The last time I managed to go a day without food and water, I ended up spending most of the day in bed.
Much to the enjoyment of my roommate at the time, I could not function the way he was accustomed to during Ramadan, an annual holy month of fasting in the Muslim tradition that commemorates the first revelation of the Quran to the prophet Muhammad. I prepared for a week to align both my sleep and eating cycle with his, which incorporated waking up before sunrise to eat something before returning to bed. Even then, the result was not ideal—less energy, more tiredness, and because it was a hot Saturday in June, a license to enjoy the comforts of a chilly apartment.
That day my purpose was not only expressly spiritual, but it had a deeper meaning for our friendship. Fasting became a brief moment of experiencing his religious practice and attempting through that open and authentic engagement to learn from each other in the process.
Just as with this summer, I’m fasting this week for and with my friends to build examples of what it means to live in a pluralistic community that values interfaith engagement. What I mean by interfaith is engaging, learning and building community through service and authentic experiences across barriers of spiritual and religious or non-religious identities. Whether you participate in a faith tradition or identify as agnostic or atheist, you have some form of spiritual or faith identity, and that aspect of identity can be an important locus of growing inclusivity on campus and in the world around us.
Often an aspect of identity we leave to the periphery of social justice circles is religious identity. Just as efforts to highlight racism and homophobia are active on this campus, so too should be the discussion of Islamophobia and the dangers of religious fundamentalism.
It makes sense that we leave this aspect of identity out of spaces like Common Ground or in the broad set of demands that have been outlined by different student organizations over the past couple months. One can juxtapose Martin Luther King, Malcolm X and Dorothy Day with the Westboro Baptist Church, evangelical presidential candidates who fan the flame of anti-Islamic fervor and picket lines outside of Planned Parenthoods and pride parades.
In American society, it seems that faith has been the driving force behind marginalization as often as it has driven those who fight against that oppression.
In a world that has become increasingly polarized politically and socially, the religious elements of that polarization are often forgotten, even when more than 83 perfect of the world’s population is religious (about 16 percent are unaffiliated) according to a Pew Research Center study. At the heart of many peace building and anti-oppression movements around the world, people of faith are active and engaged. We only need to walk out our front door to witness that religious leaders are the heart of the Moral Mondays movement in North Carolina.
But as long as Ben Carson thinks a Muslim cannot be president, 40 percent of polled North Carolina Republicans think Islam should be illegal in the United States and presidential candidates can suggest to raucous applause that we should only accept Christian refugees from Syria or halt their entry altogether, the public image of faith will be one that highlights the failures of interfaith engagement rather than its potential to strengthen and grow our communities.
We’re asking the wrong questions when we ask “Should God be involved in a discussion of race?” or “Can a Muslim be President of the United States?” These questions simply lack any sense of nuance or common humanity. All they further do is highlight the divisions, which while important and valid in most religious contexts between specific traditions, should not have a place in our political or social dialogue.
My faith background informs much about how I view and experience the world. The combination of a Catholic upbringing, non-denominational Christian perspectives and experience in the Black church has made me who I am. Our stories and our identities shape our experience and perspective of the world around us.
Interfaith engagement is one that highlights the necessity of one’s story and the nuance of religious identity so that such a basis of commonality might lend powerful work to combat systems of oppression and individual bias.
Fasting in and of itself is not unique to specific faith traditions; every major religion I have been exposed to incorporates some form of fasting into religious practice. In a sense, abstaining from food, water or a combination of the two for a period of time is a deeply spiritual and simultaneously grounding experience. In an attempt to gain clarity or connect with a higher being or sense of reality, we refuse the basic necessities which keep us alive for some period of time. In secular contexts, hunger strikes have been used in situations of powerlessness to give agency to those being imprisoned or oppressed. In the space of a fast, people from all and no faith background can come together to take a stand for an issue they care about whether that be climate change, racial justice or peace in the Palestinian territories.
A couple years ago, some friends and I were meandering through the older neighborhoods of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, quite hungry and tired. We stumbled upon a Sikh temple and wandered in to explore. We were greeted, two Christians, an agnostic and a Muslim, with food and wonderful conversation about our faiths and the history of Sikhism.
I’m fasting on Tuesday for interfaith communities because I have learned pluralist, peaceful societies are ones that have learned that faith can be a bridge and not a barrier to inclusivity and justice. I hope you will do the same for your own reason.
Jay Sullivan is a Trinity senior. His column runs on alternate Mondays.
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