Of small victories…

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Few take up the burden of their own victory: most give up their dreams when they become impossible.
- Paulo Coelho, The Pilgrimage

Yesterday I attended a rally for Muslims prosecuted wrongfully. If you’re an old time blog reader, you know of the two men here who were lured by FBI agents and embroiled in an elaborate trap to convict them of terrorism. Yesterday a rally was organized by a non-Muslim group that is in solidarity with the Muslims. We all met in front of the main library in our town and heard a few speakers and marched with a plethora of signs all the way downtown to city hall. We yelled slogans like ‘hey hey, ho ho, entrapment must go’ and ‘who did the crime, fbi! who did the time, muslims!’

At city hall, a common council member was going to introduce a resolution asking the justice department to review all these cases targeting Muslims.

There were maybe a hundred supporters, including Muslims, non-Muslims, babies in carriages, little Muslim girls with hijabs and signs, every nationality and age and color, Muslims who wore hijab and didn’t, Muslims who looked like they were and looked like they weren’t. Many family members of Muslims prosecuted from various cases in other states and nearby came as well.

We all walked through the metal detectors, got wanded and went upstairs to the court hall. There, one by one different people went up to speak from their heart. Some tearfully, some passionately.

There was the lawyer on the case who talked about how in the first evidence given a document claimed a Muslim Imam was a “commander” but when they read the document they realized the FBI had mistranslated the word for “brother” as “commander” and totally had the wrong language even! The FBI admitted their mistake but all evidence after that was then made secret! Not even the defense lawyers who went through months of clearance were allowed to see the evidence. They were not able to challenge anything that could have been totally wrong like that. The judge at the beginning told the jury that there was “real evidence” why these men were targeted and completely prejudiced the jury. They were afraid to exonerate them even though they found them not guilty on all except one of the charges.

A little Albanian girl who was probably about 12 went up and spoke quite eloquently about how her father and his friends went to the Pochonos on vacation and went horseback-riding, played pool and then to a shooting range. Before they went to the shooting range they even asked the local cops if they could and were told it was fine. Long story short another person tricked and entangled, pro(per)secuted and convicted. She said she had two younger siblings who always ask about their father and she doesn’t know what to tell them and tries to comfort them. All from this little tiny girl! Hearts of stone would have melted.

A Palestinian mother went up and spoke about how her son was given life PLUS 30 years and he is only 21 years old over taking pictures at a reservoir. To see him in jail the family has to drive 19 hours and can only talk to him through glass in a highly secure CMU, a jail especially for Muslims. I thought about the pictures I took this summer at Lock 7.

A local Egyptian Muslim talked about how he came to the US 30 years ago because it was the land of opportunity, of fairness and justice. How Muslims want to be part of the society, to contribute and give back. And how he was appalled with what was happening in the U.S now.

A non-Muslim African-American mother went up and talked about how one day she looked at her Muslim son and realized that he was not well. After being tested they found out he had leukemia. The informant the FBI sent to him offered him money for treatment for his CANCER. And they later used this to convict him for terrorism.

An Indian Physics professor talked about how he came to the US so many years ago as an immigrant and hoped it would be a place of peace and prosperity. How these men, while they may have made mistakes, were not terrorists. How they were entrapped and prosecuted and taken from their families.

Case after case, community members, activists, peace advocates, civil rights supporters, family members, mothers, fathers, aunts, sisters, siblings, young sons and daughters, muslims, non-muslims, blonde, white, black, wearing jeans or jilbabs or suits went and spoke. I can’t even describe the beauty and eloquence and emotion of each speaker talking about things like injustice, anger, civil rights, love, family, faith and ideals.

I know for each activist, mother or child who spoke it was a cathartic experience. For the first time they were able to speak and be a witness to what had happened to them and what was happening around them.

Some council members cried as did we.

I was reminded of the story of the Christian king of Abyssinia. Who, when the enemies of Muslims came, asking him to hand over the Muslims taking refuge in his country, asked the Muslims about their case. The Muslims came forward and recited verses from the Chapter of Mary in the Quran. The king and his council members wept until their beards were wet and he said that the difference between Christianity and Islam was the difference between this line that he drew in the sand. He declared that he wouldn’t give the Muslims up for anything and would always give them protection.

Amazingly, a few council members got up and also talked. One with a heavy Russian accent talked about how even seeing the recent violent events in his country, he did not want the US to turn into the Soviet Union. He talked about the time his uncle was dragged away for nothing and put into a horrible gulag in Siberia. He talked about how his grandmother is still scared to even talk about anything political and about how people his parents knew just disappeared because of their political ideas.

Another talked about how the council now had a choice. What kind of America did they want to live in? The kind where secret evidence, illegal wiretaps, wrongful prosecution was OK or the kind where justice upheld. Did they want an America where people were arrested and jailed before they even committed a crime because of their beliefs?

One of the women council members talked at length about the tragedy of 9/11 and admitted how the US had gone too far in their treatment for Muslims and it was time to redress it now instead of 50 years from now like they did for the Japanese that were interred and all the other different groups that had been treated unfairly in the past.

Another council member said he thought that in being a representative here he’d just be working on things like parking and streets and building legislation. But he was so proud now to be part of something of great importance and wanted to represent the Muslims he knew in his own district that he saw everyday in their stores. He knew them and wanted to make sure they received the justice they deserved.

One of the council members objected to the wording of the resolution and they went into an unprecedented emergency mode to update it so that they could have more members support it.

One council member objected to ‘not having enough time’ to think over something so weighty. Another said he wanted to talk to his ‘elected officials’ to see what they thought before supporting something like this.

I wish someone had video recorded or taped it or I could somehow recall everything that had been said and convey it to you. I don’t think I will ever see an event like that again. It was unprecedented all around and just un-describable. I wish every person in the world could, like this council,  witness and hear each individual Muslim like this. Just to see their face and hear them. What a difference it makes!

It had been a very long emotional meeting. People came in and out, some went to another courtroom to pray. The babies fell asleep and were taken home. Finally after everyone spoke passionately and all debate was over… the vote. At this time, the room went silent and everyone came in, sat in the floor and listened to hear the roll call. Yes, yes, yes, present (meaning no/abstain), yes, present…and on it went. Finally the tally… it was 10-4 We won!!

The resolution had passed. And for the first time, and in a very formal way a government body had made a very very very small concession. And sent a very very very small message to the justice department. Message: what they did might have been wrong and needed to be redressed.

A very small stone in a very huge pool of suffering. The men are still in jail. Their families are still torn apart. A resolution doesn’t change innocence or guilt, just asks them to review the “methods” used in prosecution. Still…

Still.

We all walked back in groups jubiantly through the night air the way we marched, to a little tiny pizza shop downtown that one of the wive’s of one of the Muslims in jail still ran after her husband had been taken away. Struggling, alone, with 6 children to support, she had prepared some food for all of us. There everyone took up every available booth and counter space. We passed around pizza and salad and biryani and ginger ale. Some council members came too! Everyone hung out and we ate and laughed and talked and celebrated. It was a little strange, a lot full of wonder, an amazing evening. For the first time in a long time we felt… happy.

…

I almost didn’t write about this event, because I kind of felt it was a special, private moment for those involved. But then I thought maybe someone out there could use a tiny bit of hope… Also I would like those who were not involved and who have never been involved, the Muslims sitting on their couch or the Americans who don’t care, to know of our little win of justice, of our happiness…of small victories. It is we who are blessed through this opportunity to help others, not the other way around. All praise and thanks be to God. 

wsalam

UPDATE! Our wish has been granted!! Video of everyone speaking appears in the link below at Project Salam!!

Photos taken by Dan Van Riper

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A Call for Justice – Metroland

Project Salam

The houses on the block in which I live are quite close together. On our one block we have defeated the odds of random chance by having 3 houses in a row with professors. Next door lives a young professor of archaeology/sociology with his family and next door to him is an older professor of business/statistics and his wife (and dog), and of course the third is my father who is a professor of physics.

My room on the second floor overlooks the back of the house and across a few backyards. Sometimes I see the younger professor out playing with his kids in his yard or just sitting reading on his front porch. He seems an outside kind of guy who putters around and fixes the moldings, paints his porches and fixes up his deck and yard. He reminds me so much of my father maybe 30 years ago. I don’t see his wife as often. She seems to come home to immediately rush the kids into the house.  I rarely see her outside. The older professor I see only when he comes out to take his dog inside. His wife nods every so often when she walks said dog.

My room has another window that directly looks into the window of the house adjacent. The space between these two portals must be less than a dozen feet. When I was younger I think the room across was used as an office for previous owners because the shades were always drawn. I only saw the top of a desk. I left my shades up in the daytime and enjoyed the light. When the younger professor moved in I started to hear a child crying at night and think that room is now used as a nursery.  My shades are now usually closed but I still hear the sense of movement, the lights turning on and off and noises of children. They seem to wake up very early and go to bed very early. Sometimes I wonder how we all live our lives within the space of a few hundred yards and remain almost complete strangers.

Down the street from us in a very big house surrounded by pine trees lives a middle-aged activist type woman with her one son and husband. They hold big parties every so often and I hear their swanky music making it’s way to the comfy porch chair I sit on outside in nice weather. Their son sometimes sells lemonade in the summers.  After a snowstorm, she always seems to be enthusiastically cleaning the sidewalks around her house in the afternoon, eager to greet others.

Across the street there are two houses that have been turned into apartments. Sometimes there are students that live there, sometimes young professionals, mostly single. They come and go. During the summer the parking spots in front of their houses tend to remain empty.

On the next block there is a little Church with a Montessori daycare. On Thursday evenings around 5 or 6pm from May until August,  you’ll hear the unusual sound of bagpipes coming from there, playing throughout the neighborhood. Once I saw an old couple set up twin lawn chairs near the Church just to listen.

Within walking distance we have a little post office, supermarket, library, bank, bagel and donut place, Chinese take-out, sandwich shop, park with playground, schools, dentists, dry cleaners, cafe, gas station, an independent movie theater, a pharmacy, and a liberal arts college! And yet this area is considered very residential with low crime.

One would be hard-pressed to find similar statistics anywhere. It really isn’t such a bad place. Even if it feels like we are surrounded by strangers, it is home.

Winter Fun

Memories of Winter in New York

Recently it snowed in Texas. This actually made the national news.

A ton of pictures and messages went up on every social network about how amazing it was. People were outside walking around instead of working, children were let outside of their schools. I saw tons of photo albums of little kids running around playing in the snow, people making snowmen, taking pictures happily standing in front of them, then taking pictures of their houses, their trees, their cars covered with snow. And the amazing thing is: I think it was three inches at most! Lol. We get that in ONE HOUR people!! And it snows all night here!

It’s like they never saw snow before or something

Ahhh, the beautiful thing is that it brought back to me how joyous snow could be. I have so many good memories of winter when we were growing up. I was thinking about this recently too as my young nephew and neice will be moving to (ironically) Texas and will probably never experience a real New England winter.

The first snow of the season usually falls before Thanksgiving here. The trees are all bare and when the whole town seems to be the blahest ugliest, all of a sudden one day we’ll be looking out the window in our high school and it will be snowing. Oh, the excitement!

All those kids in these pictures were dressed up in thick sweaters with hoods, poor things. They probably don’t even own jackets! Let alone what we call a “snow jacket and snow pants”. I remember when I was eight I used to have a pair of hot pink snow pants that I loved! Our usual outfits were thick jeans, a turtle-neck shirt with a sweater or thick sweatshirt, big fluffy socks (sometimes two), big boots, hat, gloves or mittens, ear-muffs, wool scarf, snow jacket and if we were little — snow pants! Then we’d go outside and maybe shovel the snow. We’d build forts on both sides of our house and we’d make up teams between my brothers, sister and I. We’d pelt each other with our arsenal of snowballs and sometimes passerbys too. (haha don’t tell our parents) We used to make snow angels in our backyard. We’d go sledding for hours and hours at the local park, or high school or local golf country club. We’d clean off the cars for money from our parents or my brothers would go clean off some neighbor’s sidewalks and we’d walk to the local store and buy the most unhealthiest foods we could find!

At our local Mosque they’d bulldoze the parking lot and there’d be this one long line of a huge mountain of snow and we’d all climb it and walk across throwing snowballs like it was some kind of trail across the Himalayas. Oh and snowdays were the best! We’d go to bed and pray and pray that it would snow all night. Then we’d wake up so early and turn on the radio or the TV and keep listening and if our school was called we’d start screaming and jumping up and down and be so ecstatic that we had a WHOLE DAY to do nothing except what we wanted. Sometimes we’d go to our friend’s house trudging through the snow, or we’d stay inside after our excursions and watch a ton of TV or play video games. The best feeling in the world was coming in after being all frozen, shaking off all our winter wear and placing it on the heaters. Then going in the kitchen and drinking some delicious soup or hot chocolate our Mom had made for us. Until today, for some reason I love to make brownies when it’s snowing! We loved going outside after midnight when we were teenagers. The streets sparkled with the glitter of thousands of diamonds and we would feel like we were living in the 1800s with all the cars and modern life covered up. We’d walk down the street and feel timeless… such are the happy memories of winter here.

A City Fairyland 1886 by Hassam Childe

There is of course the downside of snow. Getting a cold or the flu, actually having to walk to school or wait at the bus stop even when it’s freezing and snowing, making up work for the day you missed. And of course as you get older, snow is more an annoyance, having to wake up early to see if you have to come in to work. Cleaning off the car at 7am in sub-below 0 temperatures after snow and freezing rain is the absolute worst. Have you ever felt so cold with the wind and snow that you had to cover your face or else you’d die and like your eyeballs start watering because they are so freezing, Texas? Yeah I thought not

It’s enough to make people leave and it’s true that so many people haven’t been able to bear it. It’s just hard to go out and clean off your car and move it every day during snow emergencies. How about shoveling an entire driveway! Have you ever gotten stuck in snow or not been able to get your car out. Yeah it’s happened so many times. Having to clean your sidewalk after two feet of snow. Dealing with bone-chilling cold and wet frozen feet and hands and ears. Can you imagine the fear that stops your heart and jumps into your throat when your car slides on an icy road and you can’t do anything. I remember one winter while driving to Jumah, my car spun a clear 270 degrees on an icy part of a highway on-ramp. I still thank Allah that there weren’t any cars coming or going at the time. Winters can be harsh and depressing times too, with no one going out, events being cancelled, nothing going on.

Despite all this, I still love my memories of winter. I look out the window at 1am and love seeing the snow falling under the street light. And I love when, after that last storm ends and all the snow melts, we wait for that first flower of spring with the excitement and satisfaction of putting a rough winter behind us

And I have miles to go…

I attended a funeral yesterday on a very very cold day in March. My car has been acting up by starting to smoke after exactly 25 minutes of driving. (Bad car doesn’t know smoking is bad for it’s health!) So my brother bought something in a can that I put in the radiator and voila it didn’t smoke all the way to work. InshaAllah it stays that way although the scary red “Check Engine” light is still on. So now that my car was fixed it was providence to attend this funeral.

The sister who passed away was old, probably in her 60s or 70s. She had come here with her husband and sons a number of years ago from let’s say Bakhome-istan. The family owned a local ‘quicki mart store’ in our community and she sometimes worked there along with her husband who was there everyday. Her gnarled old hands rung up the items one by one and she never spoke a word of English. He too unfortunately is in the hospital right now and probably won’t recover. Her sons are grown and one lived there above the store with his family and kids and I think they lived there as well. The store is not in the best part of town but it is across the street from our inner city Masjid so got brisk business. It was probably the first time in history that the windows were darkened and the shop was closed up.

The Janazah had maybe a little over 100 people who came. A handful of family, 2 grandkids, some ppl from their country, some kids who came over from the school who had the grandkids in their classes, some who got the email from the listserv about a Janazah today. The service after Asr was very short. They brought the body in a white glossy coffin. We prayed the 4 Takbeerat and then it was over. They lifted her up and took her back to the hearst and most of the men went out with it. They plan to send the body back to her home to be buried.

I wrapped up and went back to my car around 7 and drove home alone.

I found this to be the saddest saddest funeral I’ve ever attended. A woman who traveled so far from her homeland in the hopes of a better life for her children and her children’s children. Who still are struggling and visibly hovering above poverty. I mean what did they come here for? I see so many of these struggling immigrants especially nowadays up here and especially in places like New York city. Anonymous, androgynous, working working middle class, barely scraping a living, their kids half way cultural half way in the shadows. Friendless but trying so hard to stick with their cultural kind. Praying regularly in the inner-city mosque. And now she’s dead and being sent back to her country to be buried.

What does it all mean? What did her life mean?
I don’t know. May Allah have mercy upon her soul and enter her into Jannatul firdous. Ameen.

DATES: June 11th – June 21st, 2007

TEACHER: Sessions will be taught by Sh. Mokhtar Maghraoui.

COST: The only costs include a per night charge by the camp facility for the lodge or cabin housing, and per meal cost for the food. There also may be a fee for transportation from Albany airport/train station to the retreat site. There is no cost for the retreat itself or the teacher. See Registration Form for the details.

Click here for more information and to register online: http://www.jannah.org/albany/retreat/
http://www.zawiyah.net