I Thought You Knew Me

In The Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

About six years ago, I had a classmate. She was sweet, soft-spoken, pretty, and liked to read. We used to talk (mostly about Harry Potter) after class until we would part ways at a fork in the hallway. One day, she looked at me and said out of nowhere, “I’m gay,” and then after a slight pause she followed that with, “Are you going to hate me now?” with the same expression* another school friend was to have a few years later, when my father blurted out over dinner, “Oh, so you’re a Shia!”

About six months ago, the man who claimed to love me called me up to say, “I can’t be there for you because I can’t support you, I can’t force my daughter to wear a scarf, and I can’t hate gay people.” He shattered my heart into a thousand million pieces with those words, and I’m still crying. But mixed in with the hurt is a healthy dose of incredulity, offense, and anger. I. Do. Not. Hate. Gay people. I do not hate thieves. I do not hate murderers. I do not hate people who cheat on their taxes, (I may even admire them). I do not hate people who don’t pray. In short, as a person who’s well aware of the angel** who’s busily writing on her left shoulder, and not very sure of the guy on her right shoulder, I’m really not in a position to hate other people just because they may be keeping their angels busy in their own ways.

Breaking the Silence: An Open Letter to the President

In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

I’m reading a wonderful book, “Letters to Jackie,” by Ellen Fitzpatrick, and a letter dated November 25, 1963 says, “A few weeks ago…I made up my mind to write a letter of encouragement to our President. However, like so many other citizens, I am a procrastinator. The letter was never written…Multiply my procrastination by that of thousands in the Southland who must have sympathisized with his efforts, and our neglect takes on the proportions of tragedy-especially now. In a covert way we are guilty of desertion in the face of the enemy.”

The writer then enclosed the letter he had meant to write to President Kennedy, and this got me to thinking. A democracy isn’t just about voting every four years. It’s about paying attention to the direction in which one’s country is going, and doing everything you can to put/keep saidcountry in the right. In the words of Teddy Roosevelt, “Character, in the long run, is the decisive factor in the life of an individual and of nations alike.” So what does it say about our character as individuals and as a nation, that we not only do not fight injustice, we allow this country to be a purveyor of it? And on that note, here’s my letter to President Obama:

I, Thou, Us: An Odyssey of a Muslim Seminarian

I, Thou, Us: An Odyssey of a Muslim Seminarian.

Harmonizing Democracy and Religion

In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

There are those who would contend that I am wrong to live my life by the Qur’an, for the reason that they do not believe it to be the word of God. Yet the very same people live by the Constitution, giving to it the allegiance I give to the Qur’an, though neither of us believes it to be anything but the words of men.

American Vignettes (I): Totalitarian Undercurrents

Fantastic!

The Disorder Of Things

The airport is a totalitarian space; sometimes the truth is hyperbolic.

You re-enter the United States, land of your birth, as part of the stream of arriving passengers. It is an everyday experience. You leave the airplane slowly, on stiff limbs, trickling with the mass of travellers into Newark airport.

The imperatives are issued as soon as you enter the terminal building. No smoking. No cell phones. Stand in line. Fill in your declaration form. Foreigner here. Citizen there. Wait behind the red line till you are called. The armed immigration officer checks your papers, holding the power to pronounce your worthiness to enter this sanctified space.

With the imperatives come the questions. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? As if the answers are clear. As if these are simple questions. The man with the gun, holding your passport, asks, “Where are you flying next?” But he…

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Why I Love My Niqab

In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful

As a child I was debilitatingly shy. I was afraid of strangers, afraid of loud people, intimidated by large men, and hated to be addressed by any adult I didn’t know well. I couldn’t talk on the phone to people I didn’t know, and had a hard time talking to people I did know, but wasn’t close to. I couldn’t run into the store to pick up a gallon of milk while my father kept the car running outside, because I could conceive of nothing more daunting than the task of looking the person at the checkout in the eye, and connecting with a stranger for the seconds it would take to complete the transaction.

Monotheism

Passive:
“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is one LORD.”
Deuteronomy 6:4

Active:
“Say, He, Allah, is One.”
Surah Ikhlaas (112):1

Any thoughts?

Being Pro-Life and Pro-Choice: Why Can’t the Answer Be Gray?

In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.

Whenever the topic of abortion comes up, phrases such as, “women’s issue,” “woman’s choice,” and “victims of rape,” invariably crop up. Let’s talk about these phrases, because it seems to me that they’re not much more than smoke screens to deflect from true thought.