for what purpose is your freedom

eyes glued to the sky they try

to feel like they have spectacular reasons

to celebrate their misshapen rectangle

upon which they’ve drawn their tiny squares of property

and profit,

the noise and the glitter invading in the dark,

recreating some kind of victory,

recreating some kind of pride,

recreating the awe a human can feel upon looking at a sky

that is quiet.



what is increasingly not enough

When I was younger, just my community was enough. My needs were fulfilled by it; its logic around faith and history, which were given to me by my family and elders, made sense. The more intimately I understood it as an adult, however, the more I felt it was necessary to gift it, over and over again, the generosity of context, and a world around it. But even with more and more context, the position and agency of my faith community within the wider group of Muslims in America became blurrier with age, even while my awareness of the blurrinesses in other faith communities increased. Observing Ramadan, for me, is a claiming of space for me and my community in the confusion of colors and shapes that is the wider Muslim community, a community that has sometimes rejected us, and sometimes been rejected by us. For me, it is a way to say, “We are here, too; we are of you, and you us.”

On a practical level, I am objectively bad at Ramadan. I have trouble slowing down, I do not retain my patience in the face of want, I sometimes break my fast early, and suhoor is sometimes on time, sometimes whenever I wake up. I do not swear less — I work in a newsroom. More devastatingly, I work in a capitalistic system, so my days, even during Ramadan, are dictated by labor and profit, and not by my intrinsic value as a soul from the viewpoint of the divine. It seems that every Ramadan I observe, I am reminded of how far I am, how far we are, from what a life oriented by the centering of the spirit feels like.

For much of this Ramadan, as part of a youth program I help with every year, I spent my days thinking about civil rights and the history of the Muslim community in the U.S. — from enslaved African Muslims to South Asian immigrant Muslims to Central Asian refugee Muslims to white convert Muslims. We talked about what oppression can look like among immigrant communities, and how hierarchies are perpetuated particularly firmly in South Asian Muslim communities. Most challenging was articulating the complexities of this reality to young people — a way of gently shattering the perfection they wanted to see and showing instead, just as gently, that the existence of blurrinesses in their understandings of their community is a form of clarity, because it is accurate.

Much like how adults respond to blurriness around something into which they’ve invested time, some people embraced these realities and many decidedly did not — a reminder that an instinct toward justice or truth is not magically or automatically higher among younger generations. I felt frustrated. In the early mornings during suhoor, I read parts of the Qur’an.

While the Ramadan of my youth was mostly about breakfast foods at Eid celebrations, the Ramadan of my adulthood has increasingly been about a balancing of two particular ayaat that reflect the frustrations that I have not been able to settle:

“Do not follow blindly what you do not know to be true: ears, eyes, and heart, you will be questioned about all these. Do not strut arrogantly about the earth: you cannot break it open, nor match the mountains in height.” (17:36-7)

The pairing of these ayaat encourage me to “seek a middle way” (17:110) between the necessity of continuous critical thinking and reasoning around the established systems of a community, while retaining an attitude of humility and patience as a form of love toward those around me, if nothing else, as a reflection of the awe a Muslim, a person, can experience toward the divine. The anti-complacency and active compassion this requires — and the grace of this reminder in the Qur’an — is enough for this month.


This is not my writing. [2017]


Maya Angelou: The Complete Poetry

Will I be less/

dead because I wrote this/

poem or you more because/

you read it/

long years hence.

Billions And Billions, Carl Sagan

“But I see the emergence in our consciousness of a Universe of a magnificence, and an intricate, elegant order far beyond anything our ancestors imagined. And if much about the Universe can be understood in terms of a few simple laws of Nature, those wishing to believe in God can certainly ascribe those beautiful laws to a Reason underpinning all of Nature. My own view is that it is far better to understand the Universe as it really is than to pretend to a Universe as we might wish it to be.”

Waiting For Godot, Samuel Beckett

Estragon: You see, you feel worse when I’m with you. I feel better alone too.

Vladimir: (vexed) Then why do you always come crawling back?

Estragon: I don’t know.

The Unbearable Lightness Of Being, Milan Kundera

“Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.”

The Teeth Of The Comb, Osama Alomar

“When the slaves reelected their executioner entirely of their own accord and without any pressure from anyone, I understood that it was still very early to be talking about democracy and human dignity.”

Mirrors, Eduardo Galeano

“Life only pulsates in what bears scars.”

The South Side, Natalie Y. Moore

“Cities know how to be creative in cutting sweetheart deals for new sports stadiums or companies moving their headquarters to central business districts. Cities need to apply that same inventiveness beyond downtown areas to see a serious reduction in violence. Crime isn’t an isolated occurrence. If the larger structural issues in neighborhoods, such as segregation and racial inequality, aren’t addressed, any other solution will be fleeting.”

The Ministry Of Utmost Happiness, Arundhati Roy

How to tell a shattered story?/

By slowly becoming everybody./


By slowly becoming everything.

Spiritual Quest, Reza Shah-Kazemi

“…one is human to the extent that one strives to do justice to the spiritual possibilities inspired within — quite literally, ‘breathed into’ — the human soul by God: ‘Then He fashioned him [man] and breathed into him of His Spirit’ (32:9). The spiritual quest is thus the quest to be fully human, according to the creative intention of God.”

One Day We’ll All Be Dead And None Of This Will Matter, Scaachi Koul

“So much of immigration is about loss. First you lose bodies: people who die, people whose deaths you missed. Then you lose history: no one speaks the language anymore, and successive generations grow more and more westernized. They you lose memory: throughout this trip, I tried to place people, where I had met them, how I knew them. I can’t remember anything anymore.”

Progressive Muslims, edited by Omid Safi

“When peace comes to mean the absence of conflict on the one hand, and when conflict with an unjust and racist political order is a moral imperative on the other, then it is not difficult to understand that the better class of human beings are, in fact, deeply committed to disturbing the peace and creating conflict.”

— Farid Esack

Love And Other Ways Of Dying, Michael Paterniti

“Grief is schizophrenic. You find yourself of two minds, the one that governs your days up until the moment of grief — the one that opens easily to memories of the girl at six, twelve, eighteen — and the one that seeks to destroy everything afterward.”

Justice And Remembrance, Reza Shah-Kazemi

“Make your very life a shield for what you have promised, for there is no divine obligation which so strongly unites people — despite having diverse inclinations and multifarious opinions — as that of honoring the principle of fulfilling one’s pledge.”

Exit West, Mohsin Hamid

“Of this, in later years, both were glad, and both would also wonder if this meant that they had made a mistake, that if they had but waited and watched their relationship would have flowered again, and so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born.”

Notes Of A Native Son, James Baldwin

“…I think the past is all that makes the present coherent, and further, that the past will remain horrible for exactly as long as we refuse to assess it honestly.”

“People who shut their eyes to reality simply invite their own destruction, and anyone who insists on remaining in a state of innocence long after that innocence is dead turns himself into a monster.”

A Book Of Luminous Things, Czeslaw Milosz

In the rear-view mirror suddenly/

I saw the bulk of the Beauvais Cathedral;/

great things dwell in small ones/

for a moment.

— Adam Zagajewski

Assess your big mistakes every ten years.

Screen Shot 2017-12-15 at 2.49.48 PM.png

2007 is the year I moved to New York and began university. My dad helped me move, and I still remember the panic that overtook me in my core when, on our last evening together, he dropped me off to my residence hall and walked away. At that moment, I was certain I was unprepared to be alone, neither to sustain myself nor succeed at anything. I had no idea how to quiet the terrified restlessness in my heart that exists within all 18-year-olds, whether they are brave enough to admit it or not (I was not).

2017 has been a year during which I made strides, long and aggressive and intentional, in admitting things — out loud, to other people — in a furious chase for catharsis. This has its own terrors associated with it, but one of the perks of approaching 30 is that dishonesty doesn’t quite weigh on you as much as it feels like one more annoying thing to remember to do for someone else’s comfort, one more way to grip desperately onto someone’s conditional affinity toward you.

When I think about the time between 2007 and 2017, the thing I did most frequently is make mistakes. Some very small (I once repeatedly addressed a female hiring manager as a “Mr.” via email until she sent me an understandably angry clarifying note) and many quite large (I have yet to be able to get myself to enjoy kale and this seems to have had a much larger impact on my life than I anticipated it would in 2007). But wait, there’s more:

— Once, instead of “try to be forgiving toward yourself,” I said, very somberly, “try to be forgiving toward your elf.”

— I stopped writing sometime after grad school. Not much news, not much fiction, not much prose, not even a consistent journal. When I did write, it was in disjointed phrases that looked like they were trying — and failing — to be poetry. I wrote them down and never looked at them again because, to me, they looked suspiciously like proof that I had lost something valuable. Because writing is how I, like many, clarify and process my thoughts, this made for some incredibly foggy years.

— I felt it important to post so many angry, true and juvenile posts about 1. Republicans and 2. the parts of the Harry Potter movies that weren’t completely accurate. Both of these made me equally angry, for some reason.

— For a long time, I stopped playing basketball, which is something that brings me pure joy. I stopped for enough time that when I started again, it took actual concentration to not get injured, and even with concentration, I had some lasting injuries.

— The insecurities I didn’t know I harbored became cynicism, dismissiveness and, at my worst, cruelty toward those who were close enough to me that kindness seemed less important than straightforwardness. In hindsight, with lots of distance and lots of painful reflection, I know that this was, at its core, an act of profound, consequential ingratitude, and it is perhaps the only aspect of this decade — the only mistake — that I have neither been able to process, nor reconcile, nor forgive.

— Several times in the 2010s, I wore a blazer over a t-shirt that said “Imagination” on it, but with the blazer on, you could only see the “agina” part, so everyone thought I was wearing a t-shirt that said “vagina.” AND YET I DID NOT STOP WEARING THAT COMBINATION.

— I spent too much time with socks on.

— Between 2007 and 2014, I did not even kind of drink enough water.

— I enthusiastically performed the flawed idea that if someone is part of you, you must carry their pain/dishonesty/debt for them, out of love and protectiveness, and they must carry yours — that this is how love is measured, that love can be measured.

— I was there for only five years, but I may have lived in New York City for much too long.

— Somehow, I wasn’t wearing the right glasses for my face-shape before 2016.

— Somehow, I didn’t read any Audre Lorde before 2016.

— Somehow, I learned and then promptly forgot a lot of Arabic, Farsi and Urdu before 2016.

— It took about four years for me to feel truly comfortable asking for help with any code I wrote, which is several years of unproductive mistakes.

Here’s one thing I did right over the past ten years: I was choosy and persistent about courting the relationships I wanted to keep. Achieving honesty at 29 takes a huge time investment between 18 and 28, and when, inevitably, somewhere in there, your life shifts dramatically, it’s the people into whom you’ve invested time and effort who will perceive what those life shifts mean for your interiority. This kind of homemade, worn-in honesty, even once per decade, is maybe all the catharsis you need.

Ali Asani on the denial of identity

Ali Asani

A scholar of Islam in South Asia, Professor Asani’s research focuses on Shi’a and Sufi devotional traditions in the region.

Ali Asani came to the U.S. from Kenya, started as an undergraduate student at Harvard, and then just never left. Today, he’s a professor of Indo-Muslim and Islamic Religion and Cultures and Director of the Prince Alwaleed bin Talal Islamic Studies Program at Harvard. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Asani and I’ve always been struck by the nuance in his arguments and, more importantly, his immense humility. We spoke a bit about his own navigation of identity and the global aspect of Islamophobia:

People often say, okay the Jews went through this, and the Catholics went through this, and the Irish went through this and Italians went through this. And it’s true that you know it’s part of the whole process of becoming American, you have to go through this. I do see it as different. Unlike I think some of those other groups, you don’t have the manifestation of this at a global level…It’s not just the U.S. It’s a global phenomenon. You see it in Europe, definitely. You see the links between Islamophobic groups in Europe with those in the U.S., but you also see it in places like India. You see it in Bosnia. You see it in Burma. You can see it in many, many different places. You see it in Russia. You see it in China…And that’s what I think makes it a little bit different from saying, okay, this is a normal part of the American hazing experience. That’s what I think makes it dangerous. Because it’s global.

He told me what struck him about election-time Islamophobia and the revision of history in people’s minds:

The thing that really stood out to me as an Islamophobic thing was made by Rev. Rod Parsley who was spiritual advisor to John McCain and who wrote in his book “Silent No More,” among other claims he makes, that 9/11 was a call to arms because America was founded in part to see the false religion of Islam destroyed, and that’s why America was created. And 9/11 now means that we are in a full-fledged war with Islam. That, for me, was an outrage because it’s just a revisionist form of reading history and documents and texts. When I saw that, I said, wow. And you can see how it was tied with the whole election of Obama. And that behind it was this whole idea that Obama was a secret Muslim and that electing him is going to be the ultimate triumph because now Muslims will be in power, they’ve taken over the White House and then they’re going to take over the country. So this was a strategy pandering to people’s fear for Islam — “Do not vote for Obama because if you vote for Obama, it’s a vote for Islam, it’s a vote for the enemy.” The implications of all of that are just astounding.

On the many ways he was denied his own identity in the U.S.:

When I came to Harvard as an undergraduate, one of the things I was astonished about was how ignorant people were about Kenya — they didn’t know where it was — and their perceptions about who was African. So someone like me would not qualify as African because, “Oh, you must be from India.” Even though my family’s been two generations in Africa. So I would say there was this broad illiteracy. My first encounter was this illiteracy about Africa that impacted me directly because people were not able to label me correctly or they thought I was a misfit or they wanted to impose their own labels on me, so you have to be — you can’t be African. And in Africa, people who are of Indian origin are called Asian. So if I said I was Asian, “No, you can’t be Asian because Asian means you’re Chinese.” So I was denied my African identity, I was denied my Asian identity, and then at a certain point I would find out of course that they were also very ignorant about Islam as well.

Check out my interviews with Jocelyn CesariOmid SafiCarl ErnstEli CliftonHaroon MoghulHussein Rashid and Hind MakkiLearn more about my project.

Jocelyn Cesari: It’s worse in Europe

Jocelyn Cesari

“I would really put into perspective what Muslims here are calling discrimination. Because at the end of the day, we know that the group that remain the most discriminated in this country are the blacks. Period. It’s not very politically correct, but it’s true.”


I met up with Jocelyn Cesari at Harvard’s Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal Islamic Studies Program office. She is a Senior Research Fellow at the Berkley Center for Religion, Peace and World Affairs at Georgetown University and directs the Islam in the West Program at Harvard University. She explained to me why Europe’s Muslims have it much harder than America’s:

I would say that, even when it concerns the Islamic or religious signs only, the discrimination is higher for Muslims in Europe because it is not automatically an institutional discrimination, while I think in the U.S., most of the discrimination comes from policy-making or institutional settings, but not automatically from the society, although you will find groups that will say, “Yes, it has increased,” but if you look at where Islamophobia comes, it comes in police or law enforcement, it comes in airport and air traffic regulation; it’s not dominant in civil society, despite what Muslims are saying. But in Europe, it’s both an institutional discrimination — and a strong one, sometimes — but it’s also day-to-day discrimination by people who are not Muslim and who would attack women with hijab, or refusing to provide halal food, or refuse to acknowledge when kids are fasting. You have more of these things going on, that come more from a daily life perspective. I know that activist groups here tend to say that Muslims are in a bad situation; I’m not saying that there are no reality to that, but if I compare to the life of Muslims in Europe — immigration, they are at stake; ethnicity and culture, they are at stake. Economically, too, when people talk about underclass or ghettos, they think Islam. It’s not the case in the U.S. Any kind of laws about security of the country, they are at stake. And then you have the daily discrimination. And very little recourse.

She also explained why the biggest problem in the U.S. is not the media, but the politicians:

When you hear politicians — and I have heard them — all this started against the building of mosques in the U.S. and some politicians saying that Islam is not a religion and cannot be protected by the first amendment. These are very — for me, this is much more worrisome. Because then, what do you expect the media to do? They have to report on that, too. They are not making things up. They are also giving visibility to things and positions that people have that are far from being favorable or easy on Muslims. The whole shari’a campaign. It was not a media campaign. It was really orchestrated by anti-Islamic groups in different cities with the role of so-called experts coming and being concentrated in different localities. And Muslims have not even asked for shari’a in this country, which is mind-boggling to me. It’s whole construct — yes, the media report on it — but I would say they are not building it. I would say that some are trying to be more fair in the way they are report about Islam.

Check out my interviews with Omid SafiCarl ErnstEli CliftonHaroon MoghulHussein Rashid and Hind MakkiLearn more about my project.

Omid Safi on waging beauty after 9/11

Omid Safi

Omid Safi is a professor of Islamic Studies at UNC, Chapel Hill.


I’ve told myself that, at some point in my life, I’m going to go on a trip to Turkey with Omid Safi and Illuminated Tours. But, for now, just a conversation with Safi will have to do. I met up with him on UNC, Chapel Hill’s beautiful campus in January to talk about the different kinds of Americans America has, the Iranian blogosphere and our perceptions about the worth of different lives.

On using 9/11 as a measurement tool:

I have to say, as somebody who adamantly and unapologetically adopts a global humanistic outlook, of course I’m frustrated as much as the next person when 9/11 is allowed to become the new birth of Christ. It’s what you measure everything before and after it…I think it’s important for us to pause and think about, how do we have a conversation in which we can say, with the same breath, with the same moral commitment, that we mourn and stand against the actions of 9/11 and the loss of human life, and at the same time, we have to think about, what does it mean if the loss of 3,000 human lives on American soil is allowed to re-write the global order in a way that the loss of 30 million people with HIV in sub-saharan Africa does not? Or the loss of millions of lives in Vietnam or in other conflicts does not?…And actually, in North America, we’re completely unwilling to enter that conversation — it does say a lot about our assumption about the superior worth of some lives over others.  

On the oft-sighted “kind-of-sort-of-basically-tolerated-as-long-you-keep-quiet-and-go-to-the-suburbs Americans” around the time of the Park 51 controversy:

I’m interested in the conversation about Islamophobia, but I actually don’t think you solved the problem by persuading people that Islam is great. I mean, I’m a professor of Islamic Studies, I teach about Islam. Obviously, I’m committed to presenting accurate and scholarly views of Islam, but I don’t think you solve this by just replacing people’s stereotypes about Islam. The place where you have to fight this fight — it’s an American conversations. It’s about laws; they bought this land legally. You don’t like it? Tough. It’s a conversation about citizenship. These are American citizens. If they’re American citizens, they’re allowed to do what other American citizens can do. We don’t like all of our citizens, but nowhere is it written in the Constitution that us liking each other is a prerequisite to people getting to exercise their constitutional rights. And I think that’s really the conversation that I want to see us have, I want to see Muslims have and non-Muslims have. Let’s have this based on liberties and civil rights and constitutional rights and freedoms. What does it mean to be American? Are all of us equally American? Are some of us really American? And others are kind-of-sort-of-basically-tolerated-as-long-you-keep-quiet-and-go-to-the-suburbs Americans? And I think that’s really the conversation I’m much more interesting in having now.    

On Iranians, who are just a Google hit away:

One small example: Iran’s not a particularly large country, or it’s not in terms of population — certainly nothing compared to India or Pakistan. It’s a country of 77 million people — less than a quarter of the population of the U.S. And there’s very few other countries in the world in which Persian as a language is a major presence. Persian is now the fourth most heavily blogged language in the world. Iranians, in spite of and perhaps because of the extraordinarily repressive mechanisms of censorship imposed on them by their government, are among the most tech-savvy and connected and wired populations on the planet. Many of them have websites which are mirroring in Persian and English…I think that the overwhelming majority of Americans cannot name an Iranian who’s not a cleric, whether it’s Khomeini or Ahmedinejad when he was in power as the president. Hopefully now, they can at least add the figure of President Rouhani. But there’s such a broad range of artists and musicians, civil society workers, women’s rights activists, spoken word artists who are just a Google hit away. 

On becoming “khalils”:

There’s this beautiful Qur’anic metaphor — the Prophet Abraham was thrown into the fire and God rescues him from the fire, and makes the fire be cool towards him. And interestingly enough, the Qur’an says when God rescues Abraham, Abraham or Ibrahim in Arabic, becomes called the “khalil,” which is called “the intimate friend of God.” And I’ve oftentimes used that metaphor for the condition of Muslims in post-9/11 America. A number of things can happen to people when they’re thrown into the fire — you can either burn, or you can emerge as a “khalil,” you can emerge as an intimate friend of God, and I see both having taken place in the Muslim community. I see lots of burnt and burnt out Muslims, but I also see people that have gone through the crucible of purification and have emerged as these moral beings that not only are interested in defending their own community, but are really engaged in a redemption process that there are people who are waging beauty, unrelentingly, and are interested in uplifting and transforming and redeeming this wider world that we all actually share. And that community gives me an immense amount of hope… There’s an extraordinary number of women in that population, there are African Americans, brown Muslims, white converts, Latino Muslims, for whom these kind of sectarian labels of Sunni and Shi’i are much less relevant than, “Who are you?”, “How deep do you love?”, “Whom are you serving?” and “Where is the community that you’re devoting yourself in service to?” Those are the important places that I look to and draw inspiration from.    


Check out my interviews with Carl ErnstEli CliftonHaroon MoghulHussein Rashid and Hind Makki. Learn more about my project.