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By: Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans ALIM Scholar-in-Residence  It’s Wednesday, November 6th and the results are in. Donald Trump will be the next president of the United States of America. In the lead up to the election, conversations within the American Muslim community were tense and sometimes even caustic. A Trump presidency and the impending policy (foreign and domestic) consequences likely to accompany it risk exacerbating tensions. Among the many potentially explosive conversations I observed online was the recurring Blackamerican versus immigrant exchange—“immigrant” is such an imprecise term and is often used to refer to people of South Asian, Southeast Asian, Middle Eastern, North African, Continental African, etc descent even when they were born and raised in the US! Nonetheless, as a discursive category it may still be useful…maybe. After a group of Blackamerican Muslim religious leaders endorsed Vice President Kamala Harris, many activists within the community took them to task. Their endorsement was equated with complicity with the genocide being perpetrated against the Palestinians. Subsequently, some Blackamericans cited the audacity of immigrant Muslims. Could they really, in good conscience, expect Black people to become single-issue voters? Has the immigrant Muslim community ever used its political capital to advocate a social agenda whose primary beneficiaries were Black?  Via: The Philadelphia Tribune For me, doing whatever is in my capacity to alleviate the strife and hasten the liberation of Palestine is an organizing principle. My reasons for this are personal and religious. However, that doesn’t mean the position expressed by some Blackamericans is without merit. On the whole, I think this election offered us an opportunity to embrace Istikhāra (the prayer of seeking guidance in personal matters). Worshipping God spontaneously means that there isn’t always a religious precedent we can rely upon. I think everyone should’ve been respected in their right to vote their conscience. However, I think and work in the context of Islam and the American Muslim community. I’m deeply invested in the unity of our community and it appears we’re going to need it. To that end, I’d like to offer a personal reflection. In some small way, I hope this mea culpa can serve as a point of departure in the pursuit of greater fraternity/sorority within our ranks. Previously, the outrage that ensued after the murder of George Floyd was the most politically activated I had ever seen the American Muslim community. If truth be told, that episode of nascent civic-mindedness among some segments of the community was both infuriating and inspiring. Infuriating because it was the first time a social issue (police brutality) which disproportionately impacts Blackamericans was treated as a legitimate (read: religious) concern by non-Black Muslims. And it was inspiring for the same reason.  Via: Freedom Socialist Party “Infuriating” is a strong word and I use it in conscience. However, in my case, being infuriated doesn’t mean that I identify actual malice on behalf of non-Black Muslims in their prior disinterest in the social welfare of the Black community. Quite the reverse, experience is a phenomenal teacher. I graduated from Al-Azhar University in 2012. Those successive conflagrations of popular uprising that spread throughout North Africa and the Middle East which came to be known as the “Arab Spring” were the misc en scene of my final days as a student in Egypt. I wasn’t oblivious to the history and social factors animating the protests, I just didn’t really care. May God forgive me. In point of fact, I shared the religious heritage of most of Egypt’s population and had formed many meaningful relationships across Cairene society (teachers, colleagues, neighbors, friends, etc.) To date, I’ve had deeper and more significant relationships with people in Egypt than any other Muslim-majority nation in the world. And yet, my response to the protest in Tahrir Square was mostly one of agitation. Final exams at Azhar were indefinitely postponed as a result of the protests: “What!? I get two exams away from finishing my degree and now you want suqūṭ an-niẓām ( “complete overthrow of the system”)? Really!? I just want to finish my degree, return to America, start my life and then I will pray that Egyptians attain the liberty and popular sovereignty they’re seeking!” Tiring of my insensitive sulking and complaining, my roommate—also an American studying abroad—addressed me sternly, “These are our brothers and sisters in faith. They have labored under an oppressive regime for 30 years. They are now standing up to reclaim their country and their dignity and the only thing you can talk about is the inconvenience of waiting to finish your exams? How much more selfish and insensitive can you get?” Subhanallah, I stood corrected. Thank God for good friends. However, in a strange way, this experience gave me a unique glimpse into the psychology of an “immigrant.” I wouldn’t have identified anything in my attitude towards Egyptians as being malicious. On the contrary, I loved them and considered myself “connected.” But I wasn’t there. I was there physically. I might have even been there spiritually in some ways. Yet, when I thought about me: my ambitions, hopes, dreams, impact, legacy, etc, none of that was impacted at all (positively or negatively) by the future of Egypt: Free and fair elections, cracking down on corruption, preventing the presidency from becoming a hereditary monarchy, diversifying the economy, better social services, etc; what did these things have to do with completing a degree in Islamic Studies and returning to the US to work as a teacher?  Via: Shutterstock Perhaps my attitude might be excused by the fact that I didn’t plan on residing in Egypt long term. If I was there as an expat (and not a student) would my response have been different? My commitment to the Prophetic ideals of empathy, coalition building for the common good, prioritization of the vulnerable, concern for the Ummah, etc, would’ve kicked in at some point, right? For my soul, I certainly hope so. Nonetheless, this experience made me much less judgmental toward other groups of American Muslims that might have previously expressed similar disengagement vis-à-vis American social issues. To be sure, physical relocation is easier than the reorientation of one’s sense of being. And yet once we realize that this is it; this is home, we must course correct. To be concerned about each other at home and abroad is our mandate. I don’t suspect that a heightened awareness for our respective stories and some brotherly and sisterly grace will eliminate the differences in our priorities or political strategies. But it can help us to see each other with integrity.
2 Comments
Chiquita S Williams
11/9/2024 10:11:03 am
According to early data, the majority of people in the Detroit suburbs (which has the highest concentration in Muslims in the U.S.) voted for Trump (47%). Only 21% voted third party. That tells me that the issue wasn't really Gaza. Rather, it may have been that time-tested alignment with white adjacent racial and economic status. We will have to wait on more definitive information about the Muslim vote in general, but these early stats are troubling. May Allah SWT guide us all to the right path.
Areena
11/11/2024 10:41:52 am
JazakAllahu khair Leave a Reply. |
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