I had spent the
entire morning pinching my arms in training. “Don’t cry on stage,” I kept
repeating. As I sat in the front row, awaiting my turn to speak, I could feel
the lump in my throat growing. I realized for the first time ever, I was more
nervous of breaking down into tears than I was of actually speaking. A breath
of relief escaped me when I read the last word, but as I looked up and saw the
crowd before me on their feet, applauding with sincerity for what seemed like
ages, I couldn’t fight back any longer.
Why am I more at home
in every other house of worship except a mosque? It was the question I repeated
in my head as my mother and I drove in silence to our next event. We were both
floored by the audience’s reaction. As we came to leave, a man, about my
grandfather’s age, stopped us. He grabbed my hand and gracefully tucked in it $20. “I wanted to invite you two ladies to coffee but since you have to
go, here, please invite each other on me. Thank you for sharing your beautiful
story.”
What were they trying
to do to me? I ran in the opposite direction of the exit hoping to seek refuge in
the privacy of the bathroom and have a good cry but I was mistaken, because
there she was, the next one. A cute old woman was drying her hands and smiled. “I
just wanted to tell you that your speech was so beautiful. Thank you for
sharing.”
Thank you for sharing? Did a complete stranger just thank me
for speaking about my experience? It was absolutely baffling and yet comical to
be honest. For ten tumultuous months I’ve been reprimanded by many people of my
own community because of the courage I have shown in speaking out against
abuse. I’ve been warned, threatened, harassed and belittled continuously—almost
like I never really left the abuse.
"What did I even say?” I asked my mom in a
daze. “I mean all I said was my story. It's not that big of a deal, is
it?" Her eyes remained fixed on the road. "It is, and even more it
came from your heart." More silence followed as I contemplated how my same
speech would have gone at a mosque.
For starters, I would never be invited. I mean
if my own mother—well versed in the studies of Islam—faces sexist backlash on a
daily basis from our religious institutions, why on earth would I be welcome?
Secondly, our culture has yet to learn the art of acknowledging issues and
actually handling them. We are more capable of touching upon them just lightly
enough to make it appear like something’s being “discussed” when in reality
nothing’s changing.
A few months ago I was invited to speak at a
Jewish synagogue on why millennials have withdrawn from their houses of
worship. Jokingly I began with “So, how honest can I be here?” because plenty
of times I’ve been silenced for striving to speak up about issues afflicting
us. It’s like mosques have forgotten that we are human, therefore we err and
should provide platforms to open up, share and heal. I left no rock unturned at
that event and explicitly defined the phenomenon that Muslims face in the
reduction of millennial involvement at our mosques. One woman in the audience
raised her hand and asked, “Does the separation of the sexes affect this too?”
I chuckled and replied, “Absolutely. It’s only creating a friction that leads
our youth to grow up with more challenges than necessary. You feel like you’re
walking on eggshells at the houses of worship when you’re a youth/young adult.
Why would we want to be tied to that type of environment when we have other
avenues to live freely and sinless?”
Mosques have unfortunately become mirages for
me. Rarely do I visit outside of holidays, funerals or the occasional restroom
stop when traffic is terrifying on my way home from work. Even then, I dash in
and out as quickly as possible to avoid the stares and judgments for showing up
in slacks, a blouse and heels. It’s extremely sad that many mosques have not
only subjected their millennials, but also their women, to this
marginalization. So much so that a group of women got fed up and recently
established their own place of prayer at a multi-faith center. Even for that,
they face continuous ridicule and criticism—instead of being offered the long
awaited and deserved environment of equality and welcoming involvement within
the already established mosques.
What else do you
expect from women when their own mosques host events with horrendous titles
like, "Do Women Have a Role in the Mosque?" Was that supposed to be a
well written cliffhanger to intrigue us enough to attend in hopes of a plot
twist at the end? Or could it have been worded more wisely and actually
included a female panel?
What else can you
expect from women when they are constantly facing harassment and treated like
they themselves are such sinful creatures that shouldn't roam free?
And what else can you
expect from your youth when they're always being bombarded with threats of
committing "sin" that the mere hopes of enjoying life and attaining
Heaven have been burned by the torches of Hell?
It’s just hard to
digest the reality of how much more welcome I’ve been everywhere except in a
mosque. It’s painful and often doesn’t seem to show a hopeful horizon of
change. One woman, on her way out of the Center of Spiritual Living, asked for
a copy of the speech. She said she wanted to re-read it for inspiration. Spending
the rest of my life in *face palm* mode seems befitting.
What is it with our
community that restrains us from being more open? More involved? I’ve been a
part of interfaith since I was about eight or nine, thanks to my mom, and it
has done nothing but enhance my life and my faith. However, the part of it that
I like least is the fact that the Muslim attendees are rare. Sometimes it
consists of my mom, her awesome side kick, and myself. We end up at dinner
after every event chugging down salads and sodas in contemplation of where we
went wrong. Where our community found it better to be isolated and judgmental
instead of involved and open minded.
There’s really one
key cause and it’s fear. The only thing that creates fear though is ignorance. So
I guess that means there are two key causes. I grew up in a community that
feared the others as much as the others feared them. Interfaith is viewed as a
threat. Speaking up about issues is blasphemy. Becoming more progressive
without losing faith is considered impossible. Women are forever second class. Men
rule the world. Follow these rules and you’ll find Heaven. Right? Wrong!
In my speech [http://ladynarrator.blogspot.com/2015/03/speech-in-seal-beach-part-1-speech.html]
I emphasize that God did not create this world for our suffering. Rather we are
being tested so we will indeed struggle, but that doesn’t mean it has to be
miserable. I made this very same statement at the synagogue.
People have this idea
that in order to be religious, God fearing and on the right path, one must be
miserable. Therefore, religion is geared to the older population. The people
who did all the experimentations life has to offer and are now preparing to
meet their Lord. Being young and religious does exist, but rarely is it ever balanced with a happy full life. Maybe if we finally
began to recognize that religion does indeed allow a place for women and for
the youth/millennials, we can create an environment that overflows with loyal
and happy attendees? Maybe no woman will ever contemplate opening up a separate
center because every woman will feel like she belongs in the mosque and is
valued and not just because she can make the food for the events? Maybe we can
start instilling real fun for our
younger populations because that possibility does exist without losing our
religion? And maybe, just maybe, mosques can transform into the real community
centers they once used to be, where people feel at home and at peace? Where
people can come to relieve their hearts and souls in more than just prayer? Where
they can speak out, socialize, network, support one another wholeheartedly, meet
potential legitimate life partners, and live their life comfortably without
ignorance and fear?
Could I possibly be
dreaming? I don’t know. In the meantime, my efforts will not be stopped and my
voice will not be silenced. That day at the Seal Beach Center for Spiritual
Living was invigorating. I took that wonderful man’s $20 and everyone’s genuine
heartfelt love that I didn’t find very often amongst “my people” and continued
with my mission to go and change the world. I didn’t invite my mom and I to
coffee, instead I called on people to help me in inviting 101 homeless
individuals to at least two meals and access to various hygiene items. After that
day I launched an initiative to create hygiene kits for homeless and abused men
and women in Southern California. Though it was an extreme struggle to scramble
for the items, we succeeded.
-->
At
first I was told, “This bag barely has enough to sustain an individual for one
day.” But then I smiled and said, “Maybe we can look at it like we just created
enough bags to support 101 individuals in need.”
Women, children and
even millennials have a great deal and wealth to offer the community. You know
why? Because we are the community. Isn’t it time to start allowing us to be that
way?