informed Muslims through Obama’s messaging, its scales of sympathy will still not tip in their favor. Palestinians will be addressed tersely and only to demand that they recognize their oppressor’s right to exist.

This is akin to yelling into the ear of a rape victim during an assault that she must recognize the rights of her rapist. It is an insult with few parallels-but many echoes.

Can a relationship based on “respect and partnership” be established in this context? Obama silently acceded to-and then effectively endorsed-wanton violence in which more than half the victims were civilians, extended his sympathy first and foremost to the victimizers, and only secondarily, half-heartedly, grudgingly, to the victims.

Obama’s fundamental failure to confront Israel’s utter disregard for Muslim life is a red line that cannot be elided by fine speechmaking. Any “good faith” effort he attempts in the Islamic sphere will melt like hot wax under the burning impact of his failure to confront the Palestinian question honestly.

This was made painfully clear when Obama dispatched George Mitchell to the Middle East in the aftermath of the Gaza invasion to make some initial steps toward something resembling peace.

On its face, the move was reasonable: Mitchell is a serious and hardened diplomat. The only problem with this political maneuver is that Israel, euphoric from its latest round of killing, is about to empower hard-right politicians who view any peace process with hatred and contempt. Even though the war was launched by what passes for the “center-left” in Israel-Ehud Barak and Tzipi Livni-this sector will not be the main beneficiary of its own blood-soaked policies.

Instead, the fascist politician Avigdor Liberman, who pines for the ethnic cleansing of Israel’s Arabs, and the Likudnik Benjamin Netanyahu, who openly opposes any peace moves, are expected to reap the most fruit in the upcoming elections. The very idea that such men have the slightest interest in achieving peace is a pungent mixture of the perverse and the peculiar.

The ascendance of Israel’s right in a war launched by its left should serve as a cautionary reminder that, sometimes, an action can have unforeseen consequences. The same can be said of inaction: it cannot always be covered up in fine phrases or even in well-meaning actions that come too little, too late. Obama is going to have to do more than utter pretty words and dutifully dispatch diplomats after “allies” commit massacres if he genuinely expects the United States to achieve cordial relations with the world’s 1.5 billion Muslims.

It is a macabre fact that while Obama now speaks warm words about the prospects of future relations with Muslims, the Israelis viewed his very ascension as a perfect opportunity to go “berserk” (as the operation was approvingly described in Israel) against Muslims–with the implicit understanding that the madness will, of course, pause in time for the inaugural ceremony, and be followed by zero repercussions for the aggressors.

No “respect or partnership” with Muslims can be based upon this kind of grotesque, quasi-coordinated humiliation.

If Obama is at all serious about his overture, he will have to confront old shibboleths and entrenched interests-including the pro-Israeli lobby. Of course, that is no easy task, and it is tempting to ignore for two reasons.

First: no other vested interest surpasses in obscenity or audacity this largely unchallenged outfit. Its attempts to portray an occupying power as the victim of the very people it has occupied, dispossessed, and corralled into the world’s largest concentration camp is strange. That this reverse-reality trick is performed by invoking a persecution from another time and place is even stranger–a feat of emotional extortion without equal.

Indeed, as Israeli shells were splattering Palestinian skulls on the walls of destroyed homes, one indignant American Jewish writer opined in a British newspaper that the pressing problem of the hour was actually an upsurge of “the purest antisemitism since the Nazi era.” Pity that it was not the Palestinians experiencing this apparent upswing of Nazi-like vitriol: it would have spared them 95% of their casualties.

Second:, unlike Israel and its American lobbying arm, the Muslim world is weak. In fact, it is in shameful disarray. The collective failure of the Arabs and the Muslims to do more than posture, prattle, and piss in the wind during the demolition of Gaza will be recorded–and has already been recorded in the minds of many of its followers-as one of the lowest points in the 1,400-year history of Muslim civilization.

Nonetheless, there are sound geo-strategic reasons for America to make good with a quarter of humanity. If Obama is committed to achieving that end, he should know that Muslims, for all their current failings, are neither stupid nor naïve. Cooing while killing will work no better than the last eight years of cackling while killing.

If President Obama wishes to repair relations with the Muslim world and help isolate Islamic extremists, he is going to have to reign in anti-Muslim extremists who would already be isolated but for America’s enabling of them. Israel in “berserk” mode tops that list.

“War on Terror” is War of Terror

Riding on the tailcoats of the post “A Man in Uniform” last week comes this story I found through Muslim Matters:

The United States has desecrated what most Muslims consider God’s presence on earth (the Qur’an), drowned out the call to prayer with the American anthem and rock songs, used grotesque sexual assaults to undermine piety, mocked religious holidays, and engaged in freelance proselytism.

How long can we expect the memory of such abuse to endure? Does it qualify as torture according to the definition offered in John Yoo’s famous Justice Department memo-“significant psychological harm of significant duration, e.g., lasting for months or even years”? History suggests that the collective memory of this abuse will last far longer than that. Millenia ago, another religious group with strict codes of ritual purity and devotion to God underwent physical and religious torture at the hands of occupying forces, prompting insurrection. More than two thousand years later, the events accompanying that revolt are still commemorated annually. The people are the Jews, and the holiday is Hanukkah.

For more, click here. The piece is fascinating, disgusting and worth a full read. Don’t miss the writer’s discussion of how these acts will affect American Muslims as a whole.

A Man in Uniform

A little known fact about myself: I always wanted to join the American military. I have always done well with a certain type of discipline. If expectations are high, I will struggle to meet them. Especially if others around me are doing so as well. When I was younger, I saw the physical fitness challenges of military personnel as a doorway to good health. I saw the directive of serving one’s country, of protecting one’s neighbors under the great multi-ethnic American umbrella as an opportunity for spiritual growth as well as a duty. I planned to join the army when I finished high school, get my college degree via the military, to be deployed, fight in wars if necessary. To train. To shoot guns–people if there was need. To love and serve my country to the best of my ability.

I am a Muslim. I wanted to do that for America.

It used to be that seeing a man in uniform gave me an incredible feeling of security. Seeing a woman in uniform filled me with the belief that anything was possible. I, too, could contribute. I could serve and protect. I could ensure the civil rights and physical well-being of my family, friends and neighbors. What could be more beautiful a vocation?

At some point, all of this changed. I believe it was near puberty. My mom asked me, “Do you know what they do to women in the military?” At the time our news station reported cases of molestation and rape, concern over sleeping arrangements for mixed-gender soldiers–were separate dorms enough to secure safety? As a young woman just beginning to understand sex and the choices that came with it, I was shaken. It was enough to convince to me look for new avenues of service to my country. The years passed. New wars began. I met my husband. I married. Still, I saw the uniform and I believed. I never put the idea of military service completely aside.Then came George W. Bush and 9/11.

I didn’t completely give up the dream that I would serve my country as a military woman until it became clear that my country did not serve me because I am a Muslim woman. Don’t get me wrong. For all my talk that I would leave America if Bush were re-elected or if our government didn’t stop supporting genocide in Palestine, I am still here. Why? Because even if I believe policy prevents the members of our armed forces from ever truly becoming all they can be while serving our government, I do believe it is possible for American citizens, Muslims included, to stretch toward that goal. I do not know that, as a citizen, it is possible to truly make a difference in or for other countries. Or that, more importantly, I would have a better life there as a Muslim or a woman. While voices in the U.S. are still silenced by government or by our fellow citizens, our goals are still more attainable here than in military or theocratic dictatorships where our voices may be neglected or forcefully silenced based on our political affiliations, physical location, the caste we are born into, our skin color, our language, or our beliefs. In short, I believe there is no better place to live.

There are Muslims in the military. Colin Powell brought that to America’s attention.There are no military Muslims in my community. This came to my attention when my inbox was recently inundated with emails from my ummah mailing list regarding a military presence at our community Eid al Adha prayer.

Apparently, military sensitivity training was taking place or had taken place on another floor of the center where our prayer was held. I didn’t make the prayer due to illness in my family. I can tell you that if I had, the presence of military men in uniform would have terrified me as it no doubt did many congregants. One email respondent did not dispute the observers’ right to be present–no one in our community turns away those who want to learn about our faith or practices–but he did ask a question that sticks in my mind: Why did they have to come in uniform?

Here are the facts as I’ve learned them: The military men saw our event scheduled on the convention center board. They asked some Muslim brothers and sisters if it would be alright for them to observe. They explained that they were to be deployed to Afghanistan and were undergoing/had undergone sensitivity training. They were told it was fine to observe. They did so.

If they had been introduced to those gathered, their presence announced, it would not have been so stressful for those who had come to pray. But, as I said, in our community, I haven’t observed military and Muslim to mix. I did know two women, both of whom converted, who lost their ROTC scholarships because they decided to cover their hair and would not concede the religious practice for their country. I also know one man who fought under the first President Bush. The result of his service was that he became a Muslim and now serves as a prison chaplain to incarcerated Muslims.

I wonder if this was different prior to 9/11. Were there more Muslims like me who had a spark inside them waiting to be lit into a fire all for this beautiful country? Was is also quashed for them by the government response to Muslims, those who looked Muslim, and those who befriended Muslims in this country? Did they have a place reserved in their hearts that filled with joy when they heard the national anthem that was suddenly occupied by dread and fear. Terror because the War on Terror was singularly aimed at them and their loved ones despite the diversity of beliefs and practices across a faith as diverse as the whole of Christianity? As the whole of America?

In my life, it never occurred to me to pick up a gun and kill someone for my religious beliefs. Until the fallout from 9/11 in the United States. There are still days when I think it would be nice to have a gun and be trained to use it to defend myself from the people who hate me for what I believe in. Still, I don’t want to shoot anyone because I think Islam tells me to. Islam does not tell me to go out and kill people. Islam does tell me that I shouldn’t just let myself be killed. So, if someone tried to hurt me on my family, I would defend myself. But I would have done that anyway–not just because Islam encourages self-defense.

Islam also encourages a struggle against those who would take your rights away. But you don’t need guns or bombs to engage in that struggle. You need a voice, a pen, a page, a presence. I engage that struggle all the time in a way I believe to be more beneficial than taking a person’s life–I aim to educate.

But back to the prayer and the men in uniform. It doesn’t take much imagination to recognize why men in military uniform looking on while a group of Muslims prayed might be terrifying. I can’t imagine anyone in my community doing anything other than a peaceful protest when it comes to getting on the wrong side of the law, but I can easily imagine people being hauled off to Gitmo or some other detention center on a whim. The weeks immediately following 9/11 brought the media to our mosque doorstep on some type of Inquisition. Were there terrorists here? Did we know them? Were we terrorists?

There were Feds and helicopters and more frequent passes by the local police patrol. We were told we were being observed for our own safety. There were times when the extra measures taken helped us feel more secure. But we were all too keenly aware of our second rate status. Where once we had been high-functioning contributing members of society–doctors, lawyers, engineers, professors, civil servants, students–we were now a cause of concern. We had to relearn how to speak without using trigger words (that was the bomb, i’m about to blow this place up, etc.), the clicks on our once-clear phone lines deafening. Ears listened. Eyes followed us wherever we went. Were a rose called by our names, no one would have thought it sweet-scented.

Perhaps we were protected, but it didn’t feel that way. Mostly it seemed others were being protected from us. We were pigeon-holed as likely to commit violence. We knew we weren’t favored. We lived with the fear that we would be whisked away in the night for a passing acquaintance, a well-meant but ill-researched donation, a website we stumbled upon. Our families might be ripped apart at any minute by the men sworn to protect us. Men who never left the country or men who had gone to war to kill other men who also fell under our label: Muslim.

The email exchange about the visiting soldiers has ended, but emotions are still running high for some. How could those men have undergone any type of sensitivity training and still have shown up in uniform is what I keep hearing. There is a lot of head shaking and cheek-chewing because there is a lot of fear.

Emanuel Calls ADC to Repudiate Negative Comments About Arabs

From the ADC webpage:


Washington, DC | November 13, 2008 | www.adc.org | Today, Congressman Rahm Emanuel, recently appointed White House Chief of Staff to President-Elect Barack Obama, called American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC) President Mary Rose Oakar to repudiate negative comments about Arabs made by his father Benjamin Emanuel .

In the phone call, Congressman Emanuel said, “From the fullness of my heart, I personally apologize on behalf of my family and me. These are not the values upon which I was raised or those of my family.” During the phone call, Emanuel added, it is unacceptable to make remarks such as these against any ethnic or religious group.

ADC President Mary Rose Oakar said, “We cannot allow Arabs and Muslims to be portrayed in these unacceptable terms. I welcome Rahm’s apology and his pledge to meet with our Community. I also thank our members and friends who responded who expressed concern about this matter. ”
MEDIA COVERAGE:

NEW YORK TIMES: Emanuel Apologizes for Father’s ‘Arab’ Comments

TIME: RAHM EMANUEL’S FATHER PROBLEM

ABC NEWS: AMERICAN-ARAB ANTI-DISCRIMINATION COMMITTEE ASKS RAHM TO REPUDIATE HIS DAD’S COMMENTS

JEWISH TELEGRAPH AGENCY: ARAB-AMERICAN GROUP BLASTS EMANUEL’S DAD

TEXT OF NOV. 11 ADC LETTER TO CONGRESSMAN EMANUEL
View letter online at: www.adc.org/PDF/rahm.pdf
Dear Congressman Emanuel:

I am writing to you on behalf of the largest American‐Arab Civil Rights group in the United States, with members in every State of the Union, founded in 1980. We work in coalition with all civil rights organizations.

This has been an historic election, one which energized our Country and gave many people the reason to vote for change. I know the Arab‐American community was very involved in this presidential election, and voter turnout in the community was exceptionally high. We wish to congratulate you on being named, by President‐Elect Obama, White House Chief of Staff. We were, however, deeply disappointed by comments made by your father, Mr. Benjamin Emanuel, on the momentous occasion of your announcement as Chief of Staff. According to numerous news stories in the U.S. and in Israel, he made the following comments in an interview with Ma’ariv, “Obviously he’ll influence the President to be pro‐Israel. Why wouldn’t he? What is he, an Arab? He’s not going to be mopping floors at the White House.”

The American‐Arab Anti‐Discrimination Committee (ADC) views this characterization of an Arab as an unacceptable smear. One can readily imagine the justifiable outcry if someone made a similar remark about African‐Americans, Jews, or Hispanics, concerning cleaning the floors of the White House. Do the normal standards of decency and civility not apply when talking about Arabs? ADC asks you to disavow and repudiate these remarks publicly. We sincerely hope you will distance yourself from any demeaning characterization of any ethnic, religious, or racial group. President‐Elect Obama pledged a respect for the diversity of this Nation, and Arab Americans certainly add, in a positive way, to our Country’s diversity.

Sincerely,
Hon. Mary Rose Oakar, ADC President
Kareem Shora, JD. LLM., National Executive Director

Cc: President‐Elect Barack Obama
# # #
NOTE TO EDITORS: The American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC), which is non sectarian and non partisan, is the largest Arab-American civil rights organization in the United States. It was founded in 1980, by former Senator James Abourezk to protect the civil rights of people of Arab descent in the United States and to promote the cultural heritage of the Arabs. ADC has 38 chapters nationwide, including chapters in every major city in the country, and members in all 50 states.

The ADC Research Institute (ADC-RI), which was founded in 1981, is a Section 501(c)(3) educational organization that sponsors a wide range of programs on behalf of Arab Americans and of importance to all Americans. ADC-RI programs include research studies, seminars, conferences and publications that document and analyze the discrimination faced by Arab Americans in the workplace, schools, media, and governmental agencies and institutions. ADC-RI also celebrates the rich cultural heritage of the Arabs.
____________________________________________________________
American-Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee | www.adc.org
1732 Wisconsin Ave., NW | Washington, DC | 20007
Tel: 202-244-2990 | Fax: 202-244-7968 | E-mail: media@adc.org

What President Obama Means to this Muslim Mama

“a letter to my sons on the eve of a nation’s great change”

November 5, 2008

My Dear Sons,

If I can indicate to you the significance of Barack Obama’s election as President of the United States of America in even the smallest way, I will have succeeded with this letter. You’ve seen that I’ve spent much of this day in silence and tears. Most likely you won’t remember, but if you do, forgive my silence. I don’t know what to say. There is a great wheel of thought turning in my head. The ideas fly past before I can grasp them, to take a moment and investigate what it is I’m feeling; to grapple with the full import of what has happened in our great country. As for the tears, they are tears of joy. Never stem tears of happiness. They are like the rain that replenishes the earth.

I admit that with the curious circumstances surrounding President George W. Bush’s election into office in 2000, I lost faith in the effectiveness of U.S. democracy. In 2004, there was a repeat of 2000’s debacle, and with W’s claims of “political capital” at his fingertips, it seemed to me that our democracy may have crumbled. Hope was a match in my fingertips, it’s flame whipped out by a quick wind. But today, my beautiful and wonderful boys, my faith in our country has been restored. I once again believe that my voice, a voice that generations before me fought to assign a value to, has not only been heard and valued, it has become tenable twice over. My voice is not only that of a woman, it is that of a woman of color.

I’m certain you will grow up with the knowledge of your own ethnic roots if in no other capacity than in relation to your faith. What speaks to my heart today is that you may not struggle to find your own place in society the way I did for much of my life. The adversity I (and the rest of your extended family) faced during my years in Oklahoma,Texas and Arkansas may be something forever foreign to you. In those pre-9/11 days, there was certainly undisguised hatred for us as Muslims, but the main disgust we encountered was race-based. Years of hatred culminated, for us, in repudiation based on the darker tones of our skin in a White, Presbyterian-dominated area. Last night, around 11PM, it became clear to me that there is a chance you may grow up without facing, witnessing or being pressured to take part in this type of adversity. While this hope is certainly incredible in its scope, and perhaps unfounded, there are reasons that my heart is opened to your freedom from racial stigma.

Certainly, Obama’s election would not have happened at this time in America’s life if not for the many incredible failures of George W. Bush as America’s 43rd president. Had Bush not abused his position of power by pursuing war on unfounded reasons and overspending the “political capital” he claimed to have earned, America could not have reached a point of such openness to and even desire for change. I am greatly aware of Obama’s weaknesses as a candidate for this office. The polarity of the campaign period shed light on the many failings of each candidate searching for nomination, but I believe Obama was the best of the lot we were granted despite his lack of experience in governance, and it is my hope that he will be a capable leader–one who continues on in the traditions of his campaign; to stay focused on the issues and to work for an America truly united by refusing to engage the propaganda and slander of naysayers and ne’er-do-wells.

You were both born into a time of misunderstanding with regards to Islam. After my move to Indiana from Arkansas, I saw the race-driven hatred fall away to be replaced with a subversive reinforcement of anti-Islam sentiment. In high school, I did not yet know myself as a Muslim. That identity had always been secondary. I’m sure the discrimination I faced based on my skin color aided me in defining myself as “Other” when it came to race. With our move from Arkansas to Indiana, I saw that fade away. Instead of being characterized as Arab and Muslim by default, I was characterized as Muslim and Arab by default. Looking back, I can say the consequences of this inversion was an increased interest in faith. With your father by my side, I clung to my new Muslim identity to find that it came with its own challenges.

Yes, there was harassment, but I was not generally subjected to it. I had female friends whose faith was visible due to the cloth on their heads. They were treated with derision. “Is there a bomb in your backpack?” was a question one of my friends regularly faced as she tried to pass through a particular hallway on her way to class. A group of boys, three or four of them, would yank her bag, tug her scarf, stand in her way or simply stare her down. It hurt her, but she kept walking. For many of us at that time, there was no recourse for the overt and sometimes physical aggression we experienced in places that should have been safe. This was pre-9/11.

I will say one thing for the horrid events of September 11, 2001. Had they not happened, we as Americans would not have had the chance to plumb the depths of the hatred for and fear of the “other” that we hide within. Before 9/11, harassment was tolerated, allowed to happen with merely the shake of a head or a click of the tongue. “What a shame,” we subjects of discrimination were told. “Some people just don’t understand.” We were then laden with the responsibility to understand for them, to forgive them for their ignorance. We were expected not to educate.

9/11 ended the “do nothing” period for Muslims in America and around the world. Suddenly, we were targets due to the crimes of those who perpetuated terror in the name of our faith. Our majority was forced to stand up and shout until we were blue in the face that we do not tolerate, accept or condone this type of violence. That we, the Muslim masses, believe in democracy, in the freedom of religion the Constitution promises.

We could no longer sit idly by. Our friends and family were being whisked away to detention centers, fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers detained, tortured, murdered in response to the acts of unilateral thinkers whose views we did not share. We had to speak up, to claim in voices rough with tears that we are people too. Like those minorities before us, we will not be denied our civil rights in a country we love because of its promised equality. Perhaps the writers of the Constitution were not so forward thinking when they promised freedom of religion–perhaps it only applied to those who worship in churches–but we would not let our mosques be riddled with bullets or burned to the ground.

My precious boys, neither of you is old enough to understand why the tears keep falling from my eyes yet I cannot stop smiling. My silent treatment of you will likely be forgiven by its omission from your memories. I am writing this because I want you to understand the incredible blessings of the world you have been born into. There is adversity at every corner, but with adversity comes hope. Barack Obama’s election proves this. He is a man of color elected as president in a country built from the blood of minorities. He is not a Muslim. He did not make a strong standing for Muslims in his campaign, but unlike his contemporaries, he has not incited hatred against us, derided us for our beliefs or used our differences of faith as cause to exclude us from our rightful category of American.

Here is what Obama’s election means to me: Yes, you will still grow up in a minority. You, like all humans, will face challenges day by day. But you are starting your lives in a world much different than that one I grew up in–in a world that has wildly changed. It may be that you will have more doors open to you based on your diversity. You are starting your lives in an America embracing a new reflection in the world’s mirror. I hope you help to keep that reflection crisp and clean. I hope your journey toward self-identification is filled with opportunity. You are the newest generation of American Muslims. Today I am able to believe that perhaps once another half a century has passed, you will be leaders for this great country. Perhaps, now that we are moving past race-based limitations, faith-based limitations will also begin to fail. Perhaps, one day, you will inspire hope for those both like and unlike you, your heads held high, your voices lifted as you say it: Yes we can.

I pray that you’ll find these words some day and that they will illuminate a history that seems to you fashioned of fiction. May you grow up knowing only the equality our constitution promises and the beauty of democracy at its best. May you grow up free from the hate that has plagued this country for far too long. May you grow up free. May you grow up Muslim Americans.

All my love,

Your Mother

When Ethnicity Becomes a Slur

Too often Islam is viewed in monochrome. Muslims are seen not for their variety, but for the skin color or ethnic heritage of a few. Yes, the majority of Muslims live overseas, but that doesn’t mean they all share the same skin tone or cultural upbringing. We are a myriad of cultures and colors. We are not made up of one ethnicity. We may all fall under the umbrella term of Muslim, but that makes us no less varied than those encompassed under the umbrella of Christian.

John McCain had an opportunity to point this out to his constituents when a woman addressing him claimed she can’t trust Obama because he’s an Arab. No he’s not, says McCain. He’s a good guy.

This issue of Arab does not equal good guy has been hit on all over the blogosphere by Muslim writers. There are others who have taken notice that Arab not ony is not antithetical to good, it also does not equal Muslim.

What do you think of what Affleck has to say (he chimes in at minute five)?