Some of the most hostile discussions I’ve witnessed have been between Black men and women during their discussions about relationships.  It gets heated. It gets nasty. It gets dirty. Black American Muslims often get into heated conversations about gender roles, power struggles, and family instability. Black dysfunction is a sore topic and often people blame the strong black woman, the independent black woman, the mouthy and insubordinate Black woman for the break down of the Black family, and therefore community. That, as well as the men who don’t know how to be men. So, many find the answer within Islamic traditions, texts, and 1400 years of scholarship. This is the idealized version of an Islamic marriage where men are protectors and maintainers and women are devoutly obedient.

We don’t have statistics for success rates of Black American Muslim marriages, largely due to the number of Islamic marriages that are not registered with the state. In a major urban center, one counselor who does pre-marriage counseling told my husband that about 75% of the marriages end in failure. Has the advice we’ve been given worked in the past few decades? Will it work, even if everyone tries to comply with the traditional gender norms of the obedient wife and husband who protects and provides?  Our expectations  are not always grounded in our cultural, economic, and social realities. The truth is, most of us enter our marriages with poor relationship and communication skills. Instead, we talk about rights and obligations. As for skills, we tend to overlook that.

I know I’m going to get some push back, but I had some thoughts about infantile notions of marriage within the Black American Muslim community.  I think the notion that an adult Muslim women must obey their husbands, shut their mouths, provide sex, and cook food is a gross simplification of the formula for creating a happy husband. I’ve heard a number of Muslims cite works such as “The Submissive Wife” or “Fascinating Woman,”  advocating mythic submission based on the Bible without acknowledging some of the nuance in these books, and some of the problems. They are just proof that women should obey and stop complaining.   They catalogue gendered emotional needs, without considering that not everyone is the same.  For example, on the notion of respect. Both men and women want to be respected. A healthy marriage is built upon mutual respect and love.  One cannot disregard and disrespect the feelings of a partner without expecting a build up of resentment. And how does that resentment get expressed? Either through passive aggressive behavior or confrontational behavior.

Sometimes we tend to look at a hadith or Quranic verse and think that we have the entire prescription for a social problem. But without context, we may not understand the kulliyat (big picture). The other point that becomes important is that perhaps Muslims need to look beyond rights and rules and look towards ethics, or rather a way of being in the world that embodies the sunnah of our Prophet (s.a.w.) .  While I am not qualified as a mufassir (commentator of Quran), I am aware that some authoritative scholars have interpreted verse 4:34 in various ways, including in a way that does not entail that a woman has to obey her husband’s commands, but God’s commands. Many scholars have qualified what is allowed in with the “beat them” with a “lightly” in parenthesis, to others who have looked to the seerah (prophetic biography) to outright prohibit wife beating. The reality is that there are Muslim traditionalists who will still uphold the right of a husband to hit his wife with a miswak (a tooth brush), and even some Black American Muslims who would argue that a smart mouthed woman could get a back hand to the face.   I have even sat in a Arabic khutbah where the immigrant imam did say that a man can hit his wife, just not in the face. But the  majority of American Muslim scholars are against domestic violence. I personally cannot even entertain the idea of wife beating as part of a healthy marriage, let alone a right that would help foster love and mutual devotion.

I think that some men are taught that their spouses only  respect them if the wife is immediately compliant. At the same time, this expectation leaves many intelligent women who may have legitimate reservations also feeling disrespected by their partners. Men are not the only ones who need respect. Everyone wants respect.  We feel respected when someone listens to us and takes our feelings into consideration.  So, while the Quran acknowledges the degree that men have over women, it does not mean that they always wield their privilege over their wives in a way that belittles them, infantalizes them, and emotionally harms them. If you really like your spouse as a person, would you treat them in a way that makes them feel like a child or treat them in a way that you wouldn’t treat an animal?

This raises the question as to something being allowed in Islam, but not necessarily being the best thing to do. Commanding someone and making demands, from a point of privilege and entitlement can breed a lot of ill feelings. Just as a woman may find that an indirect approach  to her husband will yield success, a man may find out that asking his wife, “Do  you mind making dinner?” may leave open some space for her to say that she feels ill that day, she is tired after a long day of work and maybe take-out would be best. But the demand for dinner may leave a woman feeling a yoke of oppression, as opposed to the husband appreciating the home cooked meal, rather then feeling entitled.

While some people choose to conform to the idea of an obedient, subservient, and submissive wife, some of us choose to have an engaged surrender, or submission. And there are happy marriages where the wife is an equal partner and the husband does not feel his manhood threatened by his wife telling him something is a bad idea or to occasionally pick up take out. In fact, one of the most pious women I know has a marriage built on a model of mutual respect and consultation.

I know it has been forever. While my blog has been silent, but mind has been active. I’ve also had my hands quite full, freelance editing, teaching part time, and being new mom to a lovely one year old. I just started writing again, but I hope to move my writing in a new direction, focusing on essays and reportage. I submitted a few articles to Sister’s magazine on two of my passions, race relations and the history of Islam in Africa. Both deal with gender, so you get the theme. Being an educator, you are exposed to a lot of stuff you want to write about, but can’t. It means you have to broach subjects with a lot of tact. So, the instead of the old sledgehammer approach, I must put some velvet gloves on the iron fist. Working with people, you see their humanity. At the same time, you can see how systems reproduce inequality and how short sightedness and ineptitude can undermine the most promising of institutions. Above all, you see that most of us mean well and are trying the best we know how. A year and a half ago, I talked about a series of articles I intend on writing. I still want to work on those. It will realistically take a lot longer. At the same time, I realize that I have to look at writing as part of my self care, as a way to nourish my mind and refine all those jumbled thoughts in my head. I hope you will be patient with me as I build up my writing chops again.

Out of the Shadows of 9/11: Professor Hussein Rashid on faith’s role in social change from Kellie Picallo on Vimeo.

I haven’t written much the past ten years about my thoughts on 9/11.  In truth, the day marks a day of loss in a much different day. The first anniversary of 9/11 was the day my father died. I hadn’t seen him in 18 years with intermittent phone calls. But we reunited in 2000 only to drift apart again.  This is by no means a comparison to the those who lost loved ones the year before. But, I remember listening to a radio program on my way to my second year back at Santa Clara University. And the program reminded me that I needed to reconnect with loved ones. Since school hadn’t started, I worked pretty much full-time hours in the Dean of Student Affairs office. At some point of the day, I felt a profound sadness. This upped my anxiety and I couldn’t wait to get home to get on the phone and locate my father.   But when I got home, I heard a voice mail from my father’s cousin telling me to call her. I knew then that it was over, no second chances, I would never have a relationship with my father. He was gone.

My father was a Vietnam Vet who as awarded a purple heart. He suffered post-traumatic stress syndrome, which profoundly affected him and those who loved him. Even during my parents’ marriage, he could not hold it together and his life spiraled into an out of control cycle of drug abuse, unemployment, and domestic violence. My mother eventually left. I have heard that he had been to VA hospitals and some treatment programs. He never remarried and I was his only child. My cousin told me that the day he died, he spoke of my mother and me and said he wanted to contact me.

When he died, my father had no burial arrangements and I had no money as I was a struggling student. He stayed in the morgue for over a week as his family tried to figure out how to bury him. So, my cousins had to erase my existence saying that he had no next of kin on the forms. He was cremated and my cousins drove his remains to his home town of Columbus Ohio. Eventually, my cousin was able to hire someone to get my father recognized as a veteran who served his country so that he could have a dignified burial. I had to leave before he had a proper military burial. He was finally laid to rest a bit over a week after I left Ohio, but they mailed me the flag that they used on the coffin.  To this day it remains folded in an immaculate triangle, in a case my mother bought. While it is at my mother’s house, that flag is my one possession that I take most pride in. That flag is a testament of his service to our country, the friends he lost, the wounds received, and the price he paid. Yes, Vietnam was a senseless war, but it wasn’t his choosing. Still he paid a price, and ultimately our family did too. But this post is not about me feeling sorry for my family because of his PTSD, rather it is to point out that as a daughter of a veteran, as the descendant of people who sacrificed so much in this country, that no one can deny my Americaness.

When I met my father again for the first time after 18 years, he knew I was Muslim. He said he studied Islam and respected the religion. He respect my choice, as do my other family members. I have a number of family members who have served their country. And while we have different political views, they would never deny my right to belong in America. And never as a Muslim have I felt like I didn’t belong in this country. It was my birthright. And it is the right of other American Muslims to be able to grieve, live, and love in this country.

September of 2001 was an exciting year for me, as I finally picked up the pieces of my life and was going back to school. I knew I wanted to write, but figured I’d become a technical writer working on software training manuals and that I’d write fiction on the side. At that time, I was still trying to figure out my place in the American Muslim community. I identified as a Muslim, but I had no idea how that would ultimately manifest itself in my life. I didn’t wear hijab at the time and the only identifying feature of my religion was the  Arabic “Allah” necklace I wore around neck. But frequently I talked about my faith if people were curious. School hadn’t started, so I still had my regular 9 to 5 hours at MicroCenter. And as I turned on the radio, I thought I was hearing a joke. I changed stations because it wasn’t funny. But it was more reporting of the attacks. I could barely make sense of it, the towers, airplanes grounded, we were under attack.  As I passed the airport,  I didn’t see a single plane in the sky. Just a clear blue sky.  It was eerie because for some reason I tended to live near the landing and take off path and could always see airplanes in the sky. But it was just clear, empty blue sky. I didn’t know if any other cities were being hit. I didn’t know what was happening as I was stuck in my car and could only move forward to get to my job. I got to work and my co-workers and I were transfixed. Some of the guys tried to make some jokes and made an off color joke about our Arab co-worker parachuting out. I can’t even remember the rest of the day. All I remember was feeling doubly vulnerable as an American under attack and as a Muslim who would receive the backlash from those who would blame all Muslims. I wondered what types of wars would come of the attack and I feared the worst.

The tragedy touched me in different ways. A former co-worker’s mother had been in the vicinity and escaped the World Trade Center, someone I knew told me he had been in an adjacent building, Deora Bodley a 20 year old junior who died on Flight 93 would have graduated with me from Santa Clara University. There were memorials for Deora and several vigils. Someone even pointed out Deora’s boyfriend, who looked so broken and still in mourning.  During my first week of classes, 9/11 was all that people wanted to discuss. I was often the only Muslim, I would try to help my classmates and professors understand the socio-political situation in Muslim majority nations. I tried to explain the grievances that extremist Muslims had. I was well versed since that literature circulated widely and easily as different groups tried to radicalize us young Muslim student . I often thank God that I turned away from justifying certain actions early on and became more grounded in 1997 as I studied under Hamza Yusuf. And some of our more radical MSA members were finally able to see the logical outcome of their rhetoric and they too turned away from their extremist views. But many of us Muslims were all concerned that we had not provided a counter balance to extremist ideologies and there was a call “Where are the moderate Muslims?”

9/11 was my wake up call and ultimately it made me embrace my faith even more. I couldn’t be an invisible American Muslim, a Muslim of convenience. Under the encouragement Professor Gelber, I decided on a career in academia. Maybe my plans were lofty, to explore the history of Muslim societies and look for institutions and practices that were not reactionary but positive. I believed that by drawing on our historical and cultural legacy, that we Muslims could transform our communities and societies. I wanted to be a bridge, bringing together both sides of my identity. Bridges were needed as I saw my country become increasingly polarized. In retrospect, when you compare what has happened in Afghanistan and Iraq, American Muslims have had it so easy. But there was increased pressure for us to become public. Maybe I was lulled into a sense of comfort because I attended a Catholic University, which was anti-war and pro-interfaith dialogue. But praise God, we American Muslims didn’t receive much of a backlash. Yes, there were hate crimes, a burning of an Arab Christian Church, a random murder of a South Asian Fremont woman, some beatings, increased surveillance, etc.

Ten years later, it seems like America has become even more uncomfortable with American Muslims.   While I feel profound loss when I see the horrors of those events and often cry when I read or watch the personal accounts of people who lost a loved one, I also feel as if I am not allowed to mourn (at least not publicly).  Ten years later, people want me to apologize for 9/11, assume I have some agenda to take over this country, and spew hate and misconceptions about me and my co-religionists. I see the hate posted in the comments section of news articles. I have seen protest after protest against Muslim houses of worship. I have heard some people deny that my faith is even a religion. I fear that this country has gone down the path that the terrorists wanted us to go. Their actions were meant to provoke military aggression, to stir up fear and hatred, and to drive a wedge between peoples. Despite all the hatred, there are those like myself, whether immigrants, children  and grand-children of immigrants or converts or children and grandchildren of converts, who are committed to both our faith and country and see no contradiction in being American and Muslim.

While no one carries the sins of another, many of us American Muslims know that we bear an even greater responsibility now to be better neighbors and citizens than those who would deny others’ constitutional rights. We will be better than those who spew hate and try to intimidate others. I am glad that many Muslims are embracing and asserting their Americaness, when we were too timid to do so because we were once so steeped in anti-establishment rhetoric, in the anti-neo colonial discourse, or ethnic isolationism to feel like we could fully participate. When we can fully embrace our Americaness, we will not only be able to make a contribution, but we can also participate in the our constitutional rights and even spirit of protest to make this country better. We have a new generation of Muslims serving in this society, giving humanitarian aid, educating, healing, building, creating, even defending it in armed service.  I think back to my father’s flag and how that will eventually pass on to my children.  And I don’t mind working harder to contribute something to my community and society. Many of my American co-religionists feel the same. And we do this because this is where our future lies, were our children and children’s children will be buried. We do this, not because we are rabid nationalists or ethnic chauvanists, but because America is our home and part of who we are.