Muslims are not a monolith
No images? Click here April 1, 2022 Hi Meteor readers! Spring housekeeping: you won’t see my name as much around these parts for a while, as I’m shifting my focus exclusively to a book I’m writing about my upbringing in Wyoming and the myth of the American West. (Short version: the hypermasculine white narrative of Western Expansion has always been a lie.) I’ll miss you all, but don’t worry—I’ll be back. More importantly, and FORTUNATELY FOR YOU: you will start seeing the name of the great Samhita Mukhopadhyay, who’s joining Shannon Melero on this newsletter ship and is simply one of the best humans around. In today’s newsletter, Shannon writes about the start of Ramadan and asks why non-Muslims still know so little about a holiday observed by two billion people. And after that, we’ve got a wonderful comic strip from Huda Fahmy with tips on how to be mindful of your Muslim co-workers this year. Check it all out, right after the news. And call if you’re in Wyoming! —Julianne Escobedo Shepherd WHAT’S GOING ON
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—JES HAPPY HOLIDAYSRemember to Wish Your Friends a Blessed Ramadan This YearAnd please, while we’re celebrating, take some time to educate yourself on what it is BY SHANNON MELERO A SHOP SELLING RAMADAN DECORATIONS IN GAZA (PHOTO BY MAJDI FATHI VIA GETTY IMAGES) I converted to Islam sometime in 2014, secretly, in a bathroom. I’d love to tell you that “bathroom” is some sort of metaphor, but I took my Shahadah (declaration of faith) in a literal bathroom by myself and told very few people what I had done for almost a year. Why the cloak and dagger? I was a church youth leader. On weekends I would teach teens about their Lord and savior, Jesus Christ. And while Jesus is a beloved homie in Islam, I didn’t fully believe a lot of what I was teaching. But I cared for those youngsters and the thought of leaving them in the hands of other adults who wouldn’t understand them felt like a betrayal. So I hid my faith and continued working at the church, where my mother was associate pastor, until I was asked to leave (but that’s another very dramatic story for another time). Not too long after my conversion—my first Ramadan was upon me. It was horrific. I didn’t make it through the first two weeks of fasting. In the years since, there have been plenty more “failed” Ramadans for me, which have all met their end in a similar fashion—a hunger-induced brain fog where I start asking myself: Why are we doing this? Why am I doing this? Why is it so long? Why couldn’t I be drawn to Catholicism? That seems like it’s not too hard. Before you know it, I’m face down in a bag of spicy sweet chili Doritos like a raccoon on speed.
I wasn’t alone in this line of questioning (although I was absolutely alone on the Doritos binge). Canadian journalist, podcaster, and fellow Muslimah Shireen Ahmed tells me that she also stared down difficult questions, like: “What am I actually doing? And why am I doing it? Is it because I want to please Allah or do I want to be able to flex that I’m fasting?” Ramadan is a beautiful time full of reflection, elaborate community meals, a focus on charity, finishing the Quran and an obscene amount of dates (the fruit!). But fasting seems to be the thing we all get stuck on, both inside and outside of the Muslim community. “What kind of parent would let their kid starve all day,” I’ve heard non-Muslims say. (You know who you are and I will not let that go.) But when I was in Catholic school and it was time to choose what we were giving up for Lent, no one lobbed the same judgment. When I took up the Daniel Fast during my teen years with my family, that was normal. What many non-Muslims choose to remain ignorant about is that fasting is scalable, and it’s also not the only way to participate in Ramadan. Not everyone fasts: There are those who simply cannot fast, because they’re pregnant, suffer from eating disorders, or are on medication. There are also those who simply don’t want to, which is as valid a reason as any other. “Ramadan isn’t supposed to deplete you to a point where you can’t function,” Ahmed says. “It’s supposed to reinvigorate you.”
Ahmed was born into the Muslim faith and understands as well as anyone the struggle that comes with the fast, but also the fun there is to be had within the community. “In the summertime, after Taraweeh, the Tim Horton’s is like nuts,” she says. For those who don’t know, “Taraweeh” is a special night prayer that takes place after we break fast and is often a huge community gathering. Taraweeh is a lot longer than the length of the five prayers Muslims are obligated to do every day and if you attend a poppin’ mosque, it can go on until sunrise. So why do we celebrate Ramadan? Were you to ask five Muslims that question, you’d have five completely different answers. Some will say it’s a way to ensure a place in heaven. Others do it to understand suffering, or to develop humility. Some seek to develop community. Some make goals to memorize Quran. And the list goes on and on. But an answer you rarely hear from our leaders is “introspection,” something a lot of us end up doing anyway. Sure, we’re asked to reflect on our sins and seek forgiveness, but we never talk about extending that forgiveness to ourselves. “When we think about worship, we think about submission…but there’s also an internal spiritual self that needs taking care of,” Ahmed explains. Yet our focus is pulled in so many different directions over the course of 30 days. Decorating, planning iftars (the fast-breaking meal), memorizing Quran, attending Taraweeh, and on top of that, maintaining our normal work or school schedules. It’s a grueling marathon made all the more difficult by having to move in a world that looks at Muslims sideways simply for existing.
I’d love to blame non-Muslims for all of this but really, Ramadan has always had a bit of a branding problem. We don’t have a mascot like all of the other holidays; there is nothing to put a smiling face on 30 days of Hunger Games. (No disrespect to Rafiq the Ramadan date palm tree, who is a mascot for the under-five group.) Without some sort of hyper-commercialized gloss over it, non-Muslims can only understand Ramadan through the portrayals already in front of them, and it’s not like the nuances of faith made it into any episodes of Homeland. (If you are looking for a show about Muslims that isn’t about terrorism, I recommend We Are Lady Parts. And as far as Ramadan goes, Ahmed points out there’s an entire “micro-economy” around this holiday dominated mostly by women of color who sell dates, decorations, Eid outfits, and even Ramadan trees!) But instead of helping us string up some cute Ramadan lights, folks want to scuritinize religious fasting anew despite being able to mind their own when former Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey was doing it as a wellness habit. “I had a teammate who told me once what I was doing was unhealthy and it’s like please, no one asked you,” Ahmed recalls. Particularly as we prepare for the fast, Muslims are inundated with outside opinions on our entire belief system and all of its flaws. “The world is not where it was 30 years ago, but we should be further along,” Ahmed explains. “People know what Ramadan is. People know who Muslims are. I just don’t think they’ve learned that we’re not monolithic.” While I’d love to argue with and educate every person who clings to the monolith, I try to follow my mother’s advice: God doesn’t need you to play defense. (But find me on the wrong day, and you will catch these holy hands, I promise you that.) “We are not new to this. We know ourselves, and I know myself well enough at 45 to handle it. Do I get tired? Yes. But I get tired anyway. Like, the point is just because you’re uninformed doesn’t mean that we are,” Ahmed says. I’m sure this year, I’ll ask myself once again why I’m doing any of this—and because I’m hangry, I won’t have an answer. But in my current satiated and clear-headed state, the answer seems painfully obvious: because it’s what I believe. Shannon Melero is a Bronx-born writer on a mission to establish borough supremacy. She covers pop culture, religion, and sports as one of feminism’s final frontiers. BEFORE YOU GO Know better, do better. Artist and author Huda Fahmy writes some of the funniest comic strips about the Muslim experience. She also put together a handy How-To on making workplaces more accommodating for Muslim employees. Copyright © 2022 by Huda Fahmy. All rights reserved. FOLLOW THE METEOR Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Wednesdays and Saturdays.
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