“Look homey run your chain/ not the one that’s on your neck/ But the one that’s on your brain/ that they use to keep in check”—Lupe Fiasco, Spazz Out 
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Highlighting “supposed” notions of Black moral failure in order to undermine calls for racial and economic justice is an old tactic. This isn’t that.               
Black people in America have many distinctions.  The great Toni Morrison’s description of a “blues sensibility” resonates with me: 

“The blues is about some loss, some pain, and some other things. But it doesn’t whine; even when it’s begging to be understood in the lyrics, the music contradicts that feeling of being a complete victim and completely taken over. There’s a sense of agency, even when someone has broken your heart. The process of having the freedom to have made that choice is what surfaces in blues. I don’t see it as crying music.” 

In light of that sensibility, a logic which explains looting and vandalism as the inevitable consequences of being victimized by white supremacy and anti-Black racism is impoverished.  Let’s suspend, for a moment, our moral judgments about rioting. No matter what, we dignify Black people when we affirm their agency.  Consider the following: Black people weren’t the only rioters. In fact, in the video footage I observed, the overwhelming majority of the looters in Chicago appeared to be non-Black.  However, white looters were identified as “anarchists and anti-fascists.” That sounds a lot different than “thugs and criminals,” and it sounds different than “people who can’t be blamed because they’ve been wronged.” Upon reflection, the terms sound intentional and even philosophical. White Americans, even if they’re considered misguided or evil, are always understood to exercise moral agency. White rioters, as the news media tacitly demonstrated, are neither byproducts of criminality nor desperation, just post-modern political philosophy. 
The Qur’an never denies the reality of oppression (fitnah); it describes this most lamentable of conditions in chilling terms: “…Oppression is worse than slaughter” [2:191] Affirming the moral agency of the oppressed doesn’t absolve the oppressor. Quite the reverse, affirming the agency of the oppressed limits the oppressor.  The oppressor may redline my community and intentionally create the conditions for its disinvestment but he has no authority over my actions or my soul. I belong to Allah: “Say: ‘Should I seek a lord other than Allah while He is the Lord of everything? And nobody does anything but to his own account, and no bearer of burden shall bear the burden of another. Then to your Lord is your return. And He will tell you the truth of your differences.” [6:164]

 Quietist piety makes for bad religion. We should take pride in the fact that our Prophet (upon him be peace) was not exclusively a pacifist. He was an iconoclast who employed many strategies to disrupt oppression: He prayed, commanded to charity, patiently endured, engaged in civil disobedience, commissioned land grants, entered treaties, waged war, and even expropriated the commercial goods of economic oppressors. And yet, none of this was done as an expression of lawlessness or anarchy.  The Prophet (upon him be peace) was defined by God’s Will; not the mere rejection of the status quo. Further, the teachings of Islamic spiritual psychology (taṣawwuf or tazkiyah) dictate that the soul is naturally inclined to evil (an-nafs al-ammārata bi as-sū’). In the absence of an intentional commitment to self-purification, those fighting oppression are more likely to emulate their oppressors—if they gain power—than to transcend them. This is perhaps the greatest liability of revolutionary strategies which lack a sustained focus on moral agency: Namely, the individual human struggle to be upright is obscured by ideological calls to revolution. Why does Marx assume the proletariat class will be more impervious to greed and corruption than the gentry and bourgeoisie if they gain control over society’s economic modes of production?  

Critical theorists like Derek Bell and Kimberlé Crenshaw have developed a compelling and useful framework for analyzing the impact of racial disparities. In this framework, power is defined as the sine qua non of racism. Is power also necessary for greed, wantonness, injustice, ingratitude, etc?  Again, my point is not that we need to become saints before demanding justice or worse yet that an oppressive power structure should be left undisturbed until we “purify” ourselves. It’s unfortunate that so many Black conservatives have attempted to undermine calls to end racial injustice by way of engaging in petty respectability politics. At times, it’s difficult to countenance reservations about Black moral responsibility as little else. Stated simply, our engagement with what we are must be at least as impassioned and critical as our engagement with what we oppose.      
          
From its earliest encounter with the Hebrew Bible (and perhaps through the familiarity of some of its members with the Qur’an), the enslaved community identified strongly with Moses (upon him be peace) and the Israelites. They were God’s chosen people. “Go down Moses,” “Wade in the Water,” they sang.  They identified their greatest liberator, Harriet Tubman (may Allah elevate her memory) with Moses, the flight to freedom with the Exodus, the Mason-Dixon line with the Red Sea, white supremacy with Pharaoh, etc. The symbolism is rich. Even now, there are significant numbers of Blackamericans who identify as Hebrew Israelites, Hebrew Christians, and African Hebrew Israelites or simply affirm an ancestral connection between Black people and the ancient Hebrews. As we mine our tradition for scriptural guidance in this moment, I think we should continue to invest in this interpretive connection.
In the Qur’an, the story of the Israelites is nuanced. Their subjugation in Egypt is described in horrific detail “…the people of Pharaoh: they set you to hard tasks and punishments, slaughtered your sons and let your womenfolk live; therein was a tremendous trial from your Lord.” [2:49]. And like the Biblical account, the story of Moses (upon him be peace) and the Exodus of the Israelites from bondage is also captured. However, the Qur’an alone—to my knowledge—expresses appreciable subtlety when discussing the interaction between Moses and the Children of Israel as they pursued liberation. Moses advises them:
“Pray for help from God, and (wait) in patience and constancy: for the earth is God’s, to give as a heritage to such of His Servants as He pleases, and the end is best for the righteous” [7:128]
He continues: “…it may be that your Lord will destroy your enemy and make you leaders in the earth; that so that He may try you by your deeds” [7:129]

Moses (upon him be peace) was not out of touch with his people and this was certainly no de-contextualized moralizing aimed at undermining the Israelites’ struggle for freedom. He was calling them to virtue and preparing them for the heightened moral responsibility entailed by leadership. Historically, leadership—not resistance—is the final frontier for people breaking the chains of oppression. Resistance requires the will to fight back. Leadership, on the other hand, requires not simply fight-back, but an independent moral vision that offers its own conception of the “good” and the “beautiful.”  Even after freedom and witnessing miracles at the hands of Moses, The Children of Israel still struggled to define themselves: 

“We took the Children of Israel across the sea. They came upon a people devoted entirely to some idols they had. They said: ‘O Moses! Fashion for us a god like the gods they have.’ He said: ‘Surely ye are a people without knowledge.’ [7:138].

    I make no appeals to “law and order,” for what can these platitudes mean to people denied justice under the law? And although the preservation of personal property is a fundamental objective of Islamic law, I can, at the very least, countenance arguments which bind that preservation to government fulfillment of a social contract. I recognize the prima facie legitimacy of a point I recently heard raised by Dr. Marc Lamont Hill: The spectacle of violence is an effective way to force recalcitrant power brokers to the table. And yet, if these approaches to social rebellion are the mere groans of a beleaguered people, capable of destroying what they hate but without any idea how to create what they should love, unprincipled rage will be our golden calf.

Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020          

​If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning. … This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle.
– Fredrick Douglass (d. 1895).1
 
One who sees the ultimate source of his problems in created beings is like a dog whom a man hits with a brick and then the dog goes and bites the brick, not knowing that the brick has no agency of its own.
– Ibn Ata Allah (d. 1310).2
 
The struggle of disenfranchised people against oppression and tyranny on American soil is older than the country itself, beginning with the genocide of the idigenous people and then continued by the enslavement of African people for capitalist gains. The long history of the Black freedom struggle is one of continuous movement, flowing like a river. The scholar and social activist Vincent Harding (d. 2014) described this river as, “sometimes powerful, tumultuous, and rolling with life. At other times meandering and turgid, covered with ice and snow of seemingly endless winters, all too often streaked and running with blood.”3 The weight of this river is a constant source of anxiety and anguish, particularly among Black folk, which we are seeing manifest today. For all too long we have lived with a sense of double-consciousness, “always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity”.4 Now, the tide of this metaphorical river surges, breaking the levies of social acceptance and political correctness.
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The social reality of Blackamericans demands a perpetual fight to exist. For the last 3 months the world has lived through Covid-19, a global pandemic, that has disproportionately impacted and claimed the lives of Black people. For those of us who are blessed with life and health, many have ambiguous job security, or the lack thereof, when quarantine sanctions are lifted. Covid-19 and the subsequent ramifications are a traumatic experience that we will continue to process and live with in the days, months, and years to come. Unfortunately, all of this is further exacerbated when yet another unarmed Black man, George Floyd, was murdered by the very people who are commissioned to serve and protect.

Human emotions are complex, full of nuance, often complicated, and produce a spectrum of responses. Some of us are angry while others are sad, some of us are surprised while others numb, and some of us frequently oscillate between all of those emotions while others feel them all simultaneously. These feelings are natural and acceptable, but apathy is not.

Unfortunately, our post-modern neo-capitalist society of today has manifested an ontological inversion; what was once deemed sacred has been deprioritized for the material. In the Quran, Allah speaks about the sacredness of human life, “If anyone kills a person—unless in retribution for murder or spreading corruption in the land—it is as if he kills all mankind” (Quran 5:35). Then, just a few verses later, He speaks specifically of retribution as He has in scriptures before, “An eye for an eye” (Quran 5:45). To equate the life of George Floyd or the generational trauma of Blackamericans to material possessions is antithetical to our Islamic tradition and, one could argue, common sense. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) cared so intensely about the spiritual condition of others Allah rhetorically asked him, “Are you going to worry yourself to death over them if they do not believe in this message?” So, if he (PBUH) worried himself so deeply over the spirituality of others, how do we imagine his care (PBUH) was for their physical well-being?
 
Churchmen, laymen and ministers alike apparently fail to recognize their contribution to the ghetto condition through permissive silence—except for a few resolutions which they usually pass once a year or immediately following a riot—and through their co-tenancy of a dehumanizing social structure whose existence depends on the continued enslavement of black people. If the Church is to remain faithful to its Lord, it must make a decisive break with the structure of this society by launching a vehement attack on the evils of racism in all forms. It must become prophetic, demanding a radical change in the interlocking structures of this society.
– James H. Cone (d. 2018).5
 
Throughout history, Blackamericans' ability to endure and persevere, despite the systematic and institutional injustice around us, has always been connected to a transcendent moral compass. As Muslims, we must lean into our rich spiritual tradition with more depth and strength than ever. Our spiritual imperative requires that we strive to connect with the Almighty so that we may transcend the temporal and temporary challenges we face. Regardless of our fears or sorrows or how meek and challenging the horizon looks, our primary focus must be achieving Allah’s pleasure. Via a loving embrace of this perspective we can begin to find meaning and direction in the foggy confusion of our lives. By no means is this an easy task, but we must remember Allah tells us in the Quran describing Himself, “Exalted is He who holds all control in His hands; who has power over all things” (Quran 67:1). Therefore, like our ancestors before us, as we struggle, as we protest, as we fight to keep our heads above the river water, we must remember the Creator.
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Allah tells us that it is He “who created death and life to test you [people] and reveal which of you does best” (Quran 67:2) but also that He “does not burden any soul with more than it can bear” (Quran 2:286). By necessity, we have the capacity to not only succeed but also to thrive. “Allah wants ease for [us], not hardship!” (Quran 2:185). Therefore, our challenge is to orient our emotional and cognitive frameworks theocentrically—to humble ourselves to the limitations of our intellectual faculties while recognizing our feelings, yet still searching for God’s figurative silver lining despite them.
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As we figuratively journey through our lives, we must remember that our bodies are a trust from the Creator. While our physical bodies serve as the boat that carries us and our limbs as the oars that move us, the energy source that thrusts us down the river of the struggle for freedom is undoubtedly our hearts. No matter how strong the canoe and efficient the oars, without energy our journey, at best, will produce meager results. Thus, our heart requires very intentional care. We must care for the external, nurturing healthy emotions and prioritizing self-care, and for the internal, building and fortifying a connection with Allah. This arduous task comes with great sacrifice, but the tradeoff is being amongst those whom Allah says, “Today I have rewarded them for their patience” (Quran 23:111). True freedom, existentially transcendent freedom, is only found in Allah—the ultimate source of all. We ask Him to bless us with the requisite means to embrace struggle and preserve patiently in a way that pleases Him (with goodness, ease, and well-being). Ameen!
 
 
Abdul-Malik Merchant, MTS
Muslim Chaplain, Tufts University
June, 2020.
 
 

​George Floyd, an unarmed Black man was strangled to death by police after reportedly using a counterfeit $20 bill at Cup Foods, a convenience store and restaurant in Minneapolis. Apparently one of the staff there called the police. I was disappointed at this but I’m willing to concede that calling the police for a counterfeit bill is not something everyone expects to end tragically. It must be stated unequivocally that Derek Chauvin and the three officers who silently watched him are the only guilty parties in Floyd’s killing. What I offer here involves improving the relationship between immigrant Muslim store owners and the predominantly Black communities they often serve. However, I don’t implicate Cup Foods in Floyd’s death nor am I suggesting that it mistreats its community. Quite the reverse, when a store that has honorably served a majority Black community for 31 years calls the police for what strikes me, along with many others, as a minor infraction, I’m concerned that we don’t know each other well enough. In an interview with CNN, the owner of Cup Foods, Mahmoud Abumayyaleh expressed heartfelt condolences for the family of George Floyd and corroborated reports of police misconduct. In the 4-minute segment, Don Lemon, the show’s host, never challenges the owner about the decision to alert the authorities. I understand this omission. The risk of appearing to suggest a causal relationship between a random call to the police and a brutal execution carried-out by the responding officer was too great. Nonetheless, within Muslim communities this particular configuration is not so random: Muslim-owned businesses, black communities, and law enforcement are three elements of a story we’ve seen many times.

Police-instigated violence against Black people has a long and notorious history. Those looking for thoroughgoing and circumspect treatments of the subject will find for example, Police Violence against Afro-descendants in the United States, a 2018 report by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights. The conversation in the public domain has tended to focus on two issues: (1) The misconduct of individual police officers. (2) The systemic anti-Black racism which associates criminal intent, aggression, and higher thresholds of pain with Black people. However, the fact that the murders of Alton Sterling, Mike Brown, Eric Garner, and most recently George Floyd all involved minority-owned businesses (some of which were owned and operated by Muslims) in predominantly Black communities is scarcely analyzed as a relevant factor in their deaths.

 Historically, desegregation and the subsequent outmigration of middle-income Black families, intentional disinvestment on behalf of banks and corporations, and bad municipal planning (highways, railroads, garbage dumps etc.) disrupted albeit poor but more economically self-contained Black communities and created enclaves which were commercially vacuous. That vacuum was filled by proprietors of Jewish, Arab, Korean, Chinese, Polish, and other backgrounds. There is little point in discussing the legitimacy of these establishments. They exist and have every legal right to operate. In fact, those who view them as singularly parasitic might fail to appreciate how little interest anyone else has shown in investing in these communities.      How these businesses operate, on the other hand, is of deep concern. When we see video footage of a patron stealing a box of cigars from a corner store and the authorities being alerted—which resulted in Mike Brown’s tragic murder—that is not an isolated incident. It’s an expression of long standing mutual estrangement. In such instances both the business owner and the customer should be viewed as byproducts of a culture of alienation. Karl Marx described this kind of alienation as the consequence of living in a society so stratified that the members of one class can scarcely understand, let alone empathize, with those of another. In our context, the customer, who is a member of the local community, doesn’t know that the store owner is operating on razor thin margins and just barely staving off closure. He doesn’t know that the owner has relatives back home—in a similarly economically depressed community from which he migrated--to whom he sends money every month. He’s just “a foreigner,” one of those people who either intrusively watch us when we enter their stores or assume an unsolicited, patronizing air of informality (“What’s good, my G?”). And the owner views the community with similar disinterest. For starters, he observes his customers behind a three inch-thick bulletproof glass. The perceived threat of gun violence at these retail locations may warrant such security measures. But they come at a great cost. For every would-be armed robber whose plans are thwarted by such preparations, countless normal patrons are forced to confront the blatant invisible message written on the glass: “I am afraid of you. Beyond your money, I want as little to do with you as possible.” Fear and distance breed contempt. From a place of contempt, it’s very easy to ignore the potentially deadly consequences of involving law enforcement to resolve insignificant conflicts with Black customers.

The most obvious way to address this imbalance is re-invigorating a culture of Black entrepreneurship. However, when non-Black Muslim vendors are assessing what it means to run businesses in the Black community, the following Qur’anic verses are illuminating. In verses about integrity and impartiality in trade, the Qur’an highlights both the virtue and vice of the Medinese Jewish community. They were a minority community of merchants living among the Arabs of Medina

There are some among the People of the Book who, if entrusted with a stack of gold, will readily return it. Yet there are others who, if entrusted with a single coin, will not repay it unless you constantly demand it. This is because they say, “We are not accountable for ˹exploiting˺ these ignorant people’.” And ˹so˺ they attribute lies to Allah knowingly. (75) But yes, whoever fulfills their commitment and fears Allah. then indeed, Allah loves those who fear Him. (76) [3:75-76]

Sweeping generalizations are always avoided in the Qur’an: Some members of the Jewish community maintained the highest standard of integrity and fairness—and they were acknowledged. On the other hand, the arrogance of those who pursued their interests through exploitation is also highlighted. Their condescending attitude is expressed in the statement, “We are not accountable for exploiting these ignorant people.” God denounces them as liars. Simply put, there is no way to serve a community you don’t respect. All Muslim entrepreneurs and small business owners should take a keen interest in these verses but especially those that serve structurally disadvantaged communities. “These ignorant people…” the statement is disgusting; however, even more disgusting is the basis of disassociation upon which the statement proceeds. The exploitation is essentially justified because it’s being perpetrated against “these people,” i.e. people with whom one is not associated.

I live in Bronzeville, on Chicago’s South Side, and there are many Muslim-owned businesses in my community. Some are excellent, some are mediocre, but more are bad. In my experience, the businesses that enjoy the most success, security, and longevity are those with the deepest roots in the community. They do simple things such as greeting people respectfully and knowing the names and preferences of regular customers. And they make more important contributions such as hiring local community members to jobs which pay a living-wage and stocking the products of local vendors when possible. In light of the tragic slaying of George Floyd, perhaps the most important thing excellent business owners do is take an active interest in the communities they serve. Cup Foods has been in the predominantly Black community of South Minneapolis for 31 years. That’s an impressive history and it’s safe to assume a great deal of familiarity and affection between the owning Abumayyaleh family and the community. It’s disappointing then, to learn that the management of Cup Foods didn’t have more knowledge of how its community is organized. No one there knew anyone who would’ve been willing to intervene if, in fact, some fraud had taken place?  Among people in community with each other the redress of wrong always looks more restorative than punitive. It’s perplexing to think there wouldn’t be more awareness of the mortal risk Black people assume when interacting with law enforcement. Creativity is the essential component of empathy. How creatively can each of us think in order to see ourselves and our struggles in other people? For Muslims who often represent surveilled, occupied, politically oppressed, diasporic communities, it shouldn’t require much effort to connect with the history and present of Blackamericans.
 
Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020

The Battle of Badr was a decisive military victory for the early Muslim community. After years of pacifist resistance in Makkah, the battle represented a new willingness on behalf of the community to defend its physical integrity. It was such a watershed moment in the history of the first community that presence at Badr became the greatest signifier of religious commitment. In many ways, it is the Islamic equivalent to the Passion of the Christ (upon him be peace) or the Exodus of the Children of Israel. And while I think it a misnomer to cite Islam as a tradition which sacralizes war, martial combat is rightly viewed as an occasionally necessary evil which exposes the best and worst of humanity.  On the 17th of Ramadan, in the second year following the Prophet’s migration, 313 soldiers prepared to face an opposing force comprised of over 1000. As the battle approached, they were harangued by naysayers who said they would surely meet their demise. In courageous defiance, they offered, “God will suffice us. He is a faithful guardian.” (Hasbunā Allah wa ni’ma al-wakīl). With providence, they won; and the Battle of Badr has since become a part of our sacred history.

Whenever I think about it, I find myself asking: Is there anything as meritorious as that? Is there any test of faith that even comes close to a willingness to sacrifice it all in the face of nearly insurmountable odds? For some companions of the Prophet (upon him be peace) and one in particular, the question of performing an act whose merit rivaled what had taken place at Badr was real. If seeking the pleasure of God is an equal opportunity endeavor, as is maintained by Islamic teachings, battle—which is primarily engaged by people unencumbered with domestic responsibility—cannot contain singular merit. In light of the current crisis, we’re spending more time at home than ever: Homeschooling, settling disputes, performing chores, coordinating activities, planning and preparing meals, working offsite, and STILL trying to retain at least a semblance of the special devotional character of the blessed month of Ramadan—a jihād indeed! The activities unintelligently derided as “women’s work” have become our collective theatre of battle. And for those like me, who benefit from a partner who makes contributions outside the home and inside the home—but who takes on a disproportionate amount of the household responsibility—COVID-19 has been a rude awakening. This isn’t easy. In fact, those who care for their families have the same rank as soldiers striving in the way of God. I cite this brief vignette of the Sīrah (Prophetic biography) mostly for my wife. Hadiyah, this Ramadan has given me a new appreciation for your work and struggle.    
                  
The collection of Imam al-Bukhārī contains a tradition which features Asmā’ bint Yazīd (may God be pleased with her). She is sometimes referred to as Khaṭībat al-`Arab al-Anṣāriyya. A Medinese woman; she was elected by a group of women among the Companions (may God be pleased with them) to address to the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace) some of their shared concerns. By all accounts, she spoke brilliantly. When she highlighted the disparity between men and women with respect to accessing educational opportunities, the Prophet (upon him be peace) responded by agreeing to host regular gatherings especially for women. Additionally, owing to the great esteem expressed for the men who had recently fought at Badr, she requested an action that women could do—seeing as though many of them were preoccupied with caring for their families and could not engage in combat—that would be as meritorious as striving (militarily) in the way of God. The Prophet (upon him be peace) assured her that if she “stayed with her family and looked after her children she would be given the reward of one striving in the way of God.” The Prophet (upon him be peace) likened homemaking to fighting in the path of God and some of us have yet to appreciate the profundity of the comparison. 

The Prophet (upon him be peace), “…doesn’t speak from caprice” and while I never doubted the truthfulness of the statement, I think I interpreted it as a kind of hyperbolic consolation. In other words, although no act of sacrifice could really rival risking life and limb in the path of God—as happened at Badr—caring for one’s family is commendable. Suffice it to say, nearly 7 consecutive weeks at home with my children has altered my understanding! In actuality, caring for one’s family and striving militarily for the sake of God involve many shared virtues. The one that comes directly to mind, especially in the month of Ramadan, is exchanging a realization of the spiritual that comes about through enriching experience (Tarāwīḥ, night vigils, recitation of the Qur’ān, etc.) to a realization of the spiritual that comes about through service. Ibn Aṭa’Allah wrote, “…There is no sweetness in jihād there is but the jagged edges of swords. So prosecute the jihād against your passions. This is the greatest jihād.” There is likewise little sweetness in being too fatigued from a long day of child-minding to pray a lengthy, uplifting Ṣalāt al-Tarāwīḥ. However, echoing the great Alexandrian jurist, disciplining the soul isn’t sweet. It’s incredibly difficult but it’s where spiritual elevation lies. How often have we as husbands/fathers bolted from home after iftār, leaving the house (and screaming, un-bathed children) in disarray so we could get to the “real” spiritual activity of praying Tarāwīḥ in the mosque. The prayer contains immense spiritual value; however, so do the dishes and bedtime routine. Asmā bint Yazīd asked the Prophet (upon him be peace) about how the women of the community could attain the spiritual rank of the men who participated at Badr and he directed her to care for her family. “Ustadh Ubaydullah, prayer in congregation and specifically Tarāwīḥ are staples in my Ramadan regiment. Ramadan without the masjid just doesn’t feel the same. I’ve heard all of the fatāwa (legal response) about Tarāwīḥ by satellite and I’m aware that the Prophet (upon him be peace) would often offer Tarāwīḥ at home. I’m clear on that. But is there anything I can do to make up for what I’m missing because of the shut-down?”  The Battle of Badr, one of the greatest events in the history of Islam, was fought in the month of Ramadan. One of the companions (may God be pleased with them) who wasn’t able to participate asked the Prophet (upon him be peace) about an action that could be done as a substitute. I could tell you about it but it might surprise you…

Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020          

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Edward Said, the distinguished literary and cultural critic said, “Exile is the saddest of fates. In premodern times banishment was a particularly dreadful punishment since it not only meant years of aimless wandering away from family and familiar places, but also meant being a permanent outcast, someone who never felt at home, and was always at odds with the environment, inconsolable about the past, bitter about the present and future.”
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Our current predicament of self-quarantine as the result of COVID-19 has not yet reached the level of pre-modern banishment. Nonetheless, the most evocative bit, the flourish, “…someone who never felt at home, and was always at odds with the environment, inconsolable about the past, bitter about the present and future” resonates with me. The quote, culled from the 1993 Reith Lectures, is part of a thesis in which Said maintained that exile or a position “forced out” of a context to which one organically belongs imbues the critical examination of that context with acuteness. The recent outbreak of COVID-19 in the US and abroad has given us a share of that “exilic consciousness.”  The entire world is being forced away from “family and familiar places…” and it’s been cause for introspection. In our current “exile” from normalcy, only with the most intentional hubris can we continue to see our nation as indispensable or impervious to collapse. History has known no such empire. Unfortunately, many of us have assumed attitudes which frustrate a meaningful engagement with history.  By extension, scripture, whose coherence relies on historical memory, struggles to find a modern register in which the full scope of its wisdom can be appreciated: The Qur’ān states:

{“Many were the Ways of Life that have passed away before you: travel through the earth, and see what was the end of those who rejected the Truth”} [3:137]

{“Do they not travel through the earth, and see what was the end of those before them? Allah brought utter destruction on them and similar (fates await) those who reject Allah”} [47:10]

For fear that unimaginative thinking could interpret these verses as justification for religious chauvinism, a point of clarification is necessary. No nation in the Qur’ān was punished because it wanted to establish a society built on justice and pluralism. On the contrary, each destroyed people combined their rejection of the prophetic message with corresponding acts of iniquity: The people of Noah (insolence and mockery of faith), the people of Hūd (unjustifiable arrogance and making the audacious claim “no one is more powerful than us”), the people of Ṣāliḥ (intentional desecration of the signs of God), the people of Lot (sexual anarchy), the people of Shu’ayb (greed and financial exploitation of the vulnerable), Pharaoh and the Egyptians (claiming divinity and the enslavement and attempted genocide of the Children of Israel), etc. We can only speculate about the possible outcome if these communities had heeded the prophetic command to rectify their societal wrongdoing even if they continued to adhere to divergent religious beliefs. To be sure, the theological/philosophical underpinnings of a society and its morality/ethics have a direct relationship. This is undeniable. However, this trying time is forcing us to assess both the fragile nature of our world and our contribution to it. It would be a misguided over-simplification to conclude, “our world could be on the precipice of destruction, we’d better get to work proselytizing.” Formal acceptance of Islam is the best thing we have to offer humanity; it should never be the only thing.                   
We’re unable to say definitively that COVID-19 is a manifestation of punishment. In actuality, we don’t know why this happening. We appeal to the limitless mercy of God. Nevertheless, calamitous times are best faced with self-examination.

{“Fasād has appeared on land and sea because of what the hands of people have earned, that (Allah) may give them a taste of some of their deeds: in order that they may turn back”}[30:41]

 Repentance and the cultivation of personal piety are essential. Yet, when revisiting the concept of retribution in the Qur’ān, we see that reckoning is not predicated solely on personal piety. The communities which faced Divine punishment were guilty of corporate immorality. Put differently, yes; now is the time for us to reflect upon our sins. Each of us should be thinking about our moral inconsistencies and the lapses in our devotion. However, it’s equally important that our inventory transcend personal piety. What do Muslims, as a collective, mean to the larger community?

Al-Nu’mān ibn Bashīr reported: The Prophet (upon him be peace) said: The parable of those who respect the limits of God and those who violate them is that of people who board a ship. After casting lots, some of them reside on the upper deck and some of them below. When those in the lower deck want water they pass by the upper deck and say: If we tear a hole in the bottom of the ship, we will not harm those above us. If those in the upper deck let them do what they want, they will all perish together. If they restrain them they will all be saved together. (Bukhārī)

Our fate and that of our neighbors are inextricably linked. Extending the metaphor of the Prophet (upon him be peace), we are all aboard a single vessel. Together, we will either correct its course or prepare for the inevitable. I realize there will never be uniformity around a vision of Muslim civic-mindedness. Varying histories and priorities certainly produce varying approaches. Nonetheless, looking out from our newly adopted place of exile, our Ghār Hirā’, if the analogy stands, our vision should be sharpened. We must see more for ourselves than, to quote Martiniquais poet, Aimé Césaire, “a place at the rendezvous of victory.” How much of our work to hold the dominant culture accountable could possibly fall into this category? Undoubtedly, much of the denial of our entreé into the elite spaces, places, and privileges presided over by the dominant culture is the result of anti-Muslim bias and bigotry. However, in our fight to gain access, to be “centered”, as it were, might we be forfeiting our responsibility to critically examine or even transform that culture?

Shamar Hemphill, Deputy Director at the Inner-City Muslim Action Network (IMAN) and recipient of the 2019 El-Hibri Community Builder award, captured the sentiment best when he said: “When we begin to see substantive issues like the prison-industrial complex, social devastation in poor communities, and irresponsible American militarism as Islamophobic, then there is some utility in the term. A term denoting hostility to our faith should mean hostility to the values for which we stand.” Otherwise, it just becomes a term which denotes the dominant culture’s failure to validate our religio-cultural specificities.” From the inside looking out…it appears that we should be more interested in offering correction than seeking validation.
 
 
Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020                                          

By now, many have seen the provocatively entitled docu-series, Who Killed Malcolm X?  It was captivating. It was emotional. And like most good documentary film, it was controversial.  The account of events accepted by Abdur-Rahman Muhammad, the brilliant lay historian at the center of the documentary, has been challenged—most notably by Karl Evanzz. The film also initiated fruitful discussion around the religious values of redemption and accountability—What is to be made of someone suspected of wrongdoing who goes to great lengths to change—especially if it appears that someone else might have been punished for their alleged wrongdoing? With the announcement of the Manhattan district attorney’s office that it would consider reopening investigations into Malcolm’s assassination, I expect the intramural conversation to grow in intensity. However, my hope is that the contentious exchange in the periphery doesn’t obscure the unifying force at the center.  The wide range of reaction to the series notwithstanding, I think many of us can agree that witnessing six episodes filled with archival footage, photography, and first-hand accounts of early Blackamerican Muslims was a potent reminder of the depth and intricacy of our history. In many ways, we are only just beginning to appreciate the inimitable confluence of factors: political, cultural, and religious that produced Malcolm and by extension the First Resurrection. As the final episode drew to a close, I, like many others, mulled over the particulars of Malcolm’s assassination. However, what struck me as equally ponderous was: How can Blackamerican Islam have a history so rich and unique and not be a greater source of unity and inspiration for American Muslims?

Throughout the history of Sunni Islam, the embrace of the classical tradition and its distinct interpretive language has always been the litmus test of orthodoxy. By accepting this tradition, Blackamerican Muslims have entered into a trans-historical, multi-contextual conversation about the Will of God. This is good. The classical tradition can ground our practice of faith and serve as a counterpoise through which we can identify and critique the false universals of white supremacy. Yet, an orthodoxy embraced with uncritical zeal and hastily gobbled without being well digested can produce the opposite. With the benefit of hindsight, we recognize that conflating foreignness with authenticity was a mistake. We recognize that embracing the Sunnah didn’t entail substituting a focus on eliminating the factors detrimental to Black life for an ersatz globalism which surreptitiously elevated to the exclusive status of “Islamic” the priorities of other segments of the community. Did our enthusiasm for the doctrines, traditions, and heroes of the classical tradition obstruct our view of the pioneers of early Islam in America? The truth is never inadequate. I take exception to any meta-narrative that makes heterodoxy essential for the early community. Nonetheless, to summarily dismiss that community on account of its theology would mean squandering an opportunity to benefit from both its successes and failures. In a very pronounced sense, Malcolm’s life and death highlight both.

The question is begged: The ethics and institutions of the Lost and Found Nation of Islam that a young Malcolm had found so compelling, why didn’t the newly converted community seek to reconcile those with Islam? As a good friend said to me while musing about the documentary, “If only Imam Mohammed and the Minister (Louis Farrakhan) could have seen eye to eye, I could have been building a nation AND knew who my Lord and His Messenger were!”   Why didn’t they; the answer lies beyond the scope of this editorial. The more pressing question is: Why don’t we?  The American Muslim community is comprised of a greater variety of ethnicities, histories, socio-economic statuses, and modes of religious expression than anything imaginable during Malcolm’s lifetime. If we all shared my religious outlook and civic commitments we would be on the right course! No. Quite the reverse, that level of uniformity is both untenable and spiritually malnourished. What is there to “learn from each other—li ta’ārafū...” if we’re all the same? Be that as it may, for all American Muslims invested in a Prophetic Islam, engagement with Islam’s genesis in this country as an expression of black resistance is essential. I use the term “Prophetic” in conscience; not to discredit any of my brothers and sisters who subscribe to different priorities than I, but to challenge us. It’s difficult to find a template for domestication in the mission of the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace). He taught and practiced a religion which emphasized Divine unity and “comforted the disturbed and disturbed the comfortable.” The enduring value of Malcolm, the Nation, and the First Resurrection is that they keep us connected to that legacy of the Prophet (upon him be peace). As such, we must bring the discursive and spiritual tools offered by the classical tradition to bear upon the mission, priorities, and institutional course charted by that community. This is not only an expression of our appreciation for our complete heritage (Abū Ḥanīfah and Mālik and Shāfi’ī and Drew and Clara and Malcolm and Elijah) but more importantly, it symbolizes our embrace of the Prophetic mission. And God and His angels invoke blessings and send salutations of peace upon him.

Watching the sequence of events that led up to Malcolm’s assassination was painstaking. I was aware of J. Edgar Hoover’s counterintelligence measures and the growing tension between Malcolm and the Nation. The tipping point; however, which involved his suspension from the Nation for ill-advised public statements made in the wake of Kennedy’s assassination was covered differently than I had previously learned. Malcolm’s statement wasn’t depicted as a gaffe, faux pas, or unintended slip. On the contrary, Akbar Muhammad, who was serving as an assistant minister to Malcolm that day, said “after he had given an entire address without mentioning anything about the president’s assassination (as he had agreed) a reporter asked him if he had any thoughts about the president’s passing. Malcolm paused, lowered his head, and that minute of silence almost seemed like an hour! He then raised his head…” and made his now infamous remark about “chickens coming home to roost.” Minister Akbar’s recollection makes it clear that Malcolm intentionally broke rank with Elijah Muhammad. In spite of his apparent love and reverence for the man to whom he owed his redemption, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to forfeit an opportunity to make this political statement. It might be tempting to see this as an insubordinate soldier failing to “hear and obey” the command of a superior—and many did in fact see it that way, some even imputed a motive of self-promotion to Malcolm. I see something different though. God said to His Messenger (upon him be peace): “It is by God’s grace that you were gentle with them therefore if you had been harsh and hard-hearted, they would have surely deserted you. So bear with them and pray for forgiveness for them. TAKE COUNSEL FROM THEM IN THE CONDUCT OF AFFAIRS…” [3:159]
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I don’t presume to know the modus operandi of Elijah Muhammad in dealing with his followers. However, in this verse God is protecting the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace) from one of the greatest liabilities of leadership: suffocation of those around you and stifling their creativity. The Prophet (upon him be peace) struck the most delicate balance between being completely revered and emulated while also ceding space to his followers in which they could benefit the community through their unique talents and gifts. In Malcolm’s case, his taking issue with where that line was being drawn within the Nation apparently led to his intentional defection. There is a lesson in this for American Muslims. We don’t have anyone within our community believed to be divinely inspired so the stakes are considerably lower. Nonetheless, with the enhanced media capabilities of our age, we have seen the charisma of religious leaders amplified. When used in the service of empowering people, charisma is a significant asset for a leader. However, if perceived as suffocating, charisma may force to the margins the greatest asset any leader can posses: The Malcolms.




Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020                                          

          I usually travel for work so the sound of the wheels screeching against the tarmac at O’Hare is the strange, somehow sonorous, reassuring song of deliverance. “Travel is a kind of torment; it disrupts your routine with regard to nourishment and rest. Therefore, after one of you fulfills the intended purpose of his journey he should return home at once.” This Prophetic tradition has always retained a special place with me. In spite of all the amenities of modern travel, home remains an irreplaceable feeling. For me, located in the Bronzeville section of Chicago, the comfort of home always begins with the ride from the airport.
          This particular Sunday I decided to listen to public radio. NPR was broadcasting Latino USA and the conversation was about language. I expected it to be interesting. About 5 minutes into my ride, the show’s host, Maria Hinojosa, began talking about sexism. She was introducing the neologism “Latinx,” a term, which she mentioned, was gaining currency in some literary circles as an alternative to “Latino” or “Latinos”. The problem with Latino and Latinos, Maria explained, was that as nouns designated for masculine singular or masculine plural usage, using them for generic reference to anyone of Latin heritage was sexist. Conversely, “Latinx” was intentionally neutral.  This had me intrigued on many levels. The dynamism written language (as opposed to colloquial idiom) enjoys in our context is historically unique. I thought to myself: what are the factors at play that make some cultures/eras comfortable altering the established rules of a language’s grammar/spelling whereas others are more deferential to the past? I also thought, Maria’s endorsement of the term highlighted the connection of language to representation and thus to power. Clarity, precision, beauty, historical continuity, heritage, i.e. the various and sundry concerns entailed by the intentional use of language, didn’t seem to be considerations at all. Does such myopic focus on power represent progress or truncation—even for those struggling to access greater power? Mashallah, Maria had me thinking and as the show progressed, her commentary became more wide-ranging. She declared, “Gender in Spanish, the fact that all nouns are either masculine or feminine, is so limiting. It’s such an imposition. It reinforces a gender binary we now know is inadequate in describing reality.” “As a matter of fact,” she continued, “I don’t see any utility for gender in language. Unless, of course, I’m addressing one of my transgender friends, I love saying to them ‘chica’ or ‘bonita…’” My state switched from one of mild intrigue to intense bewilderment. Had I just heard what I thought I heard?
          In spite of its acronym (which is an Arabic term for “scholar”), the American Learning Institute for Muslims (ALIM) does not aspire to produce ‘ulema. Rather, in empowering non-specialists through religious literacy, we endeavor to drive conversation in our community. Maria Hinojosa, the unintended feature of my ride home, articulated one of our community’s greatest challenges. When discussing gender as a distinctive attribute of Spanish, the Latino USA host called it an “imposition” and pointed to its inadequacy. Yet, when discussing transgender friends, Maria expressed her enjoyment at their performance of gender and the otherwise imposition became a source of celebration. How peculiar? In my view, her sentiment reflects an attitude that restricts moral value to unencumbered choice. Extraneous interference with choice; be that of tradition, culture, religion, guilt, language, or even biology may be regarded as an impediment to true self-realization. How will a faith which maintains that peace is found through submission (to the will of God) articulate its vision for human flourishing in a context in which choice alone has been sacralized? To be sure, the Qur’an recognizes the importance of choice, declaring directly after Ayāt al-Kursī: “And there is no compulsion in religion…” [2:256]. Sincere religious commitment only grows from freely enacted choice; however, the moral value of choice is predicated not on its being freely enacted but its reflecting what God wants.
          Abu Umamah reported: A young man came to the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, and he said, “O Messenger of Allah, give me permission to commit adultery.” The people turned to rebuke him, saying, “Quiet! Quiet!” The Prophet said, “Come here.” The young man came close and he told him to sit down. The Prophet said, “Would you like that for your mother?” The man said, “No, by Allah, may I be sacrificed for you.” The Prophet said, “Neither would people like it for their mothers. Would you like that for your daughter?” The man said, “No, by Allah, may I be sacrificed for you.” The Prophet said, “Neither would people like it for their daughters. Would you like that for your sister?” The man said, “No, by Allah, may I be sacrificed for you.” The Prophet said, “Neither would people like it for their sisters. Would you like that for your aunts?” The man said, “No, by Allah, may I be sacrificed for you.” The Prophet said, “Neither would people like it for their aunts.” Then, the Prophet placed his hand on him and he said, “O Allah, forgive his sins, purify his heart, and guard his chastity.” After that, the young man never again inclined to anything sinful.
           A colleague who works as an imam once told me a story. He said that a young man entered his office and asked earnestly: “Why can’t my girlfriend and I have sex? We’re adults and we’re in a committed relationship.” As soon as he heard the young man’s question, the imam thought, this is it—a direct parallel to a situation faced by the Messenger of God! For once, instead of groping in the darkness, trying to find some scriptural guidance for an unprecedented situation, the imam would simply convey the Prophetic wisdom. He began by saying across his desk, “would you mind sitting next to me?” After the young man had moved his chair so that he was next to the imam and ready for a real tete-a-tete, the imam began: “Is this a way you would like anyone to treat your mother?” When the young man responded, matter-of-factly, “yeah, definitely; as long as it’s what my mom wants,” the imam erupted in laughter until he was literally crying tears. When he was able to compose himself, he said to the perplexed looking twenty-something, “you weren’t supposed to say that!”
          When the Prophet (upon him be peace) asked, “Would you like that for your mother?” the implication was that the young man’s sexual practice was morally irresponsible and harmful to women. In fact, upon reflection, it is the clear definition of mutual rights and responsibilities among partners combined with an incontestable foundation for the paternity of children that makes sex morally responsible. When those are absent, whether through neglect or single parenthood, women and children suffer: Hence, the young companion’s response, “No, by Allah…” On the other hand, for the young man sitting in the imam’s office, consent is the only necessary condition for morally responsible sex: Hence, his response “…as long as it’s what my mom wants.”
            Some segments of our community are actively engaged in developing creative ways to introduce young Muslims to scripture (Qur’an and Sunnah). This is immensely commendable, Mashallah. Yet, my fear is that if we introduce them to the text without appraising the assumptions and sensibilities that form the basis of their context, we could be guilty of putting the proverbial “cart before the horse.”
 
 
Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago 2020 

​                The power of charisma is undeniable and often irresistible. Whenever our community witnesses the painful “fall from grace” of a religious figure, there is always a vocal faction calling out “cults of personality” and urging commitment to principle over people. On the one hand, this is appreciable.  The Qur’an and traditions of the Prophet (upon him be peace) are replete with warnings about the injustice that accrues when focus is unduly placed on personalities as opposed to principles. On the other, while the virtue of qiṣṭ (moral commitment to justice) should guide our adjudication, it certainly cannot be said to account for the heartbreak we feel at the knowledge that one of our leaders has morally failed. Imam Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, while occupying an endowed chair at the famed Nizāmiyyah Academy in Baghdad, was one of the most sought-after lecturers of his time. His spellbinding command of Arabic and adroitness as both jurisprudent and theologian dazzled and impressed but failed to move people. After suffering a psychological breakdown due to his own perceived lack of sincerity, Ghazālī eventually left his post.  Yet, after a nearly 10 year sabbatical and rediscovery of sincerity through discipline and experience, the Imam returned. In contradistinction to his earlier high-flown style, it’s mentioned that the spiritually renewed Ghazālī would speak plainly; and at the simple mention of the name of God, people would be moved to tears. When highlighting the connection between sincerity and preaching, I’ve referenced this story many times and I’m willing to bet others have also heard it. We only separate the substance from the shadow when someone who has taught us dīn is caught in an act of apparent immorality.  In fact, quite the reverse, we’re often taught that the spiritual state of the speaker and the impact of their words are inseparable. Consequently, when a religious authority is accused of wrongdoing, many people are given to doubt concerning what they’ve learned from the leader. In earlier writings, I’ve attempted to address this conflict by emphasizing the dynamism of faith, i.e., just because the teacher is alleged to have entered a state of sin, it doesn’t necessarily follow that they were in a state of sin while teaching. This, I mentioned, as an extension of the customary understanding of Ḥusn ad-dhann (having a good opinion of others) and a means of protecting our faith against surreptitious cynicism. Now, however; given that the winds of controversy have touched someone I know and love, I feel compelled to speak more personally and less theoretically about moral failure as it relates to leaders in the Muslim community.
            We are professionals. We are performers. We are professional performers. Inasmuch as the word “performance” connotes artificiality and insincerity, it’s jarring to think of scholars as performers. Actually, I have no such connotation in mind. What I have in mind is more along the lines of one whose standing and credibility rest on the competent performance of specific professional duties. That said, a certain measure of indifference to the highs and lows of one’s own life and faith is entailed in the position. Whether upon a personal spiritual peak or valley, the professional responsibility of the preacher is the same. When we’re presenting, our “dark night of the soul” is in Alaska.  I actually chuckle at the thought of conducting weddings and giving sermons about loving relationships as Hadiyah, my wife (may Allah preserve her) gives me the side eye or refuses to listen! And all because we’re going through the same ups and downs as any other couple. In that moment, she and I probably have the same feelings about marriage: “it’s challenging and my partner gets on my nerves!” The only difference is that I have a microphone and a professional responsibility to say something encouraging. So I perform. I perform like a physician having the worst day of their life struggling to retain impeccable bedside manner or an exhausted recording artist on the 30th leg of a tour manufacturing enthusiasm to perform the same set they’ve done the previous 29 dates. Would you expect any less? This is not justification for a lack of integrity. Findings of gross moral inconsistency on behalf of a scholar could mean removal from their position and public accountability. Nonetheless, the shock and dismay that the person “was never who we thought they were” is always telling. Quite frankly, I’m astonished that we’re astonished. Did we really believe that he or she was only a walking repository of scriptural references, uplifting anecdotes, and witty bon mot? Did we actually believe the healer had no wounds, no scars?
Consider the work of our secular colleagues. A strict code of relationship ethics gives the professional therapist a clear set of boundaries inside which they can serve their clients. Have you seen how your therapist interacts with their spouse? How they respond to their children? How they deal with slights or public embarrassment? This distance aids in the creation of a useful compartmentalization: We are able to benefit from the therapist’s counsel without any presumption that we “know’ them. Religious personnel enjoy no such luxury. We host dinners and respond to invitations. Our children attend the local Islamic school. We frequent the weddings, births, graduations, funerals, etc. of community members. We “do” community and speaking for myself, I absolutely love it. However, when the fallible human being struggling “to submit” is furtively seen, or perhaps in some cases, glaringly seen beneath the robe of public religious performance, what should be our response as a community?

1. Resist the temptation of dichotomizing saint/charlatan language. The relationship between the public performance of professional religious personnel and their private lives is much more complex than that.                                                                                                                                                                                        
   
2. If the act of wrongdoing was committed while the religious leader was acting in the capacity of their position, public accountability is necessary. In such cases, the act of wrongdoing must not simply be viewed as an isolated incident which might have caused harm. On the contrary, it was the betrayal of a public trust in a position that was more than likely funded by the Muslim community. If, on the other hand, the act of wrong doing is a private matter, the religious leader is just as deserving of privacy, good counsel, and the concealment of their sins as any other member of the community.                                                                                                                                                                                  
3. Depending on the severity of the action, both kinds of wrongdoing (public and private) could necessitate termination and even legal action. But how will we do it? As an angry mob, disparaging people that have at least attempted lives of service as charlatans? Or as a community that understands; understands the weightiness of the Prophetic inheritance. In the Shamā’il Muḥammadīyah of Imam at-Tirmidhī, Sayyida Aisha (may God be pleased with her) narrates: “And I never saw the private parts of God’s Messenger (upon him be peace).” Subhanallah. Even the most intimate details of the Prophet’s life have been revealed for our edification. His (upon him be peace) private was public! The Prophetic inheritance enjoyed by scholars entails a similar willingness to be under a microscope and it has proven many men and women unworthy or perhaps unfit. A gallant effort is not discounted by failure. However, the offending religious authority must be removed from the position to prevent them from harming themselves and/or others. If legal action must be taken, the aim must not be character assassination but rather the redress of wrong—which our belief maintains is better in this world than the Hereafter.                                                                                                                                                                                        
4. Lastly, we must actually see our brothers and sisters and see our community. The response to these controversies often reveals where our investment lies. Some are exclusively invested in the public image of their hero. So that even if they understood that public acknowledgement of (public) wrongdoing and facing justice in this world (as opposed to the next) were spiritually healthier and more propitious for their erstwhile hero, they would still be more concerned with protecting their reputation—because of something that reputation offers them. How despicably selfish! Some are clearly invested in anti-clericalism. Their “victim-centeredness” is diaphanous: A thinly veiled attempt to discredit “the scholars.” Some are invested in protecting “the tradition.” Leading them to either lambast the offending party in an effort to disassociate the tradition with them or to explain away the offense in an effort to vindicate the tradition. It’s extremely difficult to view all parties involved as our brothers and sisters in faith for whom we desire justice and salvation. And even more difficult to see their actions as representative of endemic issues and cultures of harm that we may all be tacitly or actively aiding and abetting.

 
Ubaydullah Evans
Chicago, 2019                         

My wife Hadiyah is creative. When she recognized that our eldest daughter Aasiyah was approaching her thirteenth birthday, she started planning a “coming of age” party.  Part debutante ball, part “bat mitzvah”; it’s an original vision. As a new teen, Hadiyah contends, Aasiyah should be introduced to her “village” and celebrated as she assumes responsibility (taklīf) for her religious obligations. I’m fascinated by my wife’s vision: a party that occasions “coming of age”, in which taklīf would be a central theme.  What exactly would we be celebrating?  Seeing as though legal adulthood or majority begins at the age of 18 in most states, does the concept of adolescence militate against an embrace of taklīf? And lastly, with the spotlight recently placed on statutory rape, does our commitment to taklīf dictate any specific intervention we might make in order to prepare our young people?