A Heart's Journey: Visiting the Mosque

I went to a "moderate mosque" today. It is revolutionary in that women, though seated in the back, do see and hear the imam without the need for video feeds. Yet, even in this environment, nodding at my son as he waived across the room at me seemed strange and artificial.

I wrote this as part of a discussion about "unisex" mosques on Belief Net:

"I've continued to think about this "separate but unequal" aspect that seems entrenched in Islam since my earlier post. The Quran says "oppression is worst than slaughter." In thinking about my embrace of my inequality within Islam, I am reminded of the truth of Allah's word. Even my earlier suggestion that women start our own prayer circles is an indication of the wisdom of Carter G. Woodson, the father of Black History, who noted that a mis-educated person who is taught that he or she must enter the back door of a house, will create a back door if none exists. In my effort to stay engaged with the community I suggested a creation of my own "back door."

My embrace of this situation for many, many years is amazing given the history of African Americans with apartheid. The "white" water fountain was not the same as the "colored" water fountain, and even if they were the same the explanation of the need for them is an expression of racism, no matter how pretty or nuanced the explanation. Likewise, for a people that say, "heaven is at the foot of the mother," and then proceed to put the mother in the basement next to the bathroom, the treatment of women in this deen is reprehensible.

I have been an apologist for these inequalities, focusing on Allah and not Muslims, but the beauty of Islam is the understanding that the community must be an expression of Allah's love for his creation. I will not argue with "scholars" who will quote hadith that express the "legality" of the inferior position of women in this religion. Nor am I interested in engaging in destructive "halaqas" with women who, as I have in the past, embrace the "separate and equal" doctrine set forth as proper teaching.

Islam at the moment, seems to lack a vocabulary which focuses on the reality of life for women like myself and our children. Instead, like Jim Crow, it encourages ignorance of both men, in their superior position, and women in their inferior position. There is no where to turn to even to discuss these injustices without being demonized. Meanwhile, focus is placed almost exclusively on women's dress, while women's despair and ill health go unnoticed. Focus is on homosexuality, but not domestic violence. I watch communities that seem obsessed with Palestine and unconcerned about their neighbors.

For me the discussion has ended, I am not staying in the back of the bus."

If love of Allah is the definition of a Muslim, then I am a Muslim. But if a Muslim is one who accepts dogma of sexism, homophobia, denial of injustice, and embrace of violence, then I am something else. Perhaps I am a Muslim and something else.

Celebration! Kwanzaa

The Islamic culture that has defined my life until recently, was devoid of celebration on a personal level. A few hours at the two Eids, recognized religious festivals in Islam, is all my family embraced. I no longer hold with this "puritanical" notion that fun is somehow beneath Muslim sensibility.

For the first time, I have presents (ziwadi) in my home. I have brought Kwanzaa into my home! My friends, particularly Bettie, have been instrumental in reminding me of the joy of decorating and celebrating. I will even be hosting a Kwanzaa Karamu, which is a feast, on the 1st of January. I am embracing my home!

The embrace of joy that has allowed me to bring this into my home has already touched my son and will Inshallah, touch my husband. At any rate, celebration and remembrance is, I believe, a part of the human journey.

Happy Kwanzaa!

In the Basement, Again

Eid ul Adha, the Feast of the Sacrifice, was celebrated on Friday, November 27th. It is a time to reflect on the willingness to give up what we prize the most. It is also a wonderful opportunity to come together with Muslims at the special prayer, or it should be. Eid was wonderful but the prayer experience was not. Once again, I found myself in the basement. While I will no longer attend jummahs in segregated environments, the Eid prayers continue to hold a special place in my heart. Feeling this way, I once again set off with some wonderful friends for the prayer. I was surprised how much I was affected by the segregation. In short, it hurt to be sitting in a basement trying to follow the prayer by watching a grainy picture of the Imam in the main/male hall. It felt as if I was not included in the "real" prayer. My presence was not important and certainly not worthy of celebration.

I believe, I witnessed again the price of segregation. This masjid had been built new, but the architecture showed that women were an afterthought. We enter from the back.

Recently, I listened while someone assured a brother that segregation of the sexes did not imply subordination or discrimination against women. I laughed and thought that's how a moderate segregationist would have responded to questions about separate drinking fountains and public accommodations--it's not an indication that we feel blacks are inferior to whites, it's tradition.