Adhan

I was waiting in line for the school bus when he came up to me. We knew each other only vaguely. “It’s your fault my dad is in Iraq,” he said, as he punched me in the face.

A year earlier, my dad did not come home on time from work. A patient approached him smiling. “Hello Dr. Latif.” Then the patient lunged for him. Baba was in the hospital throughout the night, and came home with 12 stitches. The patient thought he was Afghani.

A few years later, my little sister stood downcast in her high school’s hallway. She found a note slipped into her locker. It told her to “F-herself” multiple times and to “go back to her country.” It was signed, “Love, Jesus”.

I am not telling these anecdotes so that anyone feels sorry for my family. We don’t deserve or want pity. I am trying to show that “islamophobia” is a reality, and hatred hurts, physically, emotionally and spiritually. And on a wider scale, these same anti-Muslim sentiments lead to foreign policy that has devastated thousands—the trouble of Muslims in the West is nothing in comparison. My mom and sisters are used to accusatory glances, and they have tried again and again to re-purpose the phrase ‘towel-head’ and shrug off the disgusting term “sand-n*****”. I grew up defusing bomb jokes. For many Muslims in America, this discrimination is a daily reality, particularly for those who look particularly Muslim, such as women in hijab or sometimes even Sikhs wearing turbans.

Like many of my Muslim peers, I spent years correcting misconceptions, befriending avowed Muslim-bashers and reacting to new terrorist attacks and the hectic aftermath. I acted like a self-declared representative of 1.6 billion souls. But now I am tired of condemning and apologizing. I am tired of people forgetting their own imperialistic and colonial complicity in fostering violence. I am tired of others interfering in how “Islam” – which is not a monolith – is supposed to run. No, modernization is not a magical solution. Yes, we may have problems, but stop defining them in your terms and using them for your own agenda. I am also tired of people over-simplifying my faith to labels like “peace” or “the sword”, and forgetting the impact of history and the complexity of the 1400-year old dynamic tradition that we label religion. In sum, I am tired of hearing the same challenges and giving the same responses over and over again. The reactionary cycle is getting old.

The reactionary cycle works something like this. Step 1. A tragic event occurs. Step 2. The majority of the population genuinely grieves. Step 3. A small segment vocally attacks all Muslims. Another portion remains unsure and asks why Muslims don’t condemn whatever happened or apologize for it. Another segment vocally defends Muslims to various degrees and in different ways, though there are occasionally agendas behind these actions. Step 4. Some Muslims become apologetic. Others deconstruct the situation. A few become combative. And still others raise their hands in distress or prayer. A whole range of Muslims, non-Muslims and people with complicated self-identities don’t fit neatly into any of these categories. The entire cycle is fed by a starving twenty-four hour media, social media, geopolitical crises and a multi-million dollar islamophobia industry.

The first time in my life I felt this tension let up was at Duke. I could pray on the quad without getting funny looks. I was never asked to apologize for anything. Occasionally a friend would recount an instance where they were made uncomfortable—In one particular instance, a store clerk off campus refused a friend service, but these were the exception and not the rule. When our university made the decision to allow the Adhan to be called from the chapel, I was ecstatic. The idea was suggested by Christy Lohr Sapp, a Christian. It would be a call to unity and a re-affirmation of the Muslim community’s existence in the face of trying world events. It would be a moment where our community went beyond token pluralism or tolerance, and showed an outpouring of radical love. It would, in effect, be a chance to break the cycle, at least temporarily. When the decision was reversed because of trolls like a certain North Carolinian preacher, three years of being sheltered in college came crashing down. Then I realized that the cycle had been continuing—I just hadn’t been paying attention. I was not on campus during the Adhan scandal, so I’ve been following friend’s posts and reflections. If I had a penny for every sad face emoji I saw, I would be a rich man. I couldn’t help envisioning the Star Wars scene where Obi Wan confronted Anakin. “You were the chosen one! You were supposed to bring balance to the force, not leave it in the darkness!”

The objections to the Adhan were stereotypically ignorant. To answer a few about special treatment for Muslims and claims that the Adhan is somehow un-American—Christians do have a call to prayer, they are called church bells and they are already played from the chapel. Muslims have been in North Carolina since slaves first came to the shores—look up Omar Sayyid, whose memoir is in UNC’s equivalent of Rubenstein. The Adhan was called by Muslim slaves, and some scholars speculate that its unique intonation contributed to the creation of the blues. Even if none of this was true, it still does not justify threats of violence and another turn of the reactionary cycle.

Abdul Latif is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Friday.