We are all Shaima Alawadi

I am a staff writer and editor-in-training for my university's newspaper, The Merciad.

I wanted to share a compelling opinion article from our most recent issue.  It is titled We are all Shaima Alawadi. It does not simply discuss the events in California, but also confronts the pressing issues in regards to Muslims and America.

Personally, I don't think I could have worded the article better myself.

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We are all Shaima Alawadi
By Zainab Javed

Shaima Alawadi was murdered this past week.

The mother of five was brutally beaten with a tire-iron until unconscious, her brain swelling irreversibly. Her 17-year-old daughter discovered her mother near death with a note saying “go back to your country, you terrorist” next to her body.

Her murder hits close to home. When I think of it, I shudder. It could just as easily been my mother or aunt.

They too wear a hijab, a religious head covering, which seems to have become synonymous with “threat” in our society.

This was not an isolated incident.

The harassment and hate crimes against Muslim Americans have been on the rise in a post-9/11 world. What perpetuates this hatred and distrust of Muslim Americans? Why has a wave of Islamophobia swept the country?

The answer is that the rhetoric in the mainstream forces around us varying from media to politicians paints Muslims as foreign threats to domestic security.

Today we are escorted off airplanes because someone feels like we are “suspicious.” The NYPD spies on our communities by sending undercover cops into our mosques and businesses. They were even caught systematically spying on Muslim students on Yale, Rutgers and other college campuses even though these students were not accused of any wrongdoing; students just like you or me.

You can’t blatantly violate civil rights under the context of counter terrorism. When you single out Muslims, you create a narrative where we are the enemy. It builds a state of fear and paranoia, which then descends to the average citizen who is fed stereotypes of Muslims as terrorists.

Islam is not inherently linked with terrorism.

Juan Williams, formerly of NPR, once said, “If I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous.”

Tell me, Williams, what is Muslim garb? There are over a billion of us. We transcend across hundreds of cultures. So what exactly does Muslim garb look like? And more importantly, if we wear Muslim “garb,” are we deserving of harassment and death? Did Alawadi deserve to die because of her hijab? No.

Many people seem to forget a very important aspect of the term “Muslim American”—we may be Muslims, but we are also Americans. We are your neighbors, your classmates and your coworkers. We pay our taxes, abide by the laws and participate in our local communities. We love America because it is our home.

I am an immigrant. I moved to the United States when I was three. I could recite the Pledge of Allegiance before I ever learned Pakistan’s national anthem; I even know the Star Spangled Banner in three-part harmony. What I’m trying to say is, I love America and, I’m tired of having to defend my loyalty to this country. This country is my country. No one can tell me to go home when this is my home.

Fareed Zakeria said, “I am an American, not by accident of birth but by choice. I voted with my feet and became an American because I love this country and think it is exceptional.”

In memory of Alawadi and in solidarity with the countless victims of religiously-charged hate crimes, I will be wearing a hijab for the week of March 26-31. If you see me, stop me and ask me some questions about Islam.

Take some time to get to know a Muslim.

The Sisters of Mercy have supported building “genuine trust and understanding between faith traditions in these times of growing political posturing, fear, suspicion and dangerous stereotyping.” Isn’t it time we do the same?

Let’s promote knowledge because this country cannot afford to fall victim to fear and ignorance.

We’re all Americans. We’re in this together, sink or swim. An attack on one American is an attack on all Americans. Alawadi was an American.

Today, we are all Alawadi.

In the News: Muslim Mother Beaten to Death

I came across this headline today:
Iraqi woman beaten in Calif. dies; threat note left at scene

Hate crimes, discrimination, prejudice...they are never acceptable. This should not happen.

If you would like to show your support for those who are victims of those types of behavior, I invite you to take part in International Scarves in Solidarity 2012.

Update: I did my own Facebook stand for this already. I would love to see how many other people will stand up and show the world that they will not accept all of the hate and discrimination. There is too much lately and it needs to stop.

"If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor." -Desmond Tutu

Here's to Henna, the Souq, and New Friends

Maggie mixing up her Henna hair dye.

I'm not sure how Friday fell into place.  It wasn't supposed to be "Middle Eastern night," it just kind of happened.

Let me start with a little background. My friend Maggie and I took Spanish together in high school and then after we graduated we lost touch for a little bit. Then over the summer, we got back in touch and find out we are both studying Arabic and the Middle East.

Thus starts our Middle Eastern night.

Part 1. Dinner.

The adventure started in a simple manner at Casablanca Grill, a Middle Eastern/Mediterranean restaurant in Erie.  Here we filled ourselves with dolma, couscous, and other delicious foods . . .when my shoe broke.
The one man who works there came to my rescue and repaired in a way that it is actually better than before.   Thanking him in Arabic spurred a surprised look and a conversation.  He asked us about what we studied and suggested places Maggie should visit when she goes to Jordan this summer.

A side note. I mayyyyy have taken the bottle of Laziza, a Lebanese drink, that I had for my beverage. It had Arabic on it and I was very excited. I feel like the employees at the restaurant probably think I'm a little crazy.

After dinner, and a short game of volleyball at the beach, we were off to the mall so we could find clothing for Maggie to wear in Jordan.

Part 2. A shout out to new friends.

In the mall, we passed a rather large group of women our age wearing hijabs.  We joked about asking them what Maggie should wear...little did we know...

I was standing outside of Maggie's dressing room as two of the girls walked in.

After much debate about what Maggie should wear, I took the plunge.

"Hi, could you help us really quick," I said to one of the girls. "My friend is going to Jordan this summer and she doesn't know what to wear."

She was eager to help us, along with all of her friends who were within ear shot.

Maggie's hair as we let the dye sit.

They continued talking about what we study and told me I could pass as Arab. (I'm not sure I see it, but they would know best, right?)

Part 3. Al-Souq (Market), Henna and Hair Dye
Maggie and I then went to Sara's Market to get some henna and ended up leaving with henna hair dye as well.

Back at my apartment, we started by dying Maggie's hair of course!  Which may have been the biggest adventure of the night.

My lovely, green-splattered bathtub.

After mixing the powder (which smells like tea) with vinegar and water, letting the mixture sit, and wetting Maggie's hair we were ready to get dying.

I'd like to issue a disclaimer that we had no idea what we were doing. We debated whether we did this right, since it looked like the swamp thing attacked Maggie. But we continued on our mission to dye her hair.

I sat over her, who was all but sitting in the bathtub, working this gritty mixture in from the roots to the tips of her hair.

While the dye was soaking into her hair we decided to see how well we did at decorating our feet with henna.

Maggie decorating my foot.

This was our first time doing this as well.  We did look up some designs on this website, but for the most part we stuck to swirls, dots, and practicing our Arabic.

For beginners, I think we did pretty good...

My designs on Maggie's foot.

So there you have it, our Middle Eastern adventure. Full of some great first time experiences.

In case you were wondering, we ended up leaving the hair dye on for about an hour instead of the recommended three. Her hair is definitely darker, and we are still debating whether it has a greenish tint to it or not.

Also, if you have any suggestions that could possibly improve our henna skills, I would love to hear them!

حب و سلام
Love and peace.

For your viewing pleasure...

This is the Official Coca-cola World Cup song by K'naan. He collaborated with many artists and put the song in different languages. I got my roommate addicted to the Arabic version. Enjoy!

The Zeitoun Foundation

I wanted follow-up my last post with this organization.

If you find the story interesting, or even the injustices that went along with it, you may be interested in The Zeitoun Foundation.

As stated on its website:
"[The Zeitoun Foundation] is dedicated to the continued rebuilding and social advancement of New Orleans and to promote understanding between people of disparate faiths around the world, with a concentration on relations between America and the Muslim world."

Check it out!

Religious Intolerance and Zeitoun

I went to New Orleans at the end of November for a service project.

While we were down there, a member of the reconstruction group we were working with was showing us where Hurricane Katrina affected New Orleans the most.  As we drove in an area close to the Ninth Ward, a friend pointed out a sign for a paint contractor.

Zeitoun was the name on the sign.

She then told me about a book that was about the man who owns the company and recommended I read it.

I recommend the same to you.

Zeitoun by Dave Eggers is about the injustices Abdulrahman Zeitoun and his family faced during the events of Hurricane Katrina.

The book chronicles Zeitoun's life as a background for the reader - from his childhood in Syria, to meeting his wife Kathy in New Orleans.

As Hurricane Katrina approaches, Kathy and their children leave the state to find someplace safe to stay while Zeitoun stays behind to take care of their house and client's houses in the community.

Zeitoun then goes missing.

He is judged based upon his religion and ethnicity and ends up getting arrested because he is considered a terrorist - why else would he stay in New Orleans during Katrina after all?

He is treated poorly at each of the locations he is held at.  He cannot contact his family, the guards don't respect their religious needs and sometimes don't eat, they're susceptible to cruel punishments, and even though he is hurt, they will not allow Zeitoun to see a doctor. Just to name a few.

After finding pity in a stranger, Zeitoun is able to get a message to Kathy that he is alive and in jail.  She, in turn, contacts a lawyer and many friends to act as character witnesses in order to free her husband.

The book clearly details the situation a little bit more, but as I read this I was infuriated at the kind of treatment  this family received.  Not only are there the presumptions that Zeitoun must be a terrorist for being Muslim and Syrian, but there is also a theme of discrimination.  Kathy, a Louisianian who converted to Islam from being Baptist, is even judged for her attire.

Discrimination. Racism. Religious intolerance. Prejudice. All of these are very real in American society against Arabs and Muslims.

I don't want to get on a soapbox, but I leave you with this food for thought.

“Every time a crime was committed by a Muslim, that person's faith was mentioned, regardless of its relevance. When a crime is committed by a Christian, do they mention his religion? ... When a crime is committed by a black man, it's mentioned in the first breath: 'An African American man was arrested today...' But what about German Americans? Anglo Americans? A white man robs a convenience store and do we hear he's of Scottish descent? In no other instance is the ancestry mentioned.” -Zeitoun

Think about it.
Would you agree?

Your passion will find you in the strangest places

Much of my family came from middle of nowhere Tennessee.  It was one of those towns between the hollers that has been all but abandoned at this point.

We were driving farther and farther from Nashville to see my dad's cousin, Sally*.  It was going to be another fun-filled day of trekking around cemeteries to explore our family history...I couldn't wait.

Typically, Sally and her significant other, Jim, have at least two grandchildren staying with them at any time, but today they had an additional boy. 

He was about 3-years-old and was staying with them while his grandparents, who were in the process of becoming his legal guardians, were out of the country.

After hours of walking around cemeteries with the sun beating down on us, we headed to a diner to eat.  As if   we did not already attract enough attention (the entire town knew we didn't belong), the little boy running around the restaurant added to the chaos.

My mom and Sally were in their own world, discussing the rambunctious child. That's when I heard it...

"We have trouble talking to him. His grandparents usually speak Arabic to him, so he understands that better than English."  My family immediately looked at me.

"Say something to him!" they coaxed.

I didn't know what to say. He was running around the restaurant, who says he wouldn't have ignored me anyway.

"Ya Isaac!" That was it. I yelled his name in a way that you get someone's attention in Arabic. But it worked.

My "little brother" and me as we talked.

He stopped dead in his tracks and just turned to look at me. Everyone was silent.

Now he knew my secret, and I knew his.

His cousin Annie carried him over to me, but he hid in her shoulder.

"Hello," I said to him in Arabic. "How are you?"

No response.

"I really like you."  That was it! He giggled. He understood and he responded.

"What did you say?!" Everyone wanted to know what just happened in our secret language.

"I told him I liked him."

For the next hour and a half we played together and talked.  I explained to him who my family was and as he repeated the words back I knew he understood.  He obeyed when I asked him to hand me something. And he tested me on my colors, only to move on once I got it correct.

Everyone prepared to leave.

"How do you say nice to meet you?" my brother asked.

"Tasharufna.**"

He knew what I said. It was almost the time where he had to leave me and it was clear that he was not happy. 

As I started to walk away from our table, I felt someone grab my hand.  There he was, determined to leave with the person who he thought at this point had to be his sister. 

We went to our separate cars and he was unresponsive to everyone saying goodbye.

"Ma-salaama!" I yelled to him.

"Oh bye!!" He perked right up as he waved bye to the girl who spoke his language.

*Names have been changed.

**My spelling in transliteration is not the best, I apologize.

What are the odds of this happening?  I only hope I get to see this precious boy again someday.

Have a story where your passion found you? Share it with me :]

Laying the Foundation

I was in tenth grade when I told my parents that I wanted to learn Arabic. They gave me a look that said, "uh huh, have fun with that, Alicia" and proceeded to tell me how difficult that would be. After that moment I gave up the idea.

Life always has a way of working out though.

I am a college student studying Communication and Middle Eastern Studies in Erie, Pennsylvania. Whenever I tell people what I study, I get a variety of reactions. Many curious for more information and others disgusted at the thought.  Thus the purpose of this blog.

I don't claim to be an expert on everything Middle Eastern - I'm simply a student who sees a need for bridges to be built between cultures and will go out on a limb to make that possible.

Now comes the fun part, we talk.  About personal stories, music, books, current issues, the language, and anything else.

So let's get the ball rolling...