So.

There are some things going on right now:

• It’s Ramadan, the Islamic holy month. Those of us who are able must refrain from food, drink, sex, smoking, anger and lust (among other things) during the daylight hours. Pray for us.
• I’m suffering from what is apparently a pulled muscle in my back. And yes, it does hurt.
• I am going to make a zine, with the help of my good friends over at Thaura Distro.

Am I boring you yet? If not, then stay tuned as I work my way through these challenges, and (insha’Allah) emerge stronger and ready to RAWK!

Suppose you are in the bookstore, or the library, and you are looking for information on Islam. You head toward the Religion section, find Islam, and immediately, you are stumped. There are several Qur’ans, and various books claiming to have the “true” portrait of Muslims contained within its pages. But, wait, what it this? Do you want to learn about the Shi’a revival, the Sunni law making procedures, or the Sufi meditation practices?

Confused yet?

Sumbul Ali-Karamali has written a solution to the initial confusion. Titled “The Muslim Next Door: The Qur’an, the Media, and that Veil Thing”, this is one book that gives a very informed introduction to some of the most pressing questions about Islam in the 21st century. Beginning with an explanation of the 5 pillars of Islam, Ali-Karamali takes the reader on a brief journey through history and ends with an overview of being an American Muslim in a post 9/11 world.

Initially, I wanted to give this  book 3.5 stars (out of 5). The author began well enough, but at times seemed to be contradictory and overly apologetic. Her emphasis that certain widely known (and misunderstood)  practices were the result of culture and not religion quickly became repetitious. However, as I continued to read, I gained more respect for Sumbul Ali-Karamali’s simplistic writing style, as well as her candid way of sharing her personal experiences as a South Asian-American Muslim woman.

With ease, she describes the differences between sects, the alien concept of “clergy” to most Muslims, and analyzes several problematic verses in the Qur’an. The longest chapter in the book is chapter 7, “Women In Islam.” Here she goes into detail, citing historical and anecdotal evidence that Muslim women are not the sheltered, oppressed women that they are thought to be.

Overall, this book is an excellent resource for anyone wanting to quickly learn more about “real” Islam. I give it 4 stars (out of 5) and recommend it to people who crave knowledge of “what’s really going on.”

Zarinah El-Amin Naeem has given us “Jihad of the Soul: Single Muslims Struggling with Identity, Religion and Desire”, a study of what it means to be young and single in today’s society; specifically, young and single in American society. She takes scores of interviews of people between the ages of 18 and 40 and presents their experiences and opinions in a coherent fashion.

Divided into 3 parts, Jihad tackles important questions, such as:

• What does it mean to be Muslim?
• Is marriage still necessary?
• Are my expectations to high?
• How much say so should my family have in my decision?
• Where do I find a mate?

This book contains a wealth of information. Whether you are a person seeking answers to chase away confusion or simply desire to know “what’s really going on”, this book needs to be read! Overall, it reminds us that there is no single mindset about Muslims.

How I wish this book was around when I was single!

A couple of things:

1.  Do you know that song by Lina, “Don’t Say Nothing”? Well, it sort of got stuck in my head..

2.  This is not necessarily from personal experience, but it is from first person recounts. I have met a number of people who shy away from joining a community, or have run from Islam all together due to their treatment at the hands of fellow Muslims. This poem is not for the victim, but the victimizer.

———————————–

sin and a shame

spend all your talkin’

’bout the style of my clothes

whether i uncover my hair

or even paint my toes

never bother askin’

if i complete my five

just assume that i’m the worst

and to be no better i strive

gossipin’ backbitin’

that’s the way of your crew

i don’t know if you know

but the one who’s sinnin’

is you

don’t get emotional and weepy

just ’cause your secret is out

don’t you give me evil eyes

don’t you dare try to pout

heard you sayin’ somthin’

’bout my musical taste

bet you won’t say nothin’ ’bout it

right direct to my face

could’ve spent your time constructively

and reading The Book

‘stead of comin’ to the iftar

shunnin’ the food that i cook

you could have welcomed me

and took me under your wing

but you chose to do none of it

your rejection still stings

but it’s alright, my sister

if you were never my friend

sometimes i sit and wonder how

we’ll each be judged in the end

don’t get emotional and weepy

now that your secret is out

take back that evil eye, woman

don’t you dare try and pout

i haven’t named no names

so if you’re feeling guilty

maybe you should look into the mirror

‘stead of lookin’ at me

“Weird.”

“Abnormal.”

“Strange”

And my personal favorite, “blasphemer.”

In Islam, music is an extremely controversial issue. There are people on both sides of the extreme, from the very conservative “only Qur’an recitation is permitted” to the very liberal “listen to whatever you like and play it very loudly.” Having been raised surrounded by music, having sung in a choir in my youth (until I learned that I could not sing to save my life, but that is something else all together), and currently being married to a hip hop artist, I tend to fall on the liberal side of the musical fence. Life without some form of music would be, to me, very dull. However, if for some reason I am unable to listen to the beat, I am still capable of reading about it.

I am now the proud owner of this book. It’s big. It’s heavy. It’s a small piece of metal heaven. Biographical sketches, full color pictures, a listing of the best albums and songs… Lovely. Even though I’m still learning the difference in all the sub-genres, I know that there are songs I like that fall into every category. Industrial has Nine Inch Nails, Electronic has Emilie Autumn’s “I Want My Innocence Back.” My musical taste, however, is not limited to the entire rock/metal catalog. My last.fm station is all over the place – from opera to country to rap. I imagine myself to be an open-minded individual. (I could be wrong.) I grew up with my mother’s Motown records, I came of age with with rap and reggae, I “discovered” jazz once I began to mature, and as my writing started the evolutionary process, rock became my personal soundtrack.

Music, for some people, is like air – necessary for survival. And let’s face it, there is music no matter where you look. Nature has some of the most soothing sounds. Laughter is considered music. The heartbeat of the one you love is music. Yet you will always find those that zero in on a certain genre or sound and deem it inappropriate for public (read as “youth”) consumption. Every generation, for good or bad, attempts to protect the next generation by outlawing or limiting exposure to whatever is new and untested. The ones that do not approve of rap and metal, their parents did not approve of rock n’ roll, and their parents did not approve of ragtime and jazz. I am sure that, somewhere, there was a group of parents trying their best to run Mozart out of town.

So, for all those that give me the side-eye for listening to “strange” music, I will say this: someone, somewhere, hates your music choices, too. You have the freedom to choose what to listen to, and the right to decide who you are going to be.

Today I am presenting a moving piece from a friend of mine. If you do not know the situation in Gaza, you can read about it here.

Five Little Girls (For the Children of Palestine)

I wish that I could tell you more than simply what’s being said
That the onslaught turned itself around when the mortars heard you didn’t make it;
that everything ceased;
That somehow they left a tear in the midst of all the confusion cultivated decimation yet christened retribution
That serenity was left to boys and girls like you
But explosives don’t harbor souls like they cart destruction and
today I’d be lying to you if I said I thought humans are any different
I can’t sum up the courage it takes to be a liar
I won’t cosign or bolster one sidedness
Nor entice you with an apology to your family;
these never suffice.
Or passively pontificate about life after babies born into, now buried along rocketed dilapidations
…Kids who used to cling to swings, musallahs, and schools
And maybe even salvation
I can not sweep it over
Not today;
No, today I can’t be man
And I am not even sure I’m to apologize for man anymore
what I can report is that you are not alone
you are not abandoned
but truth be told I am just as much your loneliness
as I am your perpetrator
I did not fire this rocket nor muffle your sister’s and brother’s screams
simply ask why it took five of you to bring me here
and you will see that I am no innocent,
there is no nobility to be found

What shakes a man from apathy;
Teaches him to crawl again?
Is there any justification for a soul with no reason when you were given full purpose, or shall I take my 99 deaths in your stead?

If they handed me the gun would that make my search any more sanctified?
Justify my own sins?
Could the poorness of my spirit be shooed away clean with the remnants of a richer Palestine?
Tell me if this is what my shoulders should bear
as I look to you for lessons neverminded in academia;
it is today that I am learned of your blamelessness
and weary of the damage wrought on by ego
today I’m scholared in the ritual of remorse, fervor, and passion
Today, I want to cry out that I appreciate with subtle indulgence
that the succulence in freedom is conceived on the embrace of Khadijah
The caress of Halimah,
The trust of Aishah
And the innocence of five little girls…

Democracy is more than legality; it is a shared sentiment
And love is more than an emotion, it is a capacity;
Without that capability we too lie in wait for rescue
under the rubble of broken understanding and archetypal contemplation

If they handed me the camera would that numb the coldness of the bullet?
Stave the direction of chastisement?
Am I now the illustration of your collateral damage
What would make me prouder than to one day stand in front of you all
with the response to this testimony!!!

No you are not alone young tender…
I am no man…
Only the resilience of a child
The blossoms of a future’s rose
The echoes in the myriads of grace and patience
The remembrance of the beginning
Retribution’s first opera
And the smile and applause at the end
All I ask is that one day you share your front door
With the withered souls
Who are still not safe from the reign’s rain.
They need the home you covet
where silence is a measure of faith and ended dread
And I need daughters and sons to name in your wake;
in exchange…

I should change dear Tahrir,
Or mire me in shades of blood and cinder ash;
I want change brave Ikram,
Or drown me in fear and absence’s suggestions;
I can change sweet Samur,
Or leave my affections for a witch’s heart;
I will change precious Dina,
Or share with me a supplication’s suffocation;
I am change beautiful Ayah,
Or bury me under the footsteps you never intended to give away.

And Allah Knows Best!!!

by Nurideen Ibn Bashir

TheLight1984@aol.com

untitled 9

nightmare
awakens me
breathing hard
heart thunders in my chest
i turn my back
on the West
as my forehead smacks the ground
praying intensely
for my God to deliver me
and bless me with strength
to valley for my brother in
captivity

triple threat

are you talking to me?
with that excuse me please
pointing to the back of the line
where I’m expected to wait
for Hell to freeze over
and over I ask you
what did I do
to be so black and blue
that my color stands for weakness
evil and negativity
ignorance and mis-education
I look at you and feel
an odd vibration
humming in my teeth
hearing you state that my future is bleak
because
I’m always second-guessed
‘cuz my sex stands for oppressed
even though I valiantly
seek to downplay my femininity
giving you reason to castigate me
treat me like broken and worthless property

I see you look at me and freeze
an icy gleam in your eye
mumbling incoherently
like common sense has fled
as you stutter and wonder
what’s that thing on my head?
checking me for weapons
as if a rocket launcher could fit in my purse
you spit out Allahu Akbar
like it’s a curse
mocking my religion
questioning my decision
separating my family
causing unnecessary division
go back to where I came from?
I’m only 20 miles from home

over and over
I ask you
what did I do
to be so black and red
and white and blue

triple threat

are you talking to me?
with that excuse me please
pointing to the back of the line
where I’m expected to wait
for Hell to freeze over
and over I ask you
what did I do
to be so black and blue
that my color stands for weakness
evil and negativity
ignorance and mis-education
I look at you and feel
an odd vibration
humming in my teeth
hearing you state that my future is bleak
because
I’m always second-guessed
‘cuz my sex stands for oppressed
even though I valiantly
seek to downplay my femininity
giving you reason to castigate me
treat me like broken and worthless property

I see you look at me and freeze
an icy gleam in your eye
mumbling incoherently
like common sense has fled
as you stutter and wonder
what’s that thing on my head?
checking me for weapons
as if a rocket launcher could fit in my purse
you spit out Allahu Akbar
like it’s a curse
mocking my religion
questioning my decision
separating my family
causing unnecessary division
go back to where I came from?
I’m only 20 miles from home

over and over
I ask you
what did I do
to be so black and red
and white and blue

….. to be continued……