Day 20
Jihad
Allahumma inna naj’aluka fi nuhurihim, wa na’udhu bika min shururihim
Oh Allah! We place You before them (our enemies) and we seek Your Refuge from their evil.
After hearing about the news of shooting at the Sikh Temple in Wisconsin and the arson at the Masjid in Michigan, I left my parents place and went to an iftaar with some new found friends and community on Sunday night. I cabbed it home, with a Muslim brother as my driver. Later, when I sat in bed it occurred to me: there are people who hate us/me.
…there are people who believe that the course of my weekend with my family, our Ramadan rituals, our time together is less than. That somehow we are wrong, incompatible with America and deserve to be treated like we are less than.
…there are people who would rather that our queer Muslim iftaar not happen and that I should/ought to live a life of isolation and self-hatred. That somehow we are wrong, incompatible with America and deserve to be treated like we are less than.
…there are people in this world who take a different cab because of who is driving the cab or eye him with constant suspicion because of his dark skin, his beard and white kufi. That somehow he is wrong, incompatible with America and deserves to be treated like he is less than.
I identify as an activist – coming to a desire and realization that I can/ought to be/need to be an agent of change. The personal is political and there are too many injustices that are directed towards me, my family, my identities that I cannot stand by. I’ve learned this lesson from my parents, from my women’s studies classes, from the activists I’ve worked alongside of, from my inspiring friends and partner and from lessons from history and herstory…
We must.
It has to be done.
And yet, the realization on Sunday that people hate me shook me. My breathing, living, loving, struggling, smiling, doing – my beingupsets certain people.
My existence causes others to die at the hands of terrorists.
Rabbi innee maghloobun fantas’ir
O Lord, verily, I am overcome so help me
The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said:
“Help your brother, whether he is an oppressor or he is oppressed.”
The Prophet was asked: “It is right to help him if he is oppressed, but how should we help him if he is an oppressor?”
He replied: “By preventing him from oppressing others.”
[Sahih Bukhari, Volume 3, Hadith 624]
And so, I will continue to take on the oppressors, the haters by continuing in a jihad – in a struggle and striving on many levels (not a holy war):
My Personal Jihad
The jihad of my soul is underway now and I will have to fight to make sure I continue after Ramadan. For me this means not just the spiritual aspect, but getting to the bottom of beliefs, undoing learned racism, sexism and hateful narratives. I am not the product of a pure society and I would be fooling only myself if I thought my internal work was ever done.
Patience. Understanding my limitations. Empathy. Solidarity. Love in the face of (self) defeat.
A Jihad of Words
The prophet told us, the most excellent jihad is the speaking of truth in the face of a tyrant. Justice happens when we speak up.
Integrity. Honesty. Questioning and asking questions.
Physical Jihad:
My faith is a religion of peace and non-violence. When I think about the physical jihad, I don’t mean warfare (the word for warfare is actually qitaal) – I mean action. I mean the in-the-streets action we wage in defense of all people against oppression. I mean the one-on-one conversations. I mean Plan Bs, Plan Cs and Plan Ds we create when we don’t succeed the first, second or third time around.
My jihad means going to bed tonight committed to:
knowing that I will do everything I can in my striving to honor my family and create more space and time to be with them and know them.
knowing that the biggest fuck you to my haters is to relish every drop of my queer Muslim community and our/their fabulousness.
knowing that the Muslim cab driver has a Muslim sister out there that has his back – whether I ever see him again or not.
