I remember being the only student after 9/11 in 7th grade history class to protest pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the oligarchic plutocracy for which it stands, one godless nation divisible by countless socioeconomic strata, without liberty for critics of the empire nor justice for systematically disenfranchised members of the hegemonic enterprise. I remember carrying these political views to Stuyvesant High School, a few blocks away from Ground Zero and a stones throw away from the former shadow of the now-gone Twin Towers, having to explain to my zealous algebra teacher and an otherwise apathetic class why I felt this manner of dissent was my personal conscientious objection. That I could not stand blind allegiance to a military industrial complex that was occupying and oppressing billions worldwide. That I could not bear to see headlines defaming myself and those who look like myself and believe what I believe as enemies of the state, liable to be stopped and frisked on a good day, or entrapped, tortured and sentenced to life on a bad one. That I could not stomach the destruction of civil rights, privacy, autonomy and founding principles of freedom the America I knew was founded upon, even as its creators were philandering slaveowner terrorists of their times. That I could not tolerate being urged to vote for the lesser of two evils, a patently illogical argument that resulted in two war criminals being styled the leaders of the free world. That I did not endorse those Uncle Toms representing me at state functions, as much as they endorse my calling them House Muslims. Hoped for change. All we got were drone strikes. Why share this? Because whenever I have been called a terrorist, sand nigger, camel jockey, raghead, or Muhammad (a lovely compliment, as the name means the perpetually praised in Arabic and is the worlds most popular name but I digress) or experienced the constant bewildering awkward moment when I am told to go back to my country for speaking harsh truth to power, calling out excesses whether they are committed by the NYPD in the murder of a unarmed man or international complicity and silence in the face of state terrorism by the Zionist regime, and advocating humanitarian outrage and relief efforts on behalf of innocent civilians presently massacred--even though I am proud to say I was born and raised in New York City and find myself strangely enough gifted this command by immigrants more often than not--I take a step back, smile, and remember a hauntingly poetic prophetic counsel from my tradition. My course then and now and forever will be sabran jameel (Arabic, beautiful patience). My fellow dissenters realize this, and for those uninitiated to protest, I swear it gets better and easier. And for what its worth, all I remember from history class is that political critique, has, is and always will be the height of patriotism and the mark of a free society. The best way to end this meandering admission borne of boredom is a quote from my favorite public speaker and Muslim scholar Shaykh Hamza Yusuf: The path of God is indeed arduous, and it would appear to one looking at it that treading it is too difficult for most of us. Let us set out first and then see how long we can last. God willing, a divine wind will blow on our backs, our feet will become light, and wondrous fellow wayfarers will show up with sustenance just when we thought we had none. Our success is by God, upon Him we place our trust, and to Him do we return. #Ramadan
Posted on: Thu, 24 Jul 2014 09:31:07 +0000
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