AL BAYAN
Spring 2018
Contemplations
Reflecting on faith, culture and society
Books for Chance Providing resources for refugee communities
Redefining a District How one woman changed the political narrative
AL BAYAN VOLUME 8 | SPRING 2018
Contents: An Extraordinary Experience
Looking down on Petra, Jordan. Photo by Mustafa Alimumal
Sarah Khan 4
Under the Stars Maie Zagloul 6
Culture Shock Saadia Elahi 9
Did 2016 Matter? Sumaia Masoom 11
Making a Difference Sameena Khan 12
You Can’t Write a Whole Article About Memes Zain Shaikh 14
Diversity or Heresy? Hassan Sayed 16
Aurat aur Zameen Sharmain Siddiqui 20
Unfair and Ugly Umber Waheed 22
The Watch List Hassan Sayed and Umber Waheed 24
A profile of Minar-e-Pakistan, Lahore, Pakistan. Photo by Sarah Ahmad
Front Cover: A detail of the Wazir Khan Masjid, Old City, Lahore, Pakistan. Back Cover: Arches along the side of Jahangir’s Tomb, Lahore, Pakistan. Photos by Hassan Sayed.
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EDITORS IN CHIEF Hassan Sayed Umber Waheed
WRITERS Saadia Elahi Sameena Khan Sarah Khan Sumaia Masoom Zain Shaikh Sharmain Siddiqui Maie Zagloul
Editors’ Note Creating this year’s issue was an adventure, to say the least. With twisting turns and unexpected events, we reached a point in which we wondered if we should continue with the magazine. Frankly, the terms of the publication felt dated and uninspiring. Staring at blank pages, we were unsure of what felt worthy to record. That all changed with a spoken word of support or two. Hearing the writers’ ideas, passion for their stories propelled us into motion. The help from past editor-in-chief Naib Mian cannot go unnoticed as well. We also extend our thanks to the Muslim-cultural Students Association for supporting and funding this magazine. This issue undoubtedly hits home for many writers, highlighting personal stories with Islam, its representation in our world and what we can do about it. This magazine is rich with culture and religion, back to the basics of what inspired this magazine seven years ago in a dingy 3rd floor office of the MCC. In Al-Mu’minun, verse 23, it says: “And say, ‘My Lord, let me land at a blessed landing place, and You are the best to accommodate us.’” As the ink began bleeding onto this glossy paper, a peek into our minds has now been etched forever. We hope you enjoy.
Hassan Sayed & Umber Waheed
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An extraordinary experience Reflecting on Umrah
I
was named after Prophet Ibrahim’s wife, Sarah. Growing up as kid, my parents would remind me of this in the hopes of anchoring a spirituality into my identity. Although some time passed since they had mentioned it, my name’s origin burned in my mind as I hugged my parents goodbye at O’Hare airport. After embracing me, my father took me by the arms, eyes glistening. “Sarah, Mama and I went to Umrah immediately after our wedding,” he explained. “We prayed to Allah (SWT) to grant us a daughter. As I ran between Safa and Marwa, I promised to Allah (SWT) that I would name my daughter Sarah because of her relevance in Ibrahim’s life.” Soon after, my parents’ dream was fulfilled. Twenty-one years later, that same daughter was embarking for Mecca. As I waved for one last time, my mind raced
By Sarah Khan with thoughts of not only my parents’ sacrifices but the sight of their child embarking on Umrah alone. Buckling my seatbelt, I found myself softly reciting prayers in remembrance of my parents. Without explicitly realizing it, my Umrah journey had begun with an unequivocal love. Umrah is a pilgrimage Muslims make to the Kaaba, the house of God, as a form of worship and revitalization of one’s sense of faith. The two major components of Umrah is the Tawaaf and Sa’i. In order to complete the Tawaaf, the pilgrim walks around the Kaaba seven times. Afterwards, the pilgrim completes the Sa’i, which is walking between the two historic hills of Safa and Marwa. Throughout this process, specific prayers are recited for various intentions, including worship, mercy, and guidance. As ritualistic as it may seem, the Umrah
journey encompasses far beyond its delineated components. One’s experience throughout the holistic process contains many facets. In fact, I firmly believe Umrah is designed to provide every individual an extraordinary experience. Every caveat during my journey was purposefully placed by God, challenging and reinforcing my faith alongside the nuances of my life. My emotions of respect and admiration for my parents were embodied throughout my Umrah. As I wandered throughout Mecca, I found myself pondering their past actions and expressed words, unable to think about anything else. At the doors of the Kaaba, I began weeping and begged Allah (SWT) for my parents’ ajar, asking for them to be rewarded for everything they have done for me and others. When I sat to make dua amongst crowds of Muslims,
Inside Masjid al Nabawi. Photo by Yousuf Kadir
Medina at dusk. Photo by Magan Omar
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The courtyard of Masjid al Nabawi. Photo by Magan Omar
I selfishly prayed that they are not taken from this dunya world before I am ready to let them go. Here I was, at the holiest site in my religion, praying about nothing else but my parents. I realized then they were entirely integrated into my Islam. My faith was and always will be tied to my parents’ past, words, and actions. My place of stay, the people I met, and the sights I gazed upon all contributed to my unique Umrah. Because I traveled alone, I was in a hotel room with three other women traveling without a mahram. This became a hidden blessing, as each woman came from diverse backgrounds and experienced different struggles. Breathing in the night skies of Mecca and Medina, we would converse, share, and empathize with each other’s stories. Throughout the process, a deeper sense of devotion and guidance was embedded within me. One unassuming night was particularly significant to my Umrah journey. One of my roommates Ayesha, an older woman with Stage IV cancer, and I were alone.
As a slumber creeped in, I was awaken to the sound of Ayesha experiencing a panic attack. She was convinced of passing away in her sleep. I immediately rose and sat by her bedside. For hours, I then reassured her with prayers, personal anecdotes and tales of the Prophets to guide her to sleep. These events continued into following nights during my stay in Mecca and Medina. It was during this time that I was reminded of my history. Seven years ago, my father became sick, resulting in bouts of mental instability during his rehabilitation. I would spend endless nights just like so, under the moonlight, talking down my father’s paranoia and anxiety. As he thankfully began to regain his health, these memories started to fade and I let go of the bleak memories of this significant stretch of my life. Yet, as I calmed Ayesha of her fear of death and reminded her of the power of family, I felt completely comfortable and prepared to help her in whatever way possible. It was as if no time had passed at all.
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Minutes before the Fajr athan, as the sun began creeping in, I felt an infinite sense of gratitude of Allah (SWT), understanding that He had granted me this opportunity. As I provided solace to Ayesha—using Islam’s religious scripture, Quranic verses and the Prophet’s (PBUH) hadith on death, despair and trauma—I felt like I had performed a necessary component of my journey. No doubt, performing the Tawaaf and Sa’i renewed my faith in a crucial time of my life. But, I found that the minutes leading before, after and in between the rituals that I was blessed with a stabilized love for those around me and a promising outlook for the future. As I touched back down in O’Hare, I felt a final affirmation of my faith for Islam. After going on Umrah, I was shown that God offers a remarkable specificity in life’s trials and tribulations. These extraordinary experiences, in which Islam shapes itself around believers, ultimately proved the intricate beauty of my faith.
Under the Stars A girl, a cause, and some books By Maie Zagloul
O
n the night of August 7th, 2017, I found myself riding in the back of a car, riding from Mechref to Tyre, Lebanon. A warm breeze blew through the summer night, looming dark mountains rising in the distance. The driver was a friend of a family-friend, someone I had met just a few hours before climbing into her car. For the entire two hour drive, I kept my gaze fixed on the sky: the stars were comforting, the only constant thing in the unfamiliar surroundings around me. I had packed light for this trip: the clothes I was currently wearing, a backpack, and a camera bag. In the trunk of the car, however, sat 178 children’s books I had collected before my trip, packaged in boxes to deliver to Bourj El Shamale, a Palestinian refugee camp located near Tyre. My contact within the refugee camp, Maryam, had called me earlier that same day expressing concern about whether I would be able to enter the camp. I had been standing outside a bakery when I received the phone call. I distinctly remember the hot afternoon sun and the breeze blowing the sand on the ground
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Photo by Maie Zagloul
around my toes. A family feud within the camp had resulted in fired shots and a man dead. After incidents like these, Maryam explained, the Lebanese army customarily ran tightly-regulated checkins at camp borders and denied access to non-Lebanese camp visitors. Permits take weeks to receive, and I had only a few days in the country. As we continued talking, Maryam revealed there was one entrance, hidden behind a local grocery store, which the army did not guard. We agreed she would send someone there the next day to guide me into the Children’s Center, where I would be safe. She gave me strict instructions: I was not to speak to anyone as my dialect would give away the fact that I was a foreigner. I was not to take my camera out from its bag as it could be mistaken it for a weapon, and I was to show both hands, palms out, if anyone from the Lebanese army approached me. If I followed those instructions, she told me, I would be fine. Sitting in the back of the car, I repeated those instructions in my head over and over again. While nervousness and anticipation took over my body, I held my eyes to the
clear sky; I could still see the stars. I knew this was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, the kind that you look back on months later and laugh with disbelief at the courage you never knew you had. The next morning, I was dropped off at the grocery store adjacent to the camp at exactly 8:00am. My camera was secured in a shoulder bag, my backpack and the boxes of books at my feet. I had been
A street view outside Palestinian refugee camp Bourj El Shamale. Photo by Maie Zagloul
Boxes during book drive held alongside the Northwestern University Muslim cultural Students Association. Photo by Ayesha Rahman
Hassan and friends test out filming equipment available at the camp. Photo by Maie Zagloul
standing near an outdoor soda fridge when a young man in his late twenties approached me. His name was Brian, an American who taught English to refugee children in the summers. We each grabbed a box of books and made our way to the back of the store. Sure enough, tucked away behind the store was a small, narrow stairway that penetrated the cement walls encompassing the camp. Heart thumping,
I climbed through the stairwell and onto the other side. A couple months prior, I had decided to start a non-profit organization dedicated to donating books to Palestinian refugees in order to provide more authentic resources for learning. Palestinian refugees often struggle with a lack of resources available to them for education. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinians (UNRWA) provides Palestinian refugees an exam, written in English, that allows them an opportunity to higher education. However, due to the lack of Englishlearning resources, many Palestinians do not pass the exam. Hence rose the birth of my non-profit: Books for Chance. Growing up, my family and I moved around a lot, both within the United States and around the world. Reading was a way for me to find a sense of home and belonging, shifting my focus from the chaos of moving and grounding myself with the characters of stories. I founded this organization with the goal of giving the gift of books to refugee children in hopes that they would find a home within them, just like I did. Through Books for Chance, I hoped to build libraries at camps hosting Palestinian refugees and fill their worlds with even just a little warmth. Starting Books for Chance, however, was a hurdle within itself. I scoured the Internet in order to learn the legalities of registering a non-profit in Illinois: paperwork, fees, tax exemptions. I pored over paperwork for hours, attempting to deliberately answer ever question I was asked, as even one wrong answer would result in fines that I could not afford. Meanwhile I started reaching out for donations, beginning with just asking close family friends if they had any books to donate. Within weeks I was reaching out to local mosques and starting a website for Books for Chance. A month later, I was driving from house to house picking up books across my hometown. I contacted an organization that works within the Bourj El Shamale refugee camp in Lebanon, LEAP, regarding visiting the refugee camp to deliver the books and meet the children the books to whom the books were going. By the beginning of August, I was still working on registration papers and in the editing phase of my website with very little funds. Despite so, I had over 150 books that I was ready to take with me to Lebanon. That day at the Bourj el Shamale refugee camp, I met kids who had experienced more than I had in my lifetime, kids who worried more about their day to day survival than education. As I learned about these children growing up in houses with cement walls and metal sheets for ceilings,
A moment with Hassan. Photo by Maie Zagloul
I realized that I had been taking four walls, basic appliances, and comfortable furniture for granted. Families of six or seven were crowded into homes no larger than my childhood bedroom. I began to feel foolish, dragging boxes of books to a refugee camp, when clearly the residents needed a lot more than just books in order to improve the quality of their lives. That day, I met a twelve year-old boy named Hassan. I grew a particular fondness to this boy: he had the same name as my brother, and had the same sort of light in his eyes that exuded an enthusiasm for life. I found myself spending a large portion of the day with him, attending classes and spending time with his friends. Towards the end of the day, as we were passing a ball back and forth in the courtyard the Children’s Center had in the back, waiting for his mom to pick him up, I got to talk to Hassan about his hobbies and goals in life. He told me that he enjoyed playing soccer with his friends and his favorite classes were photography and film. His face beamed with joy as his hands moved around as if to paint a scene in the air as he explained to me to his most recent film: two school children are running late to school, find the doors to the buildings locked, and then go on a wild adventure instead of attending class. Despite his love for filmmaking, he told me he wanted to be an engineer when he grows up. When I asked him why, he explained to me that he believed that being an engineer would provide a steady income so that he could help his family move out from the refugee camp.
Soon after, Hassan’s mom arrived to arrived to pick him up and take him home for dinner. With a sweet smile and tired eyes, she took me in her arms and warmly thanked me for keeping her son company. We spent some time talking, and she was kind enough to share how her family came to Bourj El Shamale. Her family had crossed from the northern border of Palestine into Lebanon in 1948 and spent several years moving from camp to camp before settling in Bourj el Shamale. After a few months, her family of 13 was forced to leave due to an Israeli offensive, during which she lost two brothers and an aunt before returning in 1982. Since that day, I have shared Hassan’s and his mother’s stories in order to show people the importance of their cause, why they matter, and why we should work alongside refugees to help them reach their dream. Bourj El Shamale shortly stopped accepting book donations as they had no more room to store them. I started shipping donated books to other refugee camps in the Middle East, including a Syrian refugee camp in Shatila, Lebanon. Books for Chance has since received many generous donations and has been able to collect over seven hundred books around, and it has even been registered as a notfor-profit charitable organization in the state of Illinois. A few months after my trip, I received an email from Maryam, thanking me on behalf of the kids for donating the books. Since they had received the books, the volunteer teachers were able to implement a Reading Hour in their schools, allowing
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them to spend time choosing what they want to read based on their interests. While bringing books to a refugee camp is not the same as providing refugees with bigger homes and safer neighborhoods, it gives young kids like Hassan an opportunity to achieve their dreams. On a larger scale, books give a chance for refugees to reach jobs that can support their family, helping break the cycle of poverty that is inherent within families’ refugee status. With the increasing funds the organization has been receiving, I plan to start a textbook reserve in order to accept textbook requests from schools based in refugee camps in the Middle East and provide them with resources that are more specific to their needs. Sometimes, even small differences like putting a smile on a little boy’s face can turn into something more. Since that night in the back of the car, riding down a dusty road in an unfamiliar country, looking at the stars, I have been able to understand what it means to make a difference. A year ago, I would not have imagined it; sometimes courage comes when you least expect it. If you would like to donate to Books for Chance or want to learn more about the organization, visit www.booksforchance. com, email booksforchance@gmail. com, or venmo @booksforchance. Any proceeds would be deeply appreciated and would go towards the buying and shipping of books to refugee camps overseas.
CULTURE S H O C K
When customs meet religion By Saadia Elahi
M
y earliest memories of religious practice are housed within the walls of a rented office space. Four-year-old me would sit on the faded blue carpet of our makeshift local mosque, picking at the plastic tape that marked the suff, the rows for prayer, while I waited for my mom to finish the Ramadan Taraweeh night prayers. In between each set of two rakah, I would listen to the rapid Arabic chatter of the women sitting in front of me. As a Pakistani, I understood little of their conversation, making do with their body language instead. At the MECCA Center masjid in Burr Ridge, Illinois, I knew the other Muslims, who were primarily Syrian women, as “Sisters So-and-So.” About a year later, I began attending Sunday School at Islamic Foundation School in Villa Park, Illinois. At exactly 10 AM every Sunday morning, students lined up by grade level for assembly in a dimlylit gymnasium. I would line my sandals up perfectly with the tiles on the linoleum floor, tuck any stray strands of hair into the dupatta wrapped around my head and tug at the hem of my cotton shalwaar
kameez. The principal would read the morning announcements, sometimes in Urdu and sometimes in English tinged with a heavy Pakistani accent. After hearing a student recite Quran or make a school-wide dua, we would patiently wait to leave the gymnasium by year. I would then follow my classmates down the hallway, past a cafeteria emitting the strong, flavorful aromas of biryani and samosas, into a classroom where “Soand-So Auntie” was waiting to deliver the day’s lesson. Cultural traditions and customs often filter into the way religion is taught, especially to children. Throughout my youth, I went to a primarily Arabpopulated mosque for Friday Jum’uah prayers and Ramadan Taraweeh prayers and attended a South Asian-run school for weekly Islamic education. While I gained an Arab perspective on ritual aspects of Islam, such as praying the five daily salah, reading the holy Qur’an and fasting during the month of Ramadan, I gained my social perspectives of Islam through a heavily South Asian lens, which
was further reinforced by my Pakistani parents’ teachings. In most aspects of my early childhood, the two religious perspectives I was exposed to never came into conflict. I dressed differently when I went to MECCA than I did when I went to Sunday school at IFS. I had separate friends at each mosque. We learned the same surahs of the Quran in both places, and I would practice them during my five daily salah at home. However, as I got older, I began to wonder why my Sunday School teachers pronounced certain words in the Quran differently than the Sisters who practiced surahs with me at MECCA. I often struggled to switch between the Urduand Arabic-script Qurans I was handed at the different mosques. I wondered why I always ate zabiha meat with my family and at Sunday School, while the Sisters at MECCA would order non-Zabiha chicken sandwiches from the Wendy’s down the street. Both worlds collided during my high school years, as MECCA used the IFS masjid space to fundraise for their Photo by Yousuf Kadir
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mosque during Taraweeh. Hearing the ever-increasing numbers of pledged dollars to build the new MECCA building compared to the few bits IFS raised for themselves was disconcerting and left me noticing stark differences between the communities and its people. Cultural norms inevitably shape religious practice, acting as a form of secondary control and a tool for societies that prioritize family and community, as in many South Asian and Middle Eastern diasporas. I find this is why mosques tend to be populated by certain demographics: Somali, Syrian, Pakistani, Burmese, Iraqi, and so forth. Muslim families, especially those who have recently immigrated to the US, rely on what their parents and grandparents back home taught them was the “right” way to be Muslim. Cultural teachings influence the way one dresses and eats, who she interacts with, and how she prays. Islam is designed to guide the way we live, to give us instructions on how to behave in order to please God and how to best interact with those around us. The cultural norms we are raised with inherently shape how we live our lives and, consequently, how we view and practice religion. I believe there is a solace in following one’s culture. With MECCA and IFS, I have witnessed how the nature of a
mosque, with the safe space it offers, helps maintain communities’ beliefs, values, and customs. The universality of Islam becomes a glue of sorts, allowing immigrants and first-generation Americans to hold onto their homeland through their faith. It is for this reason that I found my time within both masjids satisfyingly complex. That being said, I would not determine one cultural tradition to be superior to another. One of the most frustrating answers I received when asking my family members or teachers about differences in what I experienced at MECCA and IFS was that “they just do it differently, and we do it like this.” Yet, there was always underlying implication that their way was the “correct” way. I found this troublesome, struggling to navigate both mosques’ beliefs without internal and external conflict. If anything, this was the honest consequence of my experiences throughout my youth, as I found myself guilt-ridden and confused over certain actions and values. But, the Quran addresses all of mankind as equals, not elevating any individual’s status over another solely based on the exact manner in which they practice their religion. The Prophet (PBUH) echoed this atop Arafat in the Last Sermon, stating “All mankind is from Adam and Eve, an
Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over black nor a black has any superiority over white except by piety and good action.” I think of such words as a base to my faith, a reminder of where I am to stand amidst my experiences. As I’ve grown up, I’ve learned that in application, Islam is a very personalized concept. The way a person is raised, their observations, and their environment shape their “correct” way of practicing religion. I also have realized I have been blessed to have been stretched across terrains, absorbing different customs and traditions that ultimately shaped my unique sense of religion and practice of Islam. I felt this the most during the 2017 Eid al-Adha salat at the newly opened MECCA Center mosque, minutes from my home. Despite my childhood experiences, I was pleasantly surprised to find a beautiful array of people from different countries, standing side by side as they recited Al-Fatiha. The need for the mosque was collectively shared, beyond cultural boundaries and country borders. Listening to the deep, vibrant ameen from the congregation, I knew I would not have traded my divided experience for anything else.
Photo courtesy of MECCA Center
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Did 2016 Matter? By Sumaia Masoom
(Well, kind of.)
The following is based on a talk given at the Undergraduate Research Muslims. Muslims themselves are not surprised at all. Of the 15 Expo for my senior honors thesis, titled “Poised for Power: Anti-Muslim participants, none entertained the notion that Trump’s anti-Muslim-fueled Rhetoric, Identity, and the 2016 US Election Cycle.” campaign emerged out of a vacuum. All 15 asserted that he built upon Our knowledge about the culture of anti-Muslim rhetoric in America is an existing framework in the form of the insidious Islamophobia Industry limited. There aren’t many studies about Muslim Americans beyond the that has now been brought to the forefront of the American political. scope of terrorism and development in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 Wasim, a junior, referred to this as the “pase parda” phenomenon – . We can look to the past and see that anti-Muslim rhetoric historically “pase parda” a Farsi expression meaning “behind the curtain.” peaked in the 15 weeks after 9/11, with over 7,000 violent incidents 13 of the 15 participants mentioned they felt Trump was directly reported against Muslims, was a 2300% increase over the identical time responsible for removing this curtain and “exposing the rot,” amplifying period prior. But most everything we know about anti-Muslim rhetoric’s the culture of anti-Muslim rhetoric in American politics because of effects on Muslim Americans comes from looking at this window, and his symbolic power as “leader of the free world.” Participants viewed even then, it’s focused on the biophysical effects of discrimination on Trump’s symbolic power in shaping anti-Muslim rhetoric as twofold: the its victims, like increased anxiety, stress and risk of heart disease. What power to signal others’ behavior, and power as a signal himself to his little development literature there is only covers those coming of age supporters. Many of whom felt disenfranchised or voiceless under the immediately after 9/11. thumb of the Washington “elites.” A handful of studies examine the “Islamophobia Industry” that This national agenda expands on what I call the demonizationemerged around this time – an industry that is not necessarily a full-on tokenization paradigm. On one hand, Muslim American college students anti-Muslim propaganda machine but a systemic connection between have spent a long time feeling demonized by the media, and are tired media figures, politicians and academics that jointly demonized the of being conflated only with discussions involving terrorism and national cultural image of Muslims to create and enforce security issues, like the so-called Muslim Ban. “Muslim American students geopolitical government interests, a prime While the demonization side of the binary example being the buildup to the “War on have demonstrated a resilience, came largely from the right, 8 of the 15 also Terror.” But again, we only know how the rhetoric one they have been practicing expressed frustration with Democrats for that ran this insidious industry affected people since they first began forming bordering on tokenization, or painting Muslims immediately after 9/11. their conceptions of themselves as though they were in need of a savior. Safaa, That’s alarming, because 9/11 wasn’t the last as Muslim Americans growing a sophomore, and Dinah, a senior, recalled their surge in anti-Muslim violence. Anti-Muslim hate mixed feelings about the tokenization of Khizr up in the post-9/11 era.” crimes skyrocketed 619% from the beginning of Khan at the Democratic National Convention. the presidential election cycle in 2015 to 2017. Dinah discussed her frustration with Bill Clinton’s There’s a sense of hysteria around this surge we haven’t seen since 9/11. speech, which she summarized as “I don’t hate Muslims but I do like We don’t know quite understand how this new surge of political them when they’re patriotic.” 11 of the 15 described their displeasure Islamophobia has affected young Muslim Americans coming of age with both parties, with a third going as far as saying they are so nearly two decades after 9/11. I was curious about how this surge disenchanted with both parties that they do not plan to vote in the next has affected college-age Muslim Americans’ perceptions of identity, national election. community and the broader political landscape following the 2016 Yet, in the face of fear and uncertainty, Muslim American students Presidential election. have demonstrated a resilience, one they have been practicing since I conducted interviews with 15 college students from Midwestern they first began forming their conceptions of themselves as Muslim University, a large private research school in the Midwest. Community Americans growing up in the post-9/11 era. While the fact that this is bonds play a fundamental role in the development of those with nothing new is exhausting, it’s also ended up being empowering. marginalized identities, and colleges are often experimental bastions Rather than simply accepting the narratives imposed upon and for speech deemed too “radical” or “offensive” for the general constructed about themselves without realizing there is even another public, placing college students on the frontlines of the debate about option as their more demure preceding generation historically had, free speech vs. hate speech. Given colleges’ institutional support for Muslim youth have claimed agency over their narratives and are ready to communities in the form of student groups, interviewing members of mobilize in resistance. Rather than framing the discussion as “how should the Muslim Students Association at a university was the natural fit for Muslim Americans react to anti-Muslim rhetoric in politics,” the political this study. establishment faces a choice. They can either continue to operate on I talked to one man and one woman in MU’s Muslim Students a demonizing versus tokenizing binary with Muslim Americans and Association from every class year. Their levels of involvement varied perpetuate their disenchantment with both major political parties, or from board member to moderate to alienated. Interestingly, all of these make space for Muslim Americans at the table and allow them to lead members identified as cis-straight, while almost all of them considered the conversations concerning them. their identities to be “layered” in that they saw themselves as Black Aamir, a junior, put it best: “Our generation’s kind of the first, very Muslim American, Pakistani Muslim American, and so on. These layers firmly American-born entrenched generation. And so that means in all had to do with race and ethnicity. Non cis-het members of the MSA 20 years, there will be people younger than us who’ve seen one, two would potentially be subjected to other forms of discrimination, but I did generations of Muslims, whereas we’re growing up and people have not have access to such a sample. seen maybe half a generation. White America will be more used to us, What I found was depressing, but also enlightening. because now we’re something they’ve never seen. But it’ll be different, a Recall the hysteria around the sudden uptick in hate crimes against whole new ballgame. We’ll be poised for power.”
Sameena Mustafa canvassing as a candidate for the Illinois 5th District Congressional Seat. Photo courtesy of Kristan Lieb
Making a Difference Challenging the Political Status Quo
T
he theatre was styled with signs in old-time fonts and vintage film projectors. Organizers manned professional cameras and iPhones, ready to photograph and live-stream the event. The panel was seated at a long black table, the walls around them adorned by deep red curtains and gold detailing. An elderly couple three rows behind me was already munching on popcorn. We were ready for the show. The contrast was apparent from first glance. Sameena Mustafa sat next to four other Congressional candidates, ready to introduce themselves at the Illinois 5th District Congressional Candidate Forum at the Davis Theatre. All four of them were white males. Mustafa was running for Congress for the first-time, challenging incumbent Mike Quigley. Growing up in the fifth district in Chicagoland, she has a long history of working directly with the community, whether as the manager of a Planned Parenthood clinic, co-founder of the Symposium to Elect Women & People of Color or Council member of the Chicago Women’s Health Center. As a tenant advocate for small business, she negotiated against landlords and financial institutions for groups such as Instituto del Progreso Latino, Neighborhood Housing Services of Chicago and Rape Victim Advocates. She was also the cofounder of Simmer Brown Political Comedy Collective. Foremost, Mustafa is a woman, a person of color and Muslim. In her introduction, Mustafa did not shy away from mentioning her identity as a Muslim woman of Indian heritage. She began by describing how her parents came to the United States in the 1960s and proceeded to live out the “American Dream.” At the same time, she raised issue with a lack of representation of Muslim women in government. “When elected, I would be the first Muslim woman in Congress,” she said. “There’s never been a woman in this seat. There’s never been a person of color in this seat. This is the machine seat in Congress. It’s been held by white men who are attached to the political machine.” However identity was not the primary focus of Mustafa’s campaign. Rather, she emphasized her experiences and familiarity
By Sameena Khan
with the Chicagoland community she had grown up in her whole life. “A lot of people are like ‘You’re Muslim, you’re Indian.’ I’m a Chicagoan. I’m a resident of this district. I’ve lived here. I know what issues people care about and what’s important because I’ve been talking to thousands of voters and I’ve lived here my whole life,” Mustafa said. When it came down to the issues, Mustafa focused on the differences between her platform and Quigley’s. She presented her argument in a clear, aggressive and focused manner, honing in how her opponent’s conservative record. Quigley had supported the H.R. 2810, the largest defense spending bill in history and opposed Medicare For All. Furthermore, she said that he had taken over 2 million dollars from defense contractor political action committees (PACs) and voted in support of reauthorizing the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, Section 702, which limited citizens ‘civil rights through warrantless spying. Out of all the candidates, Mustafa alone emphasized how she was a more qualified and progressive candidate than Quigley. This dedication to progressive politics may explain why she gained the support of organizations like the Justice Democrats, a group that supports progressive candidates who do not take PAC money. Justice Democrats Campaign Director Alexandra Rojas explained that Mustafa wasn’t “afraid to challenge to establishment, Chicago political machine or the status quo,” citing her support for Medicare for All and campaign refusal of corporate money.” Rojas emphasized the fact that Mustafa challenging the incumbent was unprecedented. “I think it’s important to remember that in the beginning of this race, the people of her district didn’t really know they had a choice about who their nominee would be, especially since someone like Mike Quigley had never been primaried before. So, through that grassroots pressure and effort, she redefined the district.” In other words, the fact that Mustafa ran against an incumbent changed the political conversation surrounding her campaign. Mustafa was focused on the issues in a way none of the other
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candidates were; in addition to explaining how she differed from Quigley, she cited specific policies she supported, such as Medicare for All and vital programs that allow seniors to retire with dignity. After the Forum, Mustafa said, “I’m doing the work. I’m running for Congress, I should know the bills that are in Congress right now. To be educated on what’s passed, what’s going to be, what’s circulating right now and the issues that are important to the district. I’ve been spending my entire campaign on the issues.” This caught the attention of people like Emily Christian, who began volunteering for Mustafa’s campaign based on its values, especially “Medicare for All” and Mustafa’s “relentless support of women and Planned Parenthood.” Mustafa’s campaign was a stark contrast to her opponents’. Up against Benjamin Thomas Wolfe, who had been accused of domestic violence and falsifying credentials and Steven Schwartzberg, who focused his arguments on a political revolution, Mustafa was the only one focusing on the people of her district. “Personal connections were also important in Mustafa’s campaign,” Christian said. “Sameena is so incredibly genuine, I think that’s what one of the things that has kept me on this campaign. It just makes me respect her so much, and I’m so inspired by her.” K. Sujata, a campaign volunteer who volunteered with Mustafa on the board for the Chicago Community Trust’s Asian Giving Circle, mentioned how Mustafa has been a good friend of hers for years, leader her to work on the campaign. When Democratic primary results came in, Mustafa was ultimately unable to unseat Quigley. While Mustafa received 23,606 votes while Quigley received 61,458 votes. she was still far ahead of all her other competitors: Wolf received 9,308 votes and Schwartzberg received 3,949. Mustafa cites the fact that she was a first-time competitor who went up against an incumbent. She also ultimately empathized with voters. Despite the loss, Mustafa mentioned the hope she saw in the communities she served. “It actually gave me a lot of reinforcement and reminded me that we have this really vibrant, educated and engaged electorate. When reporters or elected officials are cynical about voters, it’s a disservice to voters and it’s hurting our democracy,” Mustafa said. “I feel like that experience of running reminded me that people are committed to their communities regardless of what we’re seeing in the White House or Washington. It reminded me that there’s still a lot of hope in making a difference.” Mustafa also mentioned that she knew the campaign would be difficult. “I went into it understanding that I had taken on a big task,” she said. “But, I also felt like I had a message and a connection to the district that the other challengers did not have.”
With such an experience, this campaign is not the end for Mustafa. She is planning to stay politically involved in the future. “I want to stay engaged in the political world and I’m actually doing some programs on issues that are important to the community I live in,” she said, citing gun violence and getting women to run. “I’m also working with other progressive groups on how to approach the general election and hold the nominees, especially for governor, accountable and get them to commit to some progressive policies.” Her exasperation is apparent when individuals remark on how Muslims are not winning elections and should not run. “How are you contributing to the success of Muslims?” she asks. “You’re just someone who’s frustrated and not part of the actual solution.” She also holds candidates responsible, advising them to do their research. Nor was Mustafa alone in running for office against the traditional white male profile. She was joined by many women of color who run progressive campaigns. According to the Center for American Women and Politics (CAWP) at the Eagleton Institute of Politics at Rutgers University, black women make up a large chunk of the expected record number of women running for Congress this year, explained in part as a response to the November 2016 election of Donald Trump. Rojas referenced this while describing her excitement about Mustafa’s campaign, saying she would like to get more progressive candidates into office, “especially in the Trump era.” Mustafa’s campaign was a part of a nationwide trend of underrepresented groups running for office in order to further progressive campaigns. Despite Mustafa’s loss, Rojas said “we’re incredibly optimistic about the results. We’re generating enough grassroots pressure to actually drive the conversation of the Democratic party to a more progressive vision.” Rojas also focused on the fact that elected politicians, like Quigley, will be “vulnerable for not listening to the grassroots base and continuing to push a more conservative agenda.” Mustafa shared some final thoughts for those considering running for office. “There is no perfect candidate and there certainly is no a perfect incumbent,” she said. “Whatever doubts you have in your mind, whatever you think so you don’t have to run, you have to set it aside.” Regardless of the outcome, Mustafa’s campaign has been instrumental in changing the political conversation around minority representation, grassroots organizing and challenging the political status-quo and, in turn, presents a bright future amidst the ashes of American politics.
Photo courtesy of Sun Times Media
“I felt like I had a message and a connection to the district that the other challengers did not have.”
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YoU cAN’t wRIte A WholE ARtiCLe aBoUt mEMes
By Zain Shaikh Sketches by Ayesha Rahman
T
he top left meme was recently posted in a Reddit thread discussing soccer phenomenon Mohamed Salah. The comment section was filled with posts making one-liner jokes, referencing Salah’s Muslim background: one comment read “halaltrick,” a wordplay on “hattrick,” while another read “Jesus Mohammad Christ, He’s Good.” The meme below it was posted in response to this comment, referencing how Muslims should never use the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) name in curse. To my surprise, the OP, Original Poster of the meme, joined the conversation, explaining his lack of awareness of this belief and that he would refrain to do so in the future. In this moment, an Internet denizen had suddenly become more educated about Islam, all thanks to a meme. This example is just scratching the surface at how the perception and digital presence of Islam has benefitted from integration and widespread use of memes online. Memes are primarily images, although they can also be gifs or videos. An original image, like a screenshot from x or a headline from y, is modified to fit a specific instance through some form of visual alteration. People then consume the meme, sharing it with others or introducing their own spin on the original. Thanks to the powers of Photoshop and caption editing, an infinite number of combinations can be generated from a single meme. Despite widespread popularity, memes only rose to prominence somewhat recently. The precursors to memes were image macros, digital photographs superimposed with text, shared across early Internet forums like SomethingAwful.com and boards like 4chan.com dating back as early as 2006. Examples included LOLcats, in which pictures of cats doing funny things were complemented with captions and Rage Comics, comic-style panels of stick figures engaged in humorous reenactments of everyday situations. Memes today retain the same spirit as the genre’s precursors, but have taken on more complex forms with greater depth in their messages. As a worldwide phenomenon, memes play an important
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role for Internet users as a key component of entertainment, humor and even political and religious dialogue. They are one of the most prolific forms of communication today, ranging from relatable photos of Drake to imagined dialogue with omnipresent FBI surveillance agents. The ever-shifting nature of memes allows them to be easily adapted to a variety of situations, establishing a sort of universality of the format. Yet, a successful meme does not exist in a void. Rather, it is meant not only just to be created, but to be shared with others. Simply put, anything and everything has the potential to become a meme. Muslim youth have embraced the digital culture of memes to comment on their everyday struggles, simultaneously making light of situations and finding camaraderie in shared experiences with other Muslims. The accessibility of social media allows Muslims to comment on specific interactions relatable to practicing their religion, like doing wudu in a public restroom, and ultimately bonding through such common ground. The habit of tagging, a popular user response to consuming memes, helps build a deeper connection by allowing Muslims to quickly share humorous posts with each other. Memes relatable to Muslim youth could be anything from photoshopping a sheikh beard onto a confused caveman SpongeBob to replacing Drake with an Islamic scholar. The key to creating content is taking an established format of a meme currently trending throughout social media and placing it in the context of the Muslim youth experience, using the variable quality of memes for a unique form of outreach. There are a number of Facebook groups that Muslim youth engage in to create and share memes. One of the most prominent groups is Halal Memes for Jannah Minded Teens (HMJMT) on Facebook. With over 130,000 members from all over the globe, it is the largest group for Muslim-related memes and one of the largest meme groups ever. The group’s universally humorous content has brought together Muslims and non-Muslims of all sorts of backgrounds, allowing a bridging of cultures, ethnicities
and even the oft-cited Sunni-Shia divide. The top image on page 15 is an example of a typical post in the group, which humorously utilizes the 4-panel “Despicable Me” Gru presentation to describe the complexities of Muslim courtship. However, this is not to say the ummah has found a digital utopia. The group is often littered with problematic content containing racism, homophobia and classism, issues commonly present in the everyday Muslim community, particularly in comment section. Such memes are flagged and removed and moderators enact stricter content reviews, but the effects still linger. Users may find a haven in other meme groups. Memes in Post Colonial Memes for Oriental Minded Teens are more likely to bring politics and social issues into digital discourse. The group’s 15,000 and counting members frequently post about imperialism, orientalism and decolonial thought, often centering but not at all limited to Western perceptions of the Muslim World. The content is somewhat more progressive compared to HMJMT, but also serves a more academic and nonMuslim demographic.
A meme from Post-Colonial Memes (below) takes the same Gru meme but modifies it to describe U.S. involvement with the mujahideen in Afghanistan. These two examples demonstrate the dynamic range of memes in terms of subject material. Groups like Post Colonial Memes represent an interesting intersection between Muslims and non-Muslim allies in an online space. Non-Muslims will regularly post content in the group about Muslim issues, supporting Muslim causes on the page. However, this dynamic on Facebook is not the norm in all social media meme groups. R/izlam, a subreddit dedicated to Islamic-themed memes on the popular internet board Reddit.com, is tightly moderated in order to clean up the brigading of anti-Muslim Reddit users. Since Reddit is a more open platform than closed, private Facebook groups, users are more likely to face Islamophobic comments or harassment. Despite all this, the users of r/izlam find the humor in these situations through memes. Users will frequently make memes referring to the offending parties on the subreddit. Above is a meme that also
includes r/dankchristianmemes, a subreddit dedicated to Christian-themed memes that have become an allies of sorts, for r/izlam. Through the humor of memes, Christians and Muslims, two groups that might find themselves at odds in society can work in solidarity within the digital world. With an accessible barrier of entry, memes can be effectively considered a universal art form. The value of memes is not only in their ability to connect and communicate but in their existence to act as a reflection of a community’s mindset. Discussions of real issues, antiblackness, Palestinian solidarity and the conflict in Syria, can be frequently discussed via memes in a manner that cannot be comfortably handled in conversation. People naturally look to humor for relief during times of stress. Muslim youth have found that relief by poking fun at interactions at the airport or in class with neoliberals, using memes as a healthy outlet for these issues. Although our parents may forever think of memes as silly internet jokes, a generation of young Muslims is finding its voice in a creative space that will only continue to grow.
Diversity or Heresy? Reflections on culture and Islamic faith A minar of the Badshahi Masjid, Lahore, Pakistan. Photo by Sarah Ahmad
By Hassan Sayed
T
he first thing I knew about myself as a child was that I was Desi, a South Asian of Pakistani descent. I grew up speaking Urdu with my parents, dividing me from most of my English-speaking, white peers in school. I was raised in a home adorned with lush woolen carpets depicting hunting scenes and floral images. Elegant Nastaliq script graced the covers of my grandfather’s books, while massive tomes filled with colorful pictures of Pakistan lay stacked on our coffee tables. My earliest spiritual memories were those of my dad blasting Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s qawwalis over surround sound, inquiring me to ponder the mysticism in the ustad’s heavenly voice. My summers were spent in Islamabad; I still fondly recall running through the fields outside Rawalpindi on outings with my cousins or hearing the call of the azaan emanate from Faisal Masjid. Although my linguistic world was populated with a healthy dosage of Pashto and Punjabi, everyone always greeted each other with ‘slaamulaikums and parted ways with khudafiz regardless of the context. Yet my Desi experience was simultaneously different from that of other South Asians. While my Hindu Indian friends’ homes may have been filled with the same aromas of masala as my own, their books were written in Sanskrit and Devanagari, not Nastaliq. Instead of rehals and rugs, their houses featured Oms and statues of Vishnu and Shiva. Yes, their Hindi was similar to my Urdu, to the point where our mothers would even converse in the same tongue, but we could not use the same greetings and goodbyes as in Pakistan. The colors of our skin, our facial structures, our body language, even the fact that we called each others’ parents “uncle” and “auntie” screamed to me that we should be the same. Yet, something about us was very different. I entered Islamic school as a five year old, a Saturday school dominated by Arabs. Everyone there was Muslim, which would perhaps provide a sense of community and unity I could not find in solely South Asian contexts. Yet, as classes began, our paths diverged. Most of my
A view of the Shahi Qila (Lahore Fort) from Hazoori Bagh, Lahore, Pakistan. Photo by Sarah Ahmad
peers were already familiar with Arabic, allowing them an easy transition to scripts and grammatical structures. While I could do my best to memorize Surahs and read Quranic verses with transliterations, a lack of understanding of Arabic vocabulary and grammar prevented me from accessing religious texts without translations. Although my primary conduit to spirituality at home had been through Qawwali, music didn’t receive the slightest mention at Islamic school. Small linguistic differences continued to become apparent. Their enunciated Arabic version of “Assalamualaikum” didn’t sound like what I heard at home. We all fasted for a month of the year, but they called it “Ramadhan” and I called it “Ramzaan.” These people were supposed to be my “brother and sisters,” but I felt a disconnect between my experience as a Muslim at home and a Muslim at school. When we think of Islam, a series of images instantly pops into our head, a series of images experientially unique to each Muslim. Religious experience is a culmination of everyday experiences and encounters, language and symbols, ethnic practices and forms of spiritual access. This is what make Islam unique from Dakar to Dhaka, Istanbul to Cairo, Lahore to Lagos, Jakarta to Shiraz. Islam’s historical spread
was due to the flexibility with which it incorporated the philosophies of the local areas it entered. Take, for example, the infusion of Buddhist and Hindu meditative practices into Sufi zikr and sama’ that for centuries became characteristic of South Asian Islam, or the interplay between preIslamic Iran’s culture of resistance and the arrival of Shias within Persia. At the broadest level, we can use late Harvard scholar Shahab Ahmed’s definition of Islam: any philosophy or set of symbols that traces its spiritual origin towards a higher form of Truth contained within the divine revelation of the Quran. Islam is prayer, tilework, poetry, music and architecture which owes meaning or existence to this singular divine instance and the events that followed. Besides the Quran, the Divan of Hafez was possibly the most widely read work of the old Islamic World. Hafez’s use of metaphors like drunkenness and sexual love within his poetry has led to his dismissal by many as “un-Islamic,” but his explicit Islamic imagery and vocabulary formed a cornerstone of Muslim practice within South and Central Asia. There are so many popular symbols or ideas that have been put aside as “culture” that were, in the past, explicitly Islamic, so much so that the majority of Muslims accessed their faith through these “cultural”
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channels. Islam is incomplete as an isolated belief system. Rather, Islam is a set of Truths accessed through different traditions corresponding to the different areas of the world into which it spread. To strip Islam of these locally heterogenous practices and philosophies is to misunderstand the history and meaning of Islam itself. Into the 21st century, such regionally heterogeneous qualities are too often dismissed as “culture.” Scholars and states claim there is some sort of “true Islam,” which is not distorted by these heretic “cultural” practices like music and dancing. Perhaps the proliferation of these sorts of thoughts is due to nationalisms, where certain perceptions of “Islam” are pushed to enforce state ideologies. On the other hand, the adoption of these views may be a reflection problem, where the West adopts a certain view of what Islam should be which has a consequent effect on diaspora Muslims. Whatever the causes may be, we so often fail to recognize the heterogeneity of Islamic practice that we adopt tunnel vision. We chastise others for behavior which we deem “un-Islamic” or even “kafir.” On a personal level, Muslims will judge and look down upon others because of the way they dress, or whether they go to parties, or whether they eat zabihah and
attend taraweeh. At the university level, Muslim Students Associations often serve to provide Arabs and Desis who follow a certain form of late 20th century Sunni Islam with a community of those with nearly identical experiences, creating a sort of bubble. I first experienced this bubble mentality entering college within Muslim communities I was a part of, to the degree that I myself was guilty of the highly judgmental behavior often characterizing these spaces. But then I began to think back to the divide between my experience as a South Asian and as a Muslim, a process which continued as I began to grow older. While direct prayer seemed to be the main means by which my Muslim peers expressed devotion to God, I found just as much spiritual solace in reading the poetry of Faiz and Iqbal, or hearing
the soothing voices of Noor Jehan and Mehdi Hassan singing Urdu ghazals. The evocative spirituality imbued in the works of authors like Intizar Husain, which ultimately combined Hindu and Islamic religious symbols, transported me into higher planes of spiritual pondering and emotion. These stories and poems were not a replacement for scripture or prayer, but provided a more understandable and digestible way for me to access my faith; they were written in a language and used a set of symbols which I could understand given my ethnic background. As I explored these experiences, I suddenly found tranquility, a sense of peace which resolved my early agitations about not fitting in perfectly with other Muslims and South Asians. Yes, I was Muslim, but my sense of the word was informed by my South Asian ethnicity. I was South Asian,
Top left: an evening at the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, Turkey. Photo by Yousuf Kadir
Top right: Looking up at the Kasbah, Chefchaouen, Morocco. Photo by Maryam Salem
Right: a head-on view of the Tomb of Mughal Emperor Jahangir, Lahore, Pakistan. Photo by Hassan Sayed
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but my sense of being South Asian was likewise informed by my Muslim faith. My background could be defined only by this sense of simultaneity in identity. And within this personal reflection, I came to the realization that Islam cannot exist without heterogeneity. Our approach to our faith cannot come by imposing certain views of what Islam should and should not be. To even simply resist judging others for what we now deem “sinful behavior� is not enough, for it maintains our rigid notions of what our faith is and rejects what it has historically been. Rather, we must suspend our beliefs about what Islam can and should even be in the first place. Islam is not a blanket category for the billions of worshippers who adhere to it. Islam is the opposite. It is an aggregate, the sum of all the experiences of the individual Muslims across this Earth.
A sky view in Petra, Jordan. Photo by Mustafa Alimumal Peeking into the alleys of Chefchaouen, Morocco. Photo by Maryam Salem
A cloudy afternoon at the Dome of the Rock. Photo by Mustafa Alimumal A colorful ferry in the northern mountains of Pakistan. Photo by Naib Mian
� � م � ع �ور� اور ز� ی ن ت
(woman and the earth) T
he dream begins in the gardens, lush with swings and ripened mangoes. The jut of the trees and the scent of jasmines veiled in the air rise to meet the grandmother. Before the callouses, babies, and wedding rings, she is young, and she runs through the haveli every morning to bring in the day’s fruits and vegetables before her sisters do. It is a competition that no one else knows. It is during those brief runs from the bedrooms, through the meal rooms, to the outhouse gate that her lungs are ablaze. Then she’s outside, and the birds trill her their greetings, the wind cheers for her sweltering chest, and the sun praises her skin with gold. Her body slants so she never goes beyond the fence – only in circles – yet still she runs and she is invincible.
She has a son.
H
e grows up, unaware of the long strides hisHe grows up, unaware of the long strides his mother had been making her entire life. She is too busy now washing the dishes, the clothes, the sheets. They had to let go of the naukur who took care of the house, which is no longer a haveli, his sister says. Monsoon season arrives quietly. Raindrops slap the concrete, and the son pretends he doesn’t see tears or taste salt as they sell the land of their favorite mango tree, the
By Sharmain Siddiqui
pearls of past brides, the carrom board. He does not resist, he does not protest. And if he does, no one hears because the rain pours over his voice and seeps into the newspaper by his feet. The ink swirls before drifting away, but no matter, he already knows what the text says: the economy is in shambles and the local law school’s admissions are out – but he isn’t in. There is nothing anchoring him to this place, so he does not waste time finding an excuse to linger. He longs to own things again. He kisses his mother’s cheek, pretends he doesn’t see tears or taste salt, and takes a plane to a foreign land. Months after arrival, he discovers that the mangoes he bought at the market are not as sweet as the ones from his family’s tree. He never finds an appetite. He can only ever think of currency. During breaks, he inhales when he hears his mother’s voice on the telephone, all static and rumble, before the line is cut, and he has to return to work with his breath punctured. The sun does not help as it burns through the city skyline and into his shoulders. His jaw has caught fire, but he cannot afford a better dentist. His spine is covered with singes from the reluctance of his niece as she massages his back at night. His dream is lost, and he doesn’t have to pretend there are no tears and no salt: his face is already empty.
Ornate designs adorn the ceilings of the Wazir Khan Masjid in the Old City of Lahore, Pakistan. Photo by Naib Mian
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He marries.
T
he woman, the wife is full of luster. She moves in and anchors his apartment with fresh meals, clean clothes, sheets. When she goes to clinics, she swishes the words trochlear nerves and thanatology in her mouth before releasing them in a thick timbre, swallowing all of the rejections that say the accent is too foreign, bohot ghayr mulki. She spits them out like sour milk, continues with the laundry. She doesn’t think about the months she spent studying for exams. She doesn’t think about her vivid dreams of working
When she has a daughter, her skin shatters.
H
er daughter, who is also a granddaughter, who knows the stories trailing behind her, embraces them: she is awake. This daughter comes home to a house that’s not a haveli, to her parents’ weathered skin that she kneads down until it loosens and unravels like the Pakistani flag hung by the doorway, even though it’s missing the white stars and red stripes that would make it important. The flag is not the right shape, and neither is her name, her brown skin, her tongue. The daughter exists in these spaces in between. She drinks in this state of exile every night, eternal and slow
in a laboratory, diagnosing diseases, saving lives. She drives instead, aging, aging, and on the way to the grocery store, she wears the leather gloves that her husband bought her seven years ago, although they’re thinned out now. What she wants to tell her parents back home is: the sun is weak, the light barely touches my skin, I don’t glow golden here, but what comes out is: America is a dream, there is always electricity, hot water too. At that, she almost laughs because she knows what will warm her. It will not be found in this city: her skin has already frozen.
burning, like aged whiskey. Although sometimes it trips over centuries of occupation, her tongue speaks a patient language, passed down through blood and sabr, one that comes to bless her broken Alhamdulillahs and hesitant Allahuakbars the way sunlight does blooming jasmines. To avoid voice depletion, she runs until her lungs are ablaze; only when seeing she’s out of breath can others understand that she cannot speak. Sometimes it takes a while, but she doesn’t mind running in circles, because when she runs, the sunlight pours over her skin, sheathing it with a layer of golden brown that instantly absorbs warmth into her blood. Once her insides are no longer burning, she closes her eyes to dream.
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Photo courtesy of Stranger Magic Productions
T
he introduction sequence of “Unfair & Ugly” does not beat around the bush. You see Sana, the Pakistani Muslim protagonist doze off for a beat before entering a dream. She stands under soft golden lighting and spots a wedding stage in the distance. She sees her mom and an aunty, commenting about her facial features. Suddenly, Sana is wearing a medical white coat. Before she can fully react, a welldressed desi guy appears, a white veil on her head and a crying baby placed in her hands. Suddenly, an uncle asks, “Do you take this to be your lawfully wedded life?” When Sana fails to answer, everyone fires off “What do you want?” With the stroke of a question, “Unfair & Ugly” encompasses the nearly universal series of expectations for the desi Muslim millennial. When Sana finally wakes up, she grabs for a Xanax. The sight of her taking medication for depression signals what is in store for this series. “Unfair & Ugly” was conceived after cocreators Yumna Khan and Nida Chowdhry decided they wanted to see their reflections on television. As first-generation Indian and Pakistani-Americans, the pair wrote the original dramedy series about a South Asian Muslim family in Orange County, California. With a fluctuating representation of Muslims in post-9/11 world on the screen, Khan and Chowdhry aspired to reveal a more truthful portrayal.
“We wanted to create a show that feels real to us, one that we can relate to when it comes to love, careers, and generation gaps...layering it up with topics that are a little taboo in our community,” Khan said. The show did take a less traditional route when it came to production. After first receiving online buzz in early 2017, Khan and Chowdhry’s production company Stranger Magic campaigned on Indiegogo for $50,000 to create the television series. After falling a bit short, the show idea was seemingly on hiatus. That was until the end of April of 2018, in which Stranger Magic announced its airing schedule for a 6-episode first season of “Unfair & Ugly” on Youtube. The show tackles way more than I expected in its premiere “Adulting.” After witnessing Sana’s dream, we meet her brother Haaris and their parents Zaynab and Mushtaq. Haaris drops a bomb during nashta, sipping orange juice while explaining he is in a committed relationship with Rookaya, a passionate black Muslim lawyer. Their parents could care less about Ro’s other qualities as they dumbfoundedly begin to process their son’s transgression to love a black woman. The scene ends with Zaynab and Mushtaq denying responsibility for the errs of Haaris. Sadly, seeing such reactions feels familiar as racism against black people is a common issue in the South Asian Muslim community. We also get a deeper look at Sana as she converses with a female Muslim therapist.
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Sana explains how everyone thinks her life is perfect, given her college graduation, recent engagement, and medical school aspirations. Yet, she is unsatisfied and an unhappiness lingers, making Sana feel guilty and ungrateful for her emotions. This effectively strikes home for children of immigrants. For the majority of us, we are reminded of our parents’ sacrifices whilst treated to a cushy American lifestyle, but we are then expected to meet our parents’ goals. The stress and pressure, when combined with the South Asian community silence on the topic of mental health, can have detrimental effects on millenials. Later episodes further and introduce other relevant topics. For instance, Haaris reneges his parents’ wishes for his career throughout the show, working as a barista/future art e-commerce businessman. We see him woo artists to represent, fail to pitch his work to desi investors and whip up iced coffee for customers. Even though his parents nag him for his lack of a job, they simultaneously treasure him, treating Haaris like a prince in comparison to Sana who managed to do everything right. In “Community,” the double standards for females are exposed more as we watch Haaris at a hookah lounge with Ro and friends late at night and Sana enjoy milkshakes with her girls. In a humorous moment, we watch all four girls get texts and calls from their mothers demanding to come home at a relatively early hour. Yet, Haaris continues to loiter, schmoozing and smoking all night.
Unfair Ugly By Umber Waheed In “Disconnect,” we delve deeper into the mentality of desis towards black people. After judging Ro from a distance after Jummah, Zaynab tries to gently let Haaris down. Despite Ro being ambitious, kind and from a successful, career-driven family, Zaynab simply tells Haaris that Ro is a kaali (slur against black people) and beneath him. She explains how black people do drugs and go to jail, while the audience hear Haaris muttering how much weed he smokes. It’s a tragic conversation, littered with rhetoric many desi Muslim parents believe in. The same episode offers a better look at Zaynab and Mushtaq in order to bridge the disconnect viewers may feel towards their characters. We see Zaynab passionately
speak at the masjid town hall meeting and later learn about her sacrificing an English Ph.D to begin a family. On the other hand, we learn about Mushtaq, his partying days as a youth and even a serious white girlfriend he dropped to please his parents. In just a few scenes, the show offers a more nuanced, emotional portrayal of the immigrant parents that is necessary to keep viewers invested. The show expertly shifts from relatable South Asian problems to external occurrences Muslim millennials commonly deal with. From dealing with the wrath of elders at weddings to the patriarchal expectations of marriage, to the common occurrence of FBI
entrapment at the local mosque to “random” security checks at the airport, the show aims to talk about it all. Perhaps this ultimately helps explain flaws with the show. “Unfair & Ugly,” a play on the popular, albeit problematic skin-lightening cream Fair & Lovely, seeks to explore deeper issues of the South Asian Muslim community. However, trying to cover the breadth of the community’s experience can come off as dense and clunky for a Youtube television series. Furthermore, dialogue feels random at times and acting looks unnatural as scenes try to capture humor and seriousness in one. However, such weaknesses likely stem from limitations imposed by the show’s low production budget and short season.
Photo courtesy of Stranger Magic Productions
Despite so, the best part of “Unfair & Ugly” is when it’s not really trying to say anything. Montage clips of Sana, Haaris, and their parents hanging out on their couch, dancing to Bollywood fusion bops and eating pizza feel the most authentic to what Khan and Chowdhry imagined. Seeing the family’s love for one another, regardless of their arguments and personal issues, shows the human side of the Pakistani Muslim family from Orange County, California. Glimpsing into these heartening, wondrous moments, in the midst of everything at hand, is what eventually deems “Unfair & Ugly” worthy to consume. Shibly, M. Akram. “American Muslim Family Sitcom Brings Out the “Unfair & Ugly” in Us.” The Huffington Post. April 26, 2017. Accessed May 21, 2018. 1
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THE WATCH LIST Hand-selected recommendations and favorites to be educated, on-trend and in the know
WATCH
Sid + Dina By Umber Waheed
You can’t help but want to click it. In the thumbnail, you see an attractive couple awkwardly posed next to one another. The title of the video, “BODY IMAGE AND THE FIRST NIGHT!”, is salacious, and the YouTubers know it: hence, the all-caps. Sid Kaan and Dina Torkia, otherwise known as Sid + Dina, begin the video with their usual hilarious banter before diving into a viewer’s inquiry about how the first night of a newly married Muslim couple goes down. While Sid is a freelance graphic designer, Dina is more famously known on Youtube for her modest fashion, beauty and lifestyle channel that leads the pack of Muslim beauty influencers on the site. Their signature in-your-face, uncut videos address topics that your in-house masjid imam or neighborhood aunty would cringe at. In this particular video, they dive into a scrambled, but pleasantly entertaining story of their first night. Advice and memories intertwine as they reveal their
experiences in a simultaneously clean but informative manner. It’s understandable how this video has racked nearly a million views and their channel has attained nearly 350,000 subscribers in three years. This cheeky power couple on Youtube discuss controversial topics and offering humorous advice on their couch. Nothing is off limits for this power couple: sexuality, religious clashes, relationship issues and more. They answer viewers’ questions (though usually with some caveats) and constantly remind the audience of their own fallibility in their views, never claiming any sort of religious scholar legitimacy. This sets a humble and grounded mood to the couple’s content, as they recognize how their personal experiences, moral code and sense of faith can be vastly different to their viewers and those on similar platforms. Separating her love of fashion and makeup from her experiences as a Muslim wife in the Western hemisphere, Dina also represents a much-needed
multidimensionality to the unyielding antiIslamic narratives and double standards of Western Islamophobia that exist today. Speaking her mind on controversial subjects while sharing her favorite hijab shops reveal a woman who is not afraid to challenge the rhetoric today. As a result, Sid and Dina’s approachability combined with their British-bred millennial ways fulfills a gap in the world of Muslim social media. Viewers do not realize what they are missing until tuning into the newest video.
Photo courtesy of Sid + Dina
The Feeling of Being Watched By Umber Waheed
Photo courtesy of Hot Docs
In this independent film, journalist and director Assia Boundaoui investigates her Arab-American neighborhood outside of Chicago where most of her neighbors believe they have been under surveillance for a decade. While exploring the truth, Boundaoui stumbles upon “Operation Vulgar Betrayal,” revealing tens of thousands of pages of FBI documents demonstrating her hometown as part of
This Is Life with Lisa Ling: Why American Prisoners Convert to Islam By Umber Waheed
In her award-winning CNN “This is Life,” journalist Lisa Ling explores behind the bars to understand why many prisoners convert to Islam inside prison. Recognizing the long history of Islam in America, Ling
focuses on three different African American Muslims to hear their religious journeys. In the process, she unveils the power of Islam to “transform the heart” and reshape the lives of men performing their sentences.
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the one of the largest U.S. counterterrorism investigations before 9/11. The film proceeds to follow Boundaoui as she tries to break the secrecy around governmental surveillance, takes the FBI to federal court to publicly reveal the records collected on her community and understand why she and her neighbors were targeted in the first place. Photo courtesy of CNN
Photo courtesy of Goodreads
READ
The Fox Hunt - Mohammed Al Samawi
By Umber Waheed In “The Fox Hunt,” Al Samawi chronicles the emotional, complicated journey of seeking refuge in the United States. He first explains his life growing up, focusing on his traditional Muslim family and sociopolitical happenings of Sana’a, Yemen. He then reveals his desire to become a peace activist, openly seeking interfaith dialogue and a commitment to reconciliation. His
memoir finds its heart in his escape from the Yemeni civil war in 2015, as he uses his activist network to trek the chaotic complications and bureaucratic process of seeking refuge. Throughout the memoir, Al Samawi is personal and open, using his experiences with individuals of different nations and faiths to remind readers of how peace can truly be achieved.
Exit West - Mohsin Hamid By Hassan Sayed
I came into “Exit West” having no knowledge of what the book was about. As a Pakistani-American familiar with Hamid’s other works, I immediately marked out the nameless location where the book begins as somewhere in Pakistan — perhaps Lahore or Peshawar? The protagonists Nadia and
Saeed are young adults, students who attend school and work office office jobs — a middle-class scene quite familiar to college students and young professionals — and begin to explore their feelings for each other. Yet, what begins as an apparent love story suddenly devolves into a darker tale. Within a few chapters, the protagonists’ daily lives are suddenly interrupted as their city is taken over by militants. Daily violence begins to consume their lives, their families torn apart and their offices shut down. Nadia and Saeed seek to escape from this chaos. It is at this point where Hamid works his magic and transforms a realistic fiction narrative into a fantasy tale. Nadia and Saeed escape the city by ways of a hidden “Door,” a portal which instantly transports them far from away from their homeland to Mykonos and in the process formally transforming them into refugees. Throughout the story, the struggle of accessing new doors that lead to different places occurs again and again. The door here is a symbol, an access point for Nadia, Saeed and other refugees which can be an immense opportunity or bring about great suffering, depending on where that door leads. As they move from country to country, door to door, Nadia and Saeed face harassment, theft, exploitation and harsh labor. Their relationship becomes not
Photo courtesy of Goodreads
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one of “love” but of survival, of surfacelevel sustenance rather than emotional expression. By initially framing the novel as a middle-class, young-adult love story, Hamid draws the reader in and allows them to vividly feel these characters’ pains and plights. Throughout the story, Hamid deliberately leaves religion and nationality ambiguous. Perhaps this is meant to circumvent the reductionist real-world politics of nationalism and discard the readers’ previously formed beliefs about countries like Syria, Afghanistan and Myanmar. The novel’s placement in the “near future” gives the story a sense of temporal and spatial separation that is somewhat distant but not so far removed from the present day that the reader cannot sympathize with the characters. But this ambiguity serves as a problem. With his references to “prayer” and “conservatism,” and the suggestion that Nadia wears an “abaya” at home (although this is not mentioned by name), Hamid seems to suggest that the characters are Muslim. In the mind of an unknowing reader, this likely conjures up orientalist images of “wartorn” “Middle-Eastern” countries, not only serving to play into Western stereotypes of the region but also re-invoking the politics Hamid initially intends to suppress.
Photo courtesy of Goodreads
The Things I Would Tell You - Sabrina Mahfouz By Umber Waheed This anthology consists of over thirty women writers of Muslim heritage and rising spoken word artists of the United Kingdom. While highlighting the traditions and customs of each writer’s history, the anthology focuses on discussing universal themes of love, identity, belonging and freedom. Through fiction, poetry, playscripts and prose, “The Things I Would Tell You” features work from Adhaf Soueif, Leila Aboulela, Warsan Shire and Kamila Shamsie, showcasing a variety of female voices and calling for young women to speak out. Ultimately, Mahfouz highlights a diverse, global-spanning group of women that connect as they each hold a special place in their hearts for Britain.
LISTEN Leo Kalyan
WAFIA
Ben Khan
British-Pakistani Leo Kalyan has been in the dream-pop music scene since 2013, garnering various achievements like topping the Spotify Global Viral Chart, playing at Radio 1, selling out shows and hitting a million plays on Soundcloud. Despite so, he still remained relatively unknown as his identity has affected label signing success. Taking it in stride, Leo Kalyan proudly shows his intersectionality as a gay Muslim musician of South-Asian descent through his lush music. Popular singles include “Fingertips,” “Get Your Love,” and “Temptation” that feature airy vocals, dramatic 808s and sugarysweet synth-pop beats. His newest single “Stranger” harkens to his Pakistani roots with the use of qawwali singing style.
Born to Syrian and Iraqi parents, WAFIA traveled the globe growing up before settling in Brisbane, Australia. When Pharell played her debut R&B-inflected single “Heartburn” on his radio show several times in 2016, WAFIA’s musical career cemented as she continued to release singles with established collaborators. Her Syrian roots hold a significance in her music, using her personal story and current political crisis in her lyrics paired against a musical production with low-end rumbles and resonant keys. Her newest EP “VIII” came out this year.
Kashmiri Londoner Ben Khan covers a more radical side of pop with his spiked minimalist funk tracks that have garnered millions of hits on Soundcloud. Using themes of religion and societal concepts and the influence of his silk-maker father throughout his music, Ben Khan blends wonky synths, off-kilter R&B and murky electronica to create a seamlessly tied product. With two EPs under his belt, “1992 EP” and “1000 EP,” Ben Khan took a threeyear hiatus before reigniting his numerical fascination with his new single “2000 Angels.” Relatively quiet in the press, time will only reveal the unpredictable albeit smooth tunes Ben Khan shall offer in the future.
Photo courtesy of Genius
Photo courtesy of Youtube
Photo courtesy of the Guardian
By Umber Waheed
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Breaking English - Rafiq Bhatia By Hassan Sayed
The late 2000s and 2010s began to see a greater penetration of brown and Muslim diaspora artists into the modern music scene, led by musicians like MIA, Das Racist, Swet Shop Boys, Humeysha and Arooj Aftab. Yet, while brown artists seemed to embrace the indie hip hop and rock scenes more strongly, the jazz and classical world did not see that same rise in popularity. Enter Rafiq Bhatia, best known for his group work with Son Lux. The son of desi Muslim immigrants, his first two releases have drawn greatly from modern jazz and minimalist classical sources: meandering, repeating lines cascading throughout the ensemble, searing saxophones and guitar lines and tricky drum beats. “Breaking English” marks Rafiq Bhatia’s most recent foray into this experimental musical world, yet it possesses a more microscopic and focused sound compared to his previous work. The album begins with “Minarets,” a monotonic distortionary prelude that sets the stage for “Hoods Up,” an ominous pulse of electronic drums and deep sawtooth bases peppered with light guitar and bass plucks. The climax comes with a searing guitar solo, whose melody imitates and improvises on earlier musical lines and motifs. A chaotic ensemble of strings transitions into “Before Our Eyes,” a continuous crescendo of drums that breaks halfway into a string-driven melody, augmented by the harmonies of the electric guitar and bass. In the titular track, “Breaking English,” Rafiq begins with a singular guitar line, which he repeats again and again throughout the entire piece. He is slowly joined by choral sounds and drums, before softly dying away to reveal just the guitar and chorus. In stark contrast, “Perihelion I” and “Perihelion II” return to the distortion and chaos characteristic of the earlier pieces in the album, the first a subtle collection of synths and guitar plucks, while the second uses these same guitar plucks to bring the piece into a
victorious slew of drums, ending with a few seconds of silence. The album closes with “A Love That’s True,” a soft set of chords supported by a simple bass line that continually becomes more and more distorted before ending in a hint of soft distortion that seems to mimic the beginning of “Minarets.” I was able to see Rafiq perform from his album in April, joined by fellow Son Lux
Each note, each distortionary synth could be felt deeply throughout the room, providing an experience that encompassed not only “hearing” but “feeling.” Speaking to Rafiq after the concert, I told him not just how I was excited by his music, but also about how I loved to see and support brown artists in public spaces like these. With a grin on his face, he responded with a fist-bump.
Photo Courtesy of The New York Times
members Ian Chang and Ryan Lott. The gathering was intimate — a small pub on the North Side, a few dozen people in the audience. Throughout, I was impressed by the subtlety of Rafiq’s guitar playing. During pieces like “Broken English,” he shaped each of his repeated melodic lines with dynamic subtlety, beginning a section quietly, crescendo-ing and then slowing down and decrescendo-ing. During other quiet pieces, his attention to detail with the choice use of guitar harmonics provided a unique dimension to the guitar performance. Seeing Ian’s interpretation of the drum work on the album gave me a greater appreciation for all the little work that had gone into crafting the performance.
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Photo courtesy of Amazon