Sand-Skinned

Egypt: Outside In

2017-07-19T01:42:00.000-07:00

This is a collection of email correspondences from one friend to another. One has found herself in her ‘homeland’ for the first time, living, studying and surviving on her own in a world of her own construction. The other, an Iranian-American living in exile responding from across the ocean to a friend finding herself; each finding themselves in the others questions.

Cairo: the Arrival

January 25^th

My friend,

Walking down a Cairo street I've found what it feels like to be alive. Generators humming,

sidewalks crumbling, cars honking, people constantly commenting...the city itself speaks as silence is cremated over shisha coals and coffee. The clamor never ceases and your senses,

oh how your senses move you. From aware to blissful, from afraid to curious, elated to revolted and back again. From the smell of the sewer, to the sight of graffiti, from the chill of a fast moving vehicle passing too closely. I have never felt so alive...its the breathe of the this world that nourishes my soul.

Life is simply and wonderfully chaotic and I love it.

Hebah

One Month: Chaos tastes Dirty

Friend,

It seems whatever language I'm speaking, or attempting to speak, I always find that I can comprehend so much more than I can communicate.

Recently in Egypt I've been overwhelmed by family, put off and repulsed by family, felt the need to tear out my hair because of family, but often times family is the only comfort that speaks

directly to my soul without any middle men bargaining price specifics.

Chaos tastes dirty on my lips, dry and cracked my tongue wonders from cheek to chipped tooth and back to lips - its only the dirt that can make me feel clean when clean is the only dirty I'm trying to avoid. Clean here means class. and class here means everything.

Everything.

Short stories continue to appeal to me, another attempt to, as you said, untie the harness from around my waist, but I find that the knot has been tied tighter than I know how to deal with just yet, sometimes potential is not realized but achieved:

Woman passes down dark corner, eyes defiantly wide, stride too big for

her small frame, cat calls chase her down dark alley way, only a pussy

to be hissed at - thats all they seem to see anyway. Her dark eyes

surrounded by a frame of eyebrows reminiscent of Nefertiti glisten like

the dew crushed between unknowing foot and grass - the thoughts that

race faster than the cars passing by her swiveling hips are popped

like children's balloons after a birthday, maybe its time that we let

her walk, alone, lonely in her solitude, by herself, maybe their she

will find some dignity.

Hebah

Want to see the East?

I've just returned from the Sinai, saw many things, too many of them ugly, but the most profound of them God-like...here is what I saw when I spent the night in a village isolated from the world...

Water before me, choppy due to the wind and behind it the foggy dream like mountains of Saudi Arabia. They look close enough to swim to but that is only a mirage of the desert. Behind me, my camp, small huts made of wood and straw, colorful mats made of leftovers every color of the rainbow and behind that mountains the color of amber and coal, mountains carved with prophets tales, the first footsteps of mankind.

We hiked here. Walked along a trail between sea and mountain until we found this lost Bedouin village cars have still not reached. this is Abu Galum, this is freedom.

Here we are divided. Arab and Bedu, Israeli and Foreigner. Here we are calmed and silent, my experience segmented, fragmented, isolated as the village i rest my head in.

Bedouin Egyptians run this camp. Them. A rich mixture of Egyptian and Saudi, sand and water, wind and endurance. Their culture. rooted in travel and respect, generosity and honor, labor and service, ingenuity and guile. they live with borders made only of their hands, use their minds to cross our conventional lines, nation means nothing to them. Men that live in a world beyond our understanding, a world of their own making passed on by generations. An Autonomous life in service of others with jokes and fun as a way of preserving dignity. Their selling their culture,

and people buy it up. but in the end culture can never be sold and they will eternally be the owners

so come curious Israelis looking for peace and nature, pay for the things you can never hope to keep and return to the land that will never be yours as I will continue to wander on paths carved between mountains buried in the sea...

with all my love, hebah

Reply from the West: Tehran in Comparison

Dear Hebah,

I can see your eyes in moonlight, that's why the nights have been so bright recently. I hope you can feel my spirit with you. I try to think and imagine what you are up to as often as I can. I think I understand some of what you might be feeling. You are enthralled by all that is around you. You are overwhelmed and even a little tired, but something pushes you to discover this strange and lovely and tangled land, as it is all a portal into your soul, your essence. For the next several months you and

Egypt

, its people, and culture, are married and each day is a discovery into the other. Though I haven't heard your voice in weeks, I hear it when I read your emails. It's like in movies when someone reads a note or letter. I hear a voice over. Your voice sounds happy and lights. It sounds like a child, wide-eyed, and curious.

your email has evoked so many images and memories. i see tehran, a confused marriage of east and west, crowded streets, bazaars as far as the eye can see, sounds of bartering, smell of kabob and broiled corn on the cob. old men smile and i wonder why so many of them are missing teeth. it is a world where time has stood still, where progress used to be a welcomed friend, but now it watches from outside, taunting the young on the inside who hunger for that which is forbidden, who lust for that which they do not know. i am too young to desire anything, i only know that it is crowded and am overcome by the typical childlike fear of separating from my mother. i hold on to her finger with all my might, because i know if i let go, finding her in this sea of navy blue and black chadors will be impossible. i find comfort in the fact that her scarf has a distinct design, i let it impress into my memory. i am in control now, though my hold on her remains secure. what my narrow scope of reasoning fails to understand is that her hold on me is even more secure. she will be damned before our hands part. we continue to push our way through the crowd, i hear conversations some of which I cannot comprehend because Tehran is home to persians from all walks of

Iran

with colorful accents. I am a Tehrani, a born and raised city-folk, but all around me, there are those from Qom, some are from Yaazd, then there are the Shirazis and Esfahanis, the Rashdis and Shomalis. Although I don't really know the difference, I eventually grow up to wear my badge of urban nativity proudly, like most urbanites. It isn't until many years later that I learn that my roots are not planted in Tehran. Yes, I am born and raised there, so are my parents. But my roots run deeper than that. A part of my roots are in a small village called Farahan, in the state of Araq. Another part of them are in Qom, Mullah City, and even further still they run through Karballah, Iraq, where my mother's grandfather is born. My roots are deeply buried in the Middle-East, yet I am forbidden from returning. Family members and friends come and go as they please. Once, twice a year, whenever. They return, suitcases filled to capacity with bits and pieces of

Iran

. I await my trinket eagerly, impatiently. Everything is old and full of meaning, or so I'd like to believe. Everything has history and depth, or so I tell myself. They ask me, thoughtlessly, recklessly, why I don't go back. I remind them I am in exile.

all my love...

DGF

Zamalek and the Real World

Today my real world just kinda smacked me in the face - all at once i'm stuck on the ground thinking

about and doubting both my future and my past, in my present this feeling has manifested into my present.

i live in this small island, literally, an island surrounded by the Nile split into a smaller and

bigger 'stream', this is an island in every sense of the world, a closed off community filled with foreigners and ex-pats, and exclusive elite village with embassy's and their armed guards on every corner, its been my mission to get off this island, for the last few weeks i've remained mostly here, wondering my neighborhood getting used to it, but with this added panic of reality thrown in i've suddenly felt stuck here, already regretting that i haven't made the attempt to

really see the 'real' Cairo, so now i flee from this neighborhood like i flee from both my past and my future...always running it seems...

but am i running? i think i'm just very confused, i have no idea what i want, worse, i don't know what i'm looking for, trying to find my sword without a route or any knowledge of what i will use it for...

confusion has seeped in, deep and thorough it has found its way into my mind...

sorry for this stream of consciousness, i needed to talk to someone,

i love u and miss u so much right now, hebah

Reply: the Island of Consciousness

hebah, first never apologize for stream of consciousness. i love it, as is a snapshot into a particular moment of your reality. secondly, you are not running in that epically destructive way, rather you are reacting to your moment, you are confused, you are in need of immediate relief from the harshness of this moment, and yet none can be found. so it's okay for you to feel like this, but i caution that this can turn into running. so be conscious of yourself, be truthful with yourself and i most of all make peace with surrendering. you will not find answers in an avalanche of questions, rather they will find you when you are silent, when your mind is no longer resisting, when your heart and soul have surrendered to the fact that you are afraid, that you known nothing, that you are alone. when you reach this point of extreme doubt you will inevitably find faith.

gibran says: "doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother."

doubt yourself fully, but arm yourself with the knowledge that faith is right there, waiting to show you the way. but you will only find faith, if you surrender to your doubts. that is where your calm lies waiting to embrace you.

you said in your email that you are "trying to find (your) sword without a route or any knowledge of what (you) will use it for"

stop trying to find your sword. i promise you won't find it until you know what its purpose is anyway, so stop wasting your breath, time, energy... let go!!!

you find your sword -- or it finds you -- when the time has come. and when the time comes, you will realize that you never needed to look for it, as it has been there by your side all along. i realize this sounds so much easier said than done, but the sooner you surrender, the sooner you stop trying to control your"path" or understand it, the sooner it'll all make sense. all these things are not true problems, rather they are symbolic, they have presented themselves to you at this particular juncture as a test. you are being challenged to battle. first rule of war? know your enemy. once you ponder this, you will see that this island, they are not your enemies, they are not even sub-enemies, they are not even henchmen of the enemy. so stop trying to figure out how to strategize against them... disengage and they will too.

surrender to a cigarette in the cool desert night, knowing that the morning will arrive much sooner than you think...

look at the moon and remember that it is the same one that all your friends and family are under, and then suddenly it will occur to you how small the earth is and that we are much closer than you think.

always,

Siwa

Much time has passed and your words still sit with me. Exile is not a place but a state of mind. I went to the desert this past week and felt a taste of beautiful isolation.

i love the desert. I am of the desert, i feel home there, at peace, one with my environment. we went on the full moon to a small village on the libyan border called siwa, a village where olive oil is still pressed from the olive trees that cover this tiny oasis and ancient oracles lie in ruins on the outskirts. An immense salty lake surrounds the oasis and hot springs pop up everywhere within the village, the desert surrounding it is called the great desert sea, white sands following into

infinity, dunes rising in every direction, sections where shells and fossilized star fish seem to almost grow out of the ground, this is what the bottom of the ocean looks like, this is where whales once

swam. We slept in the heart of the desert sea, isolated from the world by kilometers of vacant space...we set up camp and unfolded our rugs, our guides, now our friends, slowly becoming like my family, took out their instruments and played and danced through the night. the moon stood huge, bright, glowing, in its orbit. She looked stunning, lighting up the desert with a supernatural glow, I slept and woke blinded by her brilliance, blinded as if it where the sun, Oh it was a amazing...to walk into nothingness, and stare into infinity, sand wiggling in your toes, shells emerging around you, the world's history and God's timelessness both at once confronting you...yourself emerging in the shape of sand patterns and wind whispers.

i stood at the top of the highest dune, struggled with each one of my steps to get there, these mountains made of sand and wind challenge your body,

but at the pinnacle, there was nothing but silence, I stood eyes closed and listened and suddenly the wind picked up picked up ferociously, moving quickly weaving lines into the sand...she sounded

so tired, had traveled from the ends of the earth carrying muffled cries and rotting fruit within her, she sounded powerful, ready to continue, persevere, whip across every peak through any body to

continue into nothingness. to create.

The desert, the moon, the wind still whispers to me now, sound become fainter each day and its hard for me communicate sometimes...I really feel so home there.

I love you, Hebah

Walks with the Whiskerless Lions

The language continues to evade me as does my identity. I don't know what progression means in terms of either of these things and so i feel lost, searching for ways to affirm

something which essentially exists only to myself. But its beautiful here, and each day I find moments of peaceful serenity to calm my internal restlessness...I've been walking a lot, the walk I like the most is to and from school, its about an hour walk that slowly winds across a bridge gaurded by whiskerless lions, down along the banks of the Nile and then through a crowed street filled with tiny shops ranging from small little jewelry stores to falafel and fool joints, men sit on the sidewalk smoking their shisha and playing backgammon as I stop for my ritual juice, i think thats my favorite part, this tiny little juice shops that sell everything from sugarcane juice to coconut to pomegranate in these semi clean glass mugs, you stand and sip your juice watch the street and continue on

with your journey, I love my walks in this city...it could be such a romantic place.

I went to the city of the dead the other day, a section of the city where the extreme rich used to ritually bury their dead in these ornate mausoleums, as time impoverished the masses and socialist

movements re-claimed the land the poorest of the poor moved into these tombs and made them their homes...its funny how the humblest and kindest of all people are those at the very bottom of the

latter...these is what I wrote after my walk through that part of the city:

The tombs rose from the trash heaps, crumbling stones with aged words,

names long forgotten. Nameless people now rested against them - bodies

more vital that those beneath the garbage laden ground. Mausoleums

turned homes lined the dirt roads with faces emerging from them

offering Shai wishing peace to the passerbys. Children ran behind,

smiling, laughing, questioning with their eyes these foreigners in

their forgotten homes, "why would you go there?" someone asks me, to

see life appreciated as it only can be - in cities of the dead.

I saw Joseph Massad speak. This Columbia professor who was under the oh so hot Daniel Pipes spotlight almost all of last year for being 'anti-Semitic' they tried to fire him for the way he taught and the things he published, heard him read his paper entitled 'the persistence of the Palestinian question,' well done i must say but rather hopeless. Abass will have his unsustainable, disconnected State as most Palestinians continue to live in Exile, landless and hungry, he will build his airport and fly his airplanes, wave a flag and claim freedom...but nothing will change, if anything it will be lost...but in the end this is not our problem, well at least not specifically, this is not exactly our battle to fight, our lands, whatever that may mean, need us as well now, and in the end it is all connected, connected as the moon is in the sky, I watch, from a strange distance as political change sweeps through the middle east, is democracy really presenting itself across the middle east...Mubarak's 'sudden' electoral change, a government resigning at the call of its protesting masses in Lebanon...or is it something we have yet to see...

With all my love, Hebah

Democracy

Hebah

like you i too wonder, is this real? has democracy found its way to the Middle East? i hope so. i am a believer in democracy. it is the only system of government that comes closest to ideal. and i say closest because i don't feel we (americans) utilize it to its potential. young people don't vote, our political parties are too few and much too similar, our press/media prefers gossip and idle talk over important things such as the search for truth, justice, and all that jazz. but nevertheless, in my old age, i've come to accept democracy, not for what it is, but for what it can be. Like most things and people, it too falls short, but then again so do i...

i was pleasantly surprised when i read about Mubarak. That man has been president since Sadat's assasination (81? 82?) 81 I believe. That's far too long. That's my entire lifetime. He has established himself as a Monarch under the guise of democracy. (I hope "they" don't screen people's emails, because I don't want to get you in trouble. "they" do in

Iran

, "they" also listen to phone conversations as well. so we have to be cryptic in our communique with

Iran

.) it goes without saying that i feel sorry for

egypt

. i feel sorry for one of the oldest and most significant civilizations to continually be harassed by others. i wish it could have been left alone. egyptians would be walking on water now and materializing in and out of thin air, if left alone. don't get me wrong i'm not a fan of the pharaohs -- although i do tend to romanticize them at times -- it is wrong and unnatural for any man to think himself divine or more divine then the next guy, and then enforces that belief in society, making people subservient, while a small group of followers close to him (clergymen, bureaucrats, etc.) profit immensely. but regardless of my feelings towards pharos, i have always respected Egyptians and can't wait for the day they shine unfettered.

here's a realization i just made -- my description of pharaoh was very similar to ayatollah khomeini and the current ayatollah of

iran

-- khamenei. When al'islambuli assassinated sadat, he, like other members of fanatic islamic groups in egypt at the time, did so under the belief that ayatollah khomeini's doctrine of islamic fanaticism was correct and necessary and that the revolution needed to spread to

egypt

and the entire middle east. he is quoted as saying, right after assassinating sadat, "i killed pharaoh." so basically my point is that he compared sadat to pharaohs -- for obvious reasons. but he did so in the name of another pharaoh-like figure -- the ayatollah. that's what bothers me about so many of these so-called revolutionaries. they are so in love and blinded by their own beliefs, that they don't have enough vision or clarity to see that they are devouring the rights, freedoms, and personal beliefs of others. it seems like this is a cyclical pattern in the fight for freedom. we replace one oppressor with another. is it intrinsic to our nature? we always talk about how freedom is in our nature, how in each and every human being there is "free will" but i see that often we use our free will, and instinct to have freedom, to usurp the free will and freedoms of others.

I enjoyed reading about your walk to school. I was picturing you and the vivid images you described. In my mind's eye, I saw you as a little school girl, with pigtails and a backpack skipping to school, sipping on your juice, wide-eyed and innocent, ready to learn.

again, i've enjoyed our chat. since you've been gone, we've corresponded more than we did while you were here. that makes me happy. you take care of yourself and continue sending me snapshots into your life. i look forward with great delight to the next one.

with all my love,

The Meeting

Your right - our relationship always seems to flourish in the language of words, thats something we should always keep in mind, that maybe spoken word isn't they way we communicate best, but through written word our souls connect almost instantly.

I went to an opposition party meeting yesterday, a guy at the dorms is a reporter and was doing a story for newsweek on the 'new' democracy in

Egypt

and asked me to come to translate..so I went and it was one of the most beautiful experiences.

It was at a human rights law office and was chaired by the phenomenal and powerful woman, she's world renowned for her work in Egypt and to see her in person I understand more why. It was a small room, crowded, cigarette butts on the ground, election posters covering the walls, but you could feel the inspiration that caused the walls to stain the color they were. Democracy was being founded in this room, party lines weren't stripped blue and red, no elephant or donkey here, all one people gathered in the name of freedom. Tea was served on tiny calendar books etched with protest dates and parliament meetings, children's laughter mixed in with passionate voices and hushed sat. evening conversation recounting the weekend events, so informal yet so much importance..this is how democracy is being founded, blood boiling with past words and yesterday's dreams, voices from afar yelling the same notes, abdul Nasser speaking from a students tone in the corner of the room...from tunisia to lebanon this is how democracy is founded, no empire reigns here in the hearts of these seasoned veterans, not condie's visit or sharon's nonesense, only hope, and tomorrow, only freedom and people's dreams, this is how democracy begins and I am here to sit quietly, listen, observe and be witness.

Miss you so much, Hebah

Reply: the Meeting

i am so proud to know that you have made you way to that room. i know that is where you are happiest and most in your element. you have gotten yourself right in the mix and i can't tell you how excited i am for you. in fact i am so happy, that i will refrain from making any of my usual sarcastic and cynical quips. perhaps in the next email! hebah, i encourage you to take notes, pictures, and remember all that you are present to. it has the makings of a great book about the day democracy came to

egypt

. you can do the type of work Hunter did -- Gonzo Journalism. You can be both a reporter and participant in these momentous days

i miss you as well and agree that in our communication is at its best thru writing. i make no apologies for that , and i am sure you don't either. it is a medium that we both flourish in as individuals and as two friends.

take care of yourself.

with all my love...

Building a Home

Thank you, always. For your words, your imagery, your voice...your emotional reason. You are often the voice of spirit to me, speaking to my soul, reminding me of what I often forget, Thank you.

My tomorrow is slowly emerging for me, and thoughts are starting to slowly emerge out of the clouds that drift through my head. Things are getting clearer, pictures are becoming words, dreams are becoming reality. I can finally now start to imagine coming home and sitting with my loved ones and speaking of today and yesterday, I can't wait actually.

But I am also starting to build my home here, I have already set the foundation and feel whole now that I have placed myself where I have always felt...in between worlds...always half here and half there, always up in the air, always looking from the outside. I've decided to stay here, at least for another couple years, I've been accepted into the masters program here, dual degree in Middle East Studies and Forced Migration Refugee studies, I can't tell you how happy I am, I have been feeling like I need more time here, I definitely need more time here, I'm just starting to understand...how long...still not quite sure at all, but that is the most beautiful part of this journey, discovering the unknown.

I cannot wait for our verbal poetry, I can't wait to hear yours...

with all my love, hebah

The smell of summer

2017-07-14T07:07:00.000-07:00

what am i but vastness.

A rainbow seeking to blend her colors.

what am i but vastness...too much to be consistent, too much to be congruent.

i am contradiction, chaos with a rhythm...

that is what these streets are like...

a melody drifting through a soft breeze,

cars honking and birds chirping, pollution mixing with the shawerma spinning...it smells like life.

Dirty brown air that stains your skin,

wind carrying desert stories,

food cooking in kitchens filled with warmth,

it smells like poverty some times, it smells like summer.

Now the streets are crowded with sweaty bodies trying to get somewhere,

stopping for the men with juice over their shoulders that have emerged with the summer sun,

now it smells like peaches and cantaloupes,

small watermelons cover the streets...

now people whine about the heat, but celebrate the coming of summer...

The Ether

2017-07-13T12:44:00.000-07:00

There are so many deaths in life

As a woman

If marriage was the completion of my faith

What am I now?

By Deviant Art "No Soul, on the Day of Judgement, shall be unfairly judged."

But a soul without a body

I was reborn a mother

Twice already

Buried in a shallow grave

My ghosts haunting us

Where do those spirits go?

The Ether.

Beloved, are you not also invisible to all but the faithful?

They say to live as though you are alive

How many more deaths will I suffer in life?

Keep my body, my roh will float

Kahk El-Eid

2017-04-30T09:02:00.000-07:00

I remember how I was introduced to Kahk el Eid.

It was under our kitchen window which over looked our front yard. The window was surrounded by yasmine whose scent overwhelmed the kitchen table nestled into the nook in the corner. My mother would wait there in the dark for the call that signaled Eid. Ring ring ring and we would know Ramadan had ended. The new moon had been spotted. And I would sleep and magically in the morning cookies would appear on the kitchen table when I awoke.

My momma explained that it was a cookie man that delivered the cookies the night of Eid and that just seemed to make it all the more magic, at least for a few years until I was away when he arrived. Nothing magically about it, uncle Yousry dropped them off and kissed us all in his frenetic style,

kula sena wa entoum tayabeen kula sena wa entoum tayabeen kula sena wa entoum tayabeen, repeating and kissing as he did.

The Kahk was warm, which made it more palatable but I still just licked off the sugar and left it be. As I always did. I'm pretty sure kahk doesnt become palatable to anyone until after age 25. Regardless, there was nothing magical about the cookie man except the fortitude of his Eid night adventures. A bit of the home country. We didnt have al-Mousaharaty, but we had kahk el-eid.

Back home, people clamored at sweet shops when Eid was announced. Picking from assortments of sweets freshly baked by families who have baked for generations. They bake. Everyone else buys.

In Encino 1980 they were delivered by uncle Yousry. And that was enough.

Since my children were born, every Eid I try to bake an assortment of eid cookies. Recipes culled from google searches and social media sites. Modern Arab wives from around the world baking cookies with their kids. I'm not sure why I do this and I can't say I don't enjoy it. We roll and back and twist and fill and engrave time honored patterns with forks on the top. We dust with sugar and my kids lick it off and leave the rest, as kids have always done since time immemorial.

I can't say I havent tried to harken back to a time when maybe my fathers mothers mother made Kahk, but she was a first wife to a pasha and some how I think she had hers delivered too. So I invent the stories as all the modern Arab insta wives do and maybe that is as authentic as time its self.

Or maybe they Christmas eid cookies. Maybe uncle Yousry has always been the way it has been done. I'm not sure which makes more sense.

How in the end is tradition inherited? I guess at this point we should say, this in the end is how tradition is invented.

To the children of Single Moms

2017-02-13T08:15:00.000-08:00

Amina has always been an early riser. Like a rooster, she has always emerged with the sun. I used to be an early riser too but she knows that my eyes are heavy with sleep these days, my mind foggy with worry, I dont get up. She doesnt ask anymore.

This morning she kissed me in the dawn and quietly scuffled around the house like the beautiful mousey kitten that she is. First she quietly peed, twice because her bladder has been bothering her.

Then she made herself and her still sleeping baby sister a bowl of cereal and ate it in the dark alone at the table.

Then she kissed her sleeping mother again and when she didnt open her tired eyes went to her room to get dressed. She hummed as she put together the perfect outfit and then picked a book to read. Only then did her little sister wake and only then did her mother finally get up.

She smiled and danced and didnt say a word about all the things she had accomplished in the still of the morning by herself.

She talked to her father as he drove to work, giggling the entire time as he indulged her love of space and facts as her sister screamed through getting dressed.

Amina ended her call and brushed her teeth.

She reminded me to give her her medicine and hugged my legs as I finally made her a doctors appointment for her frequent need to pee. Then she penned this note to me, knowing that her mother needed to feel loved before waiting by the door, shoes on, to go to school.

Amina is only six but she knows that I have no one but her.

She knows that our support system has failed us and that there is no one that will save me. She sees me crumbling in silence and she is doing everything her tiny body can to be the one to save me.

In the shadows of this divorce, she has lost her childhood.

What happens when you shun women? Strip them of support? Label them undesirable?

It trickles through the blood line.

What options do we have? Submit or Suffer?

Naw, we'll thrive. Eventually.

May 1, 2017

Definition

2017-02-13T03:30:00.000-08:00

Definition

I have tried on many labels
Smoothed them over myself as if they were skin

Born the children of otherness
not enough the same though not enough different

I went to Syria and Egypt looking for the color of my skin
They didn't want me
Stared at my black eyes foreign
My back did not bend enough to hold that skin

My womb which held me and transferred its hue
She never knew me
I too foreign even made of her
Sandskinned stardust alien born

The land I was born to turned its back to me
Left me on doorsteps and asked me to prove my worth
I never could find the right tone to be American

My skin, soft curvy love fine haired velvet
Is of one land
the land of angels and grit
dusty cactus trails and pacific ocean tides
misty mornings and elotes
ghorme sabzi and argileh

I am a canyon road between the mountains leading to the ocean

My skin
cracked, tired, thirsty olive toned wonder
is a daughter of Los Angeles.

Your Streets

2017-02-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

I would give anything…
To be in your streets ya Masr.
I remember the stories they used to tell me.
Of the days that brought meaning to their lives.
The days of blackened windows and bomb shelters.
The days of food shortages and military anthems on the screen.
The days where fighter jets roared overhead and families huddled together waiting for the enemy to fall.
I remember those stories and I have waited. Waited for my day. The day that would give meaning to my life.
My chance to breathe the air of tomorrow still rising from the ashes of today.

I would give anything…
To be in your streets ya Masr.
Tomorrow you will tell your children these stories.
Stories of tanks in the square.
The days of food shortages and sharing bread.
The days the cash stopped flowing and the police stopped showing.
The days the boys ran the check points at the end of the street, “Officer, ID please?”
The nights the neighborhoods took care of the neighbors and the people became a nation again.
The days the women walked freely again and the crowds sang songs as rocks flew in the air.
These are the days you have dreamed of.
The days that will give your life meaning – breathing the air of tomorrow still rising from the ashes of today.

Syria Today

2017-02-12T07:24:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard the ground speak? Voices echo beneath the earth, have you heard them? Fadi was 5, hiding in a basement. He heard the sounds overhead but to him it sounded like thunder rippling through the clear blue sky. He imagined himself eating almonds from halab instead of the rocks he chewed to moisten his dry mouth. The ground surrounds him now as does his family. He wonders where the building went but cannot open his eyes. He remembers his sister leen. 8 months old crying for her mothers milk. This is Syria today.

MaryAnn Peters

RESPECTABILITY

2017-02-11T11:45:00.000-08:00

BY HEBAH H. FARRAG JANUARY 26, 2017

IN TRUMP ERA, YOUNG MUSLIMS QUESTION RESPECTABILITY POLITICS OF MOSQUES

Possibly this week, President Trump might sign yet another executive order, this time restricting entry to the United States from majority Muslim countries [read a draft obtained by HuffPo here]. This, on the heels of the executive orders he just signed to ramp up immigration enforcement and enable the building of the U.S.-Mexico border wall he promised during his campaign. Muslim and immigrant groups, especially youth, are mobilizing against these actions, with a major protest taking place last night in New York City’s Washington Square Park.

To combat the continued vilification of Islam in the American public sphere since September 11th, American Muslim houses of worship and organizations have worked  against policies that visibly target Muslims such as profiling, denial of First Amendment rights and harassment by law enforcement. In doing so, these institutions work  to gain public recognition, inclusion and representation, as well as the ability to help shape public policy.

This narrow focus on “Muslim issues” has indeed helped drum up support from a range of allies  pledging  to protect the American Muslim community, including the Anti-Defamation League, the ACLU, the  Southern Poverty Law Center and public figures such as George Takei and Michael Moore. As the Trump era begins, it seems American Muslim institutions’ focus on self-preservation will persist but, unlike the post-9/11 era, this time it might mean increased disaffiliation from younger American Muslims seeking a broader range of political engagement.

Eman Hassaballa Aly is one of 469 Muslims who signed a Muslim letter to Donald Trump. She also participated in its drafting. Aly has extensive experience working for Muslim organizations and was raised in a family with close ties to the local mosque. But she also feels a growing sense of frustration with the Muslim community.

“I signed that letter because it’s a step forward,” Aly said. “But the letter just focuses on Muslim issues, and at this point, we don’t need to have 400 people sign one letter. We need 400 letters—you know what I mean? We are not one voice, we are not a monolith.”

Given the demographics of American Muslims, the most diverse faith community in the nation, it might seem natural for Muslim institutions to engage a broad cross-section of issues—from surveillance and immigration reform to climate change and criminal justice reform. Yet at the start of the Trump presidency, the majority of Muslims in the U.S. continue to interpret “Muslim issues” narrowly, from a security and First Amendment perspective. This narrow focus is increasingly frustrating to younger American Muslims whose participation in Muslim life is evolving in creative ways.

Specifically, many assumed that increased visibility and civic participation post-9/11 might also lead to Muslim Americans as a whole becoming more accepting of practices that differ from the dominant cultural norms within their communities—such as interracial or inter-religious marriage. Yet that has not been the case.

Through our research on religious creativity, the USC Center for Religion and Civic Culture has seen Los Angeles’ young Muslims create “third spaces” such as the Ehsan Center and the Women’s Mosque of America—spaces that operate outside the norm of what a traditional mosque looks like. Across the country, I have talked to young American Muslims who are disaffiliating entirely from formal institutions and participating in community-building in new ways. In the course of this work, I heard a common narrative: a desire for something that traditional mosques and other established Muslim institutions are not providing.

Tasbeeh Herwees, an L.A.-based staff writer at GOOD magazine, expressed frustration with what she called “Muslim respectability politics.”

“The way we talk about how Muslims will be targeted by surveillance, at points of entry, at our mosques, benign surveillance at the airport, fails to understand that there are black Muslim activists and groups who have been targeted tenfold in the same way,” she said. “The mainstream position fails to acknowledge these experiences.”

Herwees says that solidarity comes from both her belief system and the diversity of Muslims in America: “If we are advocating on behalf of Black Lives Matter, if we are advocating on behalf of Chicano rights, it is because it is closely tied to our enshrined principles—besides the fact that Muslims are black and are Chicano and are queer.”

At the root of this resistance to broader participation, according to many of my respondents, is the dominance of a small ethnic minority over a majority of institutions, the prevalence of male cultural hegemony, lack of capacity and resources, and lack of organizational structures that encourage diverse participation. These challenges are often discussed within Muslim communities, yet they continue to persist. And now, as American Muslims begin to interpret the boundaries of community in different ways, mainstream institutions’ resistance to change is likely to hurt their long-term viability. The upcoming generations of American Muslims are beginning to look elsewhere for ways to create community, both spiritually and politically.

Herwees recently joined a new group in Los Angeles called Horizontal Muslims, which she describes as an “activist group united by a desire to be active in other communities, to organize on behalf of other communities.” She said she appreciates the group’s diverse leadership, a contrast to the “board entirely made of middle-aged Arab men” at the mosque she used to attend.

Aly now runs Collaboryst, an organization that helps Muslim American professionals hone and market their skills while providing access to networks and opportunities. “I’ve kind of disengaged,” she said of her involvement in traditional institutions. “I’m doing my own thing.”

Part of her drift away from mainstream Muslim institutions has to do with her experience after the PULSE nightclub shooting in Orlando. Aly became very involved with the Trust Collective, an interfaith coalition trying to build partnerships between faith communities and the LGBTQ community. When she first became involved, there was some interest from others in the Muslim community.

“The last meeting I went to,” Aly said, “I was the only mainstream type of Muslim there. I come from your usual mosque-going community, but everyone else stopped showing up.”

A PRRI poll showed that 42 percent of Muslim Americans approve of same-sex marriage. To many younger American Muslims, the benefits of allying with other marginalized groups on issues such as LGBTQ inclusion and immigration reform seem clear. But institutional Islam has not kept up.

Many Muslim American leaders, organizations and institutions are working to broaden the sphere of engagement.

Muslim American organizations such as MPower and mosques such as the Islamic Center at NYU have shifted away from participating in traditional Muslim institutions, instead opting to develop broader coalitions to tackle social issues. The question remains whether these attempts at broadening Muslim participation in the public sphere will succeed and alter the trend toward disaffiliation among younger Muslims.

The reality is that if Muslim American institutions do not do more to engage non-Muslim communities on a broader range of issues, there may not be many Muslims willing to fill the country’s mosques by the time the Trump presidency ends.

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Islamic Feminism: Oxymoron

2017-02-11T08:32:00.000-08:00

Islamic Feminism Isn't an Oxymoron

December 02, 2004

Los Angeles Times

Re "An Islamic Feminist Seeks Balance," Nov. 29: Feminism presents itself in various shades, and here is a brand of feminism we rarely encounter in the United States. Islamic feminism is often presented to the general public as if it were an oxymoron, but here we see the beauty and strength in this particular method of female liberation; an attempt to strike a "reasonable balance between progress and tradition."

Through women's eyes we can see that Islam does not in and of itself oppress women; male-dominated societies do. Islam provides a way for women to fight for the rights they are entitled to, such as equality and self-determination.

When governments attempt to legislate what women can do with their bodies or how women may practice their faith, it is an assault on female liberty. When governments forbid the wearing of the veil or deem women second-class citizens, it is an oppressive act that Islamic feminists combat in their own distinctive and commanding way.

Hebah Farrag

Reseda

Reclaiming: hashish

2017-02-11T00:00:00.000-08:00

Alamut Castle, the stronghold of Hassan-i Sabbah

From Coffee Culture, to Cafe Culture, to Salon Culture, to Smoke Culture.

Hashish was one of the original European orientalist fantasies. Harems, Hookah and Heathens. They tried to imitate our smoke filled sessions and now we have 420. Arab culture and often Muslim communities, are the originators of chill. Coffee houses, salons, cafes and smoke houses are all our purview. Not something to be proud of? I think not.

Hashish History by Ammar Al Maamoun

'hashashin' R Mammona, Italy

Playing Dress Up

2016-10-15T07:23:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, inspired by a story, Amina and I played a different kind of dress up. Today was Bayan's turn.

Here is Bayan (and Amina) as four powerful, intelligent Arab women. As Halloween approaches I ask you all, Who do we want our daughters to pretend to be?

Mona Eltahawy
Mona Eltahawy is a freelance Egyptian-American journalist.

“I believe it's the writer's job to tell society what it pretends it doesn't know.”

The One Suheir Hammad

A Palestinian-American poet, author and political activist. She is the author of breaking poems, recipient of a 2009 American Book Award and the Arab American Book award for Poetry 2009.

“I will dance and resist and dance and persist and dance. This heartbeat is louder than death.”

Tawwakkol Karmen

Tawakkol Abdel-Salam Karman is a Yemeni journalist, politician and senior member of the of Al-Islah political party, and human rights activist. She leads the group "Women Journalists Without Chains," and became the international public face of the 2011 Yemeni uprising that is part of the Arab Spring uprisings. She has been called the "Iron Woman" and "Mother of the Revolution" by Yemenis. She is a co-recipient of the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize, becoming the first Yemeni, the first Arab woman, and the second Muslim woman to win a Nobel Prize and the second youngest Nobel Peace Laureate to date.

“I am a citizen of the world. The Earth is my country, and humanity is my nation. This is my motto: What everyone has longed for and will be achieved when all of the people shall also celebrate this prize that every Yemeni, and every Arab, and every human being and every woman has also won beside me”

Hala Gorani

Hala Basha-Gorani is a French raised Syrian-American, CNN International London-based Anchor and Correspondent. She anchors CNN's The World Right Now with Hala Gorani on weeknights

“It's easy to get jaded in this business, but I never allow myself to forget that there is persecution, oppression and racism every day and in every country. I never forget it and consider it my responsibility as a journalist to share those stories with the world and to hold people in positions of power accountable for what they do.”

http://www.beautyexists.net/humanity/mother-dresses-her-daughter-up-as-5-kick-ass-women-instead-of-disney-princesses/

This story made the rounds and received some criticism for its cultural specificity. Inspired by this photographer and her daughter, Amina (3 yrs old) and I decided to contribute to this phenomenal idea. Here is Amina as 4 powerful and intelligent Arab women. Who do you want your daughter to pretend to be?

Um Kalthoum

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umm_Kulthum

Hoda Shaarawi

"Men have singled out women
of outstanding merit
and put them on a pedestal
to avoid recognizing
the capabilities of
all women. "

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huda_Shaarawi

Nawal El Saadawi

“They said, “You are a savage and dangerous woman.”
I am speaking the truth. And the truth is savage and dangerous.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nawal_El_Saadawi

Fatima Mernissi

"The main thing for the powerless is to have a dream…[true], a dream alone, without the bargaining power to go with it, does not transform the world or make the walls vanish, but it does help you keep ahold of dignity.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatema_Mernissi

Street Politics: Lebanon

2016-04-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

Street Politics and the Battle for a “New” Lebanon

Ibn Khaldun Center for
Development Studies
Civil Society
March 2007 Vol. 13 No. 147

Playing Pretend: Continued

2016-04-26T08:56:00.000-07:00

Dalia Mogahed (born 1974) is an American scholar of Egyptian origin. She is the Director of Research at the Institute for Social Policy and Understanding (ISPU) in Washington, DC. She is also President and CEO of Mogahed Consulting, a Washington, D.C.-based executive coaching and consulting firm specializing in Muslim societies and the Middle East. Mogahed is former Executive Director of the Gallup Center for Muslim Studies.

"I think we should step back and ask a different question, which is: 'why is it justified to demand that Muslims condemn terrorism?'"

Amal Clooney (née Alamuddin, Arabic: أمل علم الدين‎; born 3 February 1978) is a London-based Lebanese-British lawyer, activist, and author. She is a barrister at Doughty Street Chambers, specializing in international law, criminal law, human rights, and extradition.

"The Armenian genocide is a clearly established historical fact...that is why the judgement is a victory for Armenians"

I remember the Arab Suffragettes, women like Doria Shafiq, born in 1908, who stormed Egypt's parliament in 1951 to demand women's suffrage and ignited the imagination of a region. Although instrumental in winning women the right to vote in 1956, Shafiq would pay with her life. She was placed under house arrest by Nasser and spent 18 years in seclusion, her writing banned and name expunged from history. She ended her life in suicide. We have come a long way and we will keep going.

Doria Shafiq. 1908-1957. Feminist. Philosopher. Poet. Bint al Nil

Doria Shafiq. Be brave. Be bold. Never stop fighting.

Gigi and Bella Hadid have taken the fashion world by storm. These proud #Palestinian sisters have shown the world what a #powerfularabwoman looks like

Palestinian and Proud

Zaha Hadid: tribute

2016-04-26T08:47:00.000-07:00

Zaha Hadid. Iraqi-British world renowned architect. "I am a woman. I am an architect. Biology and geography define the first two; the third has taken 40 years of hard work. But hard work is not always enough."

"Some of the greatest difficulties I faced were brought about not by my work but my existence as an..'Arab Woman'"

Zaha Hadid. Iraqi-British architect. May she rest in peace and power and may her provocative designs continue to inspire generations of women to push boundaries.

Mom Turns Daughters Into Iconic Arab Women

2015-10-20T07:34:00.000-07:00

Featured on The Glocal

http://www.theglocal.com/photos/albums/177/mom-turns-daughters-into-iconic-arab-women

Mom Turns Daughters Into Iconic Arab Women

Nawal El Saadawi

Hoda Shaarawi

Fatima Mernissi

Tawakkol Karman

Suheir Hammad

Mona Eltahawy

Hala Gorani

Um Kalthoum

My Clock Story: How Accusations Against Muslim Americans Do Harm

2015-09-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

https://crcc.usc.edu/my-clock-story-how-accusations-against-muslim-american-do-harm/

Commentary
My Clock Story: How Accusations Against Muslim Americans Do Harm

Hebah Farrag

Posted September 21, 2015

Reading Time 6 minutes

A few weeks before I graduated as an undergrad from USC, a false complaint was lodged against me with the dean of my school. A fellow student claimed that I was plotting a terrorist act in Los Angeles.
The reason?

I had discussed potential high-risk targets in Los Angeles with peers in a study group. The study group was for a class titled, “Terrorism and Counterterrorism.”

According to my accuser, I had said that places like the Staples Center and Coliseum could be considered high value targets for terrorists looking for sites that may be under protected. He took this to mean that I was planning something or had some knowledge of an attack.

The reality: I was just a dedicated student participating in a study group.

My accuser saw the color of my skin, the foreignness of my name and my keen interest in the subject matter to be a threat to his security. This was three years after 9/11, and the threat this complaint carried was palpable. In my case, the complaint stopped with the dean, who knew me and knew that this complaint was not situated in fact, but fear. Nonetheless, when I walked across the stage at graduation and received the degree I had worked so hard for, the dean patted my back and whispered in my ear, “Everything is okay, don’t worry,” not “Congratulations.”

Last week, a 14-year-old boy in Irving, Texas was walked out of his classroom, detained by school authorities and handcuffed by police. He was taken to juvenile detention and questioned without the presence of his parents.

The reason?

He brought a homemade clock to school. This young boy is a member of the robotics club. He is bright, talented, interested in invention and engineering. Yet this young boy had his dreams dashed because his name is Ahmed Mohamed.

As the Internet was quick to point out, the response to his invention would not have been the same had this boy been of a different race or religion. Ahmed would have been applauded, encouraged and awarded.

The sad reality is that what happened to Ahmed in Irving, Texas is neither new nor exceptional. It is the daily reality of American Muslims. Each one of us has our own story or stories. Each one of us has been afraid, accused, suspected.

Accusations such as these vilify the innocent, criminalize achievement and serve to alienate American Muslims from civil society. Moreover, they work against real measures to counter violent extremism that come from within the community.

Go ahead. Ask a Muslim friend if they have ever had their own clock experience?

Others have been vilified and attacked simply for speaking Arabic in public or asking for a unopened can of soda on a plane. Ahmed was accused of assembling a bomb when he brought a home-made science project to class. I was accused of terrorism for participating actively in a study group.
In the same state of Texas—in Spring, a suburb of Houston—another Muslim family is enduring a related ordeal. Their son, radicalized through a variety of means, left the United States to join ISIS. His family, dedicated to the peaceful ideals of Islam, worked diligently to bring their son back to the U.S. He never made it to Syria, only Turkey, before his family’s emotional appeals brought him home. Today, their son faces up to 30 years in prison for providing material support to the Islamic State. This family succeeded in countering violent extremism through community-led approaches, and yet, they are punished rather than applauded.

American Muslims are working through a variety of means to counter violent extremism in our communities. We’re implementing the Muslim Public Affairs Council’s Safe Spaces Program. We are participating actively in our communities. American Muslim women, as the New York Times points out, have made particularly important strides in American social and political life. We are teaching our children to love science, creativity and invention. We are ordinary American people, some times even heroes. We are law-abiding and we self-police with dignity and grace. And yet, American Muslims continue to face persecution in our places of worship, in our homes, and in our schools.
There have been about 100 anti-Muslim hate crimes each year from 2011 to 2013, according to FBI data, accounting for about 14 percent of hate crimes due to religious bias.

Statements by President Obama and Mark Zuckerberg in response to Ahmed’s arrest are beautiful moves in the right direction. Ahmed no longer faces charges of bringing a “hoax bomb” to school, but continued to face a three-day suspension from his school. No apology has been issued by the school district, high school or Irving police department, even as it becomes increasingly clear that those in authority in Irving are at the heart of this entire ordeal. The mayor of Irving issued a statement in support of the actions of all involved. Mayor Beth Van Duyne has made Islamophobic statements in the past and has accepted awards from known Islamophobe Frank Gaffney and the Center for Security Policy.

The actions by those in authority, such as those in Irving and Spring, only work to alienate Muslim Americans and render our community-based efforts to counter violent extremism useless. Obama and Zuckerberg’s statements help Muslim American youth feel a sense of belonging to their communities, but we can do more.

A couple years after I was falsely accused of plotting domestic terrorism, I received an email from my accuser. He was racked with guilt over the position he had placed me in. Most surprisingly, he apologized.

This accusation was neither the first nor the last time I had been targeted due to my religion, but it was the only time I received closure. That closure did not erase the weeks of rumor mill I endured as my classmates speculated about who I was in whispers, nor did it not erase the feeling of alienation I carried with me long after, but it was a catalyst for a more hopeful outlook.

I hope Ahmed gains the closure he deserves and a community where he is welcome. His father said he won’t return to MacArthur High School.

Today, being targeted and accused of wrongdoing because of our religion and race is something that happens to all of us as American Muslims. Like Ahmed, I would like to imagine a world where it never happens at all.

(Photo via Twitter)

Hebah Farrag is the assistant director of research of the USC Center for Religion and Civic Culture.

The Role of Spirit in the #BlackLivesMatter Movement: A Conversation with Activist and Artist Patrisse Cullors

2015-06-24T07:39:00.000-07:00

http://religiondispatches.org/the-role-of-spirit-in-the-blacklivesmatter-movement-a-conversation-with-activist-and-artist-patrisse-cullors/

The Role of Spirit in the #BlackLivesMatter Movement: A Conversation with Activist and Artist Patrisse Cullors

By Hebah H. Farrag June 24, 2015

As the nation mourned the deaths of nine murdered at Emanuel AME Church last week, the Black Lives Matter movement held its first national retreat. From around the country, activists came together in Detroit to discuss national strategy and share tools and best practices to affect change. But they were also there to help each other heal.

While the involvement of church groups and traditional religious leaders in various aspects of Black Lives Matter has been noted by news outlets, there is another spirit that animates the Black Lives Matter movement, one that has received little attention but is essential to a new generation of civil rights activists.

When you think of the #BlackLivesMatter movement in the United States, you may think of Ferguson. You may think of Baltimore. You may think of the now-iconic image of Howard University students, hands up in the air, or statements like “I Can’t Breathe.” It may be the list of hashtagged names that grows larger every 28 hours.

But something else has stood out to me. Images of a white-clad black woman burning sage across a militarized police line. Altars using sacred images and symbols from multiple faiths placed to hold space for those murdered. Events ending with prayers for the oppressed. Protests called “ceremonies” in front of Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti’s house, with attendees asked to wear all white.

Last weekend, activists posted videos from the retreat hashtagged with #blackjoy as a reprieve from the rage and sadness.

Black Lives Matter chapters and affiliated groups are expressing a type of spiritual practice that makes use of the language of health and wellness to impart meaning, heal grief and trauma, combat burn-out and encourage organizational efficiency.

An embodiment of that spirit is Patrisse Marie Cullors-Brignac. Recently dubbed one of the nation’s top civil rights leaders by Los Angeles Times, named a NAACP History Maker in 2015 and one of the three founders of #BlackLivesMatter, Cullors is a person dedicated to not only transforming how her community is treated, but how her community organizes and understands itself. She is a queer polyamorous practitioner of Ifà, a religious tradition from Nigeria, and a person many people turn to not only as a political leader but as a spiritual leader.

I sat down (virtually) with Cullors to find out about what the role of spirit is in the Black Lives Matter movement.

“I come at all my work from a deep philosophical place that [asks], what does it take for humans to live in our full humanity and allow for others to live in their full dignity?” she told me. “I don’t believe spirit is this thing that lives outside of us dictating our lives, but rather our ability to be deeply connected to something that is bigger than us. I think that is what makes our work powerful.”

Cullors grew up as a Jehovah’s Witness, but left the tradition at an early age. She watched her mother leave the fellowship several times. “At any given moment, the elders, which were all men, could decide if you were going to be disassociated from the fellowship in the Kingdom Hall,” she recalled. Such an environment left her with a deep sense of shame.

“By 12, 13, I knew that this was not the place for me, but I felt very connected to spirit. So the question became, what is the place for me?” she said. She turned to her great-grandmother, who is from the Choctaw and Blackfoot tribes, and talked to her about her great-grandfather, a medicine man. Her interest in indigenous spirituality led to Ifà.

For Cullors, spirituality saves souls.

“When you are working with people who have been directly impacted by state violence and heavy policing in our communities, it is really important that there is a connection to the spirit world,” she said. “For me, seeking spirituality had a lot to do with trying to seek understanding about my conditions—how these conditions shape me in my everyday life and how do I understand them as part of a larger fight, a fight for my life. People’s resilience, I think, is tied to their will to live, our will to survive, which is deeply spiritual.”

“The fight to save your life is a spiritual fight,” she said.

This perspective is evident in the structure of Dignity and Power Now (DPN), the grassroots organizations Cullors founded, along with many other BLM-affiliated organizations. DPN, for example, has a paid Director of Health and Wellness, a position often seen within a church but not often within a non-profit organization. Having such a position, Cullors said, is “a political choice to try to build a new way of fighting.”

“It’s not just about changing policies. It’s not just about changing lives. It’s about changing our culture and changing how we fight,” Cullors said. “We can change policies all day but if the fight to get there was full of trauma, was replicating oppressive dynamics, abusive dynamics, then what is the point?”
Organizations such as DPN and Generative Somatics have held events focused specifically on healing and spiritual well-being, from opportunities to access healing services, to intensive workshops. Cullors herself ends events with a “prayer” she recites from Assata Shakur’s Letter to the Movement: “It is our duty to fight for freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.”

Many tell her that they are grateful for the spiritual bent of her events. “It’s tricky though,” she added. “You don’t want people to think you are going to be everyone’s end-all be-all. What we are do is providing a new vision of freedom for all, an idea of what life could be. Our little organization can’t do everything, but we can create a new model.”

And according the Cullors, the “healing justice networks” are growing. Groups are being founded, such as Harriet’s Apothecary in New York, Social Transformation Project and Black Organizing for Leadership & Dignity (BOLD), which uses somatics—a practice often used in alternative medicine and psychoptherapy—as tools to “transform” and empower leaders.

One reason for this growth may have to do with a key shift in ideology. DPN actively works to dismantle the martyr mentality, an ethic that causes many activists, humanitarian workers, community organizers and volunteers to burn out by devoting themselves almost entirely to the cause. DPN uses a language focused on self-care to advance the opposite notion—that you must take care of yourself first.
“My being alive is actually a part of the work,” Cullors explained. Even rudimentary things like eating healthy and exercising “are essentially taken from us, black folks in particular. To reclaim our bodies and our health, is a form of resistance, a form of resilience.”

While Cullors’s political prowess, devotion to community activism and critical understanding of community leadership and hashtag-avism has been featured in Essence, Ebony, the LA Times, and other publications, her dedication to radical healing, spiritual practice and self-care has not been covered. But it should be.

The influence and involvement of black religious leaders in civil rights movements in the U.S. has been well noted. The Black church, along with the Nation of Islam and notable Black Muslims, have been fundamental to political advancements in the African American community. Yet, the discussion of faith-based involvement in the black civil rights movements remains (mostly) hetero-normative and almost exclusively male.

As the black community grapples with the terrorism against it, the work of Patrisse Cullors and the Black Lives Matter movement expands the definition of “faith-based,” and offers alternate notions of faith, self-care and wellness as resistance to disrupt a martyr mentality and heal those within traumatized communities.

Sand-Skinned

Egypt: Outside In

The smell of summer

The Ether

Kahk El-Eid

To the children of Single Moms

Definition

Definition

Your Streets

Syria Today

RESPECTABILITY

IN TRUMP ERA, YOUNG MUSLIMS QUESTION RESPECTABILITY POLITICS OF MOSQUES

Islamic Feminism: Oxymoron

Islamic Feminism Isn't an Oxymoron

Reclaiming: hashish

Alamut Castle, the stronghold of Hassan-i Sabbah

From Coffee Culture, to Cafe Culture, to Salon Culture, to Smoke Culture.

'hashashin' R Mammona, Italy

Playing Dress Up

Street Politics: Lebanon

Street Politics and the Battle for a “New” Lebanon

Ibn Khaldun Center forDevelopment StudiesCivil SocietyMarch 2007 Vol. 13 No. 147

Playing Pretend: Continued

Doria Shafiq. Be brave. Be bold. Never stop fighting.

Gigi and Bella Hadid have taken the fashion world by storm. These proud #Palestinian sisters have shown the world what a #powerfularabwoman looks like

Zaha Hadid: tribute

Mom Turns Daughters Into Iconic Arab Women

My Clock Story: How Accusations Against Muslim Americans Do Harm

Commentary My Clock Story: How Accusations Against Muslim Americans Do Harm

Hebah Farrag

The Role of Spirit in the #BlackLivesMatter Movement: A Conversation with Activist and Artist Patrisse Cullors

The Role of Spirit in the #BlackLivesMatter Movement: A Conversation with Activist and Artist Patrisse Cullors

Ibn Khaldun Center for
Development Studies
Civil Society
March 2007 Vol. 13 No. 147

Commentary
My Clock Story: How Accusations Against Muslim Americans Do Harm