Swinging Door

"When we become truly ourselves, we just become a swinging door and we are purely independent of and at the same time dependent upon everything."

My mother has always told me I say too much, by which she means she would appreciate if more of what is in my head stayed inside my head. I have only followed her advice when I have done or seen things which have been outlined to require grave consequences if revealed, and in regard to those instances, I feel like I oppressed my soul for having taken part in something that must be hidden. Listen, I know that I wouldn't feel that way if those things hadn't been outlined as such, but they were and I do. So here's everything else.

If you don't do drugs, you will learn other ways to step back and look at your own life. You realize that's what you wanted in the first place, when you still had control. You will remember you always knew how to tear yourself away, if necessary, to open your laden arms and stop time to take stock-- what exactly are you carrying? Do you need all that? The questions have changed, and I'm getting better at making the assessment, but this act remains essential to maintaining sanity. It does matter what you step back into, too.

I need a close look, so I'm up late tonight. It's only 1:22AM in California. Still late for me these days, but I don't have to work tomorrow or the next day, I'm not tired because I didn't work yesterday or the day before. I don't have to worry about falling asleep late and missing the dawn prayer because I'm on my period, so excused this week. I'm not studying for a certification exam and I'm not in school or recovering from being in school. I haven't been in love in about 18 months. And my life has taken shape recently (read: I got my shit together) in a way that I had once imagined over twelve years ago and then completely forgotten about. Oh, and the world seems to be going to shit and I have never felt more calm about it. In other words, the universe has aligned and conditions for reflection are perfect. And I'm going to do that publicly because, don't you want to know how I did it all?

Awh, internal laudatory chorus. Stawpppp. It wasn't narcissism. I swear.

We've come a long way since the two whitest kids at my school asked me if I was related to Osama Bin Laden and if I believed in god, respectively. The other day, the whitest person at work asked me what the Muslim community thinks about ______. Chicken? Printer cartridges? Toilet Paper? I'm not actually sure. I faded out for a second and for that paranoid second, I wondered if he was asking me for A Reason and reassured myself-- this is not something I need to hide. Whatever he asked, I recovered in time to read him the first sentence of this paragraph, minus the bit about white kids. I think he got my point because he went on to express a bunch of sympathy for the disenfranchised (while maintaining a fiscal conservative stance). At least the one time that a non-Muslim POC bullied me, he had the awareness, in 2002, as a pre-teen, to put a towel on his head and imitate a muezzin. If I hadn't been terrified, I might have been impressed.

I've lost track of details. Are things worse now than they were fourteen years ago? I think so. But I can't say I've been trying to keep track of everything. It takes a considerable amount of work to go from literary studies (academic analysis of written cultural artifacts) to maintaining and building data systems. (That's a horrible description of it. My profession is not good at descriptions of our work. I apologize. I work on distributed databases. Sometimes I say, hey, it's still a matter of understanding the organization of information. Or, like, you know, the basic human experience of understanding.) First, I had to change from being a person who engages through only observation, however creatively or intelligently I did so, to a person who takes initiative and moves both ideas and resources. I also needed both an art degree and a science degree. I also fell in love and broke my heart a bunch of times. I swallowed my pride. I treated depression with unsanctioned drugs. I moved halfway across the country, and then entirely across the country. I pursued esoteric religion.

So I can't fully tell you how I ended up back on the path I meant to take when I was fifteen, the person I wanted to be before I realized how complicated global politics was going to make my life. You can't contain my whole life. You don't need to. No one can. But there are some parts that are critical for us to share.

I do still occasionally catch the news. Sometimes it can't be helped. I don't exactly avoid it, but I also don't feel constantly threatened. I do care. I pray for the dead. I pray for the living. I give what I can to people who have lost their homes, their families, their livelihood. I hope to do more of that. I work because I can and it's okay that some people can't do as much.

But I don't have all the defensive arguments down. I refuse to. I understand why they're important to some people. But I need more than that, deeper and wider. Yet, I already have everything I need.

I'm not who I'm not. I'm not even who I am. Identity, or what I project, where I feel I belong or who I show alliance with or however you want to define it, is only a small part of the self. I think most people only use a small part of the self. And when you have very little, you are likely to hold what you have very tightly. And probably spend all your money on it. But that's not the point of self. The point is to let it go.



the quote at the beginning is from a zen member of my family

Post-reading notes: I, Tituba, Black Witch Of Salem

Tituba's influence on the white Christians in the book is really interesting. She uses "witchcraft" or voodoo to slowly and painfully kill one of them, a literal influence, which haunts her the rest of her life. However, her more subtle influence as a non-Puritan on the young girls who she encourages to break a few rules in their religion only to improve their health, has dire consequences for everyone but Tituba. When her suggestions proves successful, it seems the girls turn on her and accuse her of witchcraft but they also accuse everyone who is different or has inconvenienced them of the same thing and turn the whole town against each other. They seem more possessed by Satan than anyone else! So in reality, it seems the girls lost their faith. It's usually those who are most insecure who accuse others of insecurities, usually the same insecurities that they have, which here means feeling in scheme with the devil. It's interesting that for a Puritan, losing faith is suggested as being tantamount to switching to the devil's side but this may be because they see the devil in everything that isn't Puritan. Tituba, by the way, doesn't believe in either God or Satan.

I also thought that the discussions between Tituba, her mother, Mama Yaya, and Hester about gender are really interesting. Everyone else believes involvement with men brings nothing but misfortune to women, which in this novel is generally true, Tituba's life and the plot of the novel, is almost just a string of Tituba's romantic involvements and how they precipitate the events of her life and eventually lead to her hanging. Still, Tituba, who was conceived through rape, seeks involvement with men for the sexual comfort. Tituba is, above all else, a character who wants to trust people.

I like what this story and what Mama Yaya says about the struggle of slaves for freedom. That they are inclined to violent means to gain back the dignity taken from them with such violence. However, it is through Tituba's care for people, whether slave or master, which undoes society. If that isn't a huge shout out to MLK and the Civil Rights Movement, I've never heard one.

Finally, thinking about this book, maybe because it talks about a slave woman's influence on religion, I thought of Roots and I thought of how horrifying it must have been for a Muslim woman to be taken as a slave the way Europeans took the Africans as slaves. Yes, the there are slaves in the Quran but Muslims are urged to treat slaves with humility and promised rewards for freeing slaves. Not that I don't sympathize with enslaved males Muslims but Muslimah taken as a slave is the twisting of the knife in my belly.

"The Essential Rumi, borrowed from the library"

Before I read the mystic's words,
the flowers of your perfume,
curled between pages you held long and close,
dreamed our release into a tangled garden
of cornflowers, violet and green.

And we, red and gold, hair loosened by poetry,
flew wings of kept birds out of the house
into the glory of that conjured place,
praying for tree houses and swings
with no words, just whooping, sublime and serene.

Information Marxism

One of my interests is branding. Products are often sold with fine print that threatens to contractually bind us into expressing certain personalities, attitudes, or traits. This is why you can answer the question: what's the difference between someone who owns a Mac and someone who owns a PC?

The truth is, there doesn't have to be any difference. It's like asking what the difference is between someone who owns cows and someone who owns goats. Maybe somewhere there's stereotype, but it hasn't been used to sell anything, at least not successfully, so most of us can't answer this question. But the real answer is the same: there doesn't necessarily have to be a difference.

When materialism was synonymous with shopohilism, caring about brands made you a shallow person. These days, if you don't care about brands, you aren't socially conscious. However, caring is no longer superficial but requires a lot of research. In the information age, a lack of social consciousness makes you information impoverished, lazy, inept, inconsiderate, and/or awkward. Still, honestly, social consciousness is a "brand" itself, and I have mixed feelings about branding.

First, how much of our identity is created through what we purchase? Everything you buy says something about you because everything you buy is a vote and an investment in the retailer, company, and product and how you vote and invest reflects upon you. Beyond bare necessities, your choices reflect your values or the values a brand convinces you you should have. That last part is pivotal. Do your choices reflect your values or the values advertising convinces you to have?

This came into perspective for me as a minority. The values my parents have are not the same as those held by the larger society I live in. Furthermore, my parents are rather religious and have only become more so over the course of my life. Though their cultural values are still pretty deeply held, religion gives them a more canonized and therefore more accessible way to examine their values against a standard they trust. Their cultural values tend to be more arbitrary but because religion plays such a large cultural role in my family, I have overall adapted a stance of re-examination of values.

It's not just the private sector that perpetuates branding. Schools, which are government regulated, perpetuate the American brand. Or what officials have decided is the American brand. It could be said that's politics in general.

When I was writing graduate school applications, one of the best questions I came across about information access is Randy Stoecker's concern over whether internet access gives underprivileged, dispossessed people a superficial or false sense of belonging to larger culture. Implied in this criticism is a distrust for larger culture, which is created through assertive branding and seeks to profit only the business owners.

The best answer to this question, I believe, comes from Hans Enzensberger, on whom I haven't done enough research but first encountered here. I have been interested in "new media" since I encountered Amir Ahmad's Islam in the Age of New Media project. Basically, the idea is the mass, radical manipulation of media. Branding is created through media but everyone has access to the creation of media, it gives everyone access, if they wish, to branding as well. Rather than only consuming pre-packaged brand values, people are given the chance to package and perpetuate the values they choose. This is also, in my opinion, one of the best uses of the internet. Already, the internet is being limited by big brands. That can't be allowed to happen. Branding, especially in the realm of the internet, needs to be put into the hands of socially conscious community leaders. Maybe that sounds like tribalism but if we are to be united, it has to be on fair terms.

Meditation on Sharhnush Parsipur's Touba

Today, I have been mentally disconnected from the world around me, wandering in the book, Touba and the Meaning of Night. I finished it last night and I need to move on because I have plenty of reading I plan on getting done in the next few weeks. But in my usual approach to finishing a really good book, I want to dwell on it. I can't read anything else while I'm at work so here I am. To do this constructively, and because the themes of this book a very relevant to this blog, here's a quick analysis.
The book is pretty out there. Employing what critics are calling magical realism,which I love, the book is a blend Islamic mysticism and a critique of history and gender politics. At times I felt that the author was heavy handed by offering definitions yet her definitions were so good, I can't say I minded. I felt like I was being told a story by an elder, wisdom emanating from the actions of every character.

Alert: spoilers ahead. If you dare, keep reading.

Let's start with the Islamic mysticism. The main first ambition expressed by Touba, the main character, is her desire to find god and bear a messiah. She is inspired after her father teaches her the Quran, who is inspired to do so when the thought that the earth is round makes him realize that women are capable of thinking. Throughout the novel, when there is a change in the path of Touba's life, she recalls this ambition and wonders how her marriages, her children, her society, her property prevent her from following it. In the end, however, it is Layla, the embodiment of femininity, who enlightens Touba and unites her with the Touba Tree, the Sufi symbol for spiritual perfection, unity with God, and death.

The society that had successfully prevented her was itself in political and cultural upheaval. The political upheaval, despite Touba's marriage into the Qajar dynasty, always seemed distant in the book. The absence of politically people involved are not felt except in the case of Mr. Khiabani and Ismael, Touba's and her daughter Moone's prime male interests. These interests, through no fault of their own, turn Touba and her daughter towards mysticism. Nonetheless, the book begins with a story of a European man whipping Touba's father in the face for wandering, deep in mystic thought, into the path of his horse. The idea of historical progress, which is implemented by those in power, at first embarrass Touba, but in due course become irrelevant after she also questions, admires, and rejects them on the basis of disconnected principles. Touba's greatest difficulty is in dealing with modernization and, for which she consults her spiritual leader, fluctuating social norms.

On Touba's first visit to her spiritual leader, he sends her home because her mind is preoccupied with those she must care for: her family, including four young children and a mentally disturbed aunt. Her family soon doubles after they get home and Touba is asked to take in refugees from Azerbaijan and only to be broken when her husband takes a second wife. Two false images of gender equality are presented: the sexual agency of the court women, allowed them due to wealth and power, and the financial agency of Touba's daughter, afforded her through modernization. Both are false in giving neither woman what she wants, though the second, unlike the first, is less harmful in its falsehood. But what Touba wants most is to be united with God and each duty in her life seems to be an obstacle. After yet another generation of adopted family finally finds their own direction in life, Touba finals turns within herself and asks herself why she has never achieved her only goal.

That's as far as I can spoil it for you. Now I'll give you my conclusion: This is a work of dharmic feminism, a journey in search of the divine feminine. I don't know Farsi, but in Bengali, the word for religion doesn't translate to "faith." This is something I first glimpsed in a lecture by Ingrid Matteson, a professor on the Spirituality of Muslim Women at Hartford Seminary. I just put two and two together. The word for religion, dharmo, is very close the Hindu concept of "duty." Sufism is, in fact, highly influenced by the dharmic religions. Because Touba's end goal is to raise herself to union with God, and because her duties include contending with the social and political forces around her, she expresses embedded feminism.

I heavily related to this book because, even in different social and political environments, this is the Islam I grew up with. Persian culture is appreciated by many Bengalis, as is Buddhist and Hindu culture.. Though my family is Sunni and Iran is largely Shi'a, there are also members of my family who are Sufis, like Touba. My maternal grandfather, despite his Arabian influenced Islam, read palms, which I can't see jibing with Wahabism. My parents, in deference to my grandfather's dated reference, seek Arabian influence and these days that results in pretty straight-laced views. How has Wahabism developed over the span of my grandfathers' lives, my mother's life, my life? Could it have been less influential when my grandfather developed his religious views?  These are relevant questions I wouldn't have thought to ask without having read this book.**

Of course, in America, Islam is something still different. Sufism is/should be different. I am an immigrant but I doubt I will instill in my children half the dharmic values I have and I don't have that many compared to my parents (though there are some I want to cultivate). At times, in America, you need something else. Are there Puritan, Protestant, Catholic, Jewish values that can be expressed in Islam? Considering the common root of the religions, that answer should be easy! But has it emerged? Eboo Patel says there is a cornerstone in the value of service and I agree. Mohja Kahf points out American Islam's roots in slavery and the Civil Rights movement and the American value of egalitarian love and that has to be a part of it, too. Also, it has to seriously engage in feminism. What else? I think there's more. I believe this is my generation's duty.

Now, time to get my laundry and clean my room.



**I have vague answers because I know a rough religio-political history of Islam,  via Reza Aslan's No God But God and G. Willow Wilson's Butterfly Mosque.

Shades of Grey and Brown

Fifty Shades of Grey recently hit the library bookshelves. I've had some interesting conversations with housewives and overheard interesting conversations among the ladies in the office. They're more or less unabashed, although I didn't spot anyone talking about it with or around too many men. It basically reminds me of the scene in Madmen when the ladies pass around a copy of Lady Chatterley. I don't think it's anything all that new and I don't think I'll be reading it, either.

But something good has come out of this for me, nonetheless. While trying to explain why I would not be reading it to a fellow lover of literature, I said that, right now, there are other ways that I'm more interested in developing my imagination.

And then it hit me. Ever since I was in the middle of my B.A., I have been conflicted about what I should be reading. I wasn't even sure what I wanted to read. There were a lot of people telling me what I, as a student of literature, should read. On the grounds of studying literature and yet studying post-colonial literature, which is anti-literature, in the classical sense, as much as movements in modernism are, and yet feeling as though there was something missing, all I knew was the my love for reading was in shambles and if it were to die, a part of me I loved would die with it. But the question I needed to ask myself was: What part of my imagination do I need/want to develop?

When I was in middle school, a well-meaning school librarian suggested I read a fiction book by a Muslim author with Muslim characters in a Muslim country. I don't even remember what book. Flustered, I told her I didn't want to. Between Harry Potter books, I was more interested in the Alice series by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. I was interested in anything written by Avi or Rodman Philbrick. I remember liking a series of fairy tales re-written as novels from the point of view of a different character. Growing up sheltered, I wanted to know about the culture beyond my house, a culture I desperately wanted to take part in or at least relate to.

Even then, I knew I wasn't interested in mainstream culture-- I was self-aware enough to know I was different and geeky and be able to appreciate that about myself. But I remember being afraid of being shaped wrongly by the book she suggested. I was afraid it would change me in a way I had no control over. I was afraid it would hit uncomfortably close to home. I was also afraid it would miss and make me feel too different, an unreachable other. Even as I started reading global, post-colonial literature in college, I was a apprehensive about reading anything by Indian, Bengali, or Muslim writers.

As I became more exposed to writing closer to my experience, started reading and enjoying a few books, even becoming overwhelmed by volume of literature I could still read about it, it became less important for me to be able to completely relate to a work by a Muslim or from a Muslim country. It made me realize that there were a lot of people like me, but not exactly like me and that this is a good thing. Even though there's still a part of me that's afraid that if I read one more book about being from the Indian subcontinent, being an immigrant, being Muslim, on top of which, being feminist, I'm going to alienate myself, now I think that it's something I need to develop more of an imagination for.

In a way, this focus it does limit me. I don't read very much mainstream literature and I'm not that interested in much of the literary canon and because of these reasons, it's not enough for me to meet someone who loves to read to feel an immediate connection with them-- like it was in middle school. But I do still connect with people who love literary fiction of most varieties. I also recently discovered my love for sci-fi. The biggest difference is that I now relate most to people developing shades of grey within their imagination of Muslim, immigrant, female, religious, subcontinental experiences because as someone of these experiences and an American on top of that, to do otherwise would require me to believe these descriptors are limits upon myself and believe they should be for other people, too.

Against Eltahawy's Criticism of Religious Sublimation

This video can use some more circulation in the Muslim feminist blogosphere.

My favorite part of this video is towards the end, when Leila Ahmed criticizes Mona Eltahawy's interpretation of Alifa Rifaat's story, "Distant View of a Minaret." There are several reasons its my favorite part. First, it got me to read the story for myself, which wasn't hard because it is also linked in the Foreign Policy article, for myself. Second, in my first post about this article, my strongest criticism of it was Eltahawy's criticism of religious sublimation, which is what is happening in her reading of the story, by "claiming to have God firmly on their side."

Before I tell you my final reason for liking Ahmed's criticism, I have to tell you me second favorite part of this video. My second part of this video is how much respect these two women have for each other and that the Melissa Harris-Perry show did nothing to play that down. This makes me feel like I don't have to worry about Eltahawy burning bridges for those who want to follow in her footsteps. I loved that both she and Ahmed met and talked to Alifa Rifaat. I love this network of Muslim feminist thinkers and the exchange of feminist thought. Beautifully done. And I love that Mona made a splash and brought these pieces together for anyone who is willing to see beyond the Islamophobic and anti-Islamophobia static.

Now, my final reason for liking Ahmed's criticism, brought on by Eltahawy's bringing this issue to the forefront, is that this is the part of the discussion I want to take part in.

Reminiscent of Marxist, "opium of the masses" idea, that religion allows us an escapist option in the face of oppression or that it can be turned to instead of reform is a common criticism of religion itself, not society, which the umbrella under which gender criticism usually falls. I don't like Eltahawy's blurring of the line between religion and society but the truth is, Islam has been used to justify and normalize misogyny. Yet, for the women who marry the men under oppressive regimes and are, in turn, oppressed themselves, is religious sublimation so bad? It saves a woman from a life of finding meaning only through her duty to her uncaring husband. Isn't that feminism? Alternatives, which should be available, include divorce, marrying out of the culture or not marrying, all of which value the self over the society and can both free a woman of the pitfalls of misogyny and introduce a whole set of new problems (that will likely include a foreign version of misogyny) or not marrying men

And then there's the idea that God is a patriarchal man. I don't believe that to be true. But there are probably many religious women that do believe that and by believing that there's a good model for a patriarchal man, continue to believe in patriarchy. While feminists tear down patriarchy for its flaw, these women seem to believe in a higher standard for it. What's wrong with that? Where that higher standard (which should be considered a moderate from of feminism) is left unexpressed is where my only criticism of what Eltahawy blankets over can be found. If that seems un-feminist of me, I think you need to expand your definition of the term.

One day, I'm going to be a famous poet

In my last post, I said I applaud Mona Eltahawy for gaining the readership she's gained. Not only that, as explained by Altmuslimah, she got a discussion going. Not only THAT, but I hope she's paving the way for Muslim, feminist journalists and writers on the world stage. That part is only a hope so far because to do so, she can't sacrifice her identity for success. That said, she doesn't need to represent every Muslim feminist out there but selling herself out will likely only cause a barrier for anyone wanting to follow in her footsteps.

I've been thinking recently about gaining a wider readership. And by thinking, I mean thinking of trying to get to that point myself. I don't intend to go via news or publishing corporations. That's not the only way to mass communication. At least, if those corps don't come to own the entire internet, it's not. And I'd like to come at it from a community organizer's point of view, where successful mass communication isn't muddled with the attitude of "trying to make a splash" like it has been for Mona Eltahawy.

In the meantime, I don't want to get lost in Muslim feminism. There's more to me than that. I've had the fortune of growing up in country where ideas flow freely and I can't forget that side of myself. I want to be a part of that free flow of ideas and there's more to my ideas, more to ME than my Muslim and feminist ideas. I want to be a poet so I can take those pieces apart and sew them back together into my favorite outfit. And when I figure out how to be a poet, I want to know how to get people to listen. The people who need it, at least. Who wants to sit around at home in her favorite outfit?

These are big dreams considering my current readership (I appreciate each of you deeply) but I've always been a big dreamer.

To touch base with another side of myself, (but mostly to direct you to something wonderful) I recently watched the premiere episode of HBO's Girls. I had to see what all the hubbub in the female and feminist blogosphere was about. Unfortunately, I was pretty upset about it. I don't even want to talk about it. I'm not watching any more of it if I can help it. I'd rather re-watch ABG.

Iconoclasm vs. A Muslim American Brand

Earlier today, while leafing through a fashion magazine at work, I entertained a complex fantasy involving Jay Z and Beyonce endorsing public libraries and whether or not I would wear a hijab to the ceremony/celebrations (to which I would obviously be invited) they would have in honor of their endorsement. Thursdays are slow days.

Reflected in that fantasy are 3 things I've been thinking about recently:

1. Icons. Pop icons, public figures, product campaigns/packaging, idols, art.

2. Family/community vs. individualism.

3. The meaning of hijab and the circumstances, yes circumstances, under which it's better to wear one than not wear one. 

The first is because, in The Butterfly Mosque G. Willow Wilson mentions the Islamic recommendation against and in some cases even prohibition of icons. This comes from a long history of refusing to worship idols, through which the worshiper may associate partners with god or earthly manifestations of god and divide god's oneness. Wilson, though, is a graphic novelist whose work depicts human and animal figures which, though not forbidden to Muslims as is the depiction of the Prophet, is certainly not recommended. Islamic art, rather than being iconic, is meant to be decorative and using a graphic novel as decoration is tantamount to using any other book as such. Wilson goes on to say that American culture, by contrast, is icon centric.

Wilson also mentions the Egyptian distaste for living alone in the ground of it being waste of resources. Economies of scale aside, the Times article, "The Freedom and Perils of Living Alone," , implies living alone diminishes the ability to anticipate the needs of others, working in direct contrast with the values of collective society (and, I would argue, representative democracy) such as the society heavily family centric, borderline tribal society of Egypt.

Hijab is another post...kind of.

Anyway, I am going into library science because I'm interested in community building and, as I've witnessed by working the circulation desk at the busiest public library in RCLS (a library partnership/conglomeration covering Orange, Rockland, Ulster, and Sullivan counties), public libraries have a lot of potential as a major community hubs. I am going into it with the awareness that the computer/internet access provided by most libraries has been criticized for merely providing the underprivileged communities with the feeling of belonging in larger society without providing them the skills necessary to contribute to and create that society.

I believe that no one should be preyed upon as consumers under the guise of inclusion. They should also be able to create and contribute to the creation of their own/chosen brands, like what Jay Z is to black culture.They should be able to make and choose their own icons, aesthetics, etc and feel their participation in the brand benefits someone they trust.

While a brand may anticipate the needs of it's consumers, it also sells what is ultimately its own conception of society's needs to society and makes a profit that society does not necessarily benefit from. Jay Z says, "I'm not a businessman, I'm a business, man." As a public figure, he sells himself as a brand. In consumer culture, if hip-hop is the religion, Jay Z is god. If not forever, at least until the next god. Jay Z doesn't define himself by participating in consumer culture like normal people do. He defines himself as culture to be consumed. Anything he does becomes a part of his brand. However, creating a brand that saves your people the degradation of investing in brand values that may directly contradict their own (ie: Tommy Hilfiger's racism) is definitely community empowerment.



So, as a 21st century Muslim, I have to ask: can Muslims have a public figure like Jay Z? Is it Islamic to create a Muslim brand that neither exoticizes, stereotypes, nor exploits Islam or Muslims (or anyone or anything else) while uplifting Muslims Americans? Since brands, rather than tribal communities (more easily maintained in more homogeneous societies), are the American vehicles of unification and identity, not to mention that of globalization, can they take the place of the family/community as something that empowers Muslims? Is the identifier "muslim american" one that truly brings people together as both Muslims and Americans without a brand? Or are culture generating brands too akin to idol worship? Would it be okay if the brand didn't center around a celebrity?

The easy answer is that Islam IS a brand, so to speak, and under all circumstances should be the main principle of unification and identity for all Muslims. The easy answer is not necessarily a wrong answer.

But what I'm more concerned with and what we lose by going with the easy answer are the cultural aspects-- things found in magazines, things like recipes, family traditions, the finer aspects of grooming, beauty standards, relationship advice, interior design, etc.  I would like to see something providing Muslim Americans (many of whom are immigrants) a connection/consciousness with the tribulations of their parents while simultaneously imagining their future as Americans (like hip-hop that samples jazz and blues). While we're at it, immigrant Muslims also sorely need to connect with black Muslims and converts need to understand the difference between cultural and religious practice. 

I believe that the admonition concerning icons exist to make brand awareness necessary rather than to prohibit the making of icons altogether. I know there are magazines out there for Muslim Americans and there are Muslim American brands but I want to see more that are self aware yet vigorous enough to gain recognition from mainstream America, especially in the wake of the flop that was TLC's reality TV show or the impending, Colbert "threat down" bearing "The Shahs of Sunset" disaster.

Who's making your future?: An introduction to mine.

“There is no such thing as unmanipulated writing, filming, or broadcasting. The question is therefore not whether the media are manipulated, but who manipulates them. A revolutionary plan should not require the manipulators to disappear: on the contrary, it must make everyone a manipulator." -Hans Enzensberger (Rust Belt Visions: The 2011 Allied Media Conference)

It is a commonly held notion that the world around us isn't good enough. Maybe with the exception of people who belong to the elite class of luxury and excess, most of us look around us and see things that need to be improved. Most of us are willing to work towards improvement, if only for a good night of sleep following a hard day's work. We don't want our effort to line the pockets of the elite or further the damage already surrounding us.

For change to happen, we need resources. Knowing that one of the problems we face is a shortage of resources, some of us choose to directly address this need. I respect that effort, especially because to do it honestly it requires skillful navigation between the corporate creation of scarcity and actual need.

Apparent in my penchant for literature, rooted, perhaps, in the immigrant tradition, I want to address our need for resources by helping both people seeking to provide resources and the people in need of them think about what they really need and to best provide and/or obtain it, and I want to do it by addressing our escapist tendencies.

Next, though you might not immediately see how this comes next, a good story caters to the escapism of entertainment and a really good story teaches you something important at the same time. Though I have spent years of my life with my nose, nay my entire head, in some book, I know that most people escape into music, television shows, movies, video games, or, the biggest one of all: the internet. And though I was an English major, I know that most if not all media contains a message. The message is usually simple: consume more media from this source/follow this message.

BUT the original conception of the internet was not one prompting us to consume but to create. It was not to create another platform for corporate manipulation but to give us access to creating information. Dave Winer from Wired.com equates internet access with having access to your own personal printing press. And the more digitized media becomes, the future we can take that. Why not your own radio or TV station? Video game? Record company? Art gallery? Why not? It seems like the ultimate escapism until you realize the internet is a place where change can happen. In fact, it is happening but the change is being enacted by corporations and that needs to change.

The next question is that of creating media with messages in good faith. In other words, creating media in the context of creating a better world, not just one into which we can escape, as has been its historical corporate function. This is probably the hardest part. While I was English major, dissecting the worlds created in literature-- even though literary fiction is often a prompt to dissect the intentions of the world around us, facing the intentionality in the world around us is an incredibly difficult task. Before using literary analysis, which tries to pinpoint the techniques used by the author to create the message of the book, I never really thought of books as being authored, forget the process by which they are. The way I learned to read as an English major and the way I read before were entirely different and the difference nearly ruined the pleasure of reading for me.

But there are people who face intentionality at its worst everyday. People who face racism or sexism, for example, and know they should be judged as an individual rather than through prejudice. Especially when prejudice is encountered everywhere, it becomes apparent as being constructed with the intention to justify the mistreatment of others. People who struggle against it can tell you how important it is to know the historical context of both the force they reckon with and of their struggle as it proceeds.

For example, when part of a struggle against prejudice, such as the revolutionary movement of hip-hop, is commercialized and made into "pop," it's context (the Civil Rights Movement) disappears. So how do you create media in good faith? You make sure it is connected with the context of it's intention. Don't trust anything without context.

But simply providing context is not enough. Judith Butler, on addressing the lack of centrality/representation/leadership in feminism states that gender, to remain relevant and to avoid coercion, must function as platform for the interpretation of gender. For feminists, gender is a conversation starter, not a lecture. Gender is a context but without the opportunity to continually edit the contained content, it morphs into the polar opposite of what feminists (and humans in general) need it to be. Given, the next step is to empower people to contribute to the creation of information and media.

So, my goal is to help people become aware of information manipulation (giving them context) while giving them the skills to dismantle the sway of the current methods of manipulation as content contributors. This will not only help people become more aware of commercially created "need" but hopefully also help us find our actual context within which we can assess our actual needs. Believe it or not, you can learn all the necessary skills to do what I want to do at a good Library and Information Science program. So that's where I'm headed next.

Yale's "Call the NYPD" Protest and the role of the MSA in the American University

I haven't posted in a very long time! I've been pretty busy corralling application forms and figuring out the next step for myself. Which is close to being figured out, by the way. I'll explain some more in my next post because, in the interest of aforementioned corralling and figuring, this post will have to be a short one.

Side note: That title sounds like a paper title. Maybe I do miss being in school.

So, getting to the meat of today's topic. Recently, my sister's college MSO hosted a lecture by Ingrid Mattson, former president of ICNA. After a girl, claiming she was a photography student, asked to take a picture of my father, my sister brought up the recently publicized NYPD investigation of Muslim college student organization that, shockingly, pervaded the east coast much further than NYPD jurisdiction does.

While I am disappointed, and slightly confused since Bloomburg openly supported the Park51 Mosque, I would prefer to call attention to Yale's response because the way we respond to what gets thrown at us is what defines us and the way Yale students have responded is highly respectable.

To protest racial profiling, Yale students are posting pictures captions "Call the NYPD" of people on campus holding signs declaring "I'm a Muslim," "I'm a feminist," "I'm just trying to help," "We used to be Muslim," or simply, "I'm against racial profiling." The wide range of photos posted and wildly varying signs proclaiming personal identity effectively condones racial profiling.

Further, I believe that this act reflects the desire in the American Muslim community to be addressed as an individual. Though Muslim culture is generally collective, American Muslims have a tendency to either flout or walk the line between individualism and collectivism. I first noticed this after reading a ton of Sherman Alexie last summer, particularly his novel Reservation Blues, because I believe it's an experience shared by most minorities strongly associated with enduring stereotypes.

I was never an MSA member myself, though my school's chapter was the largest organization on campus. Most members were fairly conservative Muslims. There weren't any non-Muslims as far as I remember and being a female, semi-practicing Muslim who was grew up pretty American, I didn't feel like I fit in. I don't think the MSA was intentionally exclusive but I think the Yale protest certainly hints at a need for more diverse involvement within similar organizations across America.

Afterall, the MSA is not the campus mosque/masjid. Though it can certainly function as that as well, in the end, it is a campus organization and has to address the needs of the campus as well the Muslim community at the school. It has the opportunity to serve as a platform of discussion between Muslims and non-Muslims an intermediary is sorely needed there. Though mosques can do this as well, as a campus organization rather than a house of worship, this is a responsibility of the campus MSA.

Finally, I don't think the response from the Yale community at large can be dissociated from the character of the Yale MSA. The Yale MSA has a reputation for what some would call "liberalism." But this is a place where Americans Muslims walk a similar line as that between individualism and collectivism and should not be mistaken, though it often is, as counter to good religious practice. Islam, like other religions, historically adopted the culture of the land and mixed religious expression with cultural expression. I don't think that men and women praying side by side on a college campus, though it contradicts Islamic orthodoxy, can so easily be condemned as the religiously conservative are wont to do.

All in all, in my book: Yale 1, NYPD 0.

Is the Occupy movement over yet?

I am an extreme opponent of "Occupy Wall Street," and the "movements" it has "inspired." As demonstrated by the number of quotation marks in that last sentence. The opinions expressed in this post are meant to be inflammatory.  So, here are some reasons I think OWS would be better off dead:

1. Occupy Wall Street was, itself, a complete failure. Protesting "corporate greed," the greed that gobbled up tuition money and gave students nothing in return, so vaguely produces no results. It put the ball in the capitalist court, because blaming is the same as appointing responsibility. Occupy Wall Street's protesters took no responsibility. What if they instead protested the Higher Education Bubble, which was a far more immediate cause of their problems? Or the marketing/advertising industry? Trade and finance overall is not problematic, as OWS's founding Adbusters claims. General unrest is nothing new and nothing to protest.

2. Occupy Wall Street was inspired by the Arab Spring. The Arab Spring did it better than it's American copycat movement. Of course, they had more obviously corrupt leaders to overthrow while even most college educated Americans, after years under a subversively repressive government (felt only by people the government declared war upon such as Muslims, American and otherwise, via the War on Terror), had only vague feelings of injustice. The Arab inspiration behind Occupy Wall Street is widely recognized but rarely does OWS seek advice from the movement that inspired it. Why not?

3. Occupy Wall Street highlights the lack of employment opportunities for the college educated, who refuse to stoop to the level of working at Wal-mart. My dad, who worked as a "sales representative" at a Sony outlet store even after completing two master's degrees and nearly a PhD, sympathizes with this aspect of the movement. However, rather than protesting the degradation of having to work under your qualification, have any of the occupiers thought to protest the degrading nature of working class work? Have they ever thought that their adversity to joining the working class is devoid of endowing any dignity to the working class?

4. Occupy Wall Street is a manifestation of the fear of losing a middle class standard of living, more than anything. Or a fear of never gaining it. It's a fear of being ashamed that you can't afford to do what your friends are doing. It's a fear of going back home after college and being the least successful of your friends. Or even of having to go back home after college. It's a fear of no longer being able to imitate the bourgeoisie with middle class earnings. 

5. Occupy Wall Street propagates the facade of American democracy and opportunity. The world sees America as an emblem of democracy and opportunity. In this arena, America is more or less a "has been." We stopped being so as soon as we began to force that image upon other countries. That's when we became imperialist. America is also internally imperialist. Any sense of us being otherwise is a sense of entitlement. This is evidenced by the fact that everyone else is now doing what we claim to do better than we are*. Their protests are more successful. Their music and art is revolutionary. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and we can only manage to be sarcastic. We need to look to other countries for inspiration now. The movement's illusory nature is also evidenced by the fact that the media has largely been its proponent. I might've put some faith in this movement had it been named the American Spring (some have suggested calling it American Autumn but it didn't stick).

6. Occupy Wall Street sold souvenirs to participants and had visitors. Do I need to explain this one? 

I am critical of this movement largely because I care deeply about protest and reform. However, the culture of the people participating in the largest protest movements in America acts as a blinder to their success. People who got good grades in school and completed college degrees, the people of the movement, are generally too institutionalized to understand what it means to protest and reform. I think there's a good reason behind "anti-intellectualism" in America. Know that in occupying in order to put your degree to work means you are using something designed against your best interests to pursue your interests.


*Does this also mean that countries emulating what they think of as being "American freedom" are going to have some issues to face, too? Yes.

My New Year's Resolutions

I don't normally make New Year's Resolutions because they are such flimsy creatures. However, this is a pivotal stage of my life and I don't see how using the turning of the calender as another excuse to think through my decisions could hurt. I know you're thinking I've already wasted a whole day of this year or that I'm lazy, and though  you'd be right on both accounts, you should also know I'm leaning on some old revisionist tendencies of mine today so bear with me.

To improve the custom of New Year's resolution making, I propose that after the first day of the New Year has passed and you've had time to rethink your resolutions, there should be a tradition to be honest with yourself about your ambitions. Why are you trying to lose ten pounds? Do you really need to reconnect with you flaky friends? Why should stop cracking your knuckles? If you don't have a good answer today, that resolution isn't gonna stick.

I work with wonderful people at the library. I like almost all of my co-workers who I've gotten to know, which is generally how it goes with me and people. However, I have a lot of trouble conveying that I like them solely due to the fact that I am a pretty awkward conversationalist these days. I'm okay with small talk but after the acceptable number of exchanges, people tend to think you're talking to them about the weather because you're just making conversation to be polite and don't really like them all that much or even find their existence interesting. But I love talking about the weather! What other people say about the weather tells me a million things about them! And I love learning things about people!**

Naturally, I would like to resolve to become witty and eloquent. I've been so before. But I think I have now achieved the social awkwardness I worked tirelessly to avoid since like, second grade. It takes a lot of effort to be socially competent and I am really lazy and have found better things to invest my energy in.

Ah, but there's another twist! One of the things, if not The Thing that I've chosen to invest my energy in is the building of good communities. Co-workers, ideally, form a community around their shared workplace and common work experiences. When they don't, they create an uncomfortable environment for everyone involved. This is the reason that there are so many pop-management books.

So, how do you create community even though you are socially awkward because when you said you didn't have cable, your co-worker thought TV was against your religion and not because you don't have that kinda cash? Well, for now I figure if I stick around long enough, they'll eventually get it. Keep your enemies close and you'll probably stop calling them enemies. Except, of course, in jest.

So, my revised resolution is to refuse to allow my awkwardness to dissuade me from communicating with my co-workers. Or people in general. Because sometimes the awkwardness is their fault and there's no reason I should have to do the work of smoothing things over. I don't have to make them feel okay about their preconceived notions of Muslim Americans or Muslim American women. But it wouldn't be fair of me to not provide them with opportunities to learn/do better. And to be fair, I also resolve to be more sensitive to realizing when the awkwardness is actually my fault and then, and ONLY then, breaking out some wit and/or eloquence.



**Disclaimer: I really don't like gossip, though. I don't stop people from telling me gossip but I will try my best not to repeat it and usually resent the gossiper for now creating the possibility of the awkward situation in which I have to make my knowledge of their gossip known. I should try to use gossip I hear for good from now on. Is that another resolution? Let's save that one for another time.

The Pecular Case of The Western Muslimah

In light of the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to three Yemeni ladies, a feat that has been heralded as one which defies "assumptions on both sides of the East-West divide by defying the Eastern stereotype that women are weak and unsuitable for leadership and the Western belief that Muslim women are oppressed by Islam, I'd like to look at what effect this might have on women who live where the East and West overlap. 

The idea that Muslim women are oppressed by Islam puts Muslims living in western countries in a difficult position. If the Muslim woman is part of a family/culture in which men believe they are Islamically endowed power over women because women are somehow inferior, or worse, if she lives in an abusive relationship, it becomes even more difficult for her to speak out. This is especially the case if she sees herself as a devout Muslim. Even if she believes that she deserves better and has made up her mind that her culture or family values are not in her best interest, she cannot reach out for help for fear of making Islam "look bad" and confirming the reigning stereotype about her religion.

In order to escape her plight, she would have to feel disconnected from Islam in addition to confronting her family. If she did not want to risk her religion, she would endure her circumstances quietly.

However, with a recognition of global standard for strong Muslim women, the Western Muslimah can identify with them for both her faith and her sense of dignity and agency. For this reason alone, I am glad for the work of the Yemeni Peace Prize winners.

An Important Note For My Audience

My sister made a comment, off this site, about my previous blogpost and it, along with a comment about my fiction, has triggered a serious breakthrough.

In my last blogpost, I passingly mention a story I wrote when I was in first grade. In the story, I teach my sister how to run because she afraid to do so. My sister commented that the story sounded like "The Scarlett Ibis," by James Hurst, which both of us read in our own due passage through Mrs. Geiger's ninth grade advanced English class. Interestingly, "The Scarlett Ibis" was the first story in which I was able to understand the idea of a literary theme.

I don't know if it was the sparks that surround my comprehension of that idea, but it made me realize that I've lost my ability to tell a good story. My sister ignored my entire narrative about myself as a writer and singled out the part that was most important to her. Telling a good story is all about knowing what your audience wants to hear. It's a way of making an argument that does not call out to objective fact, as academic arguments do, but which is a subtle use of yellow journalism, shared consciousness, and emotional intelligence. It is  not an introspective act. Rather, at it's best, in my opinion. it encourages introspection and demonstrates a method of expression for those wary of the institution certified methods but who believe current conditions, whatever they are, can and must be improved. Telling stories, as any griot could tell you, is an exercise of community leadership.

Rewind.

I've lost my ability to tell a good story. Telling a good story is all about knowing what your audience wants to hear. What would they find interesting? What matters to them the most? And most important of all, who are "they"?

It takes me a long time to judge and cater to an audience. I watch and listen carefully. I start by talking to one person. Slowly, I infiltrate. Eventually, I become the person who knows and talks to everybody and thinks of them as all a part of on one large, dynamic, never-ending puzzle that I finally learned the key to solving. It takes me a long time but with slow and diligent work, including late nights spent imagining conversations with people I have yet to speak with and telling trial stories, which some people call "lies," to help me judge my audience, I can figure it out. And to be honest, it's the most interesting work in the world.

But I don't just want to study people like they are lab mice. And I don't do it because I want everyone to like me. I watch them carefully so I can function as best as I can in the community. I've mentioned my mom's self-consciousness about this before but I think it also has to do with having a sense that you are different in a way that most of the people around you might not understand. The difference between my mom and I is that I have never been ashamed of being different. In fact, I find it far more realistic to think of being different as something that's just, well, different.

Accordingly, people react differently to difference. As someone different, I realized I really needed to know my peers and accept their difference before I should expect them to accept mine. It's a trust breeds trust sort of thing. Also, because I feel more different than the usual amount, I felt it's something that needs to be done with extra care than the usual things I do. It is utterly important for me to be a part of a community. It is the only way I know how to function. It's only when I know everyone's stories that I can tell them my own and it's only once they know mine that they can properly become a part of it.

Once I am a part of a community, I am fully invested in its dynamic. Accordingly, the greatest pain I can suffer is the feeling that the community I am a part of does not have my own or even its own best interests in mind. If someone is doing something that hurts someone else in the community, I am restless until there is some resolution.

I have been a part of some toxic communities. I have also been a part of communities I did not feel utilized what I had to offer it and therefore, did not have either my own or it's own best interests in mind. Maybe that makes me sound full of myself, asserting that I can differentiate what is best for a community. To be honest, after a certain point, I become too invested and I can no longer tell. What I've never been good at is abandoning a sinking ship. I think of it as good as being my own and if it's going down, so am I.

Of course, it only takes surviving that a few times, probably fewer for some people that others, that you have the choice to not go down with it. I, on the other hand, took so long to learn that, that when I learned it, I decided to maybe just find a different form of transportation.

However, this blog is not called "Introspective Commentary." Despite that, that's what it is. And to be honest, when I write fiction, it is really nothing more than introspection, either. My number one fan, maybe my only fan anymore, has told me that it is stream of consciousness, which for some reason never occurred to me before he pointed it out.

As I said before, in my last blogpost, my sister singled out the part of my post that was most important to her. Introspection, which is perhaps my own opinion (and that explains away my personal dislike of stream of consciousness narration), is often done to figure out what's most important to a person. For some people, just figuring things out, anything at all, is what's their most important thing. For me, the thing that was most important was my function in a community. I do not believe it was something that came from being a self-conscious teenager, though being one helped me figure it out. I think it's something I honestly believe to be the most important thing that there is and my recent introspective phase has come out of disillusionment with the idea.

However, introspection is not a vehicle of achieving what the title of this blog seems to imply and what I have in previous posts implied is most important to me. I am not trying to define new values for myself. I am in a battle against myself to get back to the way of life I prefer over this one. I'm not trying to get things back to the way they were. I am trying to resist the disillusionment, cynicism, and general closed heartedness/mindedness caused by disappointments outside of my own control and return to learning from my mistakes and then moving on.

I am trying to be someone who tells good stories, again.

Learning To Draw Again

I'm going to learn to draw again.
I'll learn to look things straight in the eye
and memorize the gesture
of being seen.

I have grown too accustomed
to the pursuit of
the gaze of
privilege.

I have grown too accustomed
to seeing and not being seen.

I have grown too accustomed
to my supernatural position
as a ghost.

I'm going to learn to draw again.
I'll learn to look things straight in the eye
and internalize the gesture
of being seen.

Don't Ask Me About 9/11.

"Islam is the religion of peace," has been the slogan on the lips of every Muslim American confronted by non-Muslims over the subject of Islam, terrorism, and 9/11. I know everyone is tired of talking about 9/11 but I have an important point to make, so hear me out. The utility of the saying is in its implication that those employing violence are not Muslim. Yes, the word Islam means "peaceful surrender" but does that make Islam the religion of peace, theoretically or otherwise? While Islam does not preach violence in the name of Islam, it also does not preach non-violence thereof. In fact, though judiciousness is a prerequisite, violence is commanded as a means of self preservation. In this context, saying, "Islam is a religion of peace," is just an inadequate defense to an unjust, racist accusation.

The intended audience of 9/11, was, in fact, supposed to include American Muslims for the same reason that Muslims feel compelled to disavow violence. It was a message to all Muslims, especially young Muslims, encouraging them out of lives of "humiliation" and into violent jihad against The West. Long story short, al-Qaeda protests the feeling that Muslims need to say, "Islam is a religion of peace," and would rather have us blow everyone, including ourselves, to pieces. However, the purveyors of al-Qaeda's message and those who openly received it, are just as oppressive as the circumstances they reject, if not more so, and towards their own people. This makes sense, since there is no hope, positivity, or compassion in their message, not to mention that it injudiciously condones violence. Summarily, though it took about ten years, al-Qaeda's message has been definitively rejected by Muslims around the world. Surprisingly, American (read: George Bush's) anti-Islam and European anti-multiculturalism's (which are really the same thing) "you're either with us or against us" sentiment has been much closer to al-Qaeda's message than anything any God fearing, sanity appreciating Muslim believes. (1)

In America, how do us American Muslims reconcile al-Qaeda's message and the American anti-Islam sentiment, both of which draw a black and white picture of east and west, specifically Islam and the west with our undeniably Muslim and irrefutably American lives? To do so by retreating into either Islam or western life styles would only prove the distinction correct, not to mention prove that we are cowards. But what happens when people say things like, "Islam is the religion of peace," which is nearly as misleading as saying it is the religion of violence, to answer the question, "Are you with us or against us?"

To that question, which is rarely asked directly, I see no way to choose either option. The gut response from me comes in the form of more questions. Questions like: Who are you and what army is "us"? Do you know how many Muslims there are in America? How many died in WTC? Did you know there were Muslims in America before 9/11 brought it to your attention? Did you know there were Muslims at all before 9/11? Do you have any Muslim friends? Were you with or against Timothy McVeigh? Did your ancestors own slaves? Did your ancestors drive Native Americans off their land? Do you believe in witches? What the HELL do you think gives YOU the right to ask ME that question?

Maybe that's a little passive-aggressive. It would probably be best to simply say, "You have no right to ask me that question." Either that or just walk away.

It's not a matter of making sure your hands are clean before you point your finger, it's just the fact that you are pointing a finger. I have no qualms with honest questions about Islam. If you want to talk about religion, I'd be more than happy to participate. Muslim Americans, myself included, have chosen to take up the responsibility of creating forums for people who want to know more about Islam. But if you approach me randomly and it has anything to do with violence (or patriarchy) I don't have sit around and have you patronize me.

Back when no one knew why 9/11 happened, it would have been perfectly acceptable for a Muslim to say, "Listen, I have no idea what's happening either and honestly, I'm pretty scared, too. All I know is that this has nothing to do with my faith," and answer any questions about Islam with anything other than, "Islam is a religion of peace," said to absolve the guilt put there by the accuser/"questioner." But now that everyone with any modicum of responsibility should know better, it is absolutely unacceptable to demean a Muslim American and make them feel guilty or responsible about anything 9/11 related by even asking them about it. If you do, al-Qaeda's message could be seen as reasonable and the world we live in is a terrible place.

Finally, though I know she might never see this, I'd like to thank my co-worker Christina for the solidarity today. I really appreciated that.


(1) Aslan, Reza. "The Fire This Time: The Long Term Effects of 9/11." Los Angeles Review of Books, September 9, 2011. http://lareviewofbooks.org/post/9988565795/the-fire-this-time

A broken home

This summer I've been in Chicago and, though it's the seventh day of Ramadan, I have yet to visit a mosque. When I first went to college, I realized I had unsettling apprehensions about visiting a mosque to which my parents do not belong. I realized I didn't know how to belong to Islam or the Islamic community as an individual dissociated from my family. I was afraid, for awhile, that I wanted so badly to dissociate from my family that unconsciously, I was attempting to dissociate from everything I associated with my family. For a long time after leaving home, I designated my religious practice to times and spaces I shared with my family.

The weird thing is, I have long been disillusioned by the Islamic community to which my family belonged. I say belong in the past tense because that community has become so fractured that it's hard to say if it exists anymore to the point that my family, being Bengali, can belong to it. What broke my heart about that community was the very racist/nationalist sentiments within it that turned Muslim brothers and sisters against one another. What broke my heart about that community is that it treated its members like they did not belong.

At first, I didn't understand why the people of my community could not look past their differences and realize their common ideal was one of peaceful surrender. Their conflicts tended to flare up over the appointment of the Board of directors and that of the Imam, the religious leader of the mosque. The race of the Imam, the language in which he should give Khutba and the power he should have in the community were all viciously argued over, at times resulting in physical confrontations between grown men.

Where was this thirst for power, a thirst so maddening that it involved petty racism and blind hatred-- where was is coming from? Many of the members of my mosque were distinguished members of local society outside the mosque. They are doctors, lawyers, engineers, pharmacists, city-council members, hospital board members, volunteers, soccer moms, interfaith leaders, and hardworking, exemplary citizens. Some of them are the downtrodden, clinging to Islam and Allah for some serenity in this life. All of them, outside of the mosque community, as respectable people.

Despite that, as Muslims and minorities, they are of a disempowered group. They work so hard to show to outsiders that they are okay and that they belong here, that they care about America as much as they care about their own well-being, that they are optimistic and level-headed. However, a part of them knows that outsiders do not perceive them as such. A part of them knows that it is impossible to overcome the racial casting endowed them by the majority culture and it is enough to be utterly disempowering.

This is a narrative of domestic violence where the domicile is the mosque and the members of the family are the people who worship in that community. Unlike in domestic violence narratives, it is apparantly easier to begin a new and separate mosque than it is to begin a new home without the abusing members of your family. But I believe, to a certain extent, the emotional scar of a fractured family is the same in both cases. It always hurts to know you cannot trust those with whom you have a deep bond-- those people that you supposedly should be able to trust unquestionably.

Many of the families in the community, like my family, are also fractured. The parts reflect the whole on every level. The American Muslim is a fractured identity, broken from inside and out. What I didn't understand at the beginning of college was that, this American Muslim identity is mine.

Knowing the larger social context, knowing that like Indigenous America, immigrant America, gay America, Black America, female America, rural America, urban America, conservative America, liberal America-- Muslim America is fractured by the America part, the part that includes all of these people fighting to belong to one America-- one huge dysfunctional family, finally makes me feel at home, sometimes, in my own skin. We are each a kaleidoscope, reflecting every color, though in a different way. We are each a mother, father, brother, and sister all in one. And this is the American identity that is mine. 

I have finally begun to feel comfortable with my religious beliefs and have even begun, though slowly, to practice them in my own right.