Al Bayan Spring 2019

AL BAYAN ENGAGING MUSLIM VOICES

SPRING 2019

AL BAYAN VOLUME 9 | SPRING 2019

CONTENTS TRAVEL

PERSPECTIVES

We All Can

Ceilings

Maie Zagloul 4

Jihad Esmail 24

Bridging the Centuries

Curly Hair

Fidak Khan 6

Maie Zagloul 26

Photo Essay: Pakistan

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back?

Hassan Sayed 9

Urooj Amir, Hassan Sayed 27

Memory, Metaphor, Spirit Sharmain Siddiqui 13

SPOTLIGHT

FEATURES

Caravans of Gold Khadeejah Milhan, Hassan Sayed 30

Ramadan Mubarak Khadeejah Milhan 16

Bombers, Bellydancers or Crooks

Silence on Set Wijdan Al-Khateeb, Maha Essid 18

Amar Shabeeb 31

Spiritual Healing

Muslims en Route

Asha Abdalla 21

Ayesha Rahman 32

The Hijab

The Watch List

Giovana Gelhoren 23

Various Authors 36

Cover: Afternoon at Jahangir’s Hiran Minar, Sheikhpura, Pakistan. Photo by Hassan Sayed.

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EDITOR IN CHIEF Hassan Sayed PRINT EDITORS Jihad Esmail Amar Shabeeb LAYOUT EDITORS Urooj Amir Saadia Elahi Huma Manjra Khadeejah Milhan CONTRIBUTORS Asha Abdalla Wijdan Al-Khateeb Belal Asfour Maha Essid Giovana Gelhoren Fidak Khan Ayesha Rahman Sharmain Siddiqui Maie Zagloul

EDITOR’S NOTE

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�� �� ‫ر� �کو پ ھر ڈ��ھو ن�� ڈ� ت��ا پ ھر ت��ا � ہ‬ “Today my mind wanders, seeking the right word…‫ے خ�� ی�ال‬ ‫ آ”� ج� اک �ح ف‬- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

ooking back on the last four years, I never expected my relationship with Al Bayan to evolve as it did. Early on, I discovered an outlet for my voice as a young Muslim to talk about art, history and travel. The turbulence of the 2018 issue threw me into the role of co-editor-inchief, providing a taste of the editing and layout process, which continued into my senior year. But in one sense, these experiences form the heart of what Al Bayan represents: a platform that allows Muslims in college to voice their thoughts and ideas, a source for the Northwestern Community to get a taste of Muslim-American life and a learning opportunity for students to engage with journalistic writing and content creation.

There is no single overarching theme for the magazine this year. Rather, the volume is a collection of the vast experiences and insightful musings of the Northwestern Muslim community. This edition’s pieces range from a travelogue of Shia ziyarat to explorations of Islamic mental health to a Vogue-esque photoshoot featuring Muslim streetwear brands modeled by McSA members. The Spring 2019 magazine is the magazine’s longest issue to date and showcases the brilliance of Muslims on this campus manifest in writing, photography, artwork and graphic design.

As always, I would like to thank the Muslim Cultural Students Association for their continued patronage of the magazine, as well as my predecessors — particularly the Class of 2017 — for setting such a high bar for what this publication is. However, the largest thanks goes to the editors of this year’s magazine — Jihad, Amar, Urooj, Saadia, Huma and Khadeejah — who consistently engaged with Al Bayan’s writers and staff and worked countless hours ironing out the most meticulous grammatical and aesthetic details of each spread. Without them, this magazine would not exist, and I see a bright future ahead for this publication under their guidance in the coming years.

Hassan Sayed May 2019

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WE ALL CAN a campaign to help others

By Maie Zagloul

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wo years ago, my grandfather was diagnosed with bladder cancer. He was born and grew up in Berat, Albania, just north of Greece and east of the infamous heel of the Italian “boot.� After seeing blood in his urine for several months, my grandfather visited a local physician to run some tests.

The physician was quickly able to deduce that my grandfather had cancer, yet decided to withhold the information from him.

He did, however, prescribe my grandfather medication that was not available in Albania.

It was only after traveling to the United States to get a second opinion on his diagnosis that my grandfather learned he had cancer.

Albania has dedicated few resources towards healthcare, resulting in a disorganized and corrupt system that favors a small upper class. Many families, including my own, are therefore unable to afford appointments with a physician. Those who can often receive incorrect diagnoses from the doctors they can afford. At this point, I realized that thousands of families in Albania are unable to afford and receive quality healthcare that provides them with accurate diagnoses and accessible medication.

This past summer, I combined my enthusiasm for service and medicine to organize and participate in a free clinic at Qendra Lira, a special needs nursing home in Berat, Albania. I chose to target a special needs

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nursing home for the free clinic as they represent a population in great need. Special needs nursing homes like Qendra Lira often rely on government funding for their facilities and services, yet that funding is often minimal. As such, these homes look for donations from the public; but because disabilities are frequently viewed with prejudice among the Albanian population, patients are very commonly outcast and receive minimal care.

After making my decision to start a free clinic, I realized that I had a lot of work ahead of me: physicians needed to be contacted and persuaded to volunteer their time and services, dates had to be set and regular communication across the Atlantic to Qendra Lira was no simple feat. After my first phone call with the director of Qendra Lira, I learned that they were also running a shortage of over-the-counter medications, including painkillers for adults and children.

I added that to the list.

I spent the next several months contacting physicians and pharmacies, asking physicians to volunteer their time and pharmacies to donate over-the-counter medications.

After contacting at least thirty physicians and five different pharmacies, I was able to find three physicians, each of different specialties, and a score of painkillers and other medications that the nursing home requested. I named my campaign We All Can to symbolize the impact any one individual can

TRAVEL Maie Zagloul stands with the residents of Qendra Lira in Berat, Albania. Photo Courtesy of Maie Zagloul.

make to improve the lives of others.

When August came around, I travelled to Albania, a suitcase of medications behind me, ready to carry out a project I had spent months working on. The day after I arrived, I was able to visit Qendra Lira for the first time. As soon as I stepped onto the property, a one-story bright orange building with a small garden in front, I was greeted by Armando Agalliu, the director of the home.

After welcoming me with an animated enthusiasm characteristic of Albanian hospitality, he took me on a tour of the center.

The first thing I noticed was how sparsely furnished the building was. However, the barren rooms contrasted with the state of the walls: bright paintings, colorful cutouts of snowflakes and flowers and pictures of the residents covered the walls from floor to ceiling, with the exception of one room. When I asked Armando what that room was for, he told me that they had been meaning to make

it a physical therapy room, but the government had yet to give them funding for the equipment to go in the room. He further explained that many of the residents of the special needs home needed physical therapy, and while they had a physical therapist that would work with them, the lack of equipment made it harder to give the residents the exercise they needed. We continued the tour and the director showed me into the rooms of some of the residents as well as the kitchen and dining area, where residents often enjoyed cooking their own meals with the help of staff.

I then got to meet some of the residents — or rather, they met me. As I walked down the hallway surrounded by colorful paintings, a girl unabashedly approached me and started talking excitedly about things I couldn’t understand (my Albanian is pretty spotty). A few moments later, a second lady, her friend, joined in, looping her arm around

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the girl as she joined the conversation. They began telling me that they looked after another everyday to make sure they were doing well.

When the physicians arrived, we made rounds and checked in on others. I spent hours aiding the volunteer physicians in collecting vitals and speaking with the residents regarding their wellbeing. The physicians addressed the concerns for each resident and, when needed, wrote prescriptions for them.

Right before I left the home, one young man introduced himself and his roommate.

He told me how his roommate had seizures throughout the night and how it was his job to sit on the bed with him and make sure he was okay after each seizure. I thought it was so heartwarming to see how close the special needs community had developed. In a way, they were demonstrating more compassion and care for each other than of the rest of the world had given them.

BRIDGING THE CENTURIES ZIYARAT IN THE SHIA HEARTLAND OF IRAQ

By Fidak Khan

I could tell you about Kazmain, the burial place of the 7th Imam, whose corpse was left on the Baghdad bridge for three days after he was poisoned by the Abbasid caliph in the Eighth Century. I could write unendingly about the lavish architecture of Hazrat Abbas’s shrine, with its sparkling vaulted entrance and its ceilings paneled with turquoise calligraphy and mirror-work. I could tell you about the meals spent laughing with Sahar and Fareeha, the two strangers who became my sister’s and my friends on this trip. I could recount countless memories that won’t fit in the pages of this magazine, so I’ll choose a few and leave the rest to tell...

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his past December, I had the opportunity to go on ziyarat, or visitation, of the holy Imams buried in Iraq. Visiting shrines of important figures is not exclusive to Shias — Catholics flock to Galicia for the relics of St. James the Apostle, Sikhs pay homage at Guru Nanak’s birthplace outside Lahore; and Sufis perform ziyarat of the Nizamuddin dargah year-round.

For Twelver Shias, the purpose of ziyarat centers on a set of crucial beliefs. The first is that the twelve holy Imams, descendents of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) through the line of Ali and Fatima, are infallible leaders appointed by Allah to protect the religion brought by the most exalted Prophet. Second, twelvers believe that the Imams are not dead, referring to the Quranic verse “and do not think of those killed in Allah’s path as dead: indeed they are alive and receive their sustenance from their Lord” (36:9). Finally, we believe that Allah has given permission to those who are nearest to him — the Prophets and Imams — to serve as intercessors for believers. The concept of intercession may be the biggest point of contention between Shias and Sunnis, but it serves the crux of ziyarat and finds its basis in the Quran.

When Shias visit the shrine of Imam Hussain in Karbala, the mausoleum of Imam Ali in Najaf or the grave of Imam Sadiq in Medina, they are not praying to the dead but petitioning Allah to look favorably on them due to love for Ahlul-Bayt, those pious individuals who lived and died in Allah’s way. They seek nearness to Allah through the infallible Prophet and his family. Nobody can Allah their prayers except for Allah, but by asking in the name of those who have such a high station with Him, their dua are more likely to be accepted.

These are the beliefs which brought me, my family and a few dozen others together to travel to Iraq in late December 2018.

A few hours’ drive north of Kazmain, Iraq, the coach bus rumbled down the highway, stirring up dust, whizzing past the landscape until it slowed for the requisite security checkpoints.

“Za’ireen, look out the windows to your left and right.” Our group’s leader Syed Muhammad’s voice crackling over the speaker woke me from my stupor. “We are now passing through former Da’esh territory.”

On either side of the highway I saw open land punctuated by

concrete rubble. In the past few years, Shia Ithna-Ashari around the world watched in apprehension as ISIS crept nearer and nearer to the holy shrines of our Imams, their territory ebbing and flowing like the tides along a shoreline. Da’esh claimed to wage war on supposed nonbelievers, Shias included. Any attack on the burial places of the infallible Imams would have been a major blow, but militia forces were raised specifically to protect shrines throughout Iraq.

We soon reached our destination along the banks of the Tigris: Samarra, the site of the shrine of the tenth and eleventh Imams, Ali al-Hadi and Hasan Al-Askari. Nowhere else in Iraq did I see such brilliant skies as the massive golden dome of the shrine rose against a backdrop of the clearest blue. I was filled with a sense of triumph and sadness. In 2006, the Al-Askari shrine was bombed and the dome destroyed during the Iraq War. In 2007 the shrine was again targeted, this time taking out two 10-story minarets. Although I was only eight or nine years old at the time, I remember the commotion and fear that followed these symbolic attacks against my faith.

Although the dome had been rebuilt by my visit, the mosque and its minarets were still under construction. Nevertheless, I stood in awe. Not only are the two imams buried there, but so is Narjis Khatoon, mother of the holy twelfth Imam. Twelver Shia consider the twelfth Imam to be the Mahdi, or messianic savior. Deep beneath the shrine I was able to access the home where Imam al-Mahdi was born and raised before he went into Occultation, or Ghaybat. My stomach was filled with butterflies as I descended down the green marble steps toward a dim, underground chamber where the Imam was last seen, enveloped in the scent of rose incense. Glittering fractal crystal walls reflected my image back on me in the close quarters.

Twelvers believe that Imam-e-Zaman was born in the year 868 C.E. and is still alive today, just as Allah kept Prophet Noah alive for 950 years. Enveloped in that space, I could almost feel the millenium disappear.

The three hour bus ride south from Samarra to Najaf provided more of the same scenery: palm forests, farm houses, abandoned construction plots and roadside restaurants. We craned our necks to get a view of the golden dome of Najaf ’s shrine, anticipating the first glance. “I see it! There it is!” came a hushed voice from somewhere near the front of the bus. Each sighting of the dome was accompanied by a sigh, or a soft gasp, or a recitation of the salawat, salutations to the Prophet and his immaculate family.

The city of Najaf is home not only to the shrine of Imam Ali (a.s.), but also to the major howza, or seminary, of Shia scholarship.

Everywhere I turned I saw bearded maulanas. Young men in training carried books on philosophy and jurisprudence under their arms and small children on their shoulders. The older, somber looking sages walked to and from the shrine, looking dignified despite their simple robes, plain turbans and dusty sandals.

As I walked toward the haram with somber steps, I rubbed my maroon aqeeq stone ring. I received this ring six years ago in this city

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The golden dome of Imam Ali’s haram shines in the sunlight. Photo via imamali.net.

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Sunset overlooking Imam Ali’s haram in Najaf, Iraq. Courtesy of Fidak Khan.

on my first ziyarat trip. It never came off my finger and, in my absence from Najaf, the aqeeq provided comfort and remembrance. I imagined that now, six years later, the ring was coming home.

Najaf was originally a sprawling cemetery on the outskirts of Kufa, the seat of the Muslim caliphate. On his deathbed, Imam Ali told his sons Hasan and Hussain to take his coffin outside of the city behind Kufa where his murderers could not find him and desecrate his grave. Once Imam Ali’s burial site became known decades later, the city of Najaf grew around the shrine and on top of centuries-old graves. Portions of the cemetery are still aboveground in a graveyard known as Wadi-as-Salaam, or Valley of Peace, definitively the largest graveyard in the world. It houses the mausoleums of the Prophets Hud and Saleh along with the final resting places of tens of millions of other humans. Visiting the cemetery, I was seized by a stupor of disbelief, unable to fathom how millions of people lived, died and had been interred beneath my feet.

Among all the locales we travelled to, Masjid-e-Kufa was the place I most yearned to visit. One of the oldest mosques in the world, Ahadith say that the masjid’s original stones were first placed by Prophet Adam. Since then, tens of thousands of Allah’s prophets have passed through this place. Performing one obligatory prayer in Masjid-e-Kufa is equivalent to performing an accepted Hajj. Here, too, are the places where Noah’s flood began and receded. Scattered around the sahn are marble landmarks indicating the places where Prophet Muhammad, Prophet Ibrahim and Imam Sadiq performed prayers. Imam Ali, who ruled the Muslim world from Masjid-e-Kufa in the mid-seventh century, was fatally struck by a sword in its mehrab while leading morning prayer on the 19th

of Ramadan.

When I arrived, the masjid’s tiled courtyard was absolutely silent, the air slightly chilly with the mist of pre-dawn. Sitting beneath the sheltered arcade of that courtyard, I listened to a servant of the masjid read Imam Ali’s munajat. Shias, I have found, have many of speaking to Allah.

While the servant was a large, fierce-looking Iraqi with a booming voice, he recited the munajat with utmost tenderness.

In duas written by the Imams, we entreat and beg, sometimes invoking Allah’s might and power, other times confiding in His strength. Sometimes, as is the case with the munajat of Imam Ali, we call upon Allah’s attributes in a secret conversation, a confidential exchange, a whispered prayer: My Lord, Oh my Lord, You are the Creator and I am the creature, and who else can be merciful to the creature except the Creator?

My Lord, Oh my Lord, You are the Eternal and I am the transient, and who else can be merciful to the transient except the Eternal?

My Lord, Oh my Lord, You are the Healer and I am the afflicted, and who else can be merciful to the afflicted except the Healer?

I grew up in a bubble of safety where my parents reminded me to pray, where Sunday School friends looked like me and where I never had to question my faith.

Like many, my level of practice declined in college as I was swept up in the constant drudgery of schoolwork and caught up in a social world away from home. Yet I was more unsettled by situations where I was forced to justify what I believed and why I believed it. Middle East Studies professors and Sunnis who had never met a Shia needed to have their misconceptions cleared, but how could I be the one to do that if I didn’t know how to explain myself and explain who the Shia really are?

Ziyarat came at the right time in my life. Visiting the Imams in Kazmain, Samarra, Karbala and Najaf was more than merely visiting. Reading, listening and speaking about these experiences with others satisfied my mind, and inhaling and imbibing the historical sites satisfied my soul.

I went to ziyarat with the expectation that my prayers would be answered and my sins forgiven, and I came away with even more: an unshakeable confidence in my faith and in myself.

I haven’t told you about my mom losing her shoes after prayer in Kazmain, insisting it was a sign that Imam Kazim wanted her to humble herself by walking barefoot back to the hotel. I haven’t told you about Khaymagah, where the women and children of Imam Hussain’s household erected their tents before they were burned. I haven’t told you about listening to the masa’ib of Hazrat Abbas in sight of the last remaining trickle of the Euphrates River, which once roared when Abbas filled his waterskin to quench his niece’s thirst of three days.

These memories will remain with me, helping me bridge the centuries between myself and the history of my faith.

The Zarih of Imam Musa Al-Kadhim, Kazmain, Iraq. Courtesy of Fidak Khan.

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PHOTO ESSAY: PAKISTAN

By Hassan Sayed

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amily trips to Pakistan provide reminders of the country’s cultural diversity, but they are also reminders of the visual diversity and beauty of its landscapes. These photos exhibit locales throughout northern Pakistan, including Islamabad, Lahore, Gilgit-Baltistan and the Karakoram Highway.

Left to right, top to bottom: Islamabad from Damane-Koh; the Hiran Minar, Sheikhupura; Hazuri Bagh, Lahore; sunset at Faisal Masjid, Islamabad.

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Left to right, top to bottom: Sunehri Masjid, Lahore; Wazir Khan Masjid, Lahore; peppers and a street view of the Walled City of Lahore; Shalimar Bagh, Lahore; the Sheesh Mahal at the Shahi Qila, Lahore.

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Left to right, top to bottom: a farm between Abbottabad and Besham; apricot blossoms in Gilgit City; afternoon in Hunza Valley, Gilgit-Baltistan; the sun sets on the cones of the Passu Cathedral, Gilgit-Baltistan.

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An afternoon view of the Indus River from the Karakoram Highway, Gilgit-Baltistan.

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MEMORY, METAPHOR, SPIRIT EXPLORATIONS OF UNANI TIBB, MODERN MEDICAL PRACTICES AND THE LIVELIHOODS OF HAKEEMS IN PAKISTAN

By Sharmain Siddiqui

There are multitudes of hands in the twilight, a cloud of religion and magic and palms, clasping yours, gentle and capable. The hakeems make their tracings into the shadows of your wrists, where there is always a possibility of rebirth and healing. When the voice sings, when the blood swells beyond boundaries: where does the life-force of breath go, after flesh falls away from bone? Does the intermediaries’ magic evoke itself in memory, metaphor or spirit? ***

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n the early twentieth century, unani tibb, a South Asian healing science and medicinal system, evolved from an eclectic set of healing practices into a sign of Islamic cultural identity and enterprise. Unani tibb was reimagined as a healing force not simply for bodily disorders but for colonial and postcolonial ills. Dating back to the 1200s, unani tibb practitioners — otherwise known as hakeems — have used pulse-readings to diagnose patients with a variety of diseases by measuring the kick of a pulse at an individual’s wrist. Hakeems practice healing through a wide range of techniques, including pulse and palm readings, acupuncture, herbal treatments and homeopathy and, above all, intercession and empathy.

The hakeem is the mystic, the intermediary between Allah and his devotee, who interprets Allah’s word and passes it onto his followers. Mediation and intercession are embedded deeply into this Earth. Foucault asks what kind of body does society — and the divine — want and need? The hakeem responds to this coyly, can’t you hear them howling to you now, in your heart?

This past summer, I spent six weeks in Karachi and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa documenting the oral history of hakeems. The project examined the sociopolitical state of unani tibb through ethnographic fieldwork. Working with hakeems, I explored the many transformations and continuities of unani tibb to examine the ways in which the set of practices is embedded within both social networks and power relations hegemonized by the Pakistani state. In the face of rapid globalization, hakeems’ practices have been suffering from a lack of resources, archiving, and support.

Through fieldwork, it was clear that hakeems harbor many grievances against the State and remain concerned with larger structural questions about who unani tibb is serving and why. In

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Pakistan, the government and private pharmaceutical companies have functioned as hegemonies that sap the ownership of indigenous medicine from native practitioners. Acts such as the Drug Regulatory Agency of Pakistan (DRAP) serve to disenfranchise practitioners of unani tibb. The DRAP mandates the testing of tibb-e-unani medicines by European and US pharmacopoeia methods.

In the process of gaining ownership of traditional medicines, DRAP invalidates and marginalizes many other forms of traditional medicine that are not recognized by the State, which hakeems fear will lead to their disappearance. Tribal medical traditions face the brunt of this violence, especially as their medical practices have yet to be standardized in the way that unani tibb has.

Tabeeba Laila, a hakeem, detailed her frustrations with the DRAP act, which was recently passed by the Sindh court in Karachi: “The question we must ask first is that ‘are the herbs available here in Karachi similar to the ones found in Baloch, or Khyber Pass, or even Hyderabad?’ The simple answer is no. How, then, can we expect our herbs to be the same as the ones used in Europe or the USA?” Tabeeba Laila spoke of how tibb cases are always dismissed in both supreme and high courts. Her union has filed petition after petition against the DRAP in the Sindh High Court, all of which have been instantly rejected. She feared that the Pakistani government was in it for the money, as well as for legitimization of themselves and their knowledge production to the Western World. She spoke of how, despite these grievances, practitioners and patients still deeply rely on unani tibb. However, in Karachi, the revival of traditional medicinal systems as anti-colonial practice is only afforded to the richest population, which constitutes a minority of the country. The majority of patients visiting hakeems do so because of the inexpensive price of visitations or a distrust of biomedicine.

There was also strong congruence between indigenous medicine and nation-building in the post-colonial era as nations began

to regulate and professionalize indigenous medicine to create a sense of national identity and unity. Globalization accelerated this sense of ownership as both pharmaceutical companies and patent systems commodified these fluid forms of indigenous knowledge into property. Many hakeems have expressed deep concern over the regulation of traditional medicine, but, simultaneously, the reimagining of unani tibb and indigenous medicine as healing forces have been able to serve as sites of resistance for hakeems and their clients.

Pre-colonial India lacked ideas of nationhood before the politicization of the many ethnicities and languages in the nationstate. Anti-colonial nationalism was at the root of many resistance movements, and nationalists used indigenous medicine as a way to create unified identity to disown colonial rule. For example, Indian nationalists heavily contextualized ayurveda — another South Asian healing science — to reinforce nationalism in a Hinducentric context.

In a similar fashion, unani tibb came to be known as a sign of Pakistani national identity and culture. It is perhaps for these reasons that people feel a binary when it comes to understanding the gaps between western and non-western medicine, since it becomes not only about unani tibb itself, but also about notions of the strength and stability of the nation-state.

One hakeem I spoke with talked extensively about the politics of the Indian State, saying that India did not want unani tibb because of its Islamization during anti-colonial movements. He said there was no place for unani tibb in India, especially when they already had the more funded and supported science of ayurveda., wihc ay be be a remnant of the colonial legacy of categorizing populations on the basis of religion. Hakeem Burq said that although the Indian government utilized ayurveda to promote India, unani tibb was attached to Islam to promote Islam - not the medicinal system itself - in the global south and the Middle East.

As in India, where ayurveda evolved from a heterogeneous set of healing practices into a sign of Indian national culture, The sun sets on a series of peaks north of Besham, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Photo by Hassan Sayed.

Hakeem Burq Saheb perfoms a pulse reading; Aga Khan University, Karachi. Photo by Sharmain Siddiqui.

unani tibb too was compartmentalized and then reimagined as a healing force not simply for bodily disorders but for colonial and postcolonial ills. In this way, unani tibb and indigenous medicine have been able to serve as sites of resistance for hakeems and their clients. Hakeems are using and adopting western practices and epistemologies while also resisting them, in ways that are productive and meaningful. As medical anthropologist Jean Langford states, hakeems are able to “appropriate, transform, and circumvent the knowledge practices implicit in these institutions, to ultimately destabilize the categories” of body/mind, science/magic, inside/ outside, western/non-western and traditional/modernity.

Hakeems and unani tibb have been greatly complicating the picture of various traditions and practices of systems in our contemporary moment. They have been breaking with fixed notions of western and traditional or indigenous knowledge, where straightforward distinctions between tradition and modernity cannot hold. The ability to destabilize dichotomies that are so prevalent in medical anthropology are creating subversive interpretations of the relationship between scientific and religious thought. Their many manifestations of practice also usurp the social networks hegemonized by the State, and stands more broadly as an examination of how a set of practices and institutions are constructed and how knowledge systems and bodily practices are developed at the intersection of colonial and postcolonial/global discourses and systems of power. *** There are multitudes of hands in the twilight, reaching out half blade and half silk, to clean, heal, embrace yours. The hakeems’ work manifests through memory, metaphor, and spirit. It exists through and beyond structures of religion, in a place where people learn to dream, through reinventions of narratives, anchored in community and love.

The following recipes were collected from Hakeem Ibrahim during my field work. They function as alternatives or supplements to pharmaceutical medicines.

Lassan Ki Chutney: for cholesterol, blood pressure, and blood sugar Ingredients 2 whole bulbs of garlic 1 dry red chili 3 tomatoes 4 tsp oil 1 tsp cumin seeds (kala jeera) 1 tbsp himalayan salt, or kevra salt 1 tbsp coriander powr 1 tsp turmeric Recipe 1. Soak the chili in one cup of water for 30 minutes to make it soft and easy to grind into a paste.

2. Peel the garlic and chop the tomatoes into big pieces.

3. Put the chili, garlic and tomatoes into a blender.

Blend until a smooth paste is achieved.

4. Heat the oil in a skillet and temper the cumin seeds in it.

5. Transfer the paste into a skillet. Transfer the paste into the skillet, and add turmeric, coriander powder and salt.

6. Cook for 15 minutes. Stir periodically. After a few minutes, the paste will start to leave oil, meaning the chutney is ready to be served.

Ginger Honey Tea: for migraines, poor sleep, and sore throat Ingredients ½ tsp turmeric 1 tsp cinnamon powder Ginger 2 tbsp honey 1 lemon Recipe 1. Boil one cup water.

2. Add in turmeric, cinnamon powder and honey as water begins to boil.

3. Grate in as much ginger as desired.

4. As you bring the tea to a boil, add in as much honey as desired.

5. Top off with a lemon or citrus slice.

Art by Maha Essid.

RAMADAN

By Khadeejah Milhan

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wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling on the stove and my parents laughing about my cat’s recent shenanigans. I open my eyes and see the bright red 4:36 AM on my clock. Perfect. I woke up just in time. I walk into the kitchen as my mom says, “Eat soon before Fajr.” She places a plate of eggs in front of me and I dive into the plate until I can’t eat another bite. Before I know it, the clock hits 5:35 AM, and my mom announces that it’s Fajr time. Our fast has begun.

During the ninth month of the Muslim calendar, Ramadan, Muslims all over the world fast from sunrise to sunset. Ramadan is a time of reflection and prayer, but it is most visibly a time of self-restraint in keeping with one of the pillars for Islam, sawm, to refrain.

In addition to fasting, Muslims refrain from committing bad or impure deeds during this month.

Muslims don’t just focus on themselves during Ramadan, though. There is also a deeper sense of community during this time of year. The Sri Lankan Muslim community in the state of Illinois is composed of roughly thirty families and, throughout most of the year, I feel disconnected from this group.

However, during Ramadan, I have always felt connected to them through the substantial efforts taken to gather at dusk and break fast as a community. My memories are filled with moments of laughing with friends during

the day to pass time, cooking alongside my cousins to help our parents prepare a feast for iftar and connecting with family and friends I haven’t seen for ages. This heightened sense of community has always been the highlight of my Ramadan.

As a first-year student, I was worried about having a community during Ramadan.

I wondered if my memories of laughing with my family at iftar would be replaced with breaking my fast alone at Sargent dining hall.

Many incoming students face similar worries about Ramadan. “I was not sure at first about how structured things were,” said Yusuf Mussa, McCormick Class of 2020.

Syeda Juwairiyyah Fatima, Weinberg Class of 2019, said she was worried about the “concept of having to fast in college” as well.

However, to my relief, the Muslim community at Northwestern comes together and becomes closer during Ramadan. Fidak Khan, Northwestern senior and forner president of the Muslim Cultural Students Association, explained that during Ramadan Muslim students on campus typically see each other often on a typical day. During Ramadan, they hang out before, during and after breaking their fasts. Even commuter students who can go home to break their fast choose to remain on campus to experience the community during Ramadan.

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Fatima reflects on how she will miss breaking her fast with her friends when she graduates. As a commuter, Fatima had the opportunity to go home to break her fast during Ramadan 2018 but chose to eat on campus not only because of a hectic schedule during the school year but also because she genuinely enjoyed breaking her fast with her friends who “felt like family.”

This heightened sense of community extends beyond regular members of the McSA community to encompass Northwestern’s Muslim community as a whole. “I love Ramadan because everyone goes to the same dining hall which brings the whole community together,” said Weinberg sophomore Ahmed Al-Madhan.

“On the weekends we get sponsored catered meals from alumni which brings the whole community together.”

“People are more willing to talk to people during Ramadan and at iftars at Parkes,” said Fatima. “You will get a random assortment of people sitting together and it is a great time to talk to people you have never talked to and make new friends.”

Parkes Hall gives Muslim students a space on campus to have iftars that are typically sponsored by alumni. But rather than just cater to Muslim students, Parkes iftars seek to bring together the entire

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MUBARAK Northwestern community, regardless of religious affiliation. “The first iftar of the year is a community iftar hosted by the McSA and we invite anyone who wants to come,” said Khan. “Last year we got tons of people there, which is really great because Muslims and non-Muslims can come together to experience the breaking of the fast.”

McCormick senior Akhil Shanishetti does not identify as Muslim but attended the Parkes iftar in 2018. Shanishetti said that at first he was hesitant about attending the event because he was scared to come into a space with which he did not share a religious affiliation. In high school, Shanishetti understood Ramadan as a period of significance when he saw his Muslim friends remain positive while fasting and navigating academics and extracurriculars. However, he was not exposed to the specific rituals or duties Muslims have to perform during the month.

Shanishetti applauded the McSA for making the iftar an organic learning experience, as the speeches, prayers and openness of Muslim students at iftars to share their experiences allowed for nonMuslims at the event to better understand Ramadan. “The Parkes iftar is a place where very different people from very different backgrounds and very different homes who

have one common ground at Northwestern can come and share,” said Shanishetti. “I thought it was a beautiful experience.”

Beyond a community iftar on the first day of Ramadan, the McSA practices other traditions during Ramadan, such as decorating the Northwestern Multicultural Center. As a first-year, Fatima recalls making a Kaaba out of construction paper and hanging it from the lights. In her second-year she made chain links counting down the days of the month. During Ramadan, the bonds between McSA members grow as they cook for one another, spend late nights together getting ice cream and driving to restaurants such as IHOP for the pre-dawn meal of suhoor.

In the past, Ramadan has coincided with finals week. Mussa remarked that this was “manageable, but I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Last spring quarter, my biochemistry class was Monday nights 6-9 PM so I would usually break my fast in that class,” said Fatima. “Taking exams would be really bad because we would have to watch the clock and then signal to our other friends in the class that it was time to eat.”

Although Muslim students do not have to face finals during Ramadan this year, the struggle of fasting while taking classes persists. Khan reflected that when Ramadan

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falls during the school year, going to class, completing assignments and maintaining some semblance of a schedule is very difficult.

Mussa explained that it is difficult to go to class while fasting during the day when students are used to being awake most of the night. “Fasting is very hard because you are eating really late,” said Khan. “After iftar, everyone wants to go out for ice cream and you are sitting around digesting. Then it’s past midnight and you know you have class the next day so you have to calculate how many hours of sleep you will need.” Many students flip their typical sleep schedule to accommodate their fasting schedule or accept a sporadic sleep schedule.

Nevertheless, the benefits that Ramadan gives the Northwestern Muslim community make up for the struggle of being a student during Ramadan. “There is something so peaceful and calming that people all across the city come together at the darkest hours of the night when everyone else is sleeping,” said Huma Manjra, a Weinberg freshman.

“During the day when everyone else is going about their life, we are sticking to our values and beliefs of Islam and we are practicing what it is in life to be patient, what it is like to endure and still be thankful for our blessings that we will have iftar at the end of the day.”

Ayza Sheikh, Maha Essid, Ammar Younas, and Sahar El-Kabbash on the set of 426. Photo by Salwa Sadek.

SILENCE ON SET

Maha Essid (Second Assistant Camera) on the set of The Rat Child.

The perspective of Muslim women in the QATARI film industry

By Wijdan Al-Khateeb & Maha Essid

I

t’s 4AM on a Saturday. You’re not at home in bed but in a giant studio loaded with boxes, trolleys, stands and countless cables.

The scene is hectic — the crew members have arrived, schedules are being handed out and everyone is eager to start shooting. You walk over to pick up a box of lights when, suddenly, you hear a whisper from behind you. “Don’t worry I got it, it’s too heavy for you!” It’s the assistant producer, who is not supposed to be here at all. You step back, letting this slide.

You reach out to pick up a stand for the setup.

“I got it! Too heavy.” Now, it’s the gaffer. “I got it!” You stand in the middle of the traffic wondering why everyone else had only “got it” for you. You raise your head and look around. There you are: the only female on the crew.

Filmmaking is a powerful tool for influencing lives, providing the power to showcase narratives and question the views of an audience in just a few

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hours. Yet, despite its massive impact and outreach, the film industry has a long way to go to achieve racial, religious and gender inclusion.

For decades, Muslim women have been working to break into film industries and tell the stories of their world. Artists ranging from Saudi Arabia’s first female filmmaker Haifa AlMansour to Iran’s Narges Abyar and Afghanistan’s Roya Sadat have broken ground internationally for their politically charged films, which often revolve around themes of feminism, cultural norms and social movements.

Some of these filmmakers were considered too controversial, while others were cheered on. Many others went by unnoticed. While none of these artists were the first Muslim women to pursue filmmaking, they all played an important role in contributing to a global movement that provides a medium for women to

Northwestern Qatar students and alumni prepare equipment on the set of Noor. Photo by Maha Essid

voice their perspectives.

Despite recent breakthroughs by Muslim women in the film industry, female filmmakers continue to face challenges in the Muslim world. Students are trained to meticulously watch film from the structure of the narrative to the precise placement of objects in each frame. Muslim film students constantly engage with the typecasting of Muslims as violent, regressive, misogynistic terrorists or passive veiled women. As a result, budding Muslim filmmakers feel continuously pressured to combat these images throughout their work in the hopes that, maybe one day, these stereotypes will no longer exist.

The importance of Muslim representation is already significant for Muslim men but even more so for Muslim women, who combat issues both inside and outside their communities.

By producing film, Muslim women have the opportunity to disprove Western stereotypes of the “oppressed Muslim woman” and, additionally, provide an insight into their own lives and experiences as women in their communities.

While engaging with preexisting media presents one set of challenges, the actual process of working on set as a Muslim woman presents even more difficulties. For aspiring filmmakers, working through the pressure and chaos of a film set is the only way to learn how to transform a story from script to screen.

Families and social norms add another layer of pressure for Muslim women in these settings.

For director Nouf Al-Sulaiti, family concerns about working on maledominated sets presented a hurdle in pursuing a filmmaking career. Working closely with men “can be looked down

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upon considering the long hours on film sets and working late at night,” said AlSulaiti. Even when her immediate family warmed up to the idea of her working with men on set, they never told extended family the full story.

These challenges and opportunities vary from location to location. In Qatar, women are expected to be home a lot earlier, and it is not necessarily “normal” for women to be working closely with men for long periods of time. In the United States, on the other hand, working with men isn’t thought of as an issue of any sort.

NU-Q film student Sahar El-Kabbash feels as though she needs to prove herself more to other filmmakers because she wears hijab. “My colleagues think I can’t lift heavy equipment or hear audio properly. It adds even more of a challenge to being a female Arab filmmaker.”

Working on the set of Tick Tock. By Nur Munawarah.

“Because my faith shows in the way I dress, all kinds of assumptions are made about it. The best part is proving them wrong and seeing that I’m changing people’s perspective about the hijab and how they think it slows us down.”

In spite of these challenges, many female Muslim filmmakers find the opportunity to create films invaluable.

“As a Muslim, I have been lucky enough experiencing the film industry for the first time here in Qatar,” said Asmaa Benkermi, a film producer at NU-Q. “Our environment at Northwestern University in Qatar is one that accepts cultural and religious differences, making it easy for me to practice and incorporate my religion into my work. For example, having a shooting schedule that takes into account prayer times is something totally acceptable, which I imagine is not the case everywhere.”

In order to grow and learn in any specialty, practice is key. Muslim women in particular struggle with opportunities to learn through practice. “Because of how small Qatar is and how small our film community/industry is, I believe

that we do get a lot of opportunities and chances to work on films.” Al-Sulaiti added.

Regardless of the countless challenges Muslim filmmakers face, they all believe in one thing: “it is time for us to represent ourselves.” This community of Muslim women shares a sense of responsibility as a future generation of female filmmakers and content creators. In spite of the scarce opportunities they have to participate in filmmaking, Muslim women are still seldom represented in the field. Yet, for those who do work in the industry, being a filmmaker gives women an opportunity to express their voices, tell their stories and represent themselves in ways that brush against both local and Western conceptions of what a woman should be.

“Being a female in the filmmaking industry can sometimes be challenging, as you’re constantly pushing boundaries

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and trying to prove yourself,” said Benkermi. “When I took on positions in the producing department, requiring a lot of interpersonal communication, I sometimes found it hard to negotiate with men, as they see you as easy ‘prey.’”

Benkermi added that while maledominated fields can be intimidating, Muslim women have to stand their ground and keep on going.

“No one asks about people’s faith on a film set, and no one makes assumptions about others,” said El-Kabbash. “But because my faith shows in the way I dress, all kinds of assumptions are made about it. The best part is proving them wrong and seeing that I’m changing people’s perspective about the hijab and how they think it slows us down.

It moves me forward and shows me I’m strong and determined enough for anything I set my mind to.”

SPIRITUAL HEALING

Exploring Muslim Mental Health with Dr. Rania Awaad

By Asha Abdalla

F

rom being perceived as a mark of the devil to being treated as a sign of outright weakness, there’s no shortage of misconceptions surrounding mental illness in Muslim communities. Mental illness has no single cause — in most cases it’s a mixture of genetic, environmental, social, cultural and experiential factors.

Stigmas surrounding mental health serve as some of the largest barriers to conversations about the issue, whether at the level of treating illness or even accepting that illness exists in the first place.

Stigma may arise from patients’ beliefs that nothing is wrong or that they should get over what they’re experiencing on their own.

Others may believe their poor mental health stems from doing something wrong, and that illness is their punishment. Patients may even be aware they are experiencing depression or anxiety but refuse to seek help because of social pressures.

Many Muslim-Americans are the children of immigrants, descendants of enslaved people, members of exiled diasporas or refugees. The concept of intergenerational trauma — the transmission of trauma between generations of families and communities — is hence particularly important for looking at the origins of mental illness in Muslim-American circles.

To put it into perspective, imagine a person who grew up in a family where the parents or the grandparents experienced war or upheaval. They lost their wealth and home, had to move, lived in refugee camps and were plagued by perpetual uncertainty and fear.

Even though their children never experienced any of that trauma directly, they still hear their parents’ tales and consequently feel similar anxiety and stress.

“It is like they are carrying a narrative of pain and trauma that they have heard from their forefathers,” said Dr. Rania Awaad, Clinical Assistant Professor of Psychiatry at the Stanford Univer-

sity School of Medicine. “Unfortunately, so many of our Muslim community are currently, politically and sociopolitically, in a state of upheaval and it is really affecting many of us.”

Dr. Awaad’s work focuses on mental health stigmas within the Muslim-American community. She is also director of Stanford’s Muslim Mental Health Lab and Wellness Program and Co-Director of the Diversity Clinic. Prior to studying medicine, Dr. Awaad pursued classical Islamic Studies in Damascus, Syria, holding ijazah in Qur’an, Islamic Law and other branches of the Islamic Sciences.

Many practicing Muslims seem to rely on prayer and reading the Qur’an as coping mechanisms for every facet of life, including any mental health issues they face. Yet, depending on the type and extent of the mental illness that someone has, prayer alone can be ineffective in managing the illness.

“For a believer, someone who finds that their faith gives them a lot of strength, prayers will be, and should be, part of the solution and part of the treatments,” Dr. Awaad said. However, she also says that the relationship and treatment for mental health for many Muslims is more nuanced than that. Dr Awaad tells a story about one woman who considers herself an all-around active Muslim — she is committed to her prayers, fasts, goes to the masjid and regularly volunteers. She is also clinically and chronically depressed. When she falls into depressive episodes, her friends and family tell her to pray more, do more dhikr or just read the Qur’an.

Yet, people within her community do not understand that her faith isn’t the root of her illness nor is it the sole solution to her struggles.

When she falls into depression, she finds it hard to eat, drink or even brush her teeth, much less pray or read the Qur’an.

While prayer may not always be the answer, utilizing faith as a means of treating mental illness is still powerful. Faith-based therapy includes the use of psychotherapy inspired by the Qur’an. Additionally, Sunnah and traditional writings by Islamic scholars can be used as tools to help a patient achieve a sense of spiritual serenity. Psychotherapy in an Islamic framework emphasizes the importance of introspection when seeking fitrah.

Islamic counselors are able to use their spiritual and religious knowledge to help a client develop sabr, while also using their expertise as mental health experts to treat the mental illness.

Dr. Awaad is able to attest to the benefits of faith-based wellness centers recently implemented at the University of California, Berkeley. The first benefit is access: weekly hours are scheduled for students to visit Muslim therapists.

Not only do these Muslim therapists provide access to faith-based therapy, they also open up options for students who might not be able to get access to Dr. Awaad (Twitter: @awaadrania) addresses students at McSA Fall Speaker. Photo by the Daily Northwestern.

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Muslim Students at Northwestern University engage in community dialogue. Photo via Northwestern McSA.

continuing care from the university’s Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS). While CAPS can be supportive and is well-intentioned, the office does not have the staffing to meet everyone’s needs.

Another benefit is spiritual integration through Muslim therapists. “For someone who is more spiritually inclined and wants spirituality to be part of their healing process, regular mainstream therapy is not going to be enough,” Dr. Awaad explained. She argues that standardized therapy with spiritual integration “can be infinitely more effective” than regular therapy, which is what makes faith-based wellness centers stand out.

Beyond the university, access to care is still one of the biggest barriers to mental health treatment. Organizations like the

“

Khalil Center, a community psychological and spiritual wellness center with locations across North America, are working to break down some of these barriers. Part of their work includes bringing faith-based wellness centers to college campuses like the one that has been implemented at Berkeley. Muslim students at Northwestern University are currently working with Khalil Center counselors to start a similar program in Evanston, Illinois that would offer drop in counseling services, workshops and community dialogues surrounding mental health as it relates to the Muslim college student lifestyle.

Although the program may take some time to get up and running, Dr. Awaad wants to emphasize that Northwestern students and other Chicagoans are fortunate to be close to two

For someone who is more spiritually inclined and wants spirituality to be part of their healing process, regular mainstream therapy is not going to be enough.

Chicagoland area Khalil Centers. For those who find it hard to visit these centers, teletherapy is always an available option whether it be through Khalil Center or a different organization.

Outside of these centers, there are always therapists who may not be Muslim but are culturally competent and trained to offer quality care to Muslim patients.

Beyond seeing therapists, Muslims can practice other tips and tricks to take care of their mental well-being, notably self care. Taking care of mental wellbeing at the most basic level includes sleeping well, eating well, exercising daily and, for those who are spiritually inclined, fulfilling a spiritual connection.

“A part of what happens when people start to feel depressed

”

and feel themselves getting out of sync is they push aside a lot of things that go by routine,” Dr. Awaad said. For Muslims, praying and making dhikr are often part of a routine. The crucial aspect of maintaining mental well-being is for people to establish and maintain routines with activities that matter to them, according to Dr. Awaad.

Dr. Awaad ends by emphasizing the importance of building community: a Muslim’s community can support them and pick them up if they notice their health going awry. A strong community that is well-informed on issues of mental health can serve as one of the most powerful support systems for those struggling with mental illness.

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The Hijab

Misconceptions and Struggles for Young Muslim Women

By Giovana Gelhoren

I

f a woman wears gloves and goes outside, anyone who passes by will understand why she put them on — to keep her hands warm. Although gloves can also be a fashion statement, passersby will generally agree on the woman’s motivation to put them on.

However, this logic does not apply to hijab. Translated to mean “conceal,” hijab is an Islamic principle that outlines how men and women should strive to achieve a modest mindset, behavior and lifestyle.

The most visible form of hijab, the headscarf, is a veil worn by some Muslim women, referred to as hijabis, that usually conceals their hair and chest in addition to modest clothing covering the body.

Although the premise of wearing a scarf to cover one’s hair seems initially unassuming, speculation about what the scarf suggests and the reasons behind wearing it greatly impact the lives of young Muslim women. Why do young Muslim college students choose to wear, or not wear, the hijab? What are the challenges and misconceptions these women face throughout their lives?

The choice to wear the hijab is a personal decision for Muslim women; different women hold different personal conceptions of what the concept means to them. For Northwestern University senior Fidak Khan, wearing hijab is a way of manifesting her modesty. On the other hand, Northwestern freshman Mariam Tolba made the choice to wear hijab due to her strong commitment to religion.

Tolba’s modesty is only a final product of such devoutness.

Misconceptions of why women choose to wear hijab are widespread.

One common fallacy is that men force the women in their family to wear the

Art by Tessneem Shahbandar.

headscarf. Northwestern’s Middle Eastern and North African Studies Language Coordinator, Fatima Khan, argued that, “women chose to wear a hijab much like Muslim men also adhere to modest fashion.

Men will not wear a speedo to the beach, but people don’t notice they’re dressed because a woman is always the object of interest and intrigue.”

In fact, according to Khan, Muslim culture isn’t oppressive due to the fact that Muslim women work in professions ranging from nurses to doctors to professors.

“It’s kind of interesting to me why we Muslim women are singled out for the hair covering,” Khan continued. “We have a lot of freedom of intellectual movements that are not present in other cultures, but still we’re always seen as the oppressive kind of system.”

Another common misunderstanding

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about hijab revolves around why some women choose to take the hijab off. “It’s hard to be a girl who wears the hijab and then choose to take it off without having people think that you did it because you don’t like the idea of a hijab,” said Ayesha Lat, a Northwestern freshman who recently decided to take off her hijab. Lat continued, “a lot of people assume that you agree with them that the hijab is not a good thing and that women shouldn’t wear it, but I do.”

Some women do, in fact, stop wearing the hijab for fear of hate-motivated attacks or the desire to be accepted and popular on social media. According to Professor Khan, “a lot of young girls eventually take the hijab off because you wear it for the purpose of not getting that type of attention, but all social media wants is to give that type of attention.”

When asking Muslim women about their experience with hatred, Lat recalled a moment she was grocery shopping with her hijabi mother. While they were at checkout, a man approached them, said “don’t shoot” and then quickly walked away. This is commonplace for hijabi women across the world since wearing a hijab visibly identifies its wearer as Muslim and singles them out as an optimal target for acts of bigotry.

However, these struggles do not discourage many women from wearing hijab. The empowerment and the connection to God that is created as a result of becoming a hijabi are seen to outweigh such obstacles. In the words of Randa Ibrahim, a junior at the University of Texas at San Antonio, wearing the hijab makes her “empowered as the guard of her own body and free from society’s standard of beauty.”

CEILINGS

By Jihad Esmail

W

hen I was a kid, I didn’t think I had a ceiling. My dad always set high expectations in the present — always pushing me to get the highest grades, spend time productively and treat others as best I could. My mom’s focus was more future-based: you can be the best doctor, the best lawyer, the best engineer — don’t settle.

And I believed them.

I saw other people’s ceilings, though. I saw racist teachers and classmates who could barely afford their next meal. I saw my grandmother’s hijab and heard my grandfather’s broken English. I saw that people had a ceiling due to things that were totally out of their control. I just didn’t think I had one, too.

Religion is often viewed as something personal: your relationship with God, how you should treat others, your philosophy on life and afterlife. For some Muslims, it can stay that way. They can go their whole lives without a stranger taking a second look in the streets.

For others, they are constantly and obviously Muslim. They can’t hide or walk away from their identity any more than they can their faces or outfits.

I’ve always been somewhere in the middle.

I’ve been white passing my whole life: a lighter complexion, no distinctly Arab features. Before introducing myself, people always assumed I was Greek, Italian, Latino — the list goes on. As soon as I say my name, everything changes.

“Hi, I’m Jihad,” I say with a confident smile. Immediately, I’m met with looks of confusion or hesitation.

Religion is personal, but that does not mean that others don’t affect the way we experience it for ourselves.

I noticed my ceiling in sixth grade. Every single middle schooler looked forward to presenting their project at our school’s science fair. I was literally counting down the days until the fair began. The night of, I got to the school early to set everything up. Another student in my class, seemingly just as eager as me, had arrived early as well. She and her mother were setting up a project on a table across the gymnasium alongside a big poster that she was planning

on presenting.

I finished setting up my table just as a bigger crowd of students was walking in. Right on time. My stomach grumbled a bit, and I realized I had been too excited to eat anything all day. I took the cash my parents had given me and ran over to the vending machine.

As I was choosing a snack, an older woman walked up beside me — it was the girl’s mother.

“You’re in my daughter’s class, right?”

“Yeah we have science together.”

“Oh, yes! Your name is… Jee-hawd, right?”

“Uh yeah, Jihad” “Very interesting… that must be hard. How do you feel about that? Have you considered changing it?” she questioned. “Do you think you’re going to succeed with that name? I’m sure you’ve thought about what career paths would work for someone like you.”

Everything was a blur after that. I remember going back to my table. I remember telling my parents what the woman had asked. And I remember my parents trying to re-explain to me the significance of my name when we got home.

“Your name is powerful. A struggle to be closer to Allah. A struggle to always get better. That lady doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The conversation did nothing to ease my worries. That night, Google searches of “What does Jihad mean?” and “Why is Jihad bad?” introduced me to what this woman, and many others, thought my name and my faith represented.

Something changed. It wasn’t all at once, but I gradually became more self-conscious and aware of the implications of my name. I still didn’t understand the gravity of it all until years later. But I began to consider the possibility that I might actually have a ceiling.

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PERSPECTIVES

My name was the open door. I felt a duty to uphold a set of values and carry myself in a way that disproved any negative stereotypes about my religion.

I wasn’t alone. That sense of duty to prove yourself is widespread among Muslim-Americans. We are constantly pressured to speak out against every act of violent extremism. We are baited into explaining how Islamic social and political stances are “actually really liberal” and conform to the ideals of Western societies. We feel we must consistently justify and prove ourselves for fear of being seen as outsiders.

Everywhere from khutub to student group events, young Muslims are told they need to be the best that they can be. That they need to break down stereotypes about Islam and Muslims. We are taught that every single aspect of our lives affects how others view Islam, and so we have a responsibility to not slip up for fear that people will associate our mistakes as individuals with Islam as a whole.

Even further, I felt a duty to prove to others — my classmates, teachers, people I met on the street — that I did not have to compromise any other aspect of my life in order to uphold my identity. I could dress the same way as they could. I could talk the same. I could share the same interests.

As a result, my relationship with my faith changed drastically.

I held the mold that I believed was socially desirable and chiseled away at my own identity until it fit.

That was an empty feeling. It wasn’t enough for me.

I thought my name served as a door for others to doubt and judge me. In doing so, I was allowing others to adjust my ceiling as they saw fit.

One Friday at jum’ah, our imam was discussing the responsibilities of Muslims. He recalled a hadith where someone had asked Muhammad (S), “what is the best jihad?”. The prophet replied, “A word of truth against injustice.” He explained that jihad was the act of struggling, applying oneself, persevering through

adversity. I remembered what my parents had told me after the incident at the science fair: jihad was about growing closer to Allah, not convincing others that I was someone I was not.

That’s when it clicked for me. My responsibility was not to morph myself to meet the standards of others. My responsibility was to own up to the name I was given in the most authentic way possible.

I’ve yet to be blocked from achieving a goal because of my name. Does being named Jihad put me at a disadvantage in a job interview or grad school application? Yeah, maybe. I’m sure there’s resistance in some situations, and undoubtedly, that resistance is worse for those who are more “stereotypically” or visibly Muslim than I am. There’s an underlying fear that, regardless of how good I am, I’ll never reach the heights that I could have reached with a different name. I’ll never know the answer.

But that shouldn’t, and doesn’t, affect my relationship with my faith. Others should not affect my relationship with my identity, but my identity should dictate my relationship with others. That is my jihad.

When I was a kid, I didn’t think I had a ceiling. Now, at 20, I know that I was correct.

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By Maie Zagloul

C U R LY H A I R

(AND AN IDENTITY CRISIS)

M

y parents married two weeks after meeting at their best friends’ wedding while not being able to communicate through a common language. It’s a story that always takes people aback. And while years of telling the story has made me immune to the magic of it, it really is something special.

My Egyptian father had traveled to Albania from the United States in 1995 to attend his college best friend’s wedding. My mom, young and doe-eyed, had never ventured past the small country’s border lines. She was immediately awestruck by the fact that my father looked nothing like the fair-skinned Albanians she had been surrounded by her whole life. For two weeks, my mother and father spent time together, meeting their families and going out for coffee with a third-wheeling interpreter following them around to help them communicate.

At the time, my mom spoke Albanian, Italian and French. As impressive of a trilinguist she was, there was no overlap between her three languages and my father’s sole ability to converse in Arabic and broken English. Swept up by the romance of it all, my mom threw caution to the wind, married my father and travelled, for the first time in her life, to America. The fact that my mom’s first time on a plane included her avidly trying to open up the side window while flying miles high over the ocean still cracks my dad up to this day.

But once my parents moved into a run down apartment in the South Side of Milwaukee, the only place my father could afford at the beginning of his career, reality sunk in. Life got a little harder when there wasn’t an interpreter around to help them communicate. Nevertheless, they made it work with an amount of determinism that I would forever admire.

Fast forward several years, and my brother and I faced an unyielding identity crisis that would last for the rest of our lives. My parents did their best at raising us to embrace both parts of our identity. My mom learned Arabic as soon as we were born so that she could speak to us in that language before English dominated our vocabulary. My father taught my mother how to pray, and they both raised us with their Muslim values. At the same time, my mom also made sure to teach us enough Albanian to communicate with her side of the family. We spent alternating summers in Egypt and Albania.

I first really became aware of my parents’ differing racial identities when my hair transformed into thick Arab curls. My mother, blessed Maie celebrates her fifth birthday at home with her mother.

with sleek, smooth hair as an Albanian, had no idea what to do with it.

Confused, she would brush my hair while it was dry, disobeying a cardinal rule of curly hair and leaving a bush of mess in its aftermath. She would then slap a hairband on it, turn me around, and tell me I looked beautiful.

Judging by the countless nicknames I was taunted with at school, my classmates disagreed.

When I started at Northwestern, I had finally learned how to manage my hair, but I struggled to find a niche where I fit in. While I spoke Arabic, the fact that I wasn’t 100% Arab set me apart from the rest of the Arab community. I emphasized my Arab half and downplayed my Albanian identity, but that didn’t fool anyone.

Members of the McSA always found ways to point out the fact that I was half White. My Arabic was never fluent enough, my Quranic knowledge never advanced enough and my Albanian side was constantly to blame. Friends with parents of the same race didn’t have to spend their childhood split between learning multiple cultures and languages.

I remember sitting with some Muslim friends when someone referenced a Surah in the Quran. When I asked what the Surah was about, they laughed and made comments on the fact that I was half white instead of taking the time to explain it to me. It seemed paradoxical to me that they felt like they were ‘better’ Muslims, and when given an opportunity to teach me, they chose to make fun of my ethnicity. On the other hand, the Prophet (PBUH) actively spoke in favor of teaching others: “Whoever calls (others) to guidance, then he receives the reward similar to the reward of whoever follows him, without that diminishing anything from their rewards” (Sahih Muslim 2674).

The fact of the matter is that, as a freshman, people’s opinions of me mattered a lot. I started thinking that I wasn’t as good of a Muslim as my peers simply because they were more knowledgeable in the Quran which, in turn, stemmed from my racial identity.

However, throughout the years, I’ve learned that being a good Muslim isn’t just about one’s ability to recite the Quran. It includes the way you treat others around you. It entails teaching those who are less knowledgeable. It encompasses humility and a refusal to put others down because of the color of their skin or who their parents were. Being a good Muslim is based on how you treat others and refusing to authenticate your own Muslim-ness based on how others are “less Muslim” than you are.

Maie with her father at SeaWorld, circa 2003.

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Two Steps Forward One Step Back?

How has Muslim public engagement and political action evolved in a post-2016 world?

By Urooj Amir & Hassan Sayed

E

nemy, dangerous, radical. All words too familiar to a Muslim American.

That’s why many Muslim Americans were not surprised when the leaked emails of Ameritrade founder Joe Ricketts, father of Cubs’ chairman Tom Ricketts, contained bigoted Islamophobic rhetoric. It was just another reminder that Muslims are believed to have, in Ricketts’ own words, a “bias against non-Muslims” or that Islam has too many “radical aspects.” Although admittedly disheartening, this episode was no different than the typical narrative portrayed by the

Members of CAIR-Chicago meet with the Cubs Organization in the wake of Joe Ricketts’s emails.

Photo via CAIR-Chicago.

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media and even by the President himself.

In response to these emails, the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), Council of Islamic Organizations of Greater Chicago and the Illinois Muslim Civic Coalition met with Joe Ricketts and his son.

Joe Ricketts publicly apologized for what he said in his emails and Tom Ricketts issued a statement promising collaboration with Muslim leaders in promoting an inclusive culture in the Cubs organization.

According to Sufyan Sohel, Deputy Director at CAIR-Chicago, “the Cubs organization was extremely proactive in coming out in front of this story, reaching out to Muslim leaders, activists and organizations to apologize for the words expressed in the emails and standing by their commitment to be representative of all communities that call Chicago home.”

For the past decade, and especially after the 2016 election, acts of senseless violence and public degradation against Muslims have often been overlooked and not called out for what they truly are: hate crimes. While events like the rape and murder of Nabra Hassanen or the 2017 Dar Al Farooq bombing have briefly sparked public backlash, non-Muslims quickly forget and focus their attention onto seemingly more pressing news. However, when the Ricketts emails were leaked, the Cubs leadership instantly reached out to multiple Muslim civil rights organizations to begin dialogue on the issue and work towards fostering a more inclusive environment, marking a step forward in the public discourse surrounding anti-Muslim sentiments and a potentially brighter future for Muslim public engagement.

The rise of publicized Islamophobia in the wake of the 2016 election simultaneously marked increased discussions of anti-Muslim

Omar wins the District 5 Minnesota Congressional election on a progressive platform, becoming the first female Muslim Congresswoman alongside Rashida Tlaib.

November 2018

Ilhan Omar: A Timeline

Photo via NPR.

Omar tweets a picture of bathroom graffiti reading “Assassinate Ilhan Omar.” While a handful of progressives immediately jump to her defense, the media and Republican establishment are quiet.

March 1, 2019

February 2019

March 2, 2019

The FBI arrests Chris Hasson, a white nationalist stockpiling weapons to assasinate a series of politicians, including Omar. The story makes headlines for a few days but outlets shift their attention to newer stories.

Although her 2018 Congressional victory was widely celebrated, Rep. Ilhan Omar has since faced constant scrutiny for her views and actions, raising questions about whether political Islamophobia has subsided. This timeline lists noteworthy instances of discrimination Rep. Omar has experienced in the past months.

issues in public forums — from the Cubs’ willingness to discuss Ricketts’ emails to the anti-Muslim Ban protests that swept American airports in 2017 to the election of the first Muslim women to Congress.

This raises the question: have Muslim communities finally started to quell the recent 21st-Century wave of Islamophobia?

According to Adam Beddawi, Policy Analyst at the Muslim Public Affairs Council (MPAC), “2016 really underscored the importance of greater engagement and more concerted activism within our community. To that end, I think it has clearly galvanized greater efforts from some non-profits to engage with a base that is both already vital and full of potential.” He added that the events of the 2016 election also inspired many Muslim American candidates to run for political office.

From an institutional perspective, however, not much seems to have changed.

Unjust surveillance of Muslim communities through the 2001 Patriot Act and “random” selections by TSA agents have evolved into outright Muslim bans levied by the Trump administration. News outlets’ continual characterization of Muslim public figures

Photo via abcnews.

as warmongers and the continuation of orientalist stereotypes through shows like Homeland continue to perpetuate a historical other-ing of Islam. While organizations may be doing more to combat Islamophobia, there are still doubts as to whether Americans have become more or less Islamophobic.

“Islamophobia has not risen much over the past few years,” said Sohel, “but with actions like the Muslim Ban and statements made by government officials people feel more entitled and emboldened to make hate speech.” He added that these recent events have made it more socially acceptable for people to publicly malign Muslims with little consequences but that, simultaneously, more outside groups have started reaching out to organizations like CAIR to support Muslims as allies.

The same questions about political institutions and evolving Islamophobia extend to the political sphere. Progressives commemorated the election of Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib — the first two Muslim women elected to the US Congress — as if Islamophobia had finally been wiped clean off the face of the Earth. Yet, Rep.

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A poster at “West Virgina Public GOP Day” juxtaposes a picture of Omar with the World Trade Center on 9/11.

A caption reads: “I am the proof - you have forgotten.” The event sparks outrage from a handful of Democrats, but many Republicans sidestep accusations of hate speech by invoking the First Amendment.

Tlaib’s support of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanction (BDS) movement and open criticism of the Netanyahu government have landed her accusations of AntiSemitism from Democrats, lending itself to a conflation of Anti-Semitism with AntiZionism and silencing Tlaib’s own personal narrative as a member of the Palestinian Diaspora.

In February, Rep. Omar landed herself in hot water among Democrats and Republicans for criticizing the role of Israeli

“Islamophobia has not risen much over the past few years, but with actions like the Muslim Ban and statements made by government officials people feel more entitled and emboldened to make hate speech.”

After a slew of controversies surrounding Rep. Omar’s AIPAC comments starting in February, including Donald Trump calling for her to resign, Omar tweets: “I should not be expected to have allegiance/pledge support to a foreign country in order to serve my country in Congress or serve on committee,”

Photo via Twitter.

A New York man is arrested after calling Rep. Omar’s office with threats to kill her. He cites her Muslim faith as motivation for wanting to “put a bullet in her skull.”

March 9, 2019

March 3, 2019

April 11, 2019

March 21, 2019

Photo via Washington Post.

The New York Post releases a cover of the World Trade Center on 9/11 accompanied by an out of context Rep. Omar quote: “some people did something.” Trump retweets a video with the same out-of-context quote.

Democrats, including Speaker Nancy Pelosi, voiced their support of Omar while many New Yorkers boycott the Post.

Fox News host Jeanine Pirro claims that, since Omar wears a hijab, her beliefs may be “antithetical” to those of the US Constitution.

Somewhat surprisingly, Fox News condemns Pirro’s comments.

Photo via Slate.

super-PACs in utilizing finances to influence pro-Israel agendas in Congress. In the wake of Omar’s comments, Rep. Tlaib was the only politician to firmly voice her support, while so-called “progressive Democrats” like Kamala Harris actively attacked Omar for her views. All of this occurred amidst the backdrop of a series of Islamophobic slander and death threats Rep. Omar had been experiencing throughout February and March.

Even as America celebrates a seeming shift towards progressivism and inclusivity of Muslims, these episodes illustrate that institutional Islamophobia is still deeply ingrained in US politics. Muslim politicians are constantly forced to carefully justify opinions and policies and their comments are disproportionately analyzed and scrutinized relative to their white peers.

The inflated criticisms and Islamophobic smear campaigns Omar and Tlaib have been facing are nothing new to American politics.

As very visible Muslim women of color — and, in Omar’s case, as a Black refugee — these politicians sit at the intersection of some of America’s most marginalized communities. There is little coincidence

in the fact that politicians who fit neither the physical nor ideological mold of the white Christian man come under intense scrutiny at the hands of the Democratic and Republican establishment — as if Tlaib’s and Omar’s views are somehow less valid than those of other politicians.

Nevertheless, “the election of these Congresswomen Omar and Tlaib has certainly served as an inspiring example of what is possible for those within the community,” said Beddawi. He proposed that the true benefit to the Muslim community stems from their ability to pass legislation that would benefit the American Muslim community and oppose legislation that would harm the community.

He added: “Rep. Omar is a refugee of war and Rep. Tlaib a proud Palestinian woman. If you are going to embrace them for the distinctiveness of their identities and experiences, then you better be ready for the ideological commitments that unsurprisingly follow from those identities and experiences.”

The backlash against the Ricketts emails and Omar’s and Tlaib’s Congressional victories are firsts for the Muslim

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community and will hopefully continue to promote awareness and dialogue around Islamophobia. Perhaps it is the beginning of a new era where Muslims are telling their own narratives instead of deferring to fictitious images portrayed by the media.

American Muslims have experienced some materially positive changes in the past few years, with prominent voices beginning to speak up in the political world and even pop culture icons — like Riz Ahmed and Mahershala Ali — breaking the mold of traditional Muslim “terrorist” roles.

Even though the political controversies surrounding Tlaib and Omar raise questions about how the institutional structures underlying Islamophobia and public scrutiny of Muslim views have still shifted little, the future looks a little brighter.

“The smear campaigns levied against them in months may have hurt the perception of Muslims among some in this country,” said Beddawi. Yet, because of their fundamentally activistic and moral characters, he added that “the perception of the American Muslim community will benefit from these representatives’ steadfast ideological and political commitment.”

By Khadeejah Milhan & Hassan Sayed

Caravans of Gold

An exhibit at the Block Museum examines West African fragments of the medieval Trans-Saharan trade

T

he Block Museum’s Caravans of Gold, Fragments in Time intends to paint a picture of a Trans-Saharan trade that brought together West Africa, North Africa, the Middle East and Europe, simultaneously marking the transmission of cultural and artistic ideas between these regions. The timeframe of the exhibit focuses on the eighth through 16th centuries, while most of the objects on display were unearthed relatively recently from the medieval trading centers of Gao, Sijilmasa and Tadmekka in Morocco and Mali, in addition to excavations at Takusheyi and Igbo Ukwu in Nigeria.

The exhibit highlights a series of repressed and marginalized perspectives throughout African history. The eighth century marked the arrival of Islam in West Africa along with the region’s introduction to a network of trans-Saharan and worldwide trades, with an emphasis on commodities like gold, ivory and salt. In the ensuing centuries,

West Africa became central to a vast worldwide network of cultural and economic exchange. Yet, the dehistoricization of medieval West Africa has contributed to the harsh repression of its histories, which have only become more entangled with modern portrayals of Africa as perpetually underdeveloped and backwards.

“It’s really important to tell stories from the point of view of the people that are least represented because there is a danger to tell one side of the story,” said Brianna Heath, a Northwestern sophomore studying Art History, Sociology and African American studies, who gives tours of the exhibit at the Block Museum.

Caravans of Gold differs from other historical exhibits through its emphasis on fragments of objects. A visitor to the exhibit will see tiny pieces of ceramics, documents, ivory figures and religious talismans rather than complete artifacts. Yet, despite a lack of physical

Photo via the Northwestern Block Museum.

completeness, art historians utilize these fragments to literally and figuratively piece together information about custom, knowledge and cultural transmission during the Trans-Saharan trade.

A teal fragment of a ceramic bowl and a small piece of silk fabric near the the beginning of the exhibit, for example, illustrates that trade from West Africa stretched as far as China, where these products originated. In the same vein, the discovery of a “rosetta stone” mould displays that Northwest African societies like Tadmekka were minting gold coins, rejecting a common belief that gold that Northern polities simply took gold from the South. Or take, for instance, a series of gold beads whose varying shapes illustrate the refinement of African crafting technologies across the centuries. Analysis of a statue likely used in a shrine at a city along the Niger river showed that its copper originated from France, while ivory figurines unearthed in Nigeria reveal a flow of ivory trade from Southern Africa through West Africa and up into the European continent. Medieval West Africa was a worldly locale, and this insight can be uncovered by analyzing fragments from that time and place, according to the exhibit.

While the exhibition’s focus on fragments is key to its mission to provide new insights into repressed West African histories, these

fragments have in the past presented barriers to potential suitors of the exhibition. The Art Institute of Chicago, for example, failed to display interest in the exhibition since it displayed pieces of objects rather than larger, whole objects— in one sense, the display pieces weren’t “genuine enough.” Moreover, curators would have to use their archaeological imagination to infer what a fragment was: what larger object was the fragment a part of, what was its significance and where did it originate from? A scarcity of written records, most of which were written in Arabic, posed an additional challenge to the exhibit, further requiring an emphasis on interpretation of fragments.

To construct the exhibit, staff at the Block Museum worked with a team of scholars from Mali, Morocco and Nigeria, traveling to these countries nine times in the last seven years to obtain fragments, make replicas of artifacts, discuss the exhibit’s presentation, compile interviews and eventually ship objects to the United States. Original display pieces will be returned to institutions in their countries of origin at the end of the exhibit’s run.

Caravans of Gold, Fragments in Time runs at the Block Museum from January 26 until July 21, 2019.

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SPOTLIGHT

bombers, belly dancers or crooks A new program at the University of Michigan combats Arab-American stereotypes

By Amar Shabeeb

I

n the film Back to the Future, the Libyans are violent, menacing and uncontrollable.

In Aladdin, Jasmine, scantily clad in red, distracts the villain by enticing him with her body. The merchant in the same movie is portrayed as a greedy Arab man who will do and say anything for money.

Bombers, belly dancers or crooks. That’s how Hollywood portrays Arabs and Muslims.

The University of Michigan fights these stereotypes with its Arab and Muslim American Studies (AMAS) minor. The program directly addresses the issue with its class “From Harems to Terrorists: Representing the Middle East in Hollywood Cinema.”

Not only does the program dispel common misconceptions in American society, but it also provides Arab students with an understanding of their own identities. With the empowering program in tow, Arab and Muslim students are advocating for themselves and calling for social changes on campus.

Nadine Naber and Evelyn Alsultany, two professors at the University of Michigan, founded the Arab and Muslim American Studies minor under the Department of American Culture. There are only two other programs of its kind nationwide. Alsultany, a Latina Arab American, graduated from Michigan in the early 1990s.

“I was craving a course that would help me understand myself in the world,” said Alsultany, director of the Arab and Muslim American Studies program. She took Islamic Studies and Middle East Politics, but said it wasn’t what she was looking for.

“I wanted to understand my own experiences growing up in the U.S. as marginalized and as non-white,” Alsultany said. The lack of classes about Arab and Muslim Americans planted the seed in her head — she wanted to study her own identity from an academic perspective.

The University of Michigan is no stranger to discrimination against Arabs and Mus-

lims. In late 2015, students on campus became increasingly hostile towards Arabs and Muslims. This occurred after terrorist attacks in Beirut and Paris carried out by the Islamic State group, according to Jad Elharake, a Michigan alumnus.

In January 2016, students and faculty banded together and formed The Islamophobia Working Group, housed under the Arab and Muslim American Studies program.

“We get to dominate our narrative on campus, for once,” said Silan Fadlallah, a student coordinator for the working group.

The Lebanese-American student works alongside faculty to depoliticize her Arab and Muslim identities — specifically addressing “Al-Kitaab,” a book used globally to teach Arabic.

“The book teaches students political words before basic Arabic. Imagine learning the word for government before the color orange.” she said, with a hint of anger in her voice.

Fighting against academia is one of the many reasons why Fadlallah chose to minor in AMAS. The classes give her the knowledge and tools to fight against the misrepresentation of her culture and identity.

The minor discusses the racism and prejudice that Arabs and Muslims endure in the United States, which target people regardless of their identities, said Naber, now an associate professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

There has been a significant upsurge of hate crimes toward Muslims and Arabs on a national scale. This is where Arab and Muslim identities converge, according to Naber.

Rasha Jawad, a senior in the AMAS program, grew up in Dearborn, Mich., home to one of the largest Arab-American populations, according to the Arab American Institute.

Despite being surrounded by Arabs for the majority of her life, Jawad didn’t know a lot about her identity until taking classes in Arab and Muslim American Studies, she

AL BAYAN | 31 | Spring

said. She didn’t even know what orientalism was in the context of the stereotyping of Middle Eastern culture.

“My favorite class I’ve taken so far is ‘Camels, Kabobs and Khalil Gibran.’ It’s a real class, I promise,” Jawad laughed. She enjoyed the class because it focused on the development of Arab cultural identity.

Jawad plans to use her degree to give back to her community. She currently works in a hospital with a predominantly Arab population and wants to continue this line of work as a doctor. The 20-year-old said that learning the subtleties of the Arab population has been crucial in pursuing that aspect of her future career.

On the other hand, Andrea Sahouri, a recent graduate from Michigan, had an experience that differed significantly from Jawad’s; the undergraduate program was Sahouri’s first time encountering Arabs outside of her family.

“I know it’s cliché, but AMAS forced me to find myself,” Sahouri said. She was able to reclaim her Palestinian-American identity after seeing it recognized in an official capacity, she continued.

She enjoyed that the program focused on separating the Arab and Muslim American identities. As someone who was raised Christian, Sahouri appreciated the discussion of shared culture and experience between Muslim and Arab Americans while also explaining the difference to people outside of the two identities.

Before she enrolled in Arab and Muslim American Studies classes, Sahouri described herself as soft-spoken. She rarely made her opinions known, especially in the academic environment. Now, the 22-year-old attends The Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, where she strives to make others aware in her social and professional circles.

Sahouri said that “now, as a journalist, I can uplift others because I know how it feels to be silenced and not be heard.”

MUSLIMS EN ROUTE

By Ayesha Rahman

ISLAM-INSPIRED STREETWEAR

W

ith a surge in the popularity of streetwear brands like supreme and off-white, dozens of companies have popped up attempting to imitate the popularity of these exclusive brands through their own printed graphics and long sleeve tees. However, many young Muslims have started their own brands that take the aesthetics and exclusivity of streetwear apparel and imbue them with political statements, faith-based messages and personal values. In this story, we have taken the opportunity to highlight some of the most unique pieces of Islamic-inspired streetwear that embody their brands’ respective missions, which range from supporting refugees via clothing proceeds to providing employment opportunities for women artisans from rural Pakistan. The pieces featured in this shoot are all worn by members of the Northwestern’s Muslim population to establish a sense of proximity and community for our readers.

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SPOTLIGHT

top, left to right: Jihad Esmail (top: paliroots), Fidak Khan (top: whoishussain.org), Abdalla Ali (top: sentrol apparel).

below, right: the purpose of sentrol apparel is to “to bring people together and ignite purpose,� embodied in their recent piece dedicated to Nipsey Hussle.

top, left to right: Nida Pervez (top, hat: 5ivepillars), Hassan Sayed (top: rastahwear), Wala Siddig (top: seekrefuge), Abdalla Badri (top: 5ivepillars).

AL BAYAN | 33 | Spring

left: rastahwear partners with the Behbud Boutique, an NGO that provides employment to underserved women in Pakistan, to weave traditional khaadi cloth with Mughal-inspired streetwear designs.

right: paliroots’ pieces have been designed to showcase “the courage and strength of the Palestinian people.”

left: 5ivepillars was “born out of a necessity to express Islamic identity in a rapidly changing globalized world,” creating clothing that embodies the world of “The Third Culture Kid.”

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seekrefuge uses their clothing “to amplify the voices of refugees, women, and Muslims— three groups whose rights are consistently threatened.” The company donates 10% of their proceeds to the International Rescue Committee.

left: whoishussain.org aims “to inspire individuals through the timeless example of Hussain ibn Ali,” working to empower communities around the world through events like blood drives, community meals and charity.

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THE WATCH List E

very year, Al Bayan staff puts together The Watch List — a play on the infamous terrorism watchlist that Muslims are regularly (and often unjustly) placed on — that highlights the recent work of Muslims in popular culture. Check out everything we’ve been watching, reading and listening to over the past year!

Hasan Minhaj: Patriot Act

By Belal Asfour

Photo via Netflix.

After leaving his role as the main correspondent on The Daily Show, Hasan Minhaj proceeded to become the first American-Indian to host his own Netflix weekly comedy show: Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj.

In Patriot Act, Minhaj discusses various topics related to current events and politics while adding his own comedic twist, ranging from this generation’s music streaming platforms to debates surrounding affirmative action. Minhaj structures his episodes in a way that allows him to effectively discuss the topics at hand while still providing his brand of entertainment and comedic relief to the audience. The majority of Minhaj’s comedy is conveyed using his compelling storytelling skills and his iconic stand up techniques. Each episode has an approximate runtime of 25 minutes, making it one of the best informational comedies to watch on-the-go or during study breaks.

Ramy Youseff: Ramy

By Belal Asfour

AL BAYAN | 36 | Spring

Photo via New York Times.

Ramy follows the life of Ramy Hassan, a 27-year-old Egyptian American living in New Jersey. Throughout the series, Ramy embarks on a spiritual journey, trying to balancing the demands of his religion and culture with his own aspirations as a young millenial. At the beginning of the show, Ramy works at a start-up. When the company goes under, Ramy is forced by his parents to begin work at his uncle’s jewelry instead of pursuing his passions and interests. The show explores American Muslim society and the large cultural differences between older and newer generation of Muslims. Although Ramy doesn’t consider himself a fully practicing Muslim, he understands his limits and attempts to better himself (sometimes falling short). Ramy focuses on development, overcoming obstacles and external influences and selfimprovement.

Fatima Farheen Mirza: A Place for Us

By Amar Shabeeb In this novel, Indian-American Fatima Farheen Mirza illustrates the dichotomy of Muslim and American identities through the narratives of Amar and his two sisters, Huda and Hadia. The story begins by plopping the reader right into a convoluted mess as Amar returns home for the first time in three years for Huda’s wedding. Amar’s thorny relationship with his father, Rafiq, demonstrates how harmful a disconnect between a child and their parent can be. While the story focuses primarily on the three siblings, the plotline of their mother Layla exemplifies a pertinent difference in immigrants’ experiences and that of their first-generation children. Others always dictated Layla’s life, be it her parents’ choosing when she got married to Rafiq strongly encouraging her not to work and to stay at home with their children. As the novel reveals the challenges each member of the family faces, Mirza eloquently interweaves cultural traditions and religious practices to highlight a plethora of stories in a single family’s adjustment to life in America.

Laila Lalami: The Moor’s Account

By Hassan Sayed Laila Lalami’s The Moor’s Account tells the story of a set of Spanish explorers attempting to find gold in Florida. The twist is that the story is told from the point of view of Mustafa, a Moroccan Muslim slave. This Muslim lens provides a fresh take on a historical fiction genre that is overwhelmingly white and Christian, contrasting rich accounts of Mustafa’s Muslim past with his current reality in an unknown land at the mercy of the unknwon. While the novel is written in English, Lalami also formats her work as a 16th century travelogue, even beginning the first chapter by invoking the Bismillah and writing dates in Hijra format.

Kamila Shamsie: Home Fire

By Hassan Sayed British-Pakistani writer Kamila Shamsie’s seventh novel Home Fire updates Sophocles’ Antigone into a modern setting, revolving around four Muslim characters in Britain, America and Iraq. Shamsie’s writing artfully weaves together the stories of four characters. There is Isma, a resourceful young woman who raises her twin siblings; her passionate and rebellious sister Aneeka; her brother Pervaiz, a reluctant and confused jihadi who leaves Britain but yearns to return home; and Eamonn, an Anglo-Pakistani who has always been taught to reject the Muslim portion of his identity and embrace his whiteness. While the majority of the book successfully constructs powerful scenes of intimacy, connection and family, the last few pages were confusing, and even after multiple readings, I still couldn’t discern what was going on.

Photos via Amazon.

Yuna: Forevermore

By Khadeejah Milhan Yuna’s April single “Forevermore” returns to her upbringing in Malaysia. Yuna, who made her debut in 2016 with her album Chapters, is a law student-turnedinternational star who is widely known for her song “Crush” featuring Usher. In many of her other music videos, Yuna is in a Western country and has toured around the world in order to film these videos. “Forevermore” is shot entirely in the capital of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, and Perlis, a small state in the North where Yuna spent and her childhood that is untouched by modernization.

Yuna’s soothing and melodic voice combines with photos of beautiful scenes of the landscape and locals in Malaysia. “While some of us are out here conditioned by the media to be famous, rich and powerful, maybe we shouldn’t forget about the simple, beautiful things in life,” says Yuna.

Lupe Fiasco: DROGAS WAVE

By Jihad Esmail From “Kick, Push” to “He Say She Say,” Lupe Fiasco has built his fame on the back of incredible musical storytelling. His 2018 album DROGAS WAVE is no different. The first part of the project centers around the story of the “LongChains,” a group of slaves who jumped off their slave ships, dedicating their lives to sinking other ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean and saving others who had been sold into slavery. The second part of the album centers around Lupe’s own Atlantic story: his liberation from Atlantic Records. The quality of the album speaks volumes to Photo via IMDB.

Hasan Minhaj’s Homecoming King provides insight into what it’s like to be a brown Muslim immigrant growing up in America, centered mostly around the unreasonably high expectations of his parents. Minhaj delivers his jokes in the form of anecdotes from his past, ranging from childhood memories with his father to awkward encounters in high school. Minhaj does an excellent job of outlining his experiences with racism and Islamophobia, maintaining a positive and cheerful atmosphere by scattering numerous quips throughout his recollection of these grim events. The inclusion of his experience with racism allows Homecoming King to distinguish itself as a stand-up performance that’s definitely worth the 72-minute runtime.

Hasan Minhaj: Homecoming King

By Belal Asfour

Photo via Peabody.

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Arooj Aftab: Siren Islands

By Hassan Sayed

Photo via Amazon.

Lupe’s claims that the Atlantic was holding back his artistic vision. From the vivid narratives of “Alan Forever” and “WAV Files” — rapped from the perspective of slaves who have jumped off of slave ships — to the nostalgic callback of “Stack That Cheese” — where Lupe explores the struggles of making it in the music industry in a continuation of his “Hip-Hop Saved My Life” — DROGAS WAVE has something for everyone. Whether you’re a Lupe Fiasco stan or just looking to dive into new conscious rap, the album is definitely worth the listen.

Aftab’s sophomore album marks a large departure from her first work, Bird Under Water, a set of vocallydominant, acoustic arrangements of Sufi poetry and ghazals. Siren Islands instead focuses more on sonic landscapes and textures rather than explicit forms and lyrics as Aftab’s crooning voice shifts in and out of a backdrop of ambient synths and electronic pulses. Despite consisting of only four tracks, the album stretches to a whopping 49 minutes of content that draws largely from minimalist and ambient musical traditions. Aftab succeeds in painting a meditative, dreamlike sonic landscape meant to evoke the seductive sirens of Ancient Greek mythology, but this time with a hint of Sufi song lurking beneath the surface in her echoing lyrics.

Perhaps most impressive is that the entire album was recorded live, an astounding achievement considering the depth and complexity of the musical atmosphere Aftab is able to construct.

Photo via MoMA.

Fatima Asghar: The Bold Type

By Khadeejah Miilhan

Photo via Vice.

In June 2017, Elle magazine announced that writer Fatima Asghar and director Samantha Bailey secured a development deal with HBO to bring their web series Brown Girls to television screens.

Brown Girls tells a story that many people have not seen before but is relatable to woman of color. Set in Chicago, the series follows the lives of two mid-twenty year old friends: Leila, a queer Pakistani-American Muslim writer, and Patricia, an AfricanAmerican musician. The vision of feminism within the series is novel since men are pushed to the background and almost seen as irrelevant within the the romantic and familial sphere.

Additionally, Brown Girls reclaims the narratives of women of color by highlighting and addressing the complexities in the intersection of the identities that they hold.

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