Al-Bayan Fall '12

>> letter from the editor

As each semester passes and the Al-Bayan baton passes from one hand to the next, we continue to question the pur-pose of this magazine. We hold meetings at which we discuss the ongoing vision of the magazine, what you, our reader, will expect from the content, and how we would like to define ourselves. But, as a fellow Board member pointed out to me quite recently, there remains one aspect of this magazine that cannot be amended or removed – that is, the ‘Muslim Student’ aspect of it. As far as we may venture in content and in form, we remain the only voice of the Muslim students at the University of California, Berkeley. I pray that we wear that distinction with pride.

As a staff, we referred to this issue of Al-Bayan as one that travels “from Berkeley to Burma” – aside from the exquisite alliteration that affords us, it reveals something about our community. We do not force ourselves to settle within the ‘Berkeley Bubble’ but rather venture so far from home in our writing that we find ourselves strolling along the shores of the Mediterranean in Egypt and fighting alongside the Rohingya in Burma. The issues that color the experience of the Mus-lim student population at Berkeley are diverse; we aim to cover them all, from the existential to the comedic.

Alhamdulillah (all praise is due to God), I have had the opportunity to work with a staff of amazing individuals, to share ideas and goals, and to create this magazine, both online and in print, for you, dear reader. I encourage you to reflect on what you read here, to find us online at www.albayanmag.com, to read our content there and to join the conversation, for it is an ongoing one. The definition of the Muslim-American identity is one that is constantly changing, and we are all a part of it.

On behalf of the Al-Bayan Board and Staff, I proudly present the Fall Issue of Al-Bayan. I pray that you find in it something that speaks to you.

Assalamu Alaykum (may peace be upon you),

Sarah MohamedEditor-in-Chief

Dear Reader,

editor-in-chief Sarah Mohamed

managing editor Marjon Momand

layout editor Lameese Eldesouky

layout designers Marium Navid Iman Rai photography editor Mustafa Eisa

photographers Najla Alammari Natalie Irwin Tariq Mela Aman Sufi

finance manager Aman Sufi

external affairs Fatima A. Azam

web editors Noma Kahf Mariam Sleiman advisor Maliha Ahmed

fall contributors Uzma Amin Lameese Eldesouky Natalie Irwin Maryam Labib Sarah Mohamed Omar Rehmane Bushra Samimi Aman Sufi

CONTACT [email protected]

Visit our websitewww.albayanmag.com

Al-Bayan means “The Clarification” in contemporary Arabic and “Eloquent Speech” in classical Arabic. The goal of this magazine is a convergence of both, to clarify issues pertinent to the Muslim community in the most eloquent of speech. Befitting the dynamic Mus-lim community in one of the world’s premiere intellectual hotspots that Berkeley is, Al-Bayan continues to grow and expand.

We ask for your duas and your feedback! Insha’allah, we serve our purpose to the best of our ability with the help of the Almighty.

Published with support from the ASUC and Campus Progress/Center for Ameri-can Progress. CampusProgress.org

02 al-bayan fall 2012

>> campus happeningsA Home Away From Homeby Aman Sufi

Major Mistakesby Maryam Labib

All Good Thingsby Omar Rehmane

>> global perceptions

A Persecuted Minorityby Bushra Samimi

Facing Alterityby Natalie Irwin

>> editorialThe Struggle for Authenticityby Lameese Eldesouky

>> arts & inspirationRedefining Muslim Art by Uzma Amin

To My Grandmotherby Sarah Mohamed

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content FALL 2012

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al-bayan fall 2012 03

05 A mosque two decades in the making finally opens its doors.

Choosing a major can be a little more than difficult.

A graduating senior shares advice from his experiences at Cal.

Oppression in Burma while the world turns a blind eye.

Faith requires balancing objective standards and mercy.

Employing labels to categorize people can lead to exclusion.

After 9/11, Muslims find a voice through art.

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1719 Glimpses of Egypt.

>> campus happenings

A HOME

HOME

awayfrom

Article and Photos by Aman Sufi

s Muslims in a society driven by mass media, temptations, and our own whimsical behavior, we often seek an anchor to keep us grounded in our faith. In the past, some of us turned to our

hometown mosques to fulfill that spiritual role, perhaps enjoying excursions there with family or attending the daily prayers. And now in college, we often struggle to bal-ance religion with school life. Some of us fulfill our spiritual needs through volunteering, increasing our prayers, or be-ing active in the MSA. However, sometimes these endeav-ors cannot replace the sense of community and faith that a mosque can provide.

Alhamdulillah (all praise is due to God), we now have our very own Berkeley Masjid, a house of worship that has been in the making for the last twenty years. Built thanks to the hard work of an active community and dedicated students, it would not have been possible without the outpouring of support it has garnered. In the few short months since the final site received the permit to open, the Muslim community in Berkeley has seen a revival as many old timers in the area have a local congregation to attend once more. But even as we hope for continued suc-cess, we must examine our history.

Although the doors of the mosque opened this year, the establishment of Berkeley Masjid began over two de-cades ago and has been a near-continuous struggle against both lack of funding and city regulations. As the brainchild of a few ambitious UC Berkeley PhD students living in the UC Village in the 1980s, the mosque project began in an era of an emerging Muslim identity. Abdul-Kareem Senus-si, the president of the Berkeley Masjid Foundation (BMF), described the success of the masjid as an early institution:

“We always knew the potential is there, and the com-munity is here. Because, at the old locations where the masjid was open; we had it. It was here that we started the community iftar (the breaking of the fast at sunset), not a potluck style but actual catered food especially for stu-dents. So we have old pictures and magazines, and jour-nalists would come to visit especially during the early ‘90’s. Whenever there was something about Muslims in the me-dia, we had a lot of well-known people come to speak at the masjid, and a lot of people used to come there. You know, Hamid Algar used to come there, Hamza Yusuf used to come there, Abdul Malik, and others as well.”

Of course, masjid construction was not underway for quite a few years and so the roots of the masjid lie in a series of small rental and donated facilities in the city


A

of Berkeley. From a trustee’s property (shut down due to lack of permit), to a space that now houses a tattoo par-lor (abandoned due to the lease expiring), the masjid was a metaphorical nomad, moving from place to place in order to find whatever shelter it could. And like the nomad, it lost friends as it went – community members gave up on the project and began attending other mosques. Now that it has settled in a permanent venue, however, local Muslims have returned in droves, enticed by a stable masjid to call their own.

But what of the space that our masjid calls home? Once the site of an abandoned burned-down temple, it was purchased in 1998 with a down payment of $140,000 and a loan from an Islamic bank in Kuwait. The work was forecast-ed to take a quarter of a million dollars, but nothing worth having in this life comes easy – a storm destroyed part of the work during construction, and the other residents of Derby Street, previously unable to contact anyone about the eye-sore, voiced loud concerns about the project, necessitating the attendance of BMF members at weekly meetings to al-lay fears surrounding the noise and atmosphere that the masjid would create. “We made a lot of promises,” Senussi said, “a lot of promises we did not keep, as we did not have a lot of money, you know.” Though the masjid is open now, that is one thing that has not changed – we must remain cognizant of the six-figure debt that the masjid has accrued.

Grim though certain aspects of the situation may be, the masjid is undeniably taking steps in the right direction, and much good has come of it already. Take for example the Sunday Noor project, an entirely volunteer-driven Sunday school program. It boasts a hundred enrolled students with another fifty on the waiting list. And during Ramadan, the masjid was filled for evening prayers thanks to daily iftars, providing a home away from home for people like Sulthan Halifa Haroon Rashid, an international student researcher, who had this to say:

“I came all the way from India, not knowing anybody in the United States. The first thing I did is I came to the masjid. You know I met so many nice people. And this Ramadan, to be very honest, it’s the best Ramadan I ever had in my life. I

had never prayed the late night prayer, Qiyam-ul-layl, in my life before, which was around 3 o’clock. Alhamdulillah, I prayed all the last ten days. When my mom asked me how is Ramadan, I used to tell her don’t worry, I am in safe hands.”

It may be young, but the community is definitely coming together.

As for the future, the only major piece remaining for the masjid is a dedi-cated imam to act as the spiritual leader of the community. There are plans for adult Arabic classes, recurrent lectures from renowned scholars, and pos-sibly even a compact gym in the basement. Although classes and lectures are a staple of any masjid, Senussi reminds us, “The main goal is to put Islam as a way of life for us here, in the Muslim community. Programs are just a means to bring people closer.”

This mosque is more than just a building where we meet and greet – it’s now a part of our identity. We have already enjoyed success with the masjid, but it is incumbent upon us to keep working and draw its full potential out. So let’s start building our community around this little jewel, and may our com-munity strive and prosper insha’Allah (God willing). Ameen.


A Home Away From Home



Major Mistakesassumed my problem with committing to a major would resolve itself given time. I fantasized about the day my diploma would be handed to be, and on it, em-bellished in beautiful script, would be the perfect major

for me. Firmly believing in this predestination, I relaxed and went to community college, waiting for my major to pick me. I enjoyed my time, sipping on apple juice and taking the most general of General Ed classes, until I met Gelda, an 80 year old who expressed wringing doubts about her major. After dis-cussing career options and personal interests, she flipped 180 degrees, and switched from a Math major to a History one. It was astounding: What prevented me from following the same track? At what point would the right choice dawn on me?

Like many entering college, I found myself enjoying ev-erything. Three pleasant years in community college gave me the freedom to choose and follow my passions indiscriminate-ly. I took an EMT course because paramedics seem to have exciting lives. I took Pilates (because my mom mandated my PE class have no guys in it) and kickboxing (because punching things relieves stress) and played on a women’s soccer team. I was so empowered by public speaking and international

Article by Maryam LabibPhoto by Mustafa Eisa

Irelations, I believed for a time that my place was in politics. I also took art history and that class made it very clear that my place was neither in art nor history. Apart from these, I shifted in and out of majors on a monthly, weekly, and as application time approached, daily. I didn’t want to give up the chance to learn something else, and by the time I was crumpling up schedules for triple majoring, I was depressed. The com-mencement speech given by Steve Jobs in 2005 at Stanford was my theme during the time I was applying to colleges. The motto became ‘pick something; you’re going to die anyways’.

I took an EMT course for the excitement it seemed to offer. I took Pilates and kickboxing, and played on a women’s soccer team. I was empowered by public speaking and inter-national relations, and believed for a time that my natural place was in politics. An art history class made it clear that my place was, however, neither in art nor history. During those years, I shifted in and out of majors constantly. Every choice felt like a rejection: in choosing one major, I giving up the chance to learn something else, something more exciting,

“If you find yourself stuck, think of the bigger picture and realize that your ma-jor has very little to do with the direc-

tion your life will take.”

more fitting? By the time I was crumpling up schedules for triple majoring, I was depressed.

Picking something and committing to it is hard, but in this decision-making process, many of us run into the same problems and share the same experiences.

I hadn’t envisioned a particular career for myself before college. It is imperative to take a moment and imagine and indulge in the endless career possibilities available to us. Once you see yourself in a specific field, remember that each field holds good and bad, so don’t give up too soon. Your career choice may not feel perfect all the time, but it should make sense to you. If you find yourself stuck, think of the bigger pic-ture and realize that your major has very little to do with the direction your life will take. What you get out of your major are the skills and knowledge you retain.

Remember that your life fulfillment is not dependent on your major.

Fulfillment will come with time, and is more shaped by ac-complishments and achievements throughout your life rather than your bachelors degree. Remember to always ask your-self: what makes me feel most self-fulfilled?

Remember to stay confident.

Don’t assume that not finding a job with your major of choice means it was the wrong major. No major is a guarantee of success.

Remember to have faith in yourself and your accomplishments.

Don’t get caught up comparing yourself to a 14 year old PhD student. It is easy to lose sight of yourself and your own desti-nation in the process.

Remember that advice is just that: advice.

It is not an order, or a request. Many of us will get conflicting advice and it is impossible to follow it all.

Remember that life does not happen by chance.

If Allah wants you to be an English major who will make more money than JK Rowling, that’s a blessing. If Allah wants you to struggle as a computer engineer and never land a manage-ment position, then that’s predestined also. In both cases, it is what you do with your money or how you cope with your struggle that will land you in the place where you will reside forever.

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[ALL GOOD THINGS]Article by Omar RehmanePhotos by Mustafa Eisa

How to begin? How does one say goodbye? Truth be told, when I set out to write a piece for this issue, I had a hard time finding a topic. I almost didn’t write at all. But this is, after all, my last piece as an undergraduate – my last chance to really say something, as a dear friend recently reminded me. They say good writers write what they know, so in the end I decided to give to you my experience, so that it may make yours easier in some way. Bismillah (in the name of God).

1LESSON NUMBER ONE. Don’t feel stupid. You are not. Objectively, just being at this school means you rank with the smartest people in the world. Do not make decisions based on whether or not you feel smart, because with very few exceptions, the answer to the question: “Am I smart enough to do this?” is yes. The real question that you need to answer is: “Do I want this bad enough?” Anything is hard if you don’t want it – some things are impossible. It is not what is in your head that determines where your best chance at success lies, but rather what is in your heart. Trite it may be, but we as a general rule have the luxury of following our hearts – do not waste it. Whatever you want the most, take it. Be the best writer/artist/engineer/spouse/doctor/activist/parent you can be (and of course you needn’t pick only one). There are few feelings worse than regret, and few words sadder than “If only…”, so don’t give yourself a reason for either.

2 LESSON NUMBER TWO. You are not a bad person. You are strong, smart, and vigorous. The only point at which a person becomes irredeemable is death. As you are (presumably) alive, you are not beyond redemption. It’s very easy to be hard on yourself, but not for the reason you might expect. When you’ve already decided that you aren’t good enough or that your destiny is to fail, it doesn’t matter whether or not you put any effort in. In your mind, you failed not because you didn’t try, but rather because you couldn’t possibly have succeeded anyway. And of course, the only logical conclusion then is to not try at all – why try if no matter what you’ll fail? But that entire chain of logic is flawed. Any sin can be repented for. Any grade that isn’t high enough can be made up for. Self-flagellation is not a penance, nor is it humility – it is an excuse.



3

4 LESSON NUMBER FOUR. Other people matter. You are only given a very small pool of close friends, and the natural flow of life will take some of them away from you, whether it’s moving away, or things that come between you. So cherish the ones you have and keep them close. As much as you’d like to be alone sometimes, no man is an island. Humans are social animals – everyone needs someone sometimes. Be there for others, and possibly more importantly, let them be there for you. Your (true) friends want what’s best for you, and if they have the power to help you, they will. All you need do is ask. It might feel vaguely noble to try and deal with your burdens solo, but you needn’t always go it alone.

5LESSON NUMBER FIVE. You will never pass this way again. Try new things, never stop learning no matter where you are. There may come a day when your official occupation is no longer “student,” but there should never come a day when you stop being one at your core. Every opportunity you have is utterly unique and irreplaceable. I say this not to make you feel bad at the ones you’ve missed, but because it is the truth, and because you should take advantage of the ones before you. Go play Starcraft with your fellow fans or fight for the rights of trafficked women or become a taiko drummer (but only if you absolutely must, please). Life takes us where it will, and your decision to write your name and email on a list on Sproul may change its course irrevocably, who knows? You can’t, unless you try. There is more I have learned here than could possibly be summed up in a single article, but if you want to talk to me or anyone else who will soon be gone, I will presume to speak for them and say we are only a text/call/IM/email away, and though we are but chil-dren ourselves, we can at least share what little we know. Lastly – and perhaps this should have been lesson zero – always remember that our destinies are not in our own hands but in the hands of one who knows more than us and who loves us. Even if the world is against you, if you are with Allah, you are in the right.

LESSON NUMBER THREE. Other people don’t matter. They will place expectations on you and demand that you use your talents to help them. They may dress it up as “for the community,” or decide that you are obligated to do something, but in the end, they have no such right over you. You owe no one anything, except yourself. You owe yourself what you need. If that means you take time for yourself instead of going out, so be it. If that means you sleep instead of doing that extra credit assignment, so be it. Oth-ers cannot understand you as well as you can, and as humans, we are all quick to judge. People will pressure you and try to make you guilty to elicit the response they want, but avoid the martyr complex. Do what is right for you, and in the long run you’ll do more good than if you sacrifice your health and sanity for immediate benefit.

All Good Things


Assalaamu alaikum (peace be upon you), and may your time here be as beneficial to you as mine has been to me.

THE SUPPRESSED VOICE OF A PERSECUTED MINORITY

Article by Bushra SamimiPhotos by No_Direction_Home

stracized and alienated, the Rohingya Muslims of Burma are living under the shadow of an oppressive state. Both the government and the Buddhist majority in Burma discriminate against the Rohingya people by imposing

discriminatory regulations that violate their human rights. As a result of unrelenting persecution, many are forced to flee to Bangladesh as refugees. The intolerance towards the Rohingya Muslims has always been a part of Burma’s history, but recently, the violence has escalated and Burma is now on an extermination mission. Even more disturbing is the lack of international response to this genocide.

The systematic killing of the Rohingya is the result of social, historical and economic factors. The Rohingya people’s ancestry dates back to the 8th century to a region called Arakan, now known as Rakhine. During the 1430s, people began to settle in the Arakan region when the Arakan ruler, King Narameikhla, gained independence from Bengal.

Tensions between the Muslim and Buddhist groups steadily in-creased due to the wave of Muslim immigration during the early 1900s and led to the segregation of two groups along religious lines. The divide that it fostered further ignited the violence and hatred between the two groups.

In addition, the Rakhine province’s society was further polarized by the ambiguous nationalities of the people. On the one hand, Bud-

dhists are recognized as citizens, enjoying basic freedoms and dignity from the government, whereas the majority of the Rohingya Muslims are stateless, and viewed as illegal immigrants who do not deserve citizenship.

Furthermore, during World War II, the Rohingya sided with the British, whilst the Buddhists supported the Japanese, giving both groups yet another reason to clash. Eventually, without any concrete resolution, dialogue or government involvement, communal violence ensued, causing further enmity. The sense of resentment and anger festered within the Rohingya Muslim community, gradually dissolving any hopes of unity and cooperation. The societal construct has been plagued by injustice, inequality and years of neglect from a govern-ment that has made Burma an unstable state where the Buddhist citizens are actively engaging in the ethnic cleansing of the minority group.

The Rohingya are not strangers to persecution, having suffered numerous injustices including the abuses they en-dured during Operation King Dragon of 1978. Begun by General Ne Win, Operation King Dragon involved the systematic rape, killing, and plundering of the Rohingya people and their villages. Even more tragic and disastrous is the current situation, which began in May of 2012 when the Rohingya were allegedly accused of raping and killing a Rakhine woman. This incident triggered mob killings of Rohingya, torching of their villages and mass displacement.

Beyond the violence, the government fails to provide sufficient public health service and hu-manitarian aid is severely limited due to Buddhist resistance. The Rohingya are therefore compelled to make a choice between fleeing to neighboring countries where they remain unwelcome or staying in makeshift camps that are crowded, cramped and disease-ridden.

Even in the hovering shadow of such inhuman-

O

At its core, the ethnic warfare in Burma symbolizes a power struggle between the majority group and

the minority group, between the privileged and the stateless, between the oppressor and the oppressed.



ity, the government fails to protect the rights of the Rohingya. On the contrary, they continue to marginalize them – in fact promoting and participating in the ethnic cleansing. Rather than encouraging reconciliation between the warring ethnic groups, the government has stubbornly remained indifferent towards the ethnic conflict or has shown preferential treatment to the Buddhists.

The international community, and particularly the UN, remain silent despite these atrocities. Though the Rohingya population is being decimated, they receive little media coverage and the interna-tional community refuses to pay them sufficient attention. Not even Muslim countries such as Bangladesh, Indonesia, and Malaysia have tried to provide aid or at least use the media’s power to expose the maltreatment of the Rohingya. Bangladesh, in particular, has closed its borders and turned its back on the Rohingya refugees. Furthermore, the US has recently eased sanctions against Burma, ironically because the Burmese government has enacted a series of democratic reforms which show promise of improvement and future stability.

Burma should grant citizenship to the Rohingya and work on bridging the gap of intolerance through open dialogue between the Buddhists and the Rohingya Muslims. Irrespective of how many reforms Burma has adopted, a crucial dilemma still remains. The majority of instability in Burma results from the continuous communal violence.

The plight of the Rohingya Muslims is deeply troubling and so it is imperative for us to raise awareness about this throughout our communities. Public interest in the conflict may also put pressure on international organizations to take more action by tightening sanctions and offering medical aid.

At its core, the ethnic warfare in Burma symbolizes a power struggle between the majority group and the minority group, between the privileged and the stateless, between the oppressor and the op-pressed. The flames of violence and hostility must be combated head on through concrete resolution, if the embers of this conflict are to diminish.

This matter is something we should discuss in our classrooms, in our homes, with our friends, families and colleagues. The genocide of the Rohingya Muslims is not just an act against an ethnic group, but an act of injustice towards individuals, who just like everyone else, have inalienable rights that are being violated.

Referenceshttp://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-20264279http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-20106768

http://twocircles.net/2012jul29/rohingya_muslims_brief_his tory_persecution.html


A Persecuted Minority



al·ter·i·ty otherness; specifically: the quality or state of being radically alien to the conscious self or a particular cultural orientation

Article and Photos by Natalie Irwin

Facing Alterity

art of what makes us human is the ability to place ourselves within a much larger world. There is a drive to define the boundaries between our private corporeal space and the vast public universe. When we define ourselves, often we begin

by examining other people within our surroundings. The question of how others differ from our self usually begins with a visual assessment of how different a particular person looks in comparison to oneself. To this extent all people are essentially varied from every other person; perhaps there is no real use in exploring the theme of being ‘othered’. Hopefully this writing will succeed in illuminating the machinery of so-cial identification, and expose the negative effects of the hyphen meant to isolate the person, from the people.

There has always been a tangible sense that the emphasizing of difference becomes problematic when it is applied by a dominant cul-ture upon a minority group or individual. In this writing the process of ‘othering’ will be used to define the separation between the collective members defined as ‘people’ and those individuals identified as people with a distinction. This distancing between people based on differ-ence occurs whenever an individual is summed up and framed by their perceived departure from a standardized or accepted normal for that mainstream culture. In the arena of Western culture, those whom are identified as different are labeled with such terms as, African-, Asian-, Arab-, Hispanic-, etc.

These labels are stitched on with a hyphen and presented to anyone encountered in Western society. Once processed, each of these labels evokes a generalized image to appear across the mental screen, which frames the described person with ‘other’ as opposed to ‘an-other’. These labels do not by default need to be outright negative, yet what they attach to that individual’s reception by mainstream society is isolating in the form of unnecessary baggage.

Perhaps there is an argument to be made for these badges to also bring about a sense of pride in one’s heritage or unique composition. I feel that any positivity, which may accompany a label, is vastly super-seded by the negativity of being shown one’s proximity, and more likely detraction, from the status quo. The label forces a person to negotiate their relationship with those labeled as just ‘people’, with this dynamic usually ending negatively. The very act of placing a label on a certain group of people denotes a position of authority. In the beginning of Edward Said’s, Orientalism, Said writes that the mechanism of center-ing a study on a people can ultimately end up exposing more about the dominant culture than that of the observed. This happens when one culture begins to enter the space of the subject in an attempt to docu-ment unique, thereby standardized, traits exhibited by members of that culture or group. Yet this orientation is often without consideration of how the observed are affected by being examined.

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Facing Alterity

Said’s work shows us that the act of speaking for a particular group of people is what happens when a dominant power assumes the role of a standardized worldview, one that will be used as a benchmark in the categorizing of differences in each “other” culture encountered. The study of cultures deposits two key functions upon the subjects in focus. First, the group’s members are labeled according to their perceived cultural similarities, effectively silenced with their voices replaced by external anthropological description. Secondly, the culture of those directing the external study becomes fused as a default for modern understanding.

Another powerful illumination of the internal strife experienced by the marginalized person can be found in Black Skin, White Masks by Frantz Fanon. The process by which the colonized individuals come to incorporate the identity of inferior to the colonizing culture is described by Fanon to result in a fractured self.

This fracturing of the self is something I recognize in myself; al-though as a child, I didn’t know what it was called. Both my mother and father have the blood of First Nations or Aboriginal communities flow-ing inseparably from that of French origin. This mixed origin is called “‘Métis’” in Canada. Yet the word “‘Métis’” was never mentioned in our household. This is because this term is oftentimes associated with the social themes of “lazy natives” who receive handouts because they don’t appreciate hard work.

With two young children and a limited budget, my parents sup-pressed their Métis origin. While I cannot fully imagine how unrelent-ing such a struggle must have been for my parents, I have come to

understand this weight to also have served as access into a European heritage.

It was not until I entered my teenage years that I became aware

of the diversity in my composition. I felt incredibly betrayed by the deception and it took a few years for me to realize that it was actually a painful secret and a source of shame for both my parents. European ancestry connected us to an access to potential prosperity. For them to acknowledge the Métis’ tones of our family would surely have attached a separating distinction.

A person comes to understand her own identity in a non-organic way, one that identifies with a dualistic relationship to her world. The attachment of a label denoting differentiation from the cultural stan-dard forces a person to include this special classification when interact-ing with others. This identity leads an individual to accept that they exist within different realms consisting between two polarized versions of the ‘self.’ On one end there is the person who is denied the claim to the popular culture’s pride of heritage because their ticket is marked with an isolating distinction. Opposite of this demoralization, the other end contains the sense an individual enjoys within their private, authen-tic space.

Our inclination to define our personal space is key to the human identity. This article has highlighted that this process of interpreting fellow social participants too often results in a label of inferiority. Do the rigors of our daily lives push us to make lazy summations of those indi-viduals we encounter? There is harm endured in the form of stigma by those relegated to the broad categories of ‘other’. With further aware-ness of how social exclusion harms those identified as different from the sanctioned mainstream, the mechanism of ‘other’ which selectively denies people equal access based on gross generalizations will decrease in efficacy.

“The very act of placing a label on a certain group of people denotes

a position of authority.”

s I strive to be authentic in my religious faith, I find it challenging to balance two things: upholding objective standards and being merciful. I view objective standards as the Islamic standards that all madhabs (Islamic schools of thought) and most Islamic sects would agree on. While

there are aspects of Islam flooded with opinions, such as the issues revolving around music and zabiha (the permissibility of eating meat slaughtered in a particular way), there are some aspects of Islam that are black and white. These can be seen as the “Do’s and Don’ts” of Islam, which constitute some of the foundations of Islam, according to the Qur’an and sunnah (the way of life of the Prophet Muham-mad, peace be upon him; pbuh). When I talk about upholding these standards, I mean upholding them to yourself and caring about whether or not others are also upholding them so that they receive the level of respect and value that they deserve. Mercy is probably more straightforward in its definition: refraining from the judgment of others and forgiving them for their mistakes and flaws. So what is this struggle that I speak of? First, let’s tackle the first part of the struggle: upholding objective standards.

I just argued that some aspects of Islam are black and white,

aspects which I referred to as objective stan-dards. This does not imply that Muslims who choose not to adhere to those objective stan-dards are “bad Muslims”. Lack of adherence to those standards however, does not change the fact that standards are standards. It is one thing for a Muslim to admit that there are as-pects of Islam they disagree with and not prac-tice them, but it is far less admirable and even selfish for a Muslim to change aspects of Islam to suit their own needs and desires. Consider instances of obligatory religious rituals, such as praying five times a day. Like any religion, Islam has religious beliefs that need to be backed up by a commitment to religious rituals.

Consider religious restrictions, such as that placed on alcohol, which is not a beverage of choice for Muslims unless they’re under ex-tenuating circumstances (e.g., in the middle of the desert and going to die of thirst). And yet how often are some Muslims proudly inform-ing everyone of how they spent their Friday night playing beer pong? Or consider modesty in clothing and behavior, another Islamic requirement regardless of whether it entails the hijab (the Islamic headscarf for women) or not. And yet how often are Muslim women prancing around in bikinis at the beach, while demanding that men not judge them on their physical appearance because that’s “superfi-cial” and damages their “self-esteem”?

They follow a double standard, dressing in a way that garners little respect in the first place then also superficially rating men solely on their physical appearance. And Muslim men, how often do some of them gawk at women with little shame then place their hands on the waists and bottoms of half-naked women they allow to sit on their laps? If Mus-lims have mixed opinions about shaking hands with members of the opposite sex, it is hard to argue that touching the waist or bottom of a woman whom you aren’t related or married to is at all Islamically appropriate.

So now I imagine that I have come off as being uptight and rule-obsessed, but allow me to explain why upholding these objective standards should matter. First, there is the basic fact that they are foundational to Islam, just as any other religion has its own stan-dards. Second, upholding these standards prevents desensitization, which can lead to decreased motivation to defend objective stan-dards and speak out against behavior that is not in accordance with those standards. I’m not advocating that Muslims protest against behavior that’s deemed un-Islamic or become the religious police. What I’m trying to say is that apathy may jeopardize religious faith. Say for instance that your sibling does’t pray because he or she finds that many others also don’t pray. If you don’t care about upholding that objective standard of prayer then what are the chances that you’ll try to get your sibling to pray? As you lose interest in uphold-ing objective standards and become indifferent to them, you also increase your risk of being negatively influenced by others.

I am driven to strictly adhere to objective standards and I am bothered when other Muslims de-value or disregard them because I know that they are essential for maintaining strong Islamic faith.

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The Struggle for AuthenticityArticle by Lameese EldesoukyPhotos by Tariq Mela

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They are after all required for a reason and I find that denying their importance is almost like denying a truth. The Prophet (pbuh) himself indicated the value of truth by saying, “Say what is true, although it may be bitter and displeasing to people” (as narrated by Imam Bai-haqi). With that being said however, I often fear that my firmness in upholding objective standards may lead me to become hard-hearted and unmerciful to others. While I recognize that upholding them is important, I also recognize that mercy is equally, if not more impor-tant in Islam. Perhaps what’s even worse is when I envision myself as someone who is devout in the ritualistic sense, but lacks mercy, a core element of good character. Such a vision terrifies me because it turns me into a Muslim of inauthentic faith who fulfills her ritualistic practices, but fails to understand and practice their essence. Inevita-bly, this takes me to the second part of my struggle: being merciful.

People are imperfect by nature and make mistakes. Add to that how we often don’t even know why people act the way they do. Perhaps the young Muslim who is frequently hung-over uses alcohol to drown out his sorrows. Maybe he experienced abuse as a child, recently lost his job, was not raised by a practicing Muslim family, or just got involved with the wrong crowd. Greek philosopher Socrates once said, “Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is facing some sort of battle.” Islamic scholar Hamdun Qassar also gave

us similar words of advice: “If a friend among your friends errs, make seventy excuses for him. If your hearts are unable to do this, then know that the shortcoming is in your own selves” (as narrated by Imam Bayhaqi).

In addition to simply cutting people some slack, it is impor-tant to note that people change. Recently, I heard such an instance which hit home for me. A 6ft 7in well-built man covered in tattoos from head to toe had entered into a mosque to pray. People were shocked, given that Islam does not approve of tattoos, and immedi-ately judged him for coming into the mosque looking the way he did. Little did they know however, that he was a recent convert who was once in jail for drug dealing and now chose to become a servant of God and set aside a period of eight months to memorize the Qur’an in its entirety (and he succeeded). This remarkable instance is only one of plenty and demonstrates how little knowledge we actually have, reminding us that it is God who is all-Knowing, not us.

Perhaps what I find most terrifying is how we may fall into ar-rogance and self-righteousness when not being merciful to others. When you’re constantly judging others, it is easy to start looking down on other people for their mistakes At that point it does not matter what religious rituals you’re consistently performing because your poor character indicates disregard for an important fact: people, including you, are not held accountable to you, but to God.

What makes lack of mercy additionally detrimental is how you begin to lose friendships and start to be seen as someone who’s unapproachable because people fear that you’re always going to find something wrong with them. Aside from the fact that most would consider this an undesirable social outcome, you may lose the op-portunity to help people who have struggled throughout their life or have had major religious doubts. If you’re not merciful then you lose the chance to be a listening ear or be a source of enlightenment for people who would open up to you if only you didn’t automatically

judge them.

So why do I struggle in upholding objective standards and being merciful at the same time? Well, first, it’s because Islam is not supposed to advocate everything. By failing to uphold foundational aspects of Islam, we threaten Islam’s standing in the world. Ideally, even if there are billions of Muslims in the world, we would like “Muslim” to be more than just a mere label. Second, mercy is a core element of Islam. The Prophet (pbuh) said, “It is only the merciful who are granted mercy by the All-Merciful. Be merciful to those on Earth and the Lord of the Heavens will be merciful to you” (as nar-rated by Abu Dawud and Tirmidi). Contrary to popular belief, Islam doesn’t merely consist of religious rituals solely meant for those capable of practicing self-restraint and praying on time. True practic-ing of Islam entails good character, as comprised of qualities such as compassion, empathy, and forgiveness.

Upholding objective standards while being merciful to others re-mains an ongoing struggle for me. I fear that mostly leaning towards objective standards will turn me into a person of poor character, but I fear that mostly leaning towards unconditional mercy will turn me into a person who reduces the value of foundational Islamic prin-ciples. In my effort to balance the two sides of this struggle however,

I have adopted some strategies to make it less challenging.

First, I focus on myself and my own actions. I find that when I am preoccupied with adhering to those standards myself, I have less time to be preoccupied with others, gossip about them or harbor negative feelings towards them.

Second, I focus on my own flaws. If I do come across a violation of an objective standard, I immediately think of my own short-comings. I find that this humbles me by putting me on equal plane with others and reminding me that I am just as accountable to God as others.

Lastly, I pray constantly, for both myself and others because I know that everyone, including myself, is susceptible to change, for better or for worse.

Perhaps what’s even worse is when I envision myself as someone who is devout in the ritu-alistic sense, but lacks mercy, a core element of good character. Such a vision terrifies me because it turns me into a Muslim of inauthentic faith who fulfills her ritualistic practices,

but fails to understand and practice their essence. ”“


The Struggle for Authenticity

to three modes: calligraphy, geometric patterns, and floral motifs. These styles are strategically and skillfully rendered into ornate masterpieces that beautifully adorn mosques, rugs, ceramics, and books. Figural art is discouraged in Islam as it is seen as an idolatrous. However, over the course of years, Muslim groups have incorporated figural elements into their works. Muslim art has grown and morphed from ancient times to the present post-9/11 era. Some modern Muslims denounce the artistic endeavors of music, filmmaking, acting and theatre that are being pursued today as “un-Islamic.” They hold to the viewpoint that art should only be made for da’wah, made with the sole purpose of inviting people to Islam.

The aftereffects of 9/11, however, have inspired most Mus-lims of today with a different opinion of art. 9/11 deconstructed and dissipated Muslim dignity and identity. Most mainstream productions only seem to be able to portray Muslims as one-di-mensional characters against a backdrop of terrorism. They fail to humanize. The pangs of injustice have reverberated through the Muslim community and have created a change in its norms.

Post-9/11 America has seen an emergence of Muslims in careers of art and media. The period that followed September 11th, 2001 was necessary to embolden the Muslim community to produce these endeavors. The backlash from society and the misrepresentation in the media served to foster a genera-tion of redefined Muslims as individuals seeking recognition and inequality, publicly affirming and displaying their religious affiliations, and attuned to political activism. This redefinition of Muslims nurtured a redefinition of Muslim art. This bold new vi-sion of art attempts to reclaim the hijacked heritage of Muslims, dismantling the stymied stereotypes and instead reconstructing Muslim identity. Muslim art today has the motivation to create understanding.

Art and American Muslim Identity:Redefining Muslim Art After 9/11

The backlash from society and the misrepresenta-tion in the media served to foster a generation of

redefined Muslims as individuals seeking recognition and inequality, publicly affirming and displaying their religious affiliations, and attuned to political activism.

“”

rom before the time of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), art has been an intrinsic part of our culture. The storyteller had as much worth as a soldier. Stories and poems were spun skillfully from threads of history

and fiction and delivered with harmonious eloquence. The tales were used to communicate the history of the tribe, glorious tri-umphs in battle, and after the advent of Islam, they were used to communicate the word of God. To a people that revolved around the power of the poem, God sent down His perfect work of art, the Quran. The Quran is not poetry, but rather, it is the word of God organized with rhyme and rhythm so complex and masterful that it transcends any human imitation. The artistic quality of the Quran gives its words power to communicate with the masses. Likewise, art itself is a mode of communication amongst human beings. It is that wordless thread that binds us all together and allows us to recognize and understand each other.

It is apparent that Muslim art has progressed over the centuries into the exciting amalgam that exists today. Firstly, it is important to note the distinction between Islamic art and Muslim art. Islamic art is defined as the visual arts produced from the 7th century and onwards by people, Muslim and non-Muslim, who lived within territory ruled by Islamic populations. Muslim art, which will be discussed here, encompasses art specifically made by Muslims. The art varied greatly from the Iberian Peninsula to Sub-Saharan Africa, but traditional Muslim art can be generalized

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>> arts & inspiration

Article by Uzma AminPhotos by Aman Sufi


Numerous Muslims have come to the public’s notice through their artistic endeavors. In 2002, a group of three Ameri-can men of different nationalities, Azhar Usman, “Mo” Amer, and Bryant “Preacher” Moss, created a comedy group called “Allah Made Me Funny.” The group does stand-up shows on stages around the country and even came out with a full-length film in 2008. Their mission is simple: to create a platform for dialogue about Islam and Muslims through humor. Likewise, in Canada, Zarqa Nawaz created a sitcom, Little Mosque on the Prairie, in 2007. Like The Cosby Show, Little Mosque on the Prairie gives the discriminated a voice and showcases their vibrant, complex personas that cannot be boxed.

Besides humor, new Muslim artists have delved into other

outlets to communicate with the populace. Dr. Naif Al-Mutawa created The 99, the first ever group of Muslim superheroes. The comic books are printed by Teshkeel Comics, and Forbes is calling The 99 “One of the Top 20 Trends Sweeping the Globe.” The com-ics have gotten enough positive repute that an issue that teamed up DC’s famous Justice League of America with Teshkeel’s The 99 was released on September 27, 2012. Artists are attempting to humanize Muslims and using that to bridge understanding of the faith. Music-makers like Outlandish and Yusuf Islam (formerly Cat Stevens), showcase Islamic elements in their songs, and while each number may not be a direct correlation to Islam, they are based on fundamentals of peace and understanding. Salma Arastu seeks to capture the Muslim essence through painting. Her pieces are abstract and follow no form, but rather attempt to capture feeling. In 2001, very soon after September 11th, she painted a piece called “The Tragedy.” Her painting reflects the confusion and abandonment American Muslims felt after the negative reactions of their fellow Americans post-9/11.

New modes of Muslim art are making progress and surfac-ing to recognition, but where does that leave Muslims? An article

released on August 24, 2012 by the Washington Post reported on a poll that revealed 41% of Americans have unfavorable opinions of Muslims versus 40% who have favorable opinions. And there continues to be a significant amount of people who state they do not know a single Muslim and many who are unsure if they do. Certainly the results are more positive than they have been in the past but not by much. Muslim voices are still not being heard and their image continues to be stereotyped. The truth of the matter is that many Muslims have not even heard of things such as Little Mosque on the Prairie and The 99. A number of Muslims con-tinue to reject this kind of art as “un-Islamic” and others simply refuse to seek it out due to sheer apathy. To say what is right and what is wrong in terms of art is not the point. The matter lies in bridging gaps and creating understanding between Muslims and the West to obliterate misconceptions and restore the identity and dignity of Muslims.

Art is the perfect vehicle. Mass media productions like comic books and television shows and stand-up groups are effective ways to reach out to a society that revolves around entertain-ment. It has been a long eleven years since September 11, 2001. Modern Muslims have certainly thrown themselves into creating art that communicates and reverberates with the West, but the fact of the matter is that change takes time. A lot of time. The only thing Muslims can do for now is continue to create and promote this newly defined Muslim art and have patience. The caption for Salma Arastu’s 2001 piece, “The Tragedy,” beautifully captures Muslim feeling post-9/11:

“One tragedy is not over yet Another/ begins... Wounds are fresh yet smoke has not/ disappeared Tears are welled Lips are trembling/ I am shocked, Dumb I am humanity Insecure,/ uncertain In Chaos of twenty first century I am/ helpless Amazed at my rivals Among my own/ people.”

To say what is right and what is wrong in terms of art is not the point. The matter lies in bridging

gaps and creating understanding between Mus-lims and the West to obliterate misconceptions and restore the identity and dignity of Muslims.

“”

Redefining Muslim Art


>> arts & inspiration

e knelt on flags as prayer rugs and hoped for a better future.

I find myself jotting down notes, half listening to the call to prayer that sounds outside my window. It’s almost dawn but I could write for hours. I’m lying in the room in which my father was born, 56 years ago. Time is one hell of a concept.

My grandmother can’t remember how old she is. She tells me stories about the English occupation. She saw uncles, brothers and sons come back from full-scale war. She can count the number of times she’s been to the cinema on one finger. But her age is a mystery.

It doesn’t matter much; her six children and their children and their children’s children tell the story of her life, as though she were a worn book that never lost a page.

But it did. Death tore away — and continues to tear — the storyboard of her memories.

That’s something my father always told me about Egypt — here, death means something. Here, death surrounds you. Here, death is more than just tears; it is words from God, warm handshakes and sheer sorrow. Black clothes never meant as much.

And then there are new beginnings.

My grandmother couldn’t try to count the number of weddings and baby showers she has attended —happiness abounds. Life begins again.

Today I saw an old man sitting contentedly in front of a pile of garbage. He looked happier than a new bride.

Egypt is burnt garbage and getting high off of second-hand smoke.

Egypt is toothless old men with little sought wisdom and young ones staining the teeth they have with too much time on their hands.

My grandmother went to school for one day, she says. I wonder if I would exist had she returned the next.

To My GrandmotherArticle by Sarah Mohamed Photos by Barira Rashid

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That’s life for the record.

Taxi drivers know more about everything than anyone ever knew about anything.

Egypt is cigarettes and water pipes and car horns that never stop honking.

------------------The sweet hollow tunes of the age-old oud linger on into my daydreams and I find myself lost, thinking life away in a fifth floor balcony.

I climb onto the rooftop, hoping to feel some-thing new; a breeze, an inspiration.

But the faces — they were the only inspiration I ever needed.

And so I sat and watched. And listened. I inhaled the thickness that was the air. I sensed Egypt in every way I knew how.

I watched couples link arms and stroll down the seaside.

I heard the cries of newborn babies being kissed one too many times.

I inhaled the mosquito fumigant as the purple sky fogged up with the smell of death.

I tasted the sun-ripened mangoes that were unlike any others the world had the privilege to devour.

I touched my fingertips to the surface of a freshly baked loaf of bread — only a subsidy would help the woman behind me purchase it for her children. Little while flecks of flour stuck to my fingers. It was warm. It felt safe. But bread, it was a toxic commodity.

Women lay in the streets with their children, hoping for a chance at social mobility. Or

perhaps just this evening’s meal.

Others sat in front of meat-laden tables, popping digestive tablets and drink-ing Seven-Up to help them consume the feast someone else’s mother had slaved over.

But the irony was there only for those who cared to look for it.

I watched as a tattered skyline was erected before my eyes — one floor, the next, joined by elevators the size of matchboxes and soot-stained men dripping sweat.

I sat and let the waves come towards me, felt the sea breeze, let the mist cloud my thoughts. Oh, what it was to love in a city of such promise.

To love a city.

To love in a city.

Did it matter?

The shopkeeper would tell you to keep your coins — the scarf was free, especially for you — with a smile and a knowledge that life would never offer a free lunch.

But there was something forgiving. Warm. Comforting. It was a cultural phenomenon, this warmth. But those who were a part of it didn’t — and couldn’t — feel it until they left

To My Grandmother


it and stepped into the crisp, cold, unfeeling air outside of it.

I put my trust in men and women who would wake at dawn to pray to a God whose mercy they felt only through worshipping him.

Others, they might not understand what it means to put oneself on the line in such a way. Those on the outside can only try to imagine.

Chaos is not the opposite of order for her, but the lack of the latter leaves a country with such promise by the wayside.

I have not much more than a prayer to offer. I put my trust in love and faith, and the innate knowledge that a place that emits so much warmth must have the power to reconcile itself in one way or another.

And so I kneel on a wind-tattered flag and ask God for a better future for the country that is always in my heart.

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