(Photo: Flickr/imekinox)

“We made from water every living thing.” (Qur’an 21:30)

It’s a source of life, a means for purity, and a piece of heaven on earth.

Throughout the Qur’an, Allah refers to water on numerous occasions (the exact word for “water” is mentioned over 60 times). The Qur’anic verse above powerfully states an important feature of water that all humans have come to acknowledge: water is a necessity for life.

For Muslims, water holds additional and special meanings. Water plays an important role in purifying believers as it is used for making wudhu, or ablutions. And if you ask a Muslim to describe paradise (according to what they learned from the Qur’an and hadith), many would recall the descriptions of rivers flowing and springs gushing forth endlessly from the gardens of heaven.

Now back on earth (where things do have an end). Those of us living in First World countries won’t really ponder too much on where our water comes from or how much there is to go around. We believe that as long as the water bills are paid, our faucets will continue to provide us with this basic necessity at our demand.

Though this is one of the perks of having a First World lifestyle, our lack of understanding on current water-related issues blinds us to the reality of those living in other parts of the world. Almost a billion people on earth don’t have access to clean drinking water. While water is just a turn of a faucet away from us, some women in developing countries have to walk an average of 3.7 miles a day to attain water.

You may argue that water is a resource that is plentiful. After all, about 70% of our planet is made of water! But the earth has only about 3% of freshwater to sustain all living things that depend on it.

True, water is considered a “renewable” resource. But renewable resources can only naturally regenerate if their capacity to do so is not irreversibly impaired. Lo and behold, humans have played a large role in our own destruction through polluting water sources and overpumping water faster than it can be replenished.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that these water issues are not to be found in our country, or even in our neighborhood. Perhaps this will be news to many: California is experiencing a water crisis that will make it difficult for current water supplies to meet our growing demand. Just to sustain the large and growing population in Los Angeles, water is exported from places like the Owens Valley, which once used to be a thriving agricultural community.

Islam teaches us to not hoard waters from others, to not pollute and spread other forms of corruption on earth, and to also not indulge in wastefulness and extravagance. Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that we have unlimited resources we can waste away. That is not how a Muslim is taught to live on this earth.

Photo of a rally against the "Ground Zero Mosque". (Flickr/asterix611)

The Question: Is Islamophobia a good thing for Muslims?

The Answer: “yes-no”

Every coin has two faces, every spectrum two ends, and every argument two sides. This lingering question is no different.

Islamophobia quite literally (and linguistically) is a fear of Islam and Muslims; albeit, an intense, irrational fear of Islam and Muslims. Some Muslims hold that Islamophobia is a good thing. Why? How could fear of Islam benefit Islam?

People tend to naturally fear what they do not know, so to overcome that fear they have to face it, explore it, learn more about it––in this case, people that fear Islam have to explore Islam, but why should they?

Because as natural as it is to have fear, it’s just as natural, if not more, to want to overcome it. No one wants to be scared of anything, and that desire can inspire a person to learn about his/her fear so that he/she can address it. This could explain why at the height of Islamophobia post 9/11, people continued to convert to Islam after learning more about this faith.

Going back to fear, some Muslims also believe that Islamophobia provides a ‘psychological venue’ or, more simply, an opportunity to speak to and inform people about our faith. Why?

Because when you’re scared of spiders, you’re just that: scared of spiders. You’re not afraid of talking about spiders or taking a zoology class that covers arachnids. In fact, you may be (for some odd reason) more inclined to jump in on conversations about spiders, when they come up.

Similarly, Islamophobes are willing to talk, argue, or learn about Islam when given the opportunity. And that willingness gives Muslims an opportunity to explain, clarify and teach our faith.

Other Muslims don’t really see it as a good thing because they believe Islamophobia as we know it today is no longer “Islamophobia”. It is no longer just a fear of Islam, it has become a loathing of it. And the masses, for the most part, have been manipulated, their fear turned to hate by a small, powerful group with an evil agenda (but let’s not delve into that).

Human nature does allow for fear, but it’s human weakness that allows fear to morph into hate. Islamophobia as a fear of Islam may very well be a good thing, but Islamophobia as a hatred of Islam, not so much.

As for those people that are still true Islamphobes (only fearful but not hateful), they may still be inclined to learn about Islam. Under normal circumstances that’s not a bad thing at all, but once you throw Google into the mix, it certainly can be. Virtually everyone that may want to learn about Islam at some point consults Sheikh Google, and this “Sheikh,” for someone that doesn’t know any better, really does suck.

There are numerous anti-Muslim sites on the web and that’s a definite no-no for someone who doesn’t know much about our deen. And of the few legitimate sites on the web, only a few are completely reliable and accurate.

Islamophobia is a good thing. It has the potential to encourage people to explore Islam for themselves and it has the potential to encourage Muslims to do a better job in demonstrating the true essence of their faith.

Islamophobia is a bad thing. It has the potential to cultivate aggressive hate, and it has the potential to lead people to despicable, fallacious, crooked websites that misrepresent the religion to a degree unheard of.

As a Muslim, I like to think of the glass as half-full, not half-empty. So, Islamophobia to me is favorable but that doesn’t mean I refuse to acknowledge it’s capacity to be unfavorable.

If anything, it should be a wake-up call for us, to address the concerns people have about Islam before they become haters and before they start hitting up the wrong sources that may continue to mislead them.

These three declarations –rather, these three absolutes– popped into my head one after the other during my first juvenile detention site visit through the Incarcerated Youth Tutorial Program (IYTP).

SubhanAllah

The drive up to Camp Fred Miller is a long, slow uphill trudge. You wind through the hills of Malibu, going higher and higher until the neighborhoods below you look like plots of land and grass nestled in the mouth of one giant valley. When you get to Camp Miller and step out of the car, you notice two things.

One: it’s very cold and it’s barely 5:00 pm. Two: the high barb-wire fences; the old, military-style intercom and the uniforms–the guards, the parole officers, the students.

Everyone is in uniform, 1,800 feet in the air, at a chilly 40ºF and miles away from the nearest cul-de-sac, the nearest movie theater, the nearest restaurant, the nearest street light. Miles away from anything fun, or happy, or even normal.

At this point, you try to imagine yourself in their shoes, but no matter how hard you try, you just can’t. At this point, you have merely been introduced to their plight, you’ve only barely become acquainted with their circumstance. Glory be to Allah.

Alhamdulilah

When you first see the students, many of the truths you were once told about the inherent injustices of our government’s socio-economic tendencies and educational policies finally materialize, and any of the skepticism you once held against this fact vanish.

You witness for yourself the failure of the education system, the intricate racism of the institutional society we live in. You see the Black and the Brown, but not the White. The only white you see is the Porsche in the Warden’s parking spot. Then you sit down to begin your session.

You meet your student and start working on his trig, but then you hit a wall. We all believe firmly in our hearts and minds that we should be grateful for all that we have, but what about all that we know? When was the last time we felt grateful for knowing what a ‘ratio’ was, for what a ‘radius’ is? When was the last time we thanked Allah for knowing how to add and subtract, multiply and divide, because some of these kids sure wish they could.

How blessed are we to know these things and to have had the opportunity to learn and grasp these simple concepts? We are very blessed, but many of us are completely oblivious to this blessing of ‘knowing’ because we really truly take it for granted. All praise is due to Allah.

Allahuakbar

You sit down with your student with the intention of getting through 2 or 3 sections, but by the time you must get up to leave you’ve only gone through 2 or 3 problems. You think to yourself: Is it really that hard for him to solve that question, to even understand what it’s asking?

The answer is yes. It really is that hard for these students to evaluate problems we would find very easy. As you walk out and return to the van, you notice all the inmates are gone. It’s nearly 7:00 pm and they’ve been herded back into their dorms–it’s almost their bedtime.

One more time you try to envision yourself in their shoes, and again, you fail to. You wonder why they’re in the situation they’re in. You ponder why you’re in the situation you’re in. You think about the freedom Allah has given you to control your life (to some extent) and fix your own schedule. You think about the knowledge Allah has gifted you, even if it’s as small and simple as knowing what a diameter is.

And you think about the greatest favor Allah ever gave you: guiding you to Islam, and how that guidance kept you out of incarceration camps as this. Allah is the Greatest.

(Featured image credit: C.M. Gonzales)

This symbol, "Om", represents a state of consciousness and awareness of one's spiritual identity. (Flicker/ nabeel_yoosuf)

Inspired from my previous experience at the “Lunar-Dharmacakra Mixer“, I was fired up and blazed to attend the Muslim Union’s next event where Muslims met with the Hindu Students Association at the Hindu-Muslim mixer.

I took the liberty of dubbing this mixer “Forum of the Falasifa Pandits.” This, like the last Mixer’s name , has a deeper meaning attached to it.

The “forum” refers to the group of buildings that were part of the government in ancient Rome, or it can otherwise refer to a place of open discussion. “Falasifa” refers to the Greek word, adopted by Arab Muslims during the Islamic Golden Age, to refer to philosophers.

The word “Pandit” is the origin of the word “pundit” which is used in English to refer to an expert in any given field. However, the word “pandit” refers to a person who has mastered the Sanskrit language, and more specifically, it refers to one who has memorized and can recite a significant part of the Vedas, the holy book of Hinduism, during ritual ceremonies.

In this way, our Mixer was a place of open discussion between educated and learned thinkers and followers of two different, but similar faiths.

Unlike my fatal error last meeting, I was not too late for the meeting of the pundits. However I was unable to remain for the entire exchange. It must have been a coincidence because I had an intense debate scheduled that same evening after the Mixer, and I was thus clad in my dark, authoritative, business suit.

I entered the Mixer just in time before the main event began. Unlike the previous “Lunar-Dharmacakra Mixer,” this event began with a light, casual phase as the participants conversed and ate snacks.

At the end of my time there, it escalated into a more heavy, serious discussion as all the pundits stood together in a circle while directing questions and answers to each other. Unfortunately, my time was up and I had to leave the epic symposium of intellectual exchange.

Despite my early time there, I learned one important fact and pondered on some thoughts. What defines “polytheism?” Is Hinduism a “polytheistic” religion? By Islam’s definition of “polytheism,” the answer might be “Yes.”

However, by the theological and scholastic definition of “polytheism,” Hinduism might not be considered such a religion. Although it may seem that Hindus worship several gods and goddesses, from what I learned, all these gods and goddesses are merely essences, avatars, or personifications of one Supreme God.

In that regards, both Islam and Hinduism share similar concepts of a single Supreme God or deity. To a person who possess general knowledge of a religion such as Hinduism, it would seem that Hinduism is a polytheistic religion. However, this is an extreme oversimplification of a faith that encompasses a large population of people. In learning about Hinduism from actual Hindus, many do not consider their faith to be polytheistic with many gods.

As a Muslim using the concept of polytheism or ‘shirk’ defined in Islam, we are confronted with a believers of a faith who disagree with our position. However, this is not a matter of who is right or who is wrong, or whether you ought to agree or disagree, but the point is to learn about different perspectives and opinions that may oppose or contradict those of your own.

Giving dawah involves learning new perspectives and viewpoints while critically thinking, pondering, and analyzing them. Hence, the purpose of dawah is to convey and communicate, and not convince or convert.

(Flickr/ Arndt Nallau)

I was having a hard time tearing my attention away from his words, spoken in a soothing  tone, in order to take notes on his answers. But how else would I capture his wise thoughts?

I was volunteering at L.A.’s Green Festival when I spotted this older man dressed in traditional Native American clothes.  I noticed him lingering after the conclusion of a lecture so I decided to approach him to discuss his culture’s relationship with the environment.

He introduced himself to me as Daniel, but also offered his other name, Eagle. I noticed him holding a wooden staff with a carved eagle, reassuring me of his commitment to his identity.

“We are one with all, we do not stand apart,” he started as he explained his people’s strong connection with the environment. They saw themselves as caretakers of all the elements –the wind, air, water, fire.

Gesturing to the large number of attendees at the festival, I asked him what he would advise to those who wish to tackle our current environmental issues. Where should they begin?

“Go within. The balance of life lies within,” Eagle stated simply. His words encouraged me to contemplate the state God created us in. God informs us in the Qur’an of the balance He established and asked us to maintain (Surah ar-Rahman, verses 7-9).

“Don’t discover who you are, remember who you are,” Eagle emphasized as I continued to reflect on God’s creation of mankind’s spirit.

For if we are able to look beyond the distractions and pressures our society imposes on us from all sides, we may find ourselves ready to embrace a more  moderate and balanced life. A life not governed by consumerism and wastefulness. A life not filled with dissatisfaction and discontent.  A life that breathes with the earth, not against it.

To my pleasant surprise, Eagle turned out to be a UCLA alumnus. So before we parted, he gave me a final message to share with my fellow bruins:

“The bear spirit walks with you. Know that though it seems slow,  it is quick. It is strong.
The bear knows how to live at one with this world.”

(Flickr/ digitaura)

“The Lunar-Dharmacakra Mixer.” This phrase emerged into my mind when I first heard about the upcoming Muslim-Buddhist Mixer from the Dawah (formally known as “Muslim Union”) subgroup of UCLA’s Muslim Students Association.

“Lunar” referred to the moon or the pseudo-symbol of Islam adopted since the reign of the Ottoman Empire. From my prior knowledge of Buddhism, I knew that the “Dharmacakra” was the wheel with eight spokes, and also one of the central symbols of Buddhism.

I had initially visualized the Mixer as some type of Dharmacakra emitting moonlight, and was looking forward to attending in order to speak about my own faith while learning more about another. However…

…I had made a near-fatal error. While the timing for the Lunar-Dharmacakra to spin would be precisely at 5 PM, I had miscalculated and instead arrived near an hour late at 6 PM. My delay had caused a slightly unfortunate downside.

The “Lunar-Dharmacakra” Mixer was planned to spin both ways clockwise and counter-clockwise. However, they had already spun clockwise, and it was now time to spin counter-clockwise. Instead of learning more about Buddhism, my plans changed, and I ended up speaking as much as I could about my own faith in order to make up for the delay.

However, mixing and spinning in only one direction was satisfying nonetheless. While I had some “experience” in dawah on the electronic ocean of the Internet, this time I was speaking live to people without any veil of anonymity.

Whether it was the concept of Tawheed  (Unity of God), the five pillars of Islam, lowering thy gaze, or reciting the Ayah Al Kursi,  not only was I conveying shards of knowledge to someone else, but I felt the shards within myself resonating and reminding of what I already knew and learned.

From this “Lunar-Dharmacakra” Mixer, I learned one very important lesson: Giving dawah is not only a process of teaching others, but it is also a process of reminding yourself of what you already know. It is a process of rekindling knowledge’s flame inside, while letting its sparks fly off outside.

Part I | Part II | Part III

Casablanca, Morocco

If only I was equipped with a telescope so I could determine the first night of Ramadan myself, because time was passing by and it was the first of August, but no Moroccans seemed to be buzzing about with the spirit of the holy month. I eagerly awaited another month of starvation and spiritual reflection, trying to time my trip in Casablanca accurately so that I could pray the first Taraweeh prayer in the Hassan II mosque among thousands of believers.

I was in the middle of a souk when the call to Maghrib, or sunset-time prayer, was announced on a local speakerphone on a minaret. An immediate sense of jubilation came over me as I began to realize that Ramadan had begun. Eagerly, I took a break from the shopping and entered the small mosque through a hidden staircase behind one of the souk stores.

I was disoriented but couldn’t care less as I roamed about upstairs not realizing I needed to put my shoes in a bag. I went down again, retrieved one, and climbed back up. After performing wudu, or ablution before prayer, I found a seat on a stylized red carpet in a seemingly empty room. I felt prepared to engage in my first few moments of spiritual growth while observing the Moroccan women around me flip through the Quran. I prayed Maghrib and left the souk.

Oussama and I toured around the King’s palace for a little while before making our way to the large park in central
Casablanca. It truly felt like Ramadan when I was pulled by the arm by a Moroccan lady and was motioned by her to sit down on a mini stool that was too short for my petite legs, even.

Within minutes, my hands were covered in beautiful floral designs in henna, the traditional leaf-extract dye that is used for celebrations. Since I already passed as a Moroccan on the streets, I felt even more like a native. My appearance became such a tool for deception–with the hijab, tanned skin, and Arab-style scarf, it was especially more now that I had henna on my hands!

Little did I know that Morocco was actually one of the only countries in the world that did not begin Ramadan according to the Saudi Arabian moon-sighting. I spent that entire evening in denial about how I began my Ramadan!

XVI | XVII | XVIII

Salmon Hossein on his first visit to Afghanistan earlier this year.

Al-Talib interviews Salmon Hossein on his experience growing up as an Afghan American post 9/11. Hossein is a recent UCLA graduate who is now pursuing a Masters of Public Policy at Harvard University.

A-T: Describe that day in 2001. What was it like, what do you remember?

Hossein: I remember, just that summer we had moved from Northern California where I was born and raised my entire life to Southern California.

That morning I happened to wake up a little earlier, and I’m sitting down in front of the TV and there’s smoke billowing from one of the Twin Towers so I’m like “Mom! Mom! Come look at this!” So while we’re watching the broadcast and while I’m eating my breakfast, the second plane hits and that’s when we knew like ok, something serious is happening here. I just remember that morning so vividly.

A-T: How do you think it impacted you growing up?

Hossein: In terms of national history, it’s probably one of, if not the most important thing that happened to me, more than the war in Afghanistan, because I was ridiculed a lot when I went to school.

It was my second day at school and the kids barely knew me to begin with. And on top of that, I happened to be an Afghan-American. So they kept calling me “Afghanistan” to a point where I didn’t think they even knew my name.

It affected me on multiple fronts because I was Muslim, and Islam was being attacked. I was Afghan, and Afghanistan was the first country that was invaded. And lastly, my last name is Hossein. So as if being Muslim and Afghan wasn’t enough, I happen to have the same last name as Iraq’s dictator. I was like the living, walking, talking Axis of Evil in one.

And it really hurt me because I didn’t know how to respond to it, I was only in 8^th grade. I went through an identity crisis. I would actually try reasoning with them “I was born and raised in California, I don’t know any of them” or “that’s not what I believe. If I believed any of it I wouldn’t be living here.”

Soon enough I realized these people weren’t listening and they were just making more fun of me. And that’s when I started to develop a sense of humor and try to mentally take what they say lightly. It almost changed my personality. Before that I was this geeky nerd and after that I realized I could use humor and personal relationships with people.

A-T: How about today, do you think 9/11 influenced your interaction with non-Muslims?

Hossein: Today I think I’m very aware of my interactions with non-Muslims, especially if they know my faith. If I’m one of the only Muslims they know, I have to put on a good show and represent Islam to them. Not put on a show as in be fake, but if I’m this temperamental, angry guy, I fit into the media stereotypes that are hammered into them every day.

But if I’m this guy that’s working for social justice, devoting my life to public service, or I’m friendly with them, then I hope that they’ll take away that not all Muslims are like this, in fact, most are like Salmon.

A-T: What about your identity? How was that impacted?

Hossein: At first, I was so typecast as “the other,” “the minority,” “the Muslim,” that I fell prey to it, that when people asked me what I am I would say that I’m Afghan. But that changed over time because I realized that no, I’m American. I was born in California, raised in California, went to school in California, lived 23 years of my life in California and only this year did I spend five months in Afghanistan. So I’m as Californian and as American as the person next to me. That’s something I hadn’t come to terms with until recently.

A-T: You want to dedicate your life to fighting poverty and other social issues. Given the conflicts going on in Afghanistan even before 9/11, what led you to this path?

Hossein: Before 9/11 I cared a lot about Afghanistan because I had learned so much about what my parents had gone through for me to be in America today and how one small change in their escape story could have either meant death for them or them not ending up in America. And if they didn’t end up in America they wouldn’t have met each other and my sister and I wouldn’t be here today.

So because I understood how privileged we were I cared a lot about Afghanistan and the issue of poverty around the world.

But 9/11 made me look into the political and societal ramifications of being a Muslim. Before that, it was a very private faith for me. It was something we did in our family, behind closed doors amongst relatives and friends. It wasn’t something that I needed to talk about. But after 9/11 I realized I have to justify my faith and justify my beliefs. I had to defend it against people who were ignorant.

So it did influence me. Because of that bigotry, because my patriotism was questioned, my faith was demonized, the very freedoms, honor and respect that my family sought in the United States was no longer being afforded to them, I wanted to enter law, policy and government and put an end to that. Because I believe that what America stands for, its truest ideals are in conjunction with the Islamic faith because both preach and promote freedom, justice, and liberty for all, and the pursuit of happiness and equality for everybody.