Together with the Israeli prime minister, the international prosecutor-general Karim Khan also issued warrants for recently sacked Israeli defence minister Yoav Gallant and his Hamas counterpart, Muhammad Daif. Karim had originally announced his intent to pursue the trio, together with Hamas leaders Ismail Haniyeh and Yahya Sinwar, six months ago. The Palestinian trio were wanted for the October 2023 raid from Gaza, though it is certain that at least Haniyeh, who was abroad and who is uninvolved in military operations, was added to the list simply to give it a semblance of favourability to Israel. But since, Israel has cut down the number of Palestinian targets to one by assassinating both Haniyeh and Sinwar. They also claimed, without confirmation, to have killed Daif.

Netanyahu-Mileikowski’s office reacted with predictable and characteristic petulance by branding the decision “anti-semitic”: along with misdirected claims of “politicisation”, this has been a standard Israeli line to counter any international bodies’ criticism, with the United Nations a favoured target of its spleen. The decision is the more galling for Israel because, along with Britain and the United States, it had originally lobbied hard for Karim to head the court because he had a reputation for favorability to their interests.

In theory, the decision means that the Israeli prime minister, who has gallivanted freely around Europe and the United States, will find at least his European travel options limited. Most European countries are signatories to the court, though at least a virulently pro-Israel Germany has hinted that it might overlook the warrant altogether. Though the United States is also a signatory to the court, it has never ratified this signature, and Netanyahu-Mileikowski can still expect to find fawning audiences among American politicians. Joseph Biden, who has criticized the Israeli prime minister personally while continuing to emphasize his “ironclad” support for Israel, also gave the lie to his lukewarm criticisms by lashing out at the “outrageous” arrest applications. “Let me be clear:”, his office said, in a favoured cliche of American politicians, “whatever this prosecutor might imply, there is no equivalence – none –  between Israel and Hamas.”

In that, at least, Biden is correct: there is no equivalence. Hamas could never have hoped to achieve even a fraction of the wholesale destruction that Israel has inflicted upon what Gallant called the “human animals” of Gaza: at least a hundred thousand dead, a disproportionate number of them children; millions displaced and subjected to repeated massacres with unbridled sadism; thousands imprisoned in what are barely-concealed rape camps; and countless assaults on mosques, hospitals, homes, and every semblance of Palestinian life.

For its part, Hamas hailed the “important historical precedent”. There will certainly be some satisfaction in Asia, Africa, and South America, where many politicians and commentators have complained of the court’s politicization from another angle: that it has exclusively targeted those unfavorable to the “West”. The court’s targets in the past have included the Serbian genocidaires Ratko Mladic and Radovan Karadzic from Bosnia; Serbia’s ruler Slobodan Milosevic; Saifelislam Qaddhafi, son of former Libyan dictator Muammar who sided with his father’s 2011 crackdown; and Sudanese dictator Omar Bashir. It remains unclear that the international warrants will be fulfilled in their entirety, but simply in targeting genocidaires favored by the United States and Western Europe, the court has set an unprecedented mark.

 – by Ibrahim Moiz for MuslimMatters

Related:

– Ismail Haniyeh Assassinated By Israel: A Life Dedicated To The Palestinian Cause

– Foreign Affairs Official Resigns Over Gaza Genocide

The post International Criminal Court Warrant Galls Genocidaires appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

When Only God Can See – The Faith of Muslim Political Prisoners

by Walaa Quisay and Asim Qureshi

“When Only God Can See: The Faith of Muslim Political Prisoners” by Walaa Quisay and Asim Qureshi is a painful, powerful book that functions as bearing witness to the oft-untold stories of Muslim political prisoners held in the horrors of Guantanamo Bay, Egypt, and other “black sites” of illegal imprisonment and torture, and as an exploration of Islamic spirituality in the “University of Yusuf” . 

This is a book about faith, geopolitics, prison, torture, the intensely personal and the blatantly public, and an ongoing reality for so many Muslims around the world. It is a book that all Muslims – especially those of us in the privileged West – need to read, to understand both the larger geopolitical picture at play, and what it means to truly experience tests of faith.

Muslim political prisoners in Guantanamo, Egypt, and America (and elsewhere) are not your “average” prisoner – they are guilty of nothing but being victims of a global War on Islam, a geopolitical and Islamophobic campaign of terror and torture. Many of these prisoners were at the wrong place at the wrong time, literally sold into prison by greedy Pakistani military or Afghan warlords, or picked up as part of a regular practice of squashing political & religious dissent against vicious dictators.

This book highlights who these otherwise anonymous prisoners – male and female – really are: what they endure(d), how they endure(d), and how Islam became their ultimate form of resistance against an injustice that is not held accountable in this dunya but absolutely will be in the aakhirah. From their dedication to their salah (Moazzam Begg tells an anecdote about praying in jama’ah with other Muslim men who were bound and threatened by American soldiers on their first rendition flight to Bagram Prison) to prisoners teaching each other Qur’an through the bars of cages and whispering through pipes, the faith of these prisoners holds lessons for every single Muslim.

One could easily write hundreds of khutbahs about iman, sabr, developing a relationship with the Qur’an, personal crises of faith, resistance against oppression, understanding qada and qadr, and more – and we’d still have more to learn from what these prisoners go through. The theme of “the University of Prophet Yusuf” echoes throughout this book, reminding us that as Muslims, we have a spiritual tradition of believers being unjustly imprisoned and tortured… a tradition meant to teach the rest of us that freedom, not just imprisonment, is a test from Allah of our own faith. 

The stories of the men and women, boys and girls (teenagers as young as 13 and 15!), who endured and continue to endure the torments of both Eastern and Western nation-states do not exist in a vacuum. Qureshi and Quisay provide detailed context to the “War on Terror,” the history of Islamophobia fueling the violence against Muslim prisoners, and the complex ways that systems of incarceration are connected across the world. The book sheds light on the ways that the West and governments of Muslim countries are intimately allied, the systems of power and Islamophobia that span continents, and impact our everyday lives.

Indeed, perhaps one of the most important lessons of this book is that it is not just one kind of Muslim – male, overtly religious, and politically involved – who is at risk of being picked up by security apparatuses as part of the “War on Terror”… any Muslim, male or female, even those who aren’t “practicing” are at risk – it is you and I who could just as easily find ourselves behind bars, alongside the prisoners of this book. 

Their stories are our stories. Will we make sure our voices are heard?

The Power of Du’a

by Aliyah Umm Raiyaan

Aliyah Umm Raiyaan strikes again with her latest book, “The Power of Du’a“! Just as with her first book, Ramadan Reflections, Aliyah brings classical Islamic knowledge and presents it to readers in a manner that is both easily digestible and relatable, and most importantly, practically applicable. (Perhaps a little too easily digestible at times – I found this book a little fluffier than Ramadan Reflections, and became impatient at being addressed as “Dear reader” constantly.)

Each chapter addresses an element of du’a – approaching Allah , having the correct mindset, good deeds to accompany du’a, and more – alongside individual dua stories, a “Develop your du’a” segment that includes practical tips on incorporating the chapter’s suggestions, and “Allah , transform my du’a” with a written out du’a for you. The structure of each chapter makes it easy to spend time focusing on its content, reflecting on your personal experiences with du’a, and developing effective dua strategies to apply in your life.

I underlined and tabbed numerous parts of this book that resonated with me deeply, and those which I knew I’d be returning to regularly in my (many) times of struggle and need. I don’t think I’ve ever tabbed a non-academic book this much! I did find the book repetitive at times, and I wished that many of the du’as from the Sunnah had been written out in Arabic as well.

Even so, I know that this book is incredibly valuable in making this topic accessible and applicable to so many readers who yearn to deepen their connection with Allah . 100% worth ordering for yourself and giving as a gift!

Broken: The Failed Promise of Muslim Inclusion

by Evelyn Alsultany

What does DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) really mean? As universities and corporations fall over themselves to prove just how “inclusive” they really are, Evelyn Alsultany examines where and how Islam and Muslims fall into this framework of “diversity.” 

Broken: The Failed Promise of Muslim Inclusion takes a critical look at what diversity has come to mean, particularly in the contexts of Hollywood entertainment, violent hate crimes against Muslims and Arabs, and Zionist targeting of pro-Palestinian students on college campuses. 

Alsultany does an excellent job of pointing out the flaws of token “diversity” as a way of addressing (or rather, not really addressing) racism and prejudice, particularly against Muslims or those perceived to be so. She introduces the phrase “crisis diversity”: when a crisis produces a domino effect of responses, namely, the public remembering that a problem exists (e.g. Islamophobia), “experts” showing up to pontificate on the problem, and if we’re lucky, organizations issuing hollow statements and announcing “new initiatives” that vaguely acknowledge the problem. 

Alsultany analyzes the ways in which Hollywood has moved forward, and backwards, in its representations of Arabs, Iranians, and Muslims in general. From adding more actors of colour to movie casts, to creating new tropes that don’t actually break stereotypes (e.g. “the patriotic Muslim” who gives their life for America, by fighting against the “bad Muslim terrorists”), Alsultany highlights that “inclusion” isn’t always actually good for us as a community. 

Given that this book is an academic work, there is unfortunately no discussion on how “inclusion” in Hollywood is already a spiritually dubious endeavor for Muslims. However, readers should certainly take the time to reflect on the material that the author provides regarding the entertainment industry, and consider whether or not we really want to be included in it to begin with. Scratch the surface just a little, and I think we can all agree that there is almost no way to avoid exponential levels of haraamness in the industry!

Of more significance to the bigger picture are the chapters on racial gaslighting, racial purging, and “flexible diversity.” Racial gaslighting refers to when violence against Muslims, such as the Chapel Hill shooting, are acknowledged as violent crimes – but not acknowledged as hate crimes, and thus stripped of the context of Islamophobia. Alsultany also pushes readers to consider whether there is value in asking law enforcement and the justice system to acknowledge hate crimes to begin with, when these institutions are themselves Islamophobic and perpetuate Islamophobia at a widespread scale. She recognizes that this is a difficult question with no easy answers, and perhaps with no definitive answers at all – but it is a question worth thinking about, especially for those of us involved in grassroots activism and anti-Islamophobia advocacy. 

In “Racial Purging,” Alsultany highlights the American phenomenon of “free speech” vs “hate speech,” the politicization of free speech as an excuse to perpetuate Islamophobia, and the way that corporations build their brands by either condemning or uplifting individuals involved in such public scandals. This chapter is particularly useful for understanding individualized vs institutional Islamophobia, and provides important framing for understanding these recurring incidents in the public eye (whether at the mainstream media level, social media, or both). 

“Flexible Diversity” is perhaps the most relevant chapter of all: an examination of how “diversity” and “inclusion” are rendered meaningless in the context of the Palestinian cause on university campuses, and how Zionists seek to co-opt the language of DEI as they target pro-Palestinian activists. With a focus on the University of Michigan and notable incidents that took place on UM’s campus, Alsultany shows us how social justice becomes erased in the name of diversity. 

“Replacing social justice with diversity changes the approach from rectifying the persistence of legacy of inequality and racial violence to ensuring that everyone is included as if everyone is equally marginalized” (p. 193, Elsultany, 2022). It is by weaponizing the language of inclusivity that Zionists can level accusations of anti-Semitism against those who advocate for the Palestinian cause. “When Zionisim intersects with DEO on college campuses, it perpetuates anti-Arab and anti-Muslim racism and undermines the inclusion of MENA and Muslim students” (Ibid). Alsultany reminds readers of the dangers of falling into DEI-speak, at the risk of losing sight of important principles of justice and anti-oppression. 

“Broken” is a book that aptly reflects its title: showing us all that years of pursuing “inclusion” has done very little for the Muslim community, other than putting us in further positions of weakness. The book’s analysis shows us that whether in Hollywood or on campuses, pursuing diversity for diversity’s sake does nothing for our rights – instead, we must change our approach and expectations to a stronger foundation… one of fiercely fighting oppression, and tirelessly seeking meaningful justice instead.

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Palestinian Literature For All Ages

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf

The post From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Prison, Prayer, And The Politics Of Diversity appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

It’s not out of nothing the voice lingers. The events and discriminations we faced as Western Muslims are archived in our brains, a chronological snapshot of flashbulb memories. The look on my teacher’s face, the urgency as we were shuttled home. The grim line of my mother’s mouth and the terror in her eyes. George W. Bush’s declaration of Operation ‘Iraqi Freedom’ and the impotent rage in the clenched fists and veins bulging in my father’s forearms.

Are We Not Human Enough?

One memory in particular still haunts me. In 2004, I was 15 years old in grade 10, and learning to live in a post-9/11 Western country as a young Muslim woman in hijab. I had three years of discrimination and Islamophobia under my belt and a litany of horror stories across North America to keep me wary and constantly alert. 

I remember walking into a convenience store one morning and picking up a newspaper. I can still feel the sheer horror and shock that washed over me at the sight of naked men piled atop each other in a sadistic pile of limbs and hoods. It took a couple of minutes for my brain to untangle the image and comprehend I was looking at the contorted bodies of men. Men cowering in front of dogs, men sodomized. I remember looking back and forth between their brown skin and black hair and the starkly contrasting white faces stretched in broad, toothy smiles. I remember one clear thought as I looked into the pixelated eyes of the soldiers: are we not human enough?

Those men could have been my father, uncles, or brothers. Despite being a fairly light-skinned Syrian, their dark skin was strong arms and safety, invoking the troth of blood and kinship. My legs felt numb, my mind went blank, and my ears rang with shock. I went to school that day in a daze. Why weren’t people screaming about this depraved rape and abuse? How were the faces around me smiling and not twisted in fright and repulsion at the sadistic smiles and cocky thumbs-ups? 

That flashbulb memory comes to me often, Abu Ghraib 2004. I believe we lost any remnants of hope and trust when news of Abu Ghraib broke. The tattered shreds of ‘we belong’s and ‘it will get better’s we were clinging to shed silently, leaving us more vulnerable than ever. It was confirmation of the worst kind: the dehumanization of our brown skin and our faith didn’t just make us a perceived threat or a demeaning and time-consuming ‘randomly selected’ at the airport. 

It made us subhuman, not worthy of dignity or decency. It was the humiliation of our men and our honor, screamed silently into a deaf world. Are we not human enough?

Sde Teiman

20 years later, we watched in horror as men and boys were stripped to their underwear and crammed into the open back of a military truck. Brown skin and blindfolds. In the back of our minds, brains programmed by Western powers and their unholy War of Terror, that voice was screaming shrilly: executions or a horrific fate worse than death. 

Isn’t it strange how neural pathways of primal fear, pathways we were taught and worked so hard to break, were reignited like wildfire by that one image? Are we not human enough?

Twenty years later we’re reading the sadistic, sodomized details of Sde Teiman and it is Abu Ghraib all over again. We’re retraumatized, forcibly reminded that despite the passage of time and so-called advances in diversity and equality, our skin and creed continue to make us subhuman. 

Twenty years ago, the photo of a man in a black hood and cape, strung up like a Christmas tree was plastered on front pages setting the tone for what was to come. The headlines were 2004’s idea of a trigger warning: torture, humiliation, sodomy all laid out clear as day. 

Today’s coverage broke softly, with all the force of a warm summer breeze. 

Today Patrick Kingsley of the New York Times writes about Sde Teiman following a rare visit. He buries the lead and prioritizes reporting on his observations, a detailed and tedious description of a farce he must have known was staged for his visit. He then meanders through the story, dropping a progressively more sinister fact every 500 words or so. Like Hansel and Gretel and their trail of breadcrumbs, he surreptitiously treads a fragile path, as though fearing it will crack and break beneath him if he says too much too fast.

It took Kingsley 3317 words before the sodomy of an innocent man using what is described as an electrified metal rod was mentioned. More than three-quarters of the way into his article (87% to be exact; I calculated it) when his readers had probably dwindled to the dedicated few who felt compelled to bear witness. 

This undated photo taken in the winter 2023 and provided by Breaking the Silence, a whistleblower group of former Israeli soldiers, shows blindfolded Palestinians captured in the Gaza Strip in a detention facility on the Sde Teiman military base in southern Israel. (Breaking The Silence via AP)

Meanwhile, Julie Frankel for the Associated Press disingenuously refers to Sde Teiman as a “shadowy hospital.” She begins her article by referencing “patients…surgeries…doctors” as though the sole purpose of this place is to treat the wounded, framing this as some act of mercy and kindness on the part of the Israelis. She even goes as far as stating this was the primary purpose of this former military barracks, a complete fabrication. Sde Teiman has field hospitals, and doctors tasked with putting together bodies broken by torture. Its primary purpose, however, is the illegal detention or, more accurately, kidnapping of Palestinian men and youth and their subsequent torture and criminal interrogation. She underhandedly undermines the testimonies of tortured innocent civilians and horrific eyewitness testimonies by writing them off as merely “critics allege.” 

Frankel barely refers to these facts, which are based on whistleblowers, CNN reports, firsthand testimonies, eyewitness statements, and the anonymous confessions of Israeli soldiers and doctors. Instead, she disproportionately favors the Israeli narrative and voice. In fact, she leaves off reporting the Israeli military’s murder of innocent Palestinians until the very end of the article. Her only inclusion of a Palestinian voice comes right after that, burying the extent of torture and the Palestinian perspective underneath the disproportionate Israeli references, justifications, and her whitewashing of these crimes.

Although the structure of Kingsley’s article and the surface-level reporting of Frankel’s irked me the most, I was also disappointed by the decontextualization evident in their articles. Reading this as an account of a ‘detention center’ and the men simply ‘detainees,’ only added insult to injury. The unequivocal truth is holding someone innocent, without charge, legal representation or their family’s knowledge of their whereabouts renders them kidnapped or, at best, hostages. One cannot even use the term “hostage” as Israel wants nothing in return for their release, they merely want to torture, interrogate, and obtain confessions under duress. Adding torture and sexual abuse makes this a torture center reminiscent of Abu Ghraib. Both facts are supported by extensive international humanitarian laws that criminalize torture, secretive arbitrary imprisonment, holding people incommunicado, and inhumane prison conditions. 

Yet none of these caveats and dictates of International Humanitarian law are mentioned in these articles. Kingsley merely alludes to it with a simple “some legal experts say is a contravention of international law” as though this were up for debate and not readily available on the United Nations website and in their reports. 

Neither do they mention how pervasive the torture and illegal imprisonment against innocent Palestinians is across Israel. Both reporters fail to address how systemic these conditions and testimonies are; Israel has a long and sordid past when it comes to the grotesque and inhumane treatment of Palestinians they kidnapped and held. They also go to great lengths to ensure families and lawyers of the kidnapped do not know where they are and have no means of contact with them. Sda Teiman is merely a continuation of this horrific system intent on crippling, torturing and humiliating innocent Palestinians. 

Half-Truth Coverage

Now, I am well aware of leaked internal memos ‘guiding’ journalists on the correct terminology for referring to Palestine, where to start history, and Palestinians displacement and current genocide. However, while that may explain some literary choices, it does not absolve reporters of this half-truth coverage. As journalists and ones tasked with the monumental responsibility of exposing war crimes in the foul and degenerate torture center of Sde Teiman, there is an ethical and moral obligation to apply the best practices of investigative journalism. 

For instance, as is expected in investigative journalism, reporting should counter the statements and claims of Israeli officials, rather than quoting them verbatim. For instance, when the Israeli military denies systematic abuse and claims it may have been invented under pressure from Hamas, it would be relevant to include some of the relevant statistics, such as how many children and innocent women are illegally imprisoned, the extent of sexual abuse and humiliation, the methods of torture, and the Israeli military court’s failure to prosecute any of the soldiers involved. 

Reporting should also humanize these men. Who are they? What family was waiting for them, believing them dead? What stories of horror, fear, and humiliation do they carry, scars on their bodies and minds? Kingsley references the men’s feelings twice, once regarding how long the imprisonment felt and once how a hot metal rod inserted in his rectum felt, and Frankel, not at all. I believe these men, being the complex human beings they are, felt much more than that. 

I stress these points intentionally. Sde Teiman has shown us the world has not learned from the heinous crimes of Guantanamo Bay or Abu Ghraib. In 2003, George W. Bush looked dead at the camera and said: “the people you liberate will witness the honorable and decent spirit of the American military.” Today Israel is no different, claiming to have the most moral army in the world. 

If Bush taught us anything, it’s that even though talk is cheap, it exacts a heavy price from those it demonizes. 

In 2004, when I was 15, I choked on the bile in my throat as proud, strong men were humiliated, tortured, and broken in both body and spirit. 

It’s 2024, and Sde Teiman shows we haven’t learned to care that underneath brown skin, bones break and flesh splits just the same as white skin. Nor have we learned that minds that worship Allah recoil in horror and humiliation at sexual abuse just the same as minds that worship any other God. 

Perhaps the humanization of these men will grant people the ability to see that. 

Perhaps this will help end this cruelty and prevent the next shameful Abu Ghraib or Sde Teiman. 

Perhaps then, my 11-year-old Palestinian son won’t be putting pen to paper in twenty years, choking back the bile in his throat at the dehumanization and demonization of his skin.  

Related:

– Podcast: Lost & Found At Guantanamo Bay With Mansoor Adayfi

– Uyghurs In East Turkestan Face Forced Starvation

The post The Retraumitization Of A people: Nearly 20 years After Abu Ghraib Made Headlines, Sde Teiman Is Exposed appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The “Guantanamo Candidate”: A Politically Motivated Cancelation?

Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to share parts of my story in the documentary, “The Guantanamo Candidate” produced by Vice News and scheduled to air on Showtime, owned by Paramount. The documentary aimed to shed light on one of Guantanamo’s darkest periods, the years surrounding the 2005/06 hunger strike, and the mysterious deaths of three prisoners. The producers tapped staff sergeant Joe Hickman, who was there during that time, myself, and several others to give our personal accounts and experiences of what happened.

During my time at Guantanamo, I witnessed and experienced unimaginable horrors. Many of the faces responsible for my and my fellow prisoner’s pain and torment are etched into my memory.  Ron DeSantis is one such face I will never forget. I distinctly remember him being among a group of observers, smiling and laughing while I was being brutally force-fed to end my hunger strike. Only a few former prisoners remember him well, but those of us who do cannot forget him.

Our memories are vivid, yet the truth about Guantanamo Bay remains suppressed, blocked by government classifications and redactions, and chilled by gatekeepers and executives concerned about the bottom line. Scheduled to air in May 2023, “The Guantanamo Candidate” was canceled indefinitely the week it was to air. Speculations suggest the cancellation was motivated by political considerations and the fear of naming a presidential candidate as a witness and possible participant in force-feedings of Guantanamo prisoners, something that has been categorized by the United Nations as torture. As someone who lived that experience and has worked hard to shed light on the secrets of Guantanamo, sharing my story with the public through this documentary made me feel heard.

Exposing Guantanamo: The Struggle

I’ve learned over the years that the media serves an important role in democracy as society’s watchdog. Covering Guantanamo has been a struggle since the opening days of the US War on Terror. Misinformation, classifications, secrecy, and the political value of fear combined with tough talk on terrorism have made covering Guantanamo difficult. Former prisoners, valuable sources for reporting, often feel threatened, vilified, stigmatized, or simply made to look suspicious. Other sources like former guards, staff, or attorneys have been gagged with non-disclosure agreements or with secret classifications that prevent them from speaking on the record. All of this has consolidated reporting on Guantanamo to a few gatekeepers who have come to define the Guantanamo we see in the media. When a documentary like “The Guantanamo Candidate,” comes along, it creates real potential to crack open the secrets of Guantanamo and bring about accountability. It also serves as a new medium to hear the untold stories that have been suppressed. Sure, I was disappointed to learn that “The Guantanamo Candidate” had been canceled for personal reasons. But more importantly, the cancellation showed me that it was just business as usual as those at the highest level who may be responsible for acts heinous acts of torture and human rights abuses escape scrutiny, again.

The truth was the first casualty of the War on Terror. Billions of taxpayer dollars have been spent to keep Guantanamo open and at the same time hide what really happened there. Reporting has been limited to what was revealed more than ten years ago with documented revelations of torture and enhanced interrogation. But those who were at Guantanamo, whether prisoner, staffer, or guard know those revelations are just the tip of the iceberg.

A Refusal to Be Silenced

Since my transfer from Guantanamo Bay seven years ago, I have dedicated myself to exposing the truth of what happened to me and my fellow prisoners. My voice has joined the chorus of others who refuse to be silenced by fear or intimidation. I have spoken at conferences, given interviews to the media, and written extensively about my experiences in my memoir, Don’t Forget Us Here, Lost and Found at Guantanamo. The lack of transparency surrounding this detention facility and the conditions endured by its inmates is an affront to the principles of justice and human rights enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Together with dedicated lawyers, we strive to bring those responsible for the torture and abuses to justice.

As a former prisoner who has endured unimaginable suffering, I call on Showtime to reconsider their decision to cancel “The Guantanamo Candidate.” The world deserves to know more about what happened at Guantanamo Bay during 2006, and this documentary sheds much- needed light on this dark chapter in its history to show us who was there, what they knew, how they acted, and how their stories align with the truth of what happened.

I am grateful to Vice for their courage in pursuing this story, and I hope they will find another way to bring it to the public. I also stand with my fellow former prisoners who bravely spoke out for this documentary. We refuse to be silenced; we will continue to speak out against torture in all its forms and demand accountability.

Only when we hold a mirror up to the truth of the United States government’s crimes can we genuinely understand the depths of the injustices committed in America’s name. I encourage Showtime to rise above political pressures and personal interests and to stand firm in their commitment to exploring truth. As I look back on my time at Guantanamo Bay and the suffering endured by countless others, I am reminded that the truth must be told, not just for me and former prisoners, but for the sake of human rights and to ensure that such atrocities are never repeated.

Paramount’s slogan is “Popular is paramount.” Let’s make defending truth popular.

Related:

– The Many Eids Spent In Guantanamo: An Ex-Detainee Reflects – MuslimMatters.org

– Guantanamo Bay: Past And Present – MuslimMatters.org

The post Defending The Truth: Former Inmate Urges Paramount To Reconsider Cancelation Of “The Guantanamo Candidate” appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Thinking about my brothers there prompted me to reflect on my own Eids spent in Guantanamo, which have been of the worst and the best of my life.

2002-2010: The Dark Days of Solitary Confinement

When we were in US government custody before being transferred to Guantanamo, some of us experienced our first Eid in a CIA black site, not knowing where we were, or how long we would be in such darkness.

After being sold to the CIA during Ramadan in 2001 when I was 18 years old, I was first snatched to a black site in Afghanistan, where I lost track of time. I was kept underground in a dark cold small room, naked, hanged, with no light or window, and I was put through intense interrogations which amounted to torture.

Many others were in different prisons in different locations; some were even imprisoned on an aircraft carrier on the ocean, put in cages where they were tortured and abused. It was here where we technically spent our Ramadan and Eid, but in those black sites and prisons there was no Ramadan, no Eid. There was no us. We were dark ghosts.

Some made it and survived the black sites, and some disappeared. Those who survived were sent to Guantanamo.

The First Eid in Guantanamo

Our first Eid in Guantanamo was in 2002. It fell only one month after the arrival of General Jeffery Miller, the architect of the torture programme there. The first day he assumed command, we were subjected to degrading body searches, which amounted to sexual assault, and other forms of punishment.

This took place during Ramadan, as a way of asserting his authority and control over us. Like us, some guards didn’t like him. But for us, there was no sleep during the day and night; we were subject to intense interrogations and torture in the blocks, including starvation – especially those of us in solitary confinement. Many of us were beaten. I recall my face was bleeding, my testicles were pulled and kicked, and I was showered with pepper spray.

That year, Miller formed the JTF (Joint Task Force) and new SOP (Standard Operation Procedures, but we called it Sh*t On Paper). Everything was designed to serve to torture us, to separate our minds from our bodies, and to drive us to the brink of collapse. This programme amounted to human experiments conducted by Miller, with his psychologists, advisors, and experts.

As Ramadan neared its end, I was in solitary confinement with a small group called the Red Eyes; these were a group of prisoners who chose to stand and fight. The term Red Eyes is a Yemeni tribal term, which refers to individuals with courage, integrity, and transparency; people you can depend on in any situation and under all circumstances. We went on hunger strike hoping to inspire others to join in so that we could bring the guards to stop the madness in the camp.

On the day of our first Eid, we woke up for the Fajr (the first daily prayer). It was just like every other day, and we waited for what we thought was an hour or so. We wouldn’t be allowed to know the time in Guantanamo; we would estimate the time. This was particularly challenging in solitary confinement, where the cells were tiny, enclosed metal boxes measuring 2x2m.

When we thought the sun had begun to rise, we began calling out to one another: “Eid Mubarak!” in various languages. There were 50 nationalities speaking more than 20 different languages.

We tried to discuss how we could perform the Eid prayer and celebrate the occasion. “Let us be happy on this day!” I shouted to my brothers. “It’s a day for happiness, as it is a day of joy that cannot be taken away from us. They have already taken everything from us; they think they have even taken our freedom from us. But we still have a lot to have and fight for!”

“SHUT THE F*CK UP!” the guards shouted, banging on our cages. “SHUT UP! NO TALKING! STOP TALKING!”

But that day we ignored them. We continued preparing for the Eid prayer, reciting and repeating out loud “Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar, La ilah illa Allah, Allah Akbar, walee Allah Al-hamd” (praising God).

So the guards turned down the temperature, and we began to freeze in our cages. They brought more big fans to the block to make more noise, and they mocked us and knocked on the doors. They turned off the water, and they switched the lights on and off, fast and repeatedly.

One of the camp officers and an Iraqi translator in army uniform entered the block and shouted in Arabic: “Stop talking! You are violating the camp SOP, and you are abusing the guards!”

I remember Waddah, a Yemeni prisoner who passed away in 2009 in Guantanamo under mysterious circumstances, who was a wise young man. He told the interpreter, “Today is Muslim’s Eid. We are simply trying to pray Eid prayers and celebrate this day. Please, explain to the guards that they should respect that and stop what they are doing.”

“You can’t do that here,” said the camp officer. “It’s against camp SOP.”

“You have to talk to your interrogators to get permission,” he said. “You can’t pray collectively; pray alone..”

Frustrated with this response, I shouted to Waddah, “Please brother, stop talking, and tell them to stick their SOP in General Miller’s a*s. Let us do what we want to do and let them do whatever they want.”

I asked the Iraqi interpreter to convey my message to Miller himself.

“This is America and you are under USA military control you must obey the camp SOP,” the Iraqi interpreter said.

“I refuse,” I said. “This is my home here, so you must respect my rules. This is no America here. It’s just you and us. And I only obey my Creator.”

Waddah and others tried to explain to them the significance of Eid. They told the guards it was a special day for us, but there was no use. We tried to continue our prayer, but the noise in the block was too loud to hear each other. As punishment, General Miller deprived us of breakfast and lunch. Undeterred, I continued shouting and talking even though my brother couldn’t hear what I was saying.

I was challenging the camp, the SOP, and Miller. A few brothers joined me in my defiance.

The guards continued mocking us and mocking our prayers. So we mocked them back.

I told them, “You can join us! Become Muslims, and we can pray together. If you did that, I bet your George Bush would imprison your a*ses with us here.”

One of the guards opened a bean hole in my cage’s door. I thought he would give me my meal but instead, pepper spray struck me in the face. I couldn’t breathe or see; my eyes burned like hell. In my disoriented state, I lunged forward to snatch the pepper spray bottle, but I couldn’t see anything. I shouted to warn everyone. But they already knew; the guards had already started spraying everyone. They were enjoying seeing us in pain.

Five minutes later, a team of seven guards, equipped with protective gear and known as Immediate Reaction Force (IRF) along with a mad dog barking non-stop, lined up at my cage’s door. They unleashed more pepper spray over my face and body. Then the dog was released, followed by the entire IRF team, which charged into my cage. They pushed me to the metal wall, which made a big noise, and they pulled me to the floor and piled on top of me. They forced my face into the toilet (then only a hole in the floor) repeatedly, flushing water over my face, over and over again. I felt I was drowning, and I was struggling to breathe. I swallowed a lot of water, and I thought I was going to die. The burning pepper spray and water mixture made my situation even worse.

Eventually, I was taken out of my cage to the block tier where the IRF held me down. Some were on top of me pressing their knees on my neck, making it hard to breathe. Then a corpsman came and searched my a*s over and over again. He searched every hole in my body. The guards, officers, and the Arabic interpreter present were laughing, and someone was saying, “I bet he is enjoying it.”

I spent the rest of that day shouting and screaming, breaking their SOP, but the burning sensation of the pepper spray persisted. I was in agony. I was on fire. I couldn’t see for the rest of the day. All my belongings had been taken away. I was left with only an orange shirt and pants saturated with pepper spray.

This was my first Eid in Guantanamo.

Meanwhile, in the open blocks where the prisoners were held in separate cages, the story unfolded differently. The guards could not prevent the brothers from offering the Eid prayer, because there were too many of them in the blocks. However, they were punished by being deprived of lunch and dinner. As the night of Eid arrived, the brothers managed to celebrate. They danced and sang in various languages. They congratulated each other in various languages, turning this into a defiant act.

Miller wanted to send us a message that he was there to kick our as*es and to crush our spirits, to torture us, even at Eid. Instead, we responded with dancing, singing, and celebration.

So, all the men in the blocks who had sung and danced were punished; the singers were moved to solitary confinement. That Eid we realised that our happiness bothered Miller, so we decided to be even happier and display even more resilience and strength.

So, while Miller was experimenting on us, he was in fact revealing his weaknesses to us.

Throughout our imprisonment, we never ceased fighting the camp administrations (JFT, Army, Navy, Marines, Airforce, Coast Guard, and interrogators), always striving to stop them from torturing us and abusing our religion.

In the open blocks, brothers would prepare for Eid by hiding some food and fruit the days before -despite the limited portion of food we received- and then share the excess with each other as Eid’s gifts. No matter where we were or under what circumstances we were in, we still showed them that we would never surrender our identities or give up, and that they couldn’t change us.

Year after year, we celebrated Eid in our cages, whether in solitary confinement or in the open blocks.

Finding Beauty More Beautiful in the Hardship

Despite all of this, these Eids also carried beautiful memories.

It was a time to share with one another memories of our lives before Guantanamo. We discussed how we would celebrate Eid in our different countries, how our families would prepare for the occasion, the food they cooked, the visits they made, the songs they sang, the dances they danced. In this, the pain of missing our families and our freedom was always present.

Eid in Guantanamo offered us the opportunity to refuse to be prisoners, because Eid can never be a prisoner. Eid’s role there was to bring happiness and peace to us, to free our souls, and to bring us all together.

The greatest and most enduring happiness we could ever experience was being happy while feeling and living through our own pain and the pain of others. I still feel that togetherness, that happiness to this day. Some of those Eids I count as the best in my life. While feeling pain, we were also defeating the pain and the captor. Those Ramadans and Eids in Guantanamo were special gifts to us.

The guards didn’t know how much we could celebrate Eid despite our circumstances. When we finished the Eid prayer, all the prisoners in all camps at the same time would start calling each other and congratulating each other. This would happen spontaneously and simultaneously, our voices intermingling in a mixture of warmth, greetings, prayers, and blessings. It was a great gathering of mixed voices calling out in various languages. We shouted from cage to cage, blocks to block, and camp to camp. It happened without any warning.

Some of the guards told us they thought we were planning to kill them, or start a riot. The first time this happened, General Miller called all the guards on the evening and night shift to come to the camp for an emergency, suspecting we were plotting against them. But when the prayers concluded calm was restored across all the camps. The camp staff and civilians wandered around the camps, expecting something to happen, but nothing did. There was only peace.

Once, an officer asked us, “So, what is your next step?”

We told him, “Eid Mubarak to you too!”

And we explained Eid to him. Although skeptical, he couldn’t deny the truth.

Some of the kind-hearted guards and medical staff would come and whisper to us “Eid Mubarak”, although they had to be careful to avoid getting into trouble. But since the guards were constantly changing, the new guards would be surprised and shocked by our simultaneous celebrations on these days, in different camps.

Throughout the years, the longing to see our families grew. On the Eid days, prisoners would reread their families’ letters, sharing them with each other, passing them from cage to cage and block to block. They would pass their family photos to one another.

Sometimes we would hide any good news we received during the year until Eid, so we could share it with our brothers to make them happy.

Reading the letters our brothers had received brought us great comfort and happiness, as if they were from our own families. Even those of us who had never received a single letter in years, like me (my first letter arrived in 2007), found solace in reading those letters.

***

The hardest Eid in Guantanamo was in 2006. The wounds from losing three of our brothers (depicted in the film Death in Camp Delta) were still fresh in our minds. That Eid, I cried a lot in secret. I remember Yasser, Alli, and Mani’a. They were part of the Red Eyes group, and we had been on hunger strike together. We had been force-fed together, and we had all had our time in solitary confinement.

They were with us for every Eid. Yasser and Ali had beautiful voices and would always sing for us. Mani’a was a poet who memorized all kinds of poems in different languages, including many poems composed by prisoners in detention.

That year, I was in Pappa block with some of the Red Eyes. None of us could hide our tears when Bahr (one of the best singers at Guantanamo) raised his voice and sang the same song that Yasser used to sing every Eid.

Yasser, Ali, and Mani’a always will be with us, we won’t forget them. Those who killed our brothers will face justice one day, and we will keep seeking justice for them in this world.

Eid in the Force-feeding Chair

Between 2007-2010, we all were moved either to solitary confinement in camps 5 and 6, because the open cages blocks were closed in camps 1, 2, and 3. The living conditions worsened. Many of us went on hunger strike, to push back against this, so we spent Eid on the force-feeding chair, what we would call in 2013 the “Game of Thrones Chair”. We would say, “I’ll take my feed today as a big meal of lamb”, or, “I will take my feed today as two big burgers, a biryani. We would say to each other: “Enjoy your meal!”

Once, one prisoner Khalid, asked the nurse if they could please feed him Pepsi through the force feeding tube, because he missed Pepsi.

“It’s against camp SOP,” the nurse responded.

Some of our singers avoided singing two songs on Eid. They were songs that Yasser used to sing. One was his favorite song, and one he used to sing for us every Eid without fail. Yasser was loved by everyone. He was only sixteen when he was brought to Guantanamo. We did not sing this song because it was too sad.

During Guantanamo’s dark time under General Miller, we chose happiness at Eid despite the terrible punishments we received for doing so.

In doing so, we chose family over the hardship of our imprisonment. We shared our brothers’ pain and lifted each other up.

We made sure that nobody was left behind. Every Eid we would talk to camp officials to get out brothers from solitary confinement, and to suspend or eliminate punishment for the brothers who were on punishment so that they could share in the Eid with us. Some camp officials would help us, and some would ignore us.

In this way, for all of us, and those who helped us, Eid was a new beginning for everyone.

Eid in the Golden Age (communal living camp 2010-2012)

When Barack Obama was elected as the US President, he promised to close all US military prisons and end torture. Despite the fact that he failed to deliver on this promise, the US government finally agreed to sit down at the negotiation table with us for the first time at Guantanamo.

Through relentless perseverance, we managed to secure improvements in our living conditions. Camp 6 transformed into a communal living camp, and many of our demands were met. Interrogation became optional, and there was no more violence in the IRF’s operations. In fact, we were given a chance to intervene to fix any problem with a prisoner before the IRF were called in.

Classes in Art and English became available. We were given laptops for classrooms, TV, Satellites, PS3, DVD players, movies, books, and newspapers so that we could be in touch with the world and pass the time waiting more easily. We got better food, healthcare, and clothes. We got microwaves and refrigerators and were granted phone and video calls with our families.  We were assigned better psychologists, and had direct contact with the colonel and generals in case of emergency in the camp, and so on.

Although the camp rules didn’t change, they were relaxed, and our brothers were released from the suffocating grip of solitary confinement as part of our negotiations.

The first Eid of that era arrived in September 2010, ushering the collective prayer and celebration for the first time. We were also granted the privilege of receiving incentive items and parcels from our families, lawyers, and even friendly interrogators for the first time.

In Camp 6, we spent months of preparation for Eid. We got new clothes and shoes, and prisoners collected food for months piece by piece, and we collected and saved sweets, pies, and ingredients to bake cakes, and create our own delicacies from the items we received from our families, lawyers, and the navy camp admin. The camp kitchen would prepare special meals and sweets for lunch and dinner for three days.

It was a priority to ensure that everyone got a gift on Eid.

A dedicated team of brothers from different blocks in Camp 6 put together a well-organized plan that included the gifts, the celebrations, the food, and the game match that would happen on the day of Eid. We placed tokens of brotherhood in each cell with a personal written note. It was important that the rest of our brothers could experience joy. Those who were in hospital got special meals and gifts prepared for them.

In the months leading up to Eid, we gathered whatever we could from our families, lawyers, friendly interrogators, and even guards who would secretly acquire items for us. Despite the prohibition on possessing money, we managed to acquire contraband, and those guards would get paid. Although they did it as a human gesture, we insisted that they were paid. Our exceptional chefs also began preserving food that could be transformed into a grand feast.

Countless hours were devoted to Eid preparations. We readied the recreation yard, laid out carpets, organized Eid programmes, and put up posters in the blocks inviting everyone to attend. We arranged matches between the best teams, and the best players would participate. We resolved any conflicts among our brothers, striving for reconciliation and unity.

As the early light of Eid day broke, prisoners hurried to shower and put on their new white clothes and shoes. The aroma of perfume filled the blocks, and Yemenis, Afghanis, and Saudis fashioned sheets into turbans. The transformation of our brothers on Eid day was a sight to behold—a true testament to the beauty of Islam.

The two blocks united in the Eid prayer, with different nationalities coming together. Even the minority groups in each block received the utmost respect and were treated as honored guests. Never before had I witnessed or experienced such brotherhood.

After concluding our collective prayers, we stood, shaking hands and embracing one another as if meeting for the first time. Then we formed a circle, engaged in conversation, and offered congratulations to one another. There was happiness on every face, and the jokes and laughter echoed around us, breaking the chains and the shackles.

As we sat in a circle, we waited eagerly while a group of brothers brought breakfast, sweets, and the cakes we had baked. We enjoyed eating our shared breakfast, thanking the serving team and our excellent chefs. After breakfast, the team served Yemeni coffee, teas, juice, and Palestinian dates which made us feel at home.

We were a big family sitting eating and enjoying our Eid. Some of the guards and camp staff who were our friends, and the guards who were in the watchtower would share our meal too.

One of the female guards said to me once: “I really enjoyed your Eid, the food, the dancing, the singing, and the joy you guys have.”

I told her, “You are welcome to join us.”

“I already did,” she said. “I love the way you treat each other and take care of each other. Thank you for the food and the gifts”.

Guards used to call her “441’s girlfriend”.

While everyone sat and ate, some of the brothers distributed surprises – small gifts and written notes – to brothers in their cells. We made sure to support those who did not have lawyers or could not receive items from their families. This was a sight that always brought tears to my eye —the unity and selflessness with which we cared for one another.

After sharing a meal and conversation in our block, we would exchange visits with other blocks to congratulate and greet our brothers there, and to give them gifts and food. They would do the same for us.

The Navy camp administration was kind enough to let us visit other blocks for a few hours after we gave them our word that there would be no problems. Camp 6 is huge, with eight blocks, and we would often get lost walking from one block to another.

The day ended with a soccer match between the two best teams from Camp 6. Both prisoners and guards watched in excitement, while another group of brothers served juice, tea, ginger, and snacks, including chocolate and sweets made within the camp between everyone, including the guards.

In the evening, we would all gather and sit down in the open air to listen and participate in the programme. Some brothers gave speeches in different languages, singers would sing in different languages, and we all would sing and join them even if we didn’t understand the songs. Poets would recite their recent poems, also in different languages.

To add some friendly competition and fun, we divided into three groups, engaging in friendly competitions involving singing, dancing, poetry recitals, and quizzes about Arabic grammar, Science, English, and even Guantanamo’s history.

The victorious team enjoyed rewards and had the power to assign amusing tasks to the losing teams, which made us laugh. The winning team would ask the losing team to stand and sing like Michael Jackson, or dance hip-hop. It was very funny.

Then, singers performed in diverse languages, and we danced in various styles, depending on the country of the performer. We celebrated in the recreation area where other blocks would join us, and the fences that separated us no longer mattered.

One memorable performance included a group of Yemeni brothers who staged a mock Yemeni wedding. A chosen brother would be dressed as the groom, and a singer led a special Yemeni wedding song while the rest of us echoed the melody. It was a beautiful scene that brought joy to everyone’s hearts. They would walk him around while singing.

Another act involved a team of prisoners covering their faces, playfully mimicking the IRF (Immediate Reaction Force) team. Holding an ISO mat like a child and a spray bottle filled with water mixed with perfume, they would approach the “groom” calling him by his ISN just as the American IRF team would do. They would playfully spray him, shout instructions in English, and pretend to restrain him. This brought laughter to the crowd.

Following this, a “court” was held where the groom could choose someone to be his lawyer. It was all in good fun, as we knew we had no chance of winning a case against him. This allowed us to see humor in our situation for a little while.

The final act stole the show. Our beloved “King Danial,” the shortest brother in the camp, made his grand entrance. With a cap tilted to the side, sunglasses, a trimmed beard, a necklace, a vest over a t-shirt, wide shorts, high-top shoes, a big watch, and headphones on his head, he walked with a humorous swagger. Some brothers were tempted to playfully confront him, but he would rile them up further. He would then break into a hip-hop-style English song and dance, showcasing his talent and entertaining everyone. Guards in the towers even joined in, laughing and cheering for him. His performance earned him gifts from the guards who appreciated his unique talent.

At the end of the program, exceptional brothers were acknowledged and awarded precious items such as books, watches, CDs, CD and DVD players, sunglasses, and more. The rest of us received a generous gift—a sumptuous dinner for three nights.

Right after the night programme, our chefs and a dedicated group prepared a much-anticipated dinner. Months of planning and collecting culminated in this moment. The fragrant aroma wafted through the camp as we all anxiously awaited our turn. Sitting in two rows, facing each other, we watched as the brothers serving the food ensured that everyone’s desires were met. All we had to do was sit, eat, and enjoy the flavors.

The scent of the food seemed to permeate every corner of the camp. Although not everyone desired our offerings, we always extended an invitation to the guards.

Our chefs provided us with dishes from various countries—Afghani, Yemeni, Pakistani, Saudi, Russian, and even American pizza. As I watched my brothers’ faces light up with joy, I felt an indescribable sense of fulfillment. Witnessing their happiness became my ultimate purpose, and I would do anything to preserve this feeling of togetherness. It was my Eid—seeing everyone laugh and find solace in each other’s company.

Yet, beneath the surface of celebration, I glimpsed the hidden pain and longing in some of my brothers’ eyes. Those who were married and had children bore the weight of their absence, shedding silent tears. But on this day, we concealed our individual sorrows. Each of us carried a shared burden, and if one suffered, we all shared in the pain. Eid was a time for celebration, for feasting, for singing, and for dancing.

We extended our happiness to the guards and camp staff, offering them our food and sweets, as we believed in sharing joy with all inhabitants of this planet. The Navy camp administration sent representatives to congratulate us on Eid, and they served us sweet delicacies and special meals during the festive days—a gesture of kindness we reciprocated through letters I wrote expressing our gratitude. Even some interrogators offered their clients gifts and wished them “Eid Mubarak.” In Guantanamo, Eid belonged to everyone, not just the prisoners.

During the golden age in Guantanamo, detainees and Navy guards formed a unified family. We cherished these moments, relishing in the little we possessed.

This was until John Kelly came and ruined everything. When he assumed command of the South command in 2012, they were jealous of the little we had. They wanted to see us sad and miserable, just like General Miller had wanted.

So when the army replaced the Navy in 2012, it signaled the end of the golden age.

One of the camp officers told us that Kelly had offered to send the Special Forces to bring Camp 6 “under control”. He told us that Kelly hated us and that he believed we were extremely coddled. Later, we came to know that his son was killed in Afghanistan.

Dark Times Return to Guantanamo

Our brother Adnan had passed away at the end of 2012 in Camp 5. We are still not sure what happened or how he died. He also was one of Red Eyes, a singer, a poet, and an articulate speaker.

John Kelly was determined to plunge us back into darkness. When we protested punishments, he attacked us while we were on hunger strike. He ended the communal living in Camp 6, and sent us all to solitary confinement. Kelly confiscated and destroyed everything we had built and established in the communal cells between ourselves and the guards.

But despite this, of course, Eid still came around. So we decided we would celebrate it as best we could, even if we were on the force-feeding chair.

We sang and joked and congratulated each other. Just like Miller, Kelly failed to understand our true strength. We celebrated our Eid in solitary confinement and in separated cages in the reaction yard. We didn’t have much to share and there were no gifts, but we had each other.

My last Eid in Guantanamo arrived just three days before the US government forcibly shipped me to Serbia, despite my hunger strike protesting my release. Confined within the walls of Camp 5, we met in the recreation area with separated cages, where we spent the entire night reminiscing and reflecting upon the 15 years of our imprisonment.

Khalid, moved by the emotions that swelled within him, sang Yasser’s favorite song. He couldn’t finish the song; he got emotional, tears ran down his face and his voice broke. Over that night, we engaged in heartfelt conversations, recounting the trials and tribulations we had endured. We remembered the brothers who had already been released, the brothers who had died there, how young we had been when we had entered those walls, and how old we had become there.

Their last words to me were “Please, don’t forget us here.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I vowed.

Related:

– Podcast: Lost & Found At Guantanamo Bay With Mansoor Adayfi – MuslimMatters.org

– My Hardest Ramadan Ever – MuslimMatters.org

The post The Many Eids Spent In Guantanamo: An Ex-Detainee Reflects appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Edward Ahmed Mitchell and Huzaifa Shabazz examine how global Islamophobia inspired and motivated the Buffalo terrorist and other domestic terrorists.

Like other white supremacists before him, the terrorist who opened fire at a Buffalo grocery store frequented by African Americans on May 14th published a manifesto beforehand explaining exactly why he did it. Nothing in that 180-page manifesto should come as a surprise to anyone who has studied racist attacks in America and other parts of the world over the past ten years.

The post Global Islamophobia And The Buffalo Terrorist appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Sometimes you read a story (casually, not knowing what to expect), only to have that story haunt you. There’s something at the heart of it that won’t let you go. The story of Henry Brown was one of those for me.

It was in 1849, in Louisa County Virginia, that Brown did a series of incredible things. 

First, he used sulfuric acid to burn his hand, because it was the only way he could get some time off of work (he used too much, and burned all the way down to the bone). 

He then climbed into a small box – three feet by two feet, by two and a half feet high – and had his shoemaker friend nail the top shut. And with only three small holes in the box for air, he sent Brown away by mail. Brown travelled 350 miles in that box, for 27 hours. When he finally reached the address in Philadelphia, a group of waiting friends pried the lid open, and Brown could finally escape, a free man.

You won’t be surprised to hear it, but this was a horrible way to travel. Even though Brown had clearly labeled the box, “this side up with care,” handlers tossed his box around, and he spent hours of his journey traveling on his head. At one point, the pressure had built up so much that Brown felt like the blood vessels in his head would burst, and his eyes would literally pop out of their sockets. He waited silently for the blood to gush out and flow over him. 

But as difficult and dangerous as all of this sounds, it was nothing compared to the agony Brown had endured as a slave. 

Compared to most slaves, Brown himself acknowledged that he had it “good” – a very relative term, of course. In his 33 years as a slave, he had been whipped just once. He had enough food to eat, enough clothes to cover him decently, and the work he was given was never too extreme. But nothing of his was really his own, not even his own person. As a young boy, his mother would take him on her knee, and with trembling voice and tears rolling down her cheeks, she would point at the forest trees and say, “my son, as yonder leaves are stripped from off the trees of the forest, so are the children of slaves swept away from them by the hands of cruel tyrants.”  

And when his first master died, Brown and his parents and siblings were divided as property between this master’s heirs. They were torn in separate directions, never to see each other again. 

Later, when Brown was a young man, he found solace in a fellow slave named Nancy. Brown fell in love with Nancy, and married her, and had three children with her. He did everything in his power to keep her nearby. But Nancy, like Brown, was not her own person. And one day without warning, Nancy and the kids were all sold off by their owner, and Brown could do nothing except watch as his loved ones were taken from him a second time.

And it was this agony – to have his wife and children stripped mercilessly away from him – that Brown could not endure. This was the agony that made him burn his hand, and climb into a wooden mailing box, and suffer in mute silence as he travelled, tumbling on his head, so he could be free. 

Threads of Injustice

I hesitate to draw parallels between this story of Henry “Box” Brown and the story I am about to tell of my own life. The history of slavery in the US is so dark, and so grim, I can think of few  things that compare to that horror. I guess by those accounts, you could say we’ve had it good. “Good” is a relative term, of course. 

But as I picture my husband sitting – trapped – in an ICE detention center in Aurora, Colorado, 1,200 miles away from where I am with our kids, I can’t help but wonder why our country seems so hell-bent on perpetuating those same threads of injustice, so that some form of slavery, some flavor of oppression, will always endure.

My husband, Ibrahim Mohammad, is a political prisoner. The US government will happily label him a terrorist, an accusation he is entirely innocent of. But by all accounts (whether you believe him to be innocent, or guilty of the “crime” on official records) he is meant to be a free man.

I’ve written about my husband before, at some length, in a story that is in a story that is now a decade long. 

After a fruitless FBI raid on our home in 2011 which turned up no evidence, after my husband then cooperated with the FBI in answering any and all questions on two occasions, after four years of radio silence from them – my husband was suddenly arrested in 2015.

Ibrahim was kept behind bars for almost two and half years after that, simply awaiting a trial that the prosecution kept pushing back.

Then in 2018, Ibrahim took a plea deal. 

It was an excruciating decision for him to make. He had spent countless hours preparing for his own case, sifting through pages and pages of discovery. Ibrahim was ready to go to trial and defend his innocence, when the prosecution (who had shown up in court before unprepared and unable to make a coherent argument) presented him with an offer that was almost impossible to turn down.

The prosecution’s offer was for a 5 year sentence for reduced charges – half of which he had already served – followed by deportation from the country. To go to trial, on the other hand, was to face a necessarily biased jury, and risk a potential life sentence. It was a no brainer. Ibrahim’s lawyer for the case called this deal, “The closest thing to surrender by the Government. The Government did not indict him on life sentence terrorism offenses to have him serve 21 months [after taking the deal].” 

And so my husband took the deal. He admitted to guilt on paper so he could one day walk the earth free again, reunited with the wife and children he was so mercilessly stripped away from.

Unfortunate Crossroads

On February 7th of this year, 2020, Ibrahim completed the remaining days of his sentence.

He was released into ICE custody as the transitional ground between the Colorado prison he was in, and the country he would be deported to (likely India, since my husband is an Indian national). His departure was needlessly delayed, and now, because of COVID-19 and the world crisis we all find ourselves in, he is trapped. Flights out of the country are cancelled or delayed, and India has closed its borders.

“I never should have taken that plea deal,” my husband said recently, and I try, as I have many times before, to console him. 

It’s a resurfacing of an internal struggle Ibrahim has had since the moment he took the deal, trying to reconcile his soul to the decision. He has spent long days worried that by “admitting” even to the lesser charges in the deal, he betrayed himself and his beliefs. He goes back in time often to reject that deal, trusting that God would clear his name. Trusting that the research he put in, and the dedicated lawyer he had, could have easily (easily) stood up to the weak evidence and mumbling prosecution. Maybe, he thinks, he should have risked everything to stand up for the truth, rather than make the slightest concession to tyranny.

But the reality is, Ibrahim never stood a chance at a fair trial, despite his glaring innocence. Terrorism cases of the past have taught us that. A racist President and a country that elected him gave us no reason to hope that this time would be different. 

If you still think it’s strange that my husband would admit to something he didn’t do, that he’d be willing to take on the implication of “terrorist” when he took his plea deal, I want to remind you again of Henry Brown. How he burnt his hand with sulfuric acid and travelled in a nailed wooden shipping crate, risking his life. A good and innocent man, when stripped of his family and freedom, will do desperate things to get them back. 

“If you have never been deprived of your liberty, as I was,” wrote Brown, “You cannot realize the power of that hope of freedom, which was to me indeed, an anchor to the soul both sure and steadfast.”  

A Looming Disaster

In the wake of COVID-19, my husband is now serving an indefinite sentence.  Everything about his situation is uncertain.

And while his prolonged stay in the ICE detention center may seem like just another inconvenience brought on suddenly by this pandemic – aren’t all of our lives on hold in so many ways? – my husband is in a dangerous situation. He sits in a box, with other men, while the whole world has been flipped on its head. While the rest of us are told to stay home, to stay safe, to keep a distance – my husband and other detainees are in cramped quarters where social distancing is impossible, where disinfectants and cleaners are inadequate, and where all it takes is for one inmate to get sick before the rest of them follow suit.

I shudder to think what could happen to Ibrahim and these other men. I shudder to think how an already overwhelmed medical system – short-staffed and lacking necessary gear and equipment – could even begin to handle this.

Already, in early April, a staff member at my husband’s detention center tested positive for COVID-19, and shortly afterwards, a fever and illness spread among the inmates. There’s no way to know what it was, and the detention center says they did their best to isolate the infected staff member. What if it wasn’t COVID-19? And what if COVID-19 is on its way to them? All it takes is for one person – one delivery driver, one staff member, one detainee– to be infected, and the rest of the center is the perfect breeding ground for this virus.

For Cook County Jail in Chicago, all of this is no longer a “what if.” At the time of writing this, more than 500 detainees and staff at that jail have been infected. Prisoners have started rioting, and more recently going on hunger strike. All across the nation, what has already happened in Cook County Jail will happen at other prisons, because our government is failing to act. The data paints a horrifying picture, and some activists expect that “tens of thousands of prisoners will needlessly die” in the wake of COVID-19. They have labelled this a time “when mass incarceration becomes mass murder.”  

And all of us are culpable if we fail to act

Friends on Either Side

In late March, activists on the ground worked to release a number of prisoners from the Aurora Contract Detention Facility where my husband is being held. A wave of men was released, like a breath of air, to alleviate a humanitarian crisis on the verge of happening.

Ibrahim was not one of those men.

The ICE detention center claims they “probably” cannot release him on house arrest based on his conviction, even though they have complete jurisdiction to do so. 

Despite being a non-violent prisoner, despite having no prior contact with the law before the trumped up charges were brought against him, despite having served his agreed upon sentence, my husband (like other Muslims caught in the crossfire of the US “War on Terror”) wears a scarlet letter in the shape of a “T,” branded onto him as if with a hot iron – without pity and without escape. 

When Henry Brown made his historic escape from slavery, he was aided on either side by friends and supporters. In Virginia, there was his shoemaker friend and another man who was himself a freed slave. And in Philadelphia, it was a group of abolitionists who knew the evils of slavery, and the imperative of helping out a fellow man in need. They took up his cause and fought for him before they ever met him. 

For my husband, he is awaited on the other side of his captivity by a loving, longing family. We have waited for him every day since his release date in February, and long before that in every moment since the moment of his traumatic arrest.

Ibrahim is also aided by loving friends and activists fighting to get him out as we speak. A few weeks ago we filed for an Emergency Humanitarian Parole Request, asking that my husband be released on house arrest until India opens up its borders and he can fulfill the second half of an unjust plea deal, in a case that was always a travesty of justice.

It was denied. ICE gave no reason, but merely wrote a few lines as if to offer some sort of appeasement. 

We now have to put up a fight in the higher courts and file what’s called a habeas corpus in the 10th Circuit Federal Court of Appeals in Colorado. A habeas corpus, simply put, challenges the court to show reason as to why an individual must remain in custody. In Ibrahim’s case, having served his time, further imprisonment or detention now warrants further review. It’s still a long shot, but worth it for the chance at freedom it gives my husband, and for the sake of not staying silent in the face of injustice.

We do need your help. 

We ask that people who have never met Ibrahim take up his cause and fight for him, because the US government’s misplaced “war on terror” and systems of “mass incarceration” are evils that need to be eradicated. Help Ibrahim (and other prisoners) out of a situation that could needlessly turn into one of mass murder. Help release Ibrahim from the indefinite sentence he is now serving after having completed the unfair sentence he was given. 

Please sign the petition to free my husband, and spread the word: https://bit.ly/FreeIbrahimNow

As we see so many people stepping up during this crisis, as we witness the earth heal and restore aspects of its physical form, it’s time for a moral transformation as well.

Help set a free man free. 

 Brown, Henry. Narrative of the Life of Henry Box Brown. Kindle ed., Dover Publications, 2015. 

The post The Box He’s In appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

The FBI and the Department of Justice (DOJ) claimed that agents were compelled to kill Abdullah because he purportedly shot a law enforcement canine during the arrest raid. CAIR-Michigan filed a lawsuit against the FBI for wrongful death and fraud in this matter because there was no forensic evidence that corroborated that Abdullah had a firearm much less shot an FBI dog, which the bureau considered a law enforcement officer. There were no proofs provided that any gunpowder was on Abdullah’s hand or fingertips which would have existed if he had fired a gun, and none of his DNA nor fingerprints were found on the alleged gun. In fact, there was not even a picture of a gun at the scene nor did the Dearborn Police see any gun. The FBI blocked the Dearborn Police from entering the scene of the homicide for over an hour after the shooting which allowed the FBI special tactical team to leave with the purported firearm. In other words, the shooters of Abdullah, who headed back to DC without even being questioned by the Dearborn Police, are the only source that he had a gun. We believe that the FBI used what is known as a throwaway gun in a coverup when they killed the imam.

To add insult to injury that tragic day when Abdullah was shot 20 times including in the back and groin, law enforcement used their helicopter to fly the injured FBI dog, which was most likely shot by friendly fire, to a veterinarian hospital instead of using it to fly the imam to a close-by hospital. When the Special Agent in Charge of the FBI in Michigan and the Acting US Attorney held a press conference about the incident, it was followed up later with special recognition for “Freddy” the FBI dog while the imam was painted as a type of extremist who wanted to establish sharia in the Westside of Detroit.

The lawsuit which we filed against the FBI was dismissed not because of the merits of our arguments but due to the federal government during the Obama administration suppressing information. The FBI would not release the names of their shooting squad which forced us to name them as John Does. The DOJ countered that we did not have standing on behalf of the family because we did not name actual persons. When we refiled using the names of the Special Agent in Charge and the head of the tactical team, neither who were actual shooters, the DOJ argued that the statute of limitations ran out in our complaint. We submitted an appeal to the US Supreme Court regarding the coordinated suppression of evidence; however, our appeal was denied. We still hold to this day that the FBI wrongfully killed the imam which was followed up by a systematic coverup.

Since the homicide of Abdullah, we now know that government surveillance against the Muslim community and the suspected terrorist watchlists grew tremendously during the Obama years in comparison to the Bush era. Also, the Countering Violent Extremism (CVE) which further targeted the community began under the Obama administration. Government spying and the broad usage of confidential informants, some who act as agent provocateurs, in our community are still concerns of ours. Where Americans pray or who we associate with that may have unpopular political views should not be predicates for FBI surveillance. In many cases, this has led to young American Muslims being criminalized. For Imam Abdullah, it led to his demise.

During the 10th anniversary of this tragedy, I ask us all to recommit ourselves to standing for the civil liberties of all Americans to not be mass surveilled and for none of us to aid and abet any governmental programs that facilitate of the violation of our 1st Amendment rights falsely in the name of public safety and national security. Click To Tweet

As my mentor, the late Ron Scott with the Detroit Coalition Against Police Brutality said when he stood with us in this case, “We are not anti-police; we are anti-law enforcement misconduct.” It is not our position that law enforcement be completely abolished. We are, however, against the unethical usage of informants which is part and parcel of the prolific history of the FBI in targeting prominent Americans such as Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali, whose religious and political views were viewed as threatening by the status quo. During the 10^th anniversary of this tragedy, I ask us all to recommit ourselves to standing for the civil liberties of all Americans to not be mass surveilled and for none of us to aid and abet any governmental programs that facilitate of the violation of our 1^st Amendment rights falsely in the name of public safety and national security. We never want to see another homicide such as what took place to Imam Luqman Ameen Abdullah due to overzealous actions predicated upon misguided FBI policy.

Photo: Luqman Abdullah, second from left. FBI informant “Jibril,” third from left. Credit: Intercept

21 Shots and the Pursuit of Justice: An Imam (Luqman Ameen Abdullah) Dies in Michigan

The post What We Should Know About The Slaying Of An Imam 10 Years Ago In Dearborn appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

It would have been like any other Easter Sunday for prominent mother-daughter television duo, Shanthaa Mayadunne and Nisanga Mayadunne. Except that it wasn’t.

Nisanga Mayadunne posted a family photograph on Facebook at 8.47 AM with the title “Easter breakfast with family” and had tagged the location, the Shangri-La Hotel in Colombo. Little would she have known that hitting ‘post’ would be among the last things she would do in this earthly abode. Minutes later a bomb exploded at the Shangri-La, killing her and her mother.

In more than a half a dozen coordinated bomb blasts on Sunday, 360 people have been confirmed dead, with the number expected to most likely rise. Among the dead are children who have lost parents and mothers & fathers whose families will never be together again.

Many could not get past the church service. A friend remembers the service is usually so long that the men sometimes go outside to get some fresh air, with women and children remaining inside – painting a vivid and harrowing picture of the children who may have been within the hall.

Perpetrators of these heinous crimes against their own faith, and against humanity have been identified as radicalised Muslim youth, claiming to be part of a hitherto little-known organisation. Community leaders claim with much pain of how authorities were alerted years ago to the criminal intent of these specific youth.

Mainstream Muslims have in fact been at the forefront not just locally, but also internationally in the fight against extremism within Muslim communities. This is why Sri Lankan Muslims are especially shaken by what has taken place when men who have stolen their identity commit acts of terror in their name. Sri Lankan Muslims and Catholics have not been in conflict in the past, adding to a palimpsest of reasons that make this attack all the more puzzling to experts. Many here are bewildered as to what strategic objective these terrorists sought to achieve.

Sri Lankan Muslims Take Lead

Sri Lankan Muslims, a numerical minority, though a well-integrated native community in Sri Lanka’s colourful social fabric, seek to take lead in helping to alleviate the suffering currently plaguing our nation.

Promoting love alone will not foster good sustainable communal relationships – unless it is accompanied by tangible systemic interventions that address communal trigger points that could contribute to ethnic or religious tensions. Terror in all its forms must be tackled in due measure by law enforcement authorities.

However, showing love, empathy and kindness is as good a starting point in a national crisis as any.

Sri Lankan Muslims have called to fast tomorrow (Thursday) in solidarity with their fellow Christian and non-Christian friends who have died or are undergoing unbearable pain, trauma, and suffering.  #MyFastMySriLanka Terror at its heart seeks to divide, to create phases of grief that ferments to anger, and for this anger to unleash cycles of violence that usurps the lives of innocent men, women, and children. Instead of letting terror take its course, Sri Lankans are aspiring to come together, to not let terror have its way.

Together with my fellow Sri Lankan Muslims, I will be fasting tomorrow from dawn to dusk. I will be foregoing any food and drink during this period.

It occurs to many of us that it is unconscientious to have regular days on these painful days when we know of so many other Sri Lankans who have had their lives obliterated by the despicable atrocities committed by terrorists last Sunday. Fasting is a special act of worship done by Muslims, it is a time and state in which prayers are answered. It is a state in which it is incumbent upon us to be more charitable, with our time, warmth and whatever we could share.

I will be fasting and praying tomorrow, to ease the pain and suffering of those affected.

I will be praying for a peaceful Sri Lanka, where our children – all our children, of all faiths – can walk the streets without fear and have the freedom to worship in peace.

I will be fasting tomorrow for my Sri Lanka. I urge you to do the same.

Had Allah willed, He would have made you one nation [united in religion], but [He intended] to test you in what He has given you; so race to [all that is] good. To Allah is your return all together, and He will [then] inform you concerning that over which you used to differ. Surah Maidah

The post Sri Lankan Muslims To Fast In Solidarity With Fellow Christians appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

In an enlightening article in The Washington Post, R. Joseph Parrott explains,  “Recently, global white supremacy has been making a comeback, attracting adherents by stoking a new unease with changing demographics, using an expanded rhetoric of deluge and cultivating nostalgia for a time when various white governments ruled the world (and local cities). At the fringes, longing for lost white regimes forged a new global iconography of supremacy.”

“Modern white supremacy is an international threat that knows no borders, being exported and globalized like never before,” ADL CEO Jonathan Greenblatt said. “The hatred that led to violence in Pittsburgh and Charlottesville is finding new adherents around the world. Indeed, it appears that this attack was not just focused on New Zealand; it was intended to have a global impact.” (link)

Many people want to sweep this terrifying reality under the rug, among them the U.S. President.  Asked by a reporter if he saw an increase globally in the threat of white nationalism, Trump replied, “I don’t really. I think it’s a small group of people that have very, very serious problems.”

However, experts in his own country disagree.  A March 17 article in NBC News claims that, “The FBI and the Department of Homeland Security warned in a 2017 intelligence bulletin that white supremacist groups had carried out more attacks in the U.S. than any other domestic extremist group over the past 16 years. And officials believe they are likely to carry out more.”

Although they may be unaware of — or in denial about –the growing influence of white supremacist ideology, the vast majority of white people do not support violent acts of terrorism.  However, many of them are surprisingly, hurtfully silent when acts of terrorism are committed by non-Muslims, with Muslims as the victims.

When a shooter yells “Allahu akbar” before killing innocent people, public furor is obvious and palpable.  “Terror attacks by Muslims receive 375% more press attention,” states a headline in The Guardian, citing a study by the University of Alabama. The perpetrator is often portrayed as a “maniac” and a representative of an inherently violent faith. In the wake of an attack committed by a Muslim, everyone from politicians to religious leaders to news anchors calls on Muslim individuals and organizations to disavow terrorism.  However, when white men kill Muslims en masse, there is significantly less outrage.  People try to make sense of the shooters’ vile actions, looking into their past for trauma, mental illness, or addiction that will somehow explain why they did what they did.  Various news outlets humanized Brenton Tarrant with bold headlines that labeled him an “angelic boy who grew into an evil far-right mass killer,” an “ordinary white man,” “obsessed with video games,” and even “badly picked on as a child because he was chubby.”  Those descriptions, which evoke sympathy rather than revulsion, are reserved for white mass murderers.

The media’s spin on terrorist acts shapes public reaction.  Six days after the Christchurch attacks, millions were not currently taking to the streets to protest right-wing extremism.  World leaders are not linking arms in a dramatic march against white supremacist terrorism.  And no one is demanding that white men, in general, disavow terrorism.

But that would be unreasonable, right? To expect all white men to condemn the vile actions of an individual they don’t even know?  Unreasonable though it may be, such expectations are placed on Muslims all the time.

As a white woman, I am here to argue that white people — and most of all white-led institutions — are exactly the ones who need to speak up now, loudly and clearly condemning right-wing terrorism, disavowing white supremacy, and showing support of Muslims generally.  We need to do this even if we firmly believe we’re not part of the problem. We need to do this even if our first reaction is to feel defensive (“But I’m not a bigot!”), or if discussing race is uncomfortable to us. We need to do it even if we are Muslims who fully comprehend that our beloved Prophet said,  “There is no superiority for an Arab over a non-Arab, nor for a non-Arab over an Arab. Neither is the white superior over the black, nor is the black superior over the white — except by piety.”

While we might not hold hatred in our hearts individually, we do hold the power, institutionally.  If we truly care about people of color, peace, and justice, we must put our fragile egos aside and avoid “not me-ism.”  The fact is, if we have white skin, we have grown up in a world that favors us in innumerable ways, both big and small. Those of us with privilege, position, and authority are the very ones who have the greatest responsibility to make major changes to society. Sadly, sometimes it takes a white person to make other white people listen and change.

White religious leaders, politicians, and other people with influence and power need to speak up and condemn the New Zealand attacks publically and unequivocally, even if we do not consider ourselves remotely affiliated with right-wing extremists or murderous bigots.  Living our comfortable lives, refusing to discuss or challenge institutionalized racism, xenophobia, and rampant Islamophobia, and accepting the status quo are all a tacit approval of the toxic reality that we live in.  

Institutional power is the backbone of racism.  Throughout history, governments and religious institutions have enforced racist legislation, segregation, xenophobic policies, and the notion that white people are inherently superior to people of color.  These institutions continue to be controlled by white people, and if white leaders and white individuals truly believe in justice for all, we must do much more than “be a nice person.” We must use our influence to change the system and to challenge injustice.  

White ministers need to decry racial violence and anti-immigrant sentiment from their pulpits, making it abundantly clear that their religion does not advocate racism, xenophobia, or Islamophobia. They must condemn Brenton Tarrant’s abhorrent actions in clear terms, in case any member of their flock sees him as some sort of hero.  Politicians and other leaders need to humanize and defend Muslims while expressing zero tolerance for extremists who threaten the lives or peace of their fellow citizens — all citizens, regardless of their religious beliefs, immigration status, or ethnicity.  New Zealand’s Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern is an excellent role model for world leaders; she has handled her nation’s tragedy with beautiful compassion, wisdom, and crystal clear condemnation of the attacker and his motives.  Similarly, Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau demonstrated superb leadership and a humane, loving response to the victims in Christchurch (and Muslims in general) in his recent address to the House of Commons.  

Indeed, when they put their mind to it, people can make quite an impactful statement against extremist violence.  In January 2015 when Muslim gunmen killed 17 people in Paris, there was an immediate global reaction. The phrase “Je suis Charlie” trended on social media and in fact became one of the most popular hashtags in the history of Twitter.  Approximately 3.4 million people marched in anti-terrorism rallies throughout France, and 40 world leaders — most of whom were white — marched alongside a crowd of over 1 million in Paris.  

While several political and religious leaders have made public statements condemning the terrorist attacks in Christchurch, there is much less activism on the streets and even on social media following this particular atrocity.  Many Muslims who expected words of solidarity, unity, or comfort from non-Muslim family or friends were disappointed by the general lack of interest, even after a mosque was burned in California with a note left in homage to New Zealand.

In a public Facebook post, Shibli Zaman of Texas echoed many Muslims’ feelings when he wrote, “One of the most astonishing things to me that I did not expect — but, in hindsight, realize that I probably should have — is how few of my non-Muslim friends have reached out to me to express condolences and sorrow.” His post concluded, “But I have learned that practically none of my non-Muslim friends care.”

Ladan Rashidi of California posted, simply, “The Silence.  Your silence is deafening. And hurtful.” Although her words were brief and potentially enigmatic, her Muslim Facebook friends instantly understood what she was talking about and commiserated with her.   

Why do words and actions matter so much in the wake of a tragedy?  

Because they have the power to heal and to unite. Muslims feel shattered right now, and the lack of widespread compassion or global activism only heightens the feeling that we are unwanted and “other.”  If 50 innocent Muslims die from terrorism, and the incident does not spark universal outrage, but one Muslim pulls the trigger and the whole world erupts in indignation, then what is that saying about society’s perception of the value of Muslim lives?

To the compassionate non-Muslims who have delivered flowers, supportive messages, and condolences to the Muslim community in New Zealand and elsewhere, I thank you sincerely. You renew our hope in humanity.

To the white people who care enough to acknowledge their privilege and use it to the best of their ability to bring about justice and peace, I salute you.  Please persevere in your noble goals. Please continue to learn about institutionalized racism and attempt to make positive changes. Do not shy away from discussions about race and do not doubt or silence people of color when they explain their feelings.  Our discomfort, our defensiveness, and our professed “colorblindness” should not dominate the conversation every time we hear the word “racism.” We should listen more than speak and put our egos to the side. I am still learning to do this, and while it is not easy, it is crucial to true understanding and transformation.

To the rest of you who have remained silent, for whatever reason:  I ask you to look inside yourself and think about whether you are really satisfied with a system that values some human lives so highly over others.  If you are not a white supremacist, nor a bigot, nor a racist — if you truly oppose these ideologies — then you must do more than remain in your comfortable bubble.  Speak up. Spread love. Fix problems on whatever level you can, to the best of your ability. If you are in a leadership position, the weight on your shoulders is heavy; do not shirk your duty.  To be passive, selfish, apathetic, or lazy is to enable hatred to thrive, and then, whether you intended to or not, you are on the side of the extremists. Which side are you on? Decide and act.

“A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case, he is justly accountable to them for their injury.”  — John Stuart Mill, On Liberty.  

For the past decade, writer Laura El Alam has been a regular contributor to SISTERS Magazine, Al Jumuah, and About Islam.  Her articles frequently tackle issues like Muslim American identity, women’s rights in Islam, support of converts/reverts, and racism.  A graduate of Grinnell College, she currently lives in Massachusetts with her husband and five children. Laura recently started a Facebook page, The Common Sense Convert, to support Muslim women, particularly those who are new to the deen.

The post White Activism Is Crucial In The Wake of Right-Wing Terrorism appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.