UIC MSA Presents:
Issue 1
AlBayyan
September 2013
“We shall set up scales of justice for the Day of Judgment, so that not a soul will be dealt with unjustly in the least, and if there be (no more than) the weight of a mustard seed, We will bring it (to account): and enough are We to take account.” [Qur’an 21:47]
Justice to the Qur’an By: Anonymous (DISCLAIMER: This is a message to myself first.) Remember how, just a while ago, it was Ramadan? Remember how we used to try to do a whole lot of good deeds? Remember how much Qur’an we used to read? Remember how we used to go to the masjid to pray taraweeh and listen to the beautiful recitation of the Qur’an? Remember? It seems like it was just enough to give importance to the Qur’an in the month of Ramadan. Yes, it should receive even more special attention from us during its blessed month, but what about the rest of the year? It is as if we choose one month in the entire year to dedicate to focusing on the Qur’an, but we’re too busy for it in the other 11 months. Let’s reflect on how much time we spend reading other books—be it fiction or non-fiction. We read some books over and over again, and notice something new each time. Sometimes we read a book, and then anticipate its sequel, and then the next book, until the series is complete. After that, we sit and read the entire series together in a matter of a few days. But what about the Qur’an? And Who is the Author of the Qur’an? How much of the Qur’an do we read in a year? How much of it do we try to read with translation? How much do we love the Qur’an, so that we read it again and again, and learn something new and beautiful each time? How much of it do we try to implement in our daily lives? A---h Issue 1
(SWT) gave us this one book; it is a gift of guidance from our Creator. In order to give the Qur’an its due right, we have to make sure we are attached to it like no other book. Because it isn’t just any book; it is part of who we are. Insha’A---h we’ll all make a habit of reading, learning, and implementing the Qur’an every day from now on. A---h (SWT) says in Surat’l ‘Isra’, Ayah 78: "Establish salah at the decline of the sun [from its meridian] until the darkness of the night and [also] the Qur'an of fajr (dawn). Indeed, the recitation of fajr (dawn) is ever witnessed." Every day, before or after Fajr, let’s recite however much of the Qur’an as we can, even if it’s only for five minutes. Insha’A---h the next step would be to start memorizing, little by little. This will not only build a connection with the Qur’an, but it will also raise our level in Jannah, by the Mercy of A---h (SWT). Ibn ‘Amr (R) reported that the Prophet (S) said, "It will be said to the companion of the Qur'an after he has entered Paradise, 'Recite, and rise!' For every verse he recites he will rise one level (in Paradise), until he recites the last verse with him (i.e., in his memory)." (Abu Dawud) May A---h (SWT) make the Qur’an our companion—and make us those who recite, learn, memorize, breathe, implement, and love the Qur’an. May A---h (SWT) enable us to give justice to His book, and may He forgive our negligence of it for far too long. A---huma Ameen.
UIC MSA
September 2013
buckets and blocked the well. They advised us to find water elsewhere because this was their territory now. Mothers covered the eyes of their babies, so they did not see what misery what being brought to them. Children cried and yelled for the water. By: Maryam Raja Malians could only beg and plead for their water, but there was no convincing the intruders. Just beDeep within the savannas of Mali lies a 64 fore Kiji could reach the well, she headed back to square foot hut where a mother named Kiji is living her hut and would not let her emotions bring her with her five children: four of her own and one who strength down. she took in after her sister passed away from a severe This event led Kiji to have a conversation case of malaria. It has been three years since her sis- with her children after dinner. She sat them down ter passed and Kiji is still holding on like an acrobat to discuss the importance of keeping faith and does on a slippery tightrope. Her children, the oldest hope. A few of her children did not attend school, being thirteen years old and the youngest being four so she educated them first and then had conversayears old, have little access to healthy food. Her tions with each of them. She sat them around their daughter, Kiya weighs round wooden table with her sister’s “Kiya dear, this is not twenty pounds less than the daughter, with Kamali sitting comfortafighting with your hands or average six year old and her bly in her lap. growth has reached a halt. with weapons. This is a dif- “Kids, you may not know this, but we Kiji’s sons, Kato and Kofi, ferent type of fighting. This do not have not water for the time bework long hours in the fighting is with words and is ing. An intruding group has taken our sweltering heat and have water and has forced us to find water much nicer.’’ left school because of the elsewhere.” Kiji stated somberly. “I expenses and limited access to books. Kiji herself is want you all to know that if someone ever takes only thirty years old and her husband works as a lasomething that it rightfully yours, you fight for it. I borer, but makes just enough to support two people, failed to do this because I just walked away, but I not seven. Kiji is of average height, has a dark com- know that you all can.” plexion and curly hair, but she is beginning to lose “What if they are stronger than us, bigger that glow that resides in young people. Kiji visits the than us and faster than us? What do we do then?” community well located in a barren part of Mali alKato questioned. most every day for water, but finding adequate water Without any hesitation, Kiji replied by sayis a daily problem she faces. Even with the condiing “Size doesn’t matter. If you have the strong tions she lives in, her spirit is high and of all the days heart of a lion and the intelligent mind of a chimspent in the darkness, she finds hope that justice will panzee, you have already won the fight.” be brought to her children whose weaknesses brings Six year-old Kiya was quick to question tears to her eyes day in and out. Kiji innocently. “Isn’t fighting bad?” One day, Kiji saw something so hurtful and shock“Kiya dear, this is not fighting with your ing that made her heart cry. A child at the communi- hands or with weapons. This is a different type of ty well was yelling, “Help!” “They have taken our fighting. This fighting is with words and is much water!” in a Malian language. Masked intruders nicer.” came in as an army of thirty and grabbed the water (Continued on page 4)
Faith and Fighting: A Mother’s Guiding Words to her Children
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UIC MSA
September 2013
(Continued from page 3)
“So you want us kids to go tell them to give our well back? They won’t listen to kids. They will step on us before we can even say a word.” Kato said in frustration. “Kato, I just want you all to know that keeping faith does exist. You don’t have to do anything, just know how to fight for your rights.” Days became weeks and weeks became months and Malian mouths were becoming drier and drier. Stomachs were lacking water and the children who were once seen playing football in the fields disappeared. Kiji’s bones were shrinking to the point where she no longer had the strength to carry Kamali. Kato looked back on that conversation and decided that it was time to reclaim the well. The well was more than just a source of water; it brought the community together where kids could roam around freely without any rules or restrictions. Truly, where others had large community centers near to their homes, the well brought unity and a sense of belonging to the Malians. Kato took his siblings along with eight other children and traveled to reclaim the well. The intruders were surprised to see these children. Nine months had passed since the Malians were forced to leave the well. Kato and his crew of twelve brought their weapons of mass destruction: toys. “We have come
bearing gifts for you all.” The children said politely. “Gifts? We are not greedy fools. We do not need gifts from peasants like you.” An intruder replied. “No, you have to take these gifts. You took something very special from us and now it is time we return the favor.’’ Kato stated. Kato gave them this tied bag of toys and while the intruders were distracted, the other children gathered buckets and buckets of water and hid these buckets behind a cave. One by one, each of them took the buckets back to their houses. The intruders threw the bag of toys back to Kato. Kato left and no longer cared to force them to accept the gifts. The intruders looked at the well and realized that the water had all been gone. Not a single drop was left! They were angered by this and the fact that they had been outsmarted by a group of children half their size! Kato and his crew carried the buckets of water back home with exuberance and joy. Malians everywhere were dancing and singing their praises to the children. Kiji overheard the noise and when Kato came into the room with two buckets of water, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He carried them through and learned that keeping faith really works. A few weeks later, water returned to the well and the intruders had left. Kato took his mother’s guiding words and preached to his friends that even when hard times arise, you can win the battle. It just takes a little thing called faith.
Narrated Anas: A---h’s Apostle said, “Help your brother, whether he is an oppressor or he is an oppressed one. People asked, “O A---h’s Apostle! It is all right to help him if he is oppressed, but how should we help him if he is an oppressor?” The Prophet (s.a.w) said, “By preventing him from oppressing others.” Sahih Bukhari
Issue 1
UIC MSA
September 2013
"O you who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah, even as against yourselves, or your parents, or your kin, and whether it be (against) rich or poor: for A---h can best protect both. Follow not the lusts (of your hearts), lest you swerve, and if you distort justice or decline to do justice, verily A---h is well-acquainted with all that you do." [Suraah al-Nisa: 135]
Across 1. 'Zam' (from ZamZam water) means this in Arabic 3. who surah An Nisa is about 5. number of ajza (parts) of the Quran 7. it is sunnah to open fast with this dried fruit 10. the meaning of Al-Falaq 11. Uhud is a name of a --12. number of daughters Prophet Muhammad s.a.w had 13. the Battle of Badr took place in this Islamic month 14. Islam is a complete way of --Issue 1
UIC MSA
Down 2. number of years it took for the Quran to be revealed 4. this will be the darkness on the Day of Resurrection 6. he gave Prophet Muhammad s.a.w the idea of digging the trenches for the battle of al-Khandaq 8. first month of the Islamic calendar 9. the Arabic name Isa is translated in English as 11. a great miracle of Prophet Muhammad s.a.w was the splitting of the --September 2013
Can We Please Walk This Way? By: Anonymous “Can we please walk this way?” “What? Why? It’s the longer way” “Bro, please.” “Mannn, alright. But why?” “I feel fat, need to burn it” “Bro, you weigh like twelve pounds. You’re trying to gain weight, remember?” “Man, you don’t even lift, you don’t know the difference between fat and fat-muscle counter reproductives” “Dude, shut up.” “Ha, sorry.” The Chicago air was blistering, blowing a harsh wind across the snow-packed quad and the hundreds of students walking across it to their next class. The lucky ones just travelled between the lecture centers; the unloved, sorry sons of guns were those who had to go from SES to BSB. Tariq and Faiz were two such unfortunate beings whose MWF schedule consisted of this arduous journey. They usually just cut through but this time, they went around the student center, completely removed from the regular path. Faiz thought about why his friend wanted to take this path and the revelation dawned upon him. “Dude, that chick you like, does she stop at the bus stop or something? Holy crap! She does!” “What? No!” Faiz saw the unmistakable and ever so quick smile Tariq did right before he lied. He would push, but wouldn’t make his friend feel bad for bringing him along. “Haha, yeah whatever. Dude, why do you like her? She’s so Islamic, with the headscarf or whatever.” Tariq reacted instantly to the slight he knew his friend did not intend. “Dude, it’s not that man. It’s. There’s. Man, there’s something about her. I don’t know.” “Look, Terry, I don’t think she’s the type of girl you would date. In fact, I don’t she’s the type of girl to date at all. Probably got married when she was twelve and has like eighteen kids with big beards.” Faiz started laughing at his own joke and was soon joined by an apprehensive but equally amused Tariq. They got in viewing distance of the bus stop and Issue 1
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Tariq’s jovial mood immediately became serious. “Oh my god man, she’s so pretty.” He let out a distinctly feminine sigh. Faiz gave him a dirty look. Tariq’s attention did not divert as she got on the bus and he saw her through the window awkwardly messing up the ipass scan. He smiled. Again, Faiz noticed and stared at him. “Dude, you’re so gay my shirt’s becoming rainbow colored.” “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go.” Later that night, Tariq received a text from his exgirlfriend, Jenny. She had been texting him repeatedly, asking him to help out at one of her club events. Faiz was out with a girl and it was too early in the week to get drunk. What the hell, he thought, I’ll go. He thought for a couple minutes about the event he was going to and whether it required him to dress up or not. A couple more thoughts and he concluded that he didn’t care; the sweat pants, superman tshirt, and trusty Northface were enough. “Oh, you made it. Here, can you help them unpack the fliers.” She motioned him there and went on with her business. No hello, no smile. Just a judgmental look and an iron-faced command. Screw this, he thought. He left, hoping Jenny saw him. He pressed the button for the elevator and noticed a flier on the ground. It said something about an MSA even today and free food. Muslim Student Association? These exist? Probably lame. He threw the flier back where it was and headed in. 6, 5, 4. The elevator slows down and opens up on the computer lab floor. In she walks, a pleasant summer breeze. There’s a fragrance but not of perfume. There is being, but not human. She’s an angel. Tariq had several relationships and talking to girls was just the easiest thing for him, and his boyish good looks didn’t hurt the eyes either. But even as he was alone with her for the duration of the two floor ride down, all he could muster was a whimper. She noticed him, but averted her gaze in a sloppy yet cute way. She was as far away from him as humanly possible in the confined elevator space, (Continued on page 7)
September 2013
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darting her eyes everywhere except his direction. “Ding” and the elevator opened up. He was in front but allowed her to get out first. She smoothly walked across and whispered a shy, “thanks.” “It’s no-, ahem, it’s no problem.” She darted across the hall and out into the cold night. He thought about it and decided he had to make a move but without being a creep. He slowly jogged in her direction but by the time he was outside, she was already pretty far, making her way into a lecture center. He braved the cold and followed. Halfway there, he realized where he was headed. That’s right, the Muslim event. He wasn’t religious and no one he ever knew was. Though ethnically Arab from his dad’s side and Irish from his mothers, he identified himself only with the American culture he grew up in. Religion, Islam, was as strange to him as the cold was to comfort. What’s the worst that could happen? He walked into the only lighted hall and sat beside a group of women. For some reason all the men got there first and took the spots in front. She was a couple rows ahead of him, listening earnestly to the well-groomed Indian man giving a lecture.
Tariq sat there through the whole thing, the secret glances he stole of her slowly ceasing as he became more and more interested in what the man was saying. His logic was unparalleled and his points were addressed in a serious fashion with a tinge of humor. It was finally done and everybody began socializing, hugging each other, laughing. It was pretty strange, but there was a warmth about it he could not deny. Some people came over to him and introduced themselves. He did the same and started asking questions about what this was and how it was affiliated with the University. They gladly answered.
Two years later, Tariq was president of the MSA. With the knowledge he knows now, he just laughs at the circumstances in which he was first introduced the MSA. As for the sister, well, she ended up with Faiz, who still maintained his distance. Joking of course. Turns out, she was married and Faiz became secretary of the MSA.
My Ultimate Dream By: Noor Wazwaz My ultimate dream has always been to pursue a career in broadcast journalism. I was discouraged from this field because I was Muslim woman who wears hijab. Many Muslims, including myself, have experienced overwhelming encounters with racist and bigoted remarks. Encounters such as these shook me and made me feel that I was a minority that did not deserve basic human rights like respect. Muslims ARE different, and we are not obligated to “Americanize” and normalize our religion so non-Muslims may feel comfortable. Individuals who are uneducated about Islam need to know my religion does not oppress me; their ignorant remarks are what keep me in subservience and hardship (also know as: oppression). I am not obligated to prove how my religion says I am equal. I am not obligated to prove my patriotism, and I am definitely not obligated to apologize for what took place 12 years ago. I will never allow myself to be silenced in fear of what racists and bigots think of me, nor will I ever allow them to dictate what I can and cannot accomplish. I know that my encounters with such people are not just coincidences, and actually hold a much larger significance. Meeting them greatly inspired me to fight this system of injustice, and to pursue my dream. With or without their permission, I will be a news anchor on American television— just please, learn your facts before you tweet about them. Issue 1
UIC MSA
September 2013
Inspiration By: Anonymous I’m sitting in a coffee shop and I have as much inspiration as I do coffee; my cup is cold and has long since been emptied. The young couple in front of me is studying and the rambunctious group behind me is laughing about something I cannot make out over the sound of Ludovico’s “Experience” blaring through my headphones. I’m facing the glass front door and can see beyond it into the lives of unfamiliar people. Almost seven billion people on this planet. The sheer power of the number cannot be comprehended, at least not by me. It’s made all the more difficult when I see the same number of people in a certain place every time. There are no fluctuations. Where I’m from, there are no crowded cities one day and then ghost towns in the same spot the next. I constantly hear about tenthousand people dying here, a hundred-thousand over there. And yet, in my head, it has no significant impact on the population as a whole. To me there’s just a stagnated population of people all lost in the pursuit of happiness. But I’m here, in this coffee shop looking for inspiration as if it’s going to knock on my door and be hand delivered by an attractive woman. The couple in front of me leaves, and the group behind me gets up to get coffee. I’m still sitting, staring at the diverse and numerous portraits hanging on the mahogany walls. I thought it was a good idea to come here and write. I thought this place would be an environment teeming with awesome experiences. And perhaps, if I was lucky, I would be blessed with insight into the world around me; I had hoped for just one brief moment to reach out and pluck from the tree of life, a fruit of inspiration. But the tree is out of reach. No unique experiences on this day. Just people being themselves. The leaves outside are beginning to change color and fall off. The air outside is getting colder. I’m more of a summer guy myself but the change, though I’ve been through it 21 times, is strangely unfamiliar and depressing. It’s sad, kind of. Funny though, that the only change big Issue 1
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enough to be of any significance to me was the weather. But as I ponder upon the still coldness of human existence and lack of meaning, I realize something. There’s poetry in everything around us. The couple in front of me isn’t just another couple. They are in most respects, similar, as the sum of two individual people, but still, they are the sum of two unique individual beings. With my limited intellect and insight, I cannot fathom the extraordinarily specific contrast by which each individual around me has lived. The group behind me, each one of them showing a face oddly similar when labelled as “the rambunctious” group, but beautifully different when I realized how each one of them has their own story. We are a society of numbers; we hear “x” amount of people died in a place and to us, those people are just numbers. There is nothing else that stands out about that group as a whole. But when we think about how unique we are, how unique our interactions are, how unique our problems are, and how we feel so much significance about ourselves, should not the same apply to them? Should not the same apply to the couple and the group? It’s a humbling thought, really. That blonde with the sunglasses that walks across the front of the coffee shop seems like one of many blondes I’ve seen before, walking with the same cavalier force in her step. But peering deeper into the reality of things, is it not possible she’s just portraying a front, just wearing a mask for the outside world? How arrogant of a person must I be to think that every person I meet falls into a specific character or theme that I created? It’s easy to look at people in mass terms, but they aren’t all the same; they are all worried about their own things, all burdened with their own circumstances, and all laughing at their own kind of humor. There is poetry everywhere and inspiration in everything; we just need to make an effort to find and be moved by it. I walk up to the barista and get a refill. September 2013
Justice By: Baian Tbakhi “And that concludes today’s world news. Thank you and good night.” With that, Humanity picks up the remote, turns off the television and heads to sleep. He wakes up the next morning, pours a cup of coffee, flips between Good Morning America and AlJazeera, listens for a few minutes, and heads out the door to work. He passes by the homeless man begging for money, the volunteers selling candy for donations, and the landscapers mowing the lawn, barely making ends meet. Humanity arrives at his workplace, scrolls quickly through Facebook and Twitter: “More than 1400 killed in Syrian chemical weapons attack,” “4 dead and 14 wounded in Chicago shootings,” “Opening weekend iPhone sales top 9 million,” “Egypt bans Muslim brotherhood group,” “Multiple large explosions at Kenya’s Westgate mall,” “Breaking News: ‘Breaking Bad’ wins Emmy Award for best drama series; ‘Modern Family’ wins best comedy.” Humanity walks up to his co-worker and strikes up a conversation about the latest episode of Breaking Bad, and how he knew the show would win the Emmy award. Meanwhile, his co-worker is showing him the latest iOS 7 update on his new champagne colored iPhone. He makes his way to his cubicle, passing by a co-worker who has family in Syria, and he remembers to ask him about his family. He then reaches his cubicle, plops down, and starts his work for the day.
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At his desk he flips through a few of his assignments: “Syrian crisis,” “Increasing poverty levels,” “Rising crime rates,” “Tropical storms impacting Mexico,” “Explosions in a Kenyan mall.” He takes a deep breathe and attempts to tackle all of the assignments at once and quickly becomes overwhelmed and frustrated. After hours of contemplating solutions to all the problems at once, Humanity gives up, and pushes these difficult situations to the side. After all, they are so far away from him, and do not directly affect him, and well, he acknowledged them at least, did he not? Humanity assures and convinces himself these problems simply need time, only time will sort them out, best he stay out of it. With that, he justifies his decision not to help. He finishes his work at five, makes his way home, and eats the dinner prepared by his wife, Time. She asks him about his day and begs him not to overstress himself at work. Humanity makes these promises to his wife as he watches his favorite comedy, and slowly, after his eyelids begin to droop, he heads off to sleep. As he lays his head on his pillow, impoverished children attempt to sleep despite the pain of hunger, frightened children are wide awake anticipating the next sounds of shelling, and eager children are waiting for their recently martyred father to come home. But Humanity’s family is safe, and his community is generally problem free, and it all takes time. Time will sort it out, he tells himself, he will try again tomorrow. And that is what gives Pain and Suffering a little faith, that Humanity tries and tries again. “World belongs to Humanity, not this leader, that leader or that king or prince or religious leader. World belongs to Humanity.”-Dalai Lama
September 2013
Project Downtown is a community service initiative in which we make food bags and distribute those amongst the community. We also donate gently used books, clothes, and toys. While at the site, we use the time to develop a bond with the community by playing with the kids, cleaning up around the area, interacting with the neighbors, and helping out however we can. All you have to do is show up to be part of this awesome volunteering experience! Hope to see you all this Sunday! ~Maheen Ahmed
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September 2013
Bi-Weekly Sports Location: Rec Center
Sisters Salah Workshop October 1: 12:001:00pm
1-on-1 Qur'an memorization/recitation sessions every Tuesday @ 10am Location: Seminar B in Idea Commons
Sister's Weekly Tafseer Class When: Fri: 11-12pm Location: BH 208
WEEKLY SEERAH CLASS Wednesdays from 2:00 -2:50pm Location: BH 316
Brothers Basketball When: Every Thursday night Time: 9 PM—11 PM
Brothers weekly Halaqa after Duhr Salah
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UIC MSA
September 2013
A Hero’s Hiatus
Your Justice Your Justice, Not Mine My homeland being seized, By those who only find ease, In taking from those in need. Despite it not being necessity, They continue to proceed, And yet they always succeed. Too busy shedding blood, While others stay in fear, Because they know you are near. It seems to be clear, You deceive us in your endeavor, Thinking you are so clever. Taking from those who disbelieve, In your ways of achieving what is Just. Making these people readjust, And you wonder why you have lost, A line crossed and trust was the cost. Because your ways were only in vain, Explain to me how they were humane, And maybe I will be able to refrain, From judging you, And the actions you have taken. Justice is an informality, Not something taken by brutality. ~Just An Arab
Deshi Deshi Basara Basara. Deshi Deshi Basara. For every Wayne, a Bane For every king, a scar An ode to a much needed hiatus, much needed indeed To every pencil that needed sharpening To every car that needed an oil change For every hero and his much needed hiatus, much needed indeed Temporary discontinuity will fulfill you to succeed A chance to recollect, regather, reflect Remembering your role, understanding your goal But for that you may require time, a little, you will need A hero and his much needed hiatus, much needed indeed As the dark knight rests, while the lion sleeps Dangers and darkness increase But let justice not be premature, it comes when it must The opportune moment, justice itself is just To know not to come when the hero is unready To not come knocking by, when still growing, feet still unsteady The lion will return home, the knight will rise But these will not be untimely, justice, is oh so wise For every hero and his much needed hiatus, much needed indeed Contemplation and the mending of flaws A quasi-formed hero, is no hero, a hero without a cause To climb a rock, to reclaim a throne To rise out of darkness, save a home We need thank the hiatus, the hiatus indeed The reflection, the growth that regrew our justice seed Let tyrants know, justice will come when it is ready When the heroes have learned, their feet steady At that opportune moment, evil will seize A hero will return, carrying heaven’s keys Deshi Deshi Basara Basara. Deshi Deshi Basara. ~Anonymous
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September 2013
Choices The words on the page are but a blur The blood on her hands is from her She stares down blankly, she can’t recall The last time she saw something so beautiful It’s a bright white light, it’s coming towards her At the end of the tunnel, she hears a murmur But she stops halfway, and turns back around Now shadows and darkness abound She has a choice, to move on ahead or go back instead She ponders a moment, and decides against She can wait a little longer for heaven’s lure Right now she has a family she has to cure But when she gets back, there’s no one there waiting She’s chosen wrong, the light is fading The darkness is all she can see now She’s all alone, brought down to her knees She’s all alone, with her heart that bleeds ~Mercy N. Ari
Freedom in Submission Hate, envy, anger, and sin None of which welcomed Justice in Justice for my heart, my mind, my life Justice to end my internal strife It was only He, Glorious and Exalted, that could set me free Thus, I found the solution to end my misery Because when I submit myself to Thee, My liberty is a guarantee.
Realize That a few lines of a so called poem will not bring Justice That the work of crayons and markers called art will not bring Justice That boycotting one seller for a few hours will not bring Justice Realize That arguing like gang bangers about it will not bring Justice That discussing like self-absorbed corporate executives will not bring Justice That studying like a GPA is all that matters will not bring Justice Realize That a protest where all you do is take pictures of imbeciles posing as activists for your fancy camera will not bring justice That sticking up a flag, wearing it, or burning it will not bring justice That participating in flash mobs will not bring justice Realize That your Googled statuses about justice liked by 5463726828361 people will not bring justice That your cliché tweet followed by another 35462891084 people will not bring justice That your Photoshopped pictures taken by your pretty camera on Instagram will not bring justice Realize it, people! And maybe then, there will be justice. ~Biann Abu-Elreish
~Anonymous
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UIC MSA
September 2013
Icebox
Welcome
Locked in an icebox Wake up and put on my nice socks Unlock my phone, and checking out my stocks Plummeted, pain striking, hoping that it might stop
Hey, hey you, with the ears and the eyes You're in for a really great surprise You may be in your 1st year, 2nd, or 3rd But first off, I wanted to give a quick word
Spend the day grazing, might as well call me livestock They stole my shoes, loafers and my hi-tops! Can’t afford milk, hoping that the price drops Fell asleep on the bus again, and I missed my stop
Welcome to a new school year To headaches, coffee, and cramming To this great big university Whose massmail is known for spamming To the pier, lounge, library, and quad To all-nighters and procrastination To wasting every cent of your money At Dunkin Donuts and Halsted Station
Locked in an icebox, don’t know where to go next Piled high with work, eye level on my desk Study for 15 minutes, hoping to score high on my test Beg the professor for a better grade, saying I tried my best
We welcome you if you're old or new And now what we need to be Is brothers and sisters to one another Here at good ol' UIC
But I’m locked in this icebox, I never gave it my all I wish sometimes I could just transfer to DePaul Major in money, and give it to y’all The ones in the icebox, trapped in this fall
So get ready for the laughs, the smiles For the giggles and the tears Of laughter at these hilarious kiddos That you'll know for years and years So now that school's officially here A reminder for you all in the zone Just consider us your extended family At your home away from home.
~Umayr Ahmad
~Sumaya Aman
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UIC MSA
September 2013
Justice for You, Not Me Manipulated minds Stolen by the media Be thin, not thick Have breasts that bulge A body that attracts Be brawn before blubbery Tattoos and piercings, that's what's up To drink then drop She paints her face to please society's social standards With her six inch Jimmy Choos And finger length pencil skirt Daily trying just to catch his eye But she’s oppressed because she covers Doesn't allow men to stare, you wonder Feeling sorry for her Yet she feels saddened for you Your man shows you off like you're of no value Women in Islam are treated as pearls in a shell More precious than a diamond More valuable than gold I never knew your treasure should be out in the open view He keeps up a facade to follow his leaders Rockin' his M3 with music blaring Steppin' out in his Armani ensemble Out clubbing ‘til the next morning Doesn't even remember the woman on top of him Yet he’s abnormal Dressed in a dress But he’s dressed to impress Impress his Lord Not because he’s oppressed Because he knows his destination This world is only a situation To pass with patience and submission Not abusing women like you assume It's normal to be seen Naked across a computer screen Paid for sex for others to witness But a covered woman is unfamiliar A man still chaste is dishonorable Yet in reality, it's me who's freer Issue 1
I answer to the One and Only (SWT) No person to please on these pathetic accepted values Not attached to this temporary world I may be strange But my mind is not attached to world desires I am not another piece to this puzzle Molded into a design to follow To be a king or queen A joker or jack Not a deck of cards in a stack I am not the one oppressed People believe Muslims are not independent Yet those are the ones in need of actual justice In need of integrity Because we are the ones with true identities ~P
The Strangers A stranger to this house, these walls, these windows A stranger to my own brothers and sisters A stranger to this life and this world Because I don’t recognize this earth, she’s dyed blood red, angry You see a stranger can only be a visitor, one who stays and then leaves And although we stay awhile, our destination doesn’t change One who stands out and viewed as a stranger, but I’d rather be a stranger in this life that’s like a dream than be a stranger eternally So who are the strangers? Let’s take a look and see because it seems to me that those who choose not to lie or cheat have become strange indeed A rarity, ridiculed by society for aspirations of engaging in a life of piety Or maybe the strangers are those who still have an ounce of mercy in their hearts, in a world that sees it as weakness I am a stranger, a stranger indeed So please, all I need is a blanket and a couch for the night because in the morning I’ll be sitting on my throne alongside the strangers So give glad tidings to the strangers. -Anonymous
UIC MSA
September 2013
Hugs not drugs but not too many hugs! When did hugging become an acceptable method of saying hello. I understand first day of school you haven't seen someone all summer so you hug it out. But then the craziness initiates. The next day they come up to you expecting the same thing. Hug again?! What I never agreed to this! My first hug was not an agreement of letting you graze me every hour. Come on we're not cows here. Let's keep it real and sunnah style with handshakes. I know you need the sins falling off when you shake my hand! So next time do us both a favor and don't hug me, especially not the graze hug. A bear hug in a moment of dire need is permissible but if you graze hug me I just might punch you. Sincerely, Grumpy Cat Teacher: “Bilal, if your father has $20 and you ask him for $7, how much would your father have left?” Bilal: “$20” Teacher: “You don’t know math.” Bilal: “You don’t know my father.”
Pupil: “Teacher, would you punish me for something I didn’t do?” Teacher: “Of course not!” Pupil: “Good, because I didn’t do my homework.”
Graze hug: touching someone for .02 seconds on their side and pretending it was a moment of affection. Al-Bara (r.a) reported that the Messenger of A---h (s.a.w) said: “No two Muslims meet and shake hands except that their sins are forgiven (by A---h) before they depart.” [Abu Dawud]
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Issue 1
UIC MSA
September 2013