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Why Hala was wrong to dump Mark

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts, Q & A on May 31, 2008

You’ll find out in a moment who Hala and Mark are. First:

Are you a Muslim who’s struggling with the multifaceted crapola committed in the name of Allah? You’re not alone. And you can get help right here.

Take, for example, the inter-faith marriage blessing.  This document supports Muslims who want to marry non-Muslims.  It’s written by a professor and imam who exercises ijtihad, Islam’s own tradition of critical thinking.  He re-interprets the Quran so that Muslim women know why, in the 21st century, they can love thy neighbor enough to get hitched with him.

The issue is growing. Fast.  Just last week, the Washington Post quoted a local imam as saying, “Anytime there is a program at the mosque about these things, it’s completely packed.”  The Post went on to report: “Islamic tradition, not law, holds that a Muslim man can intermarry, but not a woman…”

That distinction between tradition and law is key.  History may frown upon a Muslim woman marrying a non-Muslim man, but the Quran? Far more ambiguous.  No wonder young Muslims are busting their community’s bigotry by downloading and circulating the inter-faith marriage blessing — in 19 languages.

With that in mind, I have good news, bad news and promising news.

First, the good news: Two of the couples featured on the inter-faith marriage page have new babies to celebrate. And are they ever cuties! (The couples, not just the babies.)

Now for the bad news: The inter-faith marriage blessing doesn’t persuade everyone that love should conquer all.  As the Post pointed out, a recent poll of Muslim Americans found that “54 percent of women said inter-faith marriage is acceptable, compared with 70 per cent of men.”

Which brings us, finally, to Hala and Mark.

Mark is a Christian in California. He wrote me a message a few days ago.  When I asked if he’d let me share it with you, he agreed on condition that I’d change his ex-girlfriend’s name to “Hala” to respect her privacy.  Mark’s letter:

“I was deeply in love with Hala, the most compassionate, most intelligent, most beautiful Shia Lebanese-American woman. She was very progressive in all things.

But she was adamant that in order for us to marry, I would have to convert from Christianity to Islam. I showed Hala your website and the inter-faith marriage blessing written by Imam Khaleel. In the end, Hala felt that if I did not convert, any marriage would be invalid and she would be living in sin.

I believe Islam is a great religion. But I also feel that you have to accept the other person for who they are, not for who you want them to be. Ultimately, that is what kept us from a lifetime of happiness.

It is not the ending I wanted, Irshad, but thank you for giving me the hope that this might have worked out.”

Wait. Dude’s thanking me for showing that he didn’t have to be ditched by the love of his life — even though that’s exactly what happened to him? Where’s the hostility, the rage, the “Islamophobia”?

Hence the promising news: If I’ve given Mark “hope,” then he’s done the same — for all inter-faith couples. He didn’t lapse into bitterness or bigotry over Hala’s decision to break up with him. You can still hear the love in his letter.

But beyond emitting a compassionate vibe, Mark sent me a follow-up email with concrete information that’s sure to empower future families:

“I understand the concern that if a husband is not Muslim, the couple’s children will be at risk of not being raised in the Muslim faith.

However, I found an interesting interview with Dr. Nuryamin Aini. He conducted a study of inter-faith couples in Indonesia and found that a non-Muslim man and Muslim woman are more likely than a Muslim man and non-Muslim woman to raise their children in Islam.

In other words, some of these inter-faith concerns may be unfounded or at least misplaced.”

To say the least, boyfriend! I’m peeved that raising one’s children within a single faith should be any condition of “inter-faith” marriage. What’s the point of marrying someone who’s religiously different if you’re going to shield your kids from exploring those differences?

Still, Mark has done us a massive favor. The research he’s brought to light can be ammo for calming the jitters of Muslim parents and grandparents. Idealism alone won’t do it. They likely need the assurances of academics.

So give your anxious Muslim mum and dad the Indonesian study, along with the inter-faith marriage blessing, and emphasize that both are produced by — that magical combination of words — “Muslim scholars.” Then get on with your wedding plans.

A final bit of advice: Before you head off to the honeymoon, remember Mark. Not because he needs your pity but because he deserves your gratitude. Email your thank-you notes to him care of this website: comments@irshadmanji.com. I’ll make sure Mark gets your good wishes.

God knows he’s got mine.

Silence is a choice

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts, Announcements, Q & A on May 27, 2008

On a recent speaking tour for Project Ijtihad…

Irshad engages with students in Philadelphia…

… about expressing themselves. (Photos: Ann Snyder)

A young Egyptian recently sent me this anguished email:

“i am an animation artist and a script writer. first, i like your rebellious spirit and your haircut. although I am a traditional muslim and committed so much with five prayers a day, i wont decide to kill you immediately.

your book opened my eyes to that bad thing called free thinking. for example why the media in egypt shows israel as the evil enemy? you know [Ariel] sharon’s son is in jail while gamal mubarak [son of Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak] rides government cars with a huge security?

why really a young egyptian engineer fly away and hits himself to the walls of world trade center and what was the message he was trying to say and what kind of education pushed him to do such a stupid thing?

the problem i believe is we r living in continuously suppressed-thinking STATE. i mean we egyptians have the right to shout loud in a football game but we doesn’t have the right to protest against any political or religious affair.

do you know that a girl was arrested because she made a group on the facebook - calling for a strike? and a famous journalist was jailed because he said that mubarak is maybe ill because he doesn’t show up at a recent ceremony?

i don’t think that the problem is islam but I doesn’t think anything else because in my country I doesn’t have the right to think at all.

oh irshad sometimes I dare to ask - while I am hiding in dark - is there hope for us? thanks a lot for the book. and i love you so much.” - Ahmadollah

My response:

“Ahmadollah, I sincerely believe that free-thinkers like you are the ones to save Egypt (and, frankly, the world) from corrupt, self-satisfied elites. You are right: The problem is not Islam. The problem is our silence as Muslims.

I realize that you cannot protest in the streets without being beaten up by Hosni Mubarak’s thugs. I was in Cairo two years ago and saw with my own eyes the large green trucks filled with unemployed boys. The government hires them to attack pro-freedom demonstrators. This is your reality.

Can you do something else to speak your mind freely? I believe so, and I am here to help.

My non-profit campaign, Project Ijtihad, has created a partnership with TakingITGlobal, a portal that connects social justice activists from 180 countries, including Egypt. I say more about this partnership here.

Now, Project Ijtihad is going further. We have just launched our own discussion board on TakingITGlobal. Everything can be explored: human rights, political reform, even my hairstyle (under the category, “crimes against humanity”!) You can start your own discussion thread too.

Best of all, because TakingITGlobal creates online communities throughout the Middle East, they know how to ensure that your identity remains protected from the government.

So if you have something to say (and clearly, Ahmadollah, you do), join us. Activists around the world want to listen and lend a hand to your dream of real democracy in Egypt.”

Beyond Ahmadollah, everybody reading this blog is invited to sign up. If you need assistance or have questions about participating, contact Project Ijtihad’s coordinator, Raquel Evita Saraswati.

For more evidence that anybody can speak up for justice, including an 8-year-old girl in Yemen, click here.

And to defy censorship that much more, download free translations of my book. I’ve posted it in multiple languages for those countries where it’s censored or difficult to access.

Remember: Governments everywhere expect you to be apathetic, scared and weak. The questions is not whether we can prove them wrong. Of course we can. The question is whether we will.

A response to Sam Harris - and a challenge to us all

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts, Q & A on May 25, 2008

In the past few days, this blog has hosted a robust debate about whether ardent atheists need to reform as much as uncritical Muslims do.

To appreciate how constructive the debate has become, first read this from my friend, Shahid, who started it all. Then read this response from Sam Harris, author of The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation.

Now you’re ready to read Shahid’s reply to Sam, along with a challenge to us all:

Clearly I’ve been served. I have no defense against the indictment of intellectual laziness. It was, indeed, sloppy of me to lump Sam Harris in with Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins. My sincere and unqualified apologies to Sam.

Still, our perspectives diverge in ways worth noting. Before I go there, let me summarize where Sam and I agree.

I have no bones with his criticism of religious dogma and the evils done in its name. Islam today is dominated by fundamentalism to an extent that’s more severe than in any other major faith. Contemporary Islam is particularly infested with an aversion to debate, dissent and intellectual honesty.

So I respect that political correctness doesn’t hinder Sam from speaking his mind. I also respect that his own intellectual honesty forces him to break ranks with his fellow liberals and fellow atheists (i.e. in his promotion of what he calls contemplative practices). Our perspectives converge up to this point.

Here’s where we part ways. Let me repeat the final sentence in his response to me:

“I have spent over two years on silent retreats… And yet, I am an even harsher critic of Islam than Dawkins or Hitchens is. This is not an accident. It is, in fact, very difficult to think of a perspective that makes the contents of the Qur’an seem less wise, useful, necessary, or noble than the perspective of vipassana.”

Conversely, vipassana meditation has brought me to a place of practical compassion for observant Muslims. I’m not saying Sam isn’t a compassionate being. Practically speaking, though, I can’t see how a creative, non-violent solution to Islamic fundamentalism can emerge from Sam’s blanket condemnation of the Qur’an.

In an effort to empathize with him, I must admit that he asks a valid and incisive question: How do I reconcile the noble perspective of vipassana with the Qur’an, which he views as “less wise, useful, [or] necessary”?

Like Sam, I don’t draw a cozy equivalence between vipassana meditation and organized Islam. Vipassana is a dogma-free practice that cuts right to the root of misery and shows how to eradicate suffering. Its main virtue is not as an intellectual or spiritual ritual but as a practical means to achieve peace of mind and deep empathy for my fellow beings. It’s a no-nonsense and results-oriented technique exercised by people of many religions and no religion at all.

By contrast, the Qur’an is considered sacred by its followers and forms a crucial basis of their religious identity. Unlike Sam, I don’t believe the Qur’an is bereft of any positive moral worth. In fact, I read much in it that contests the dogmas practiced so uncritically by so many Muslims.

As Irshad routinely reminds us, the Qur’an has three times as many verses calling on Muslims to think, reflect and analyze than verses that preach what’s absolutely right or wrong. That’s a literal challenge to literalism itself!

Of course we can find scriptural support for blind faith and fear, but the Qur’an contains far more complexity than that. The more I meditate, the more I see a deeper meaning to much of its contents, a meaning premised on infinite mercy and compassion, personal responsibility, tolerance, even love.

Now back to vipassana. It’s an art that demands approaching life through the lens of harmony in thought, word and deed. I wouldn’t be exhibiting these attributes if I said, “Ok, all you Muslims, listen up. This book you recite: It’s the 7th century superstitious ramblings of an illiterate and you’re fools for clinging to it. Vipassana, on the other hand, is the bomb-diggity. For the love of Allah, you’d better adopt this path before we all perish. Got it?”

To promulgate such a message would be to serve my ego, not diminish it. I’d be reinforcing my sense of superiority, not eradicating it.

Vipassana teaches me an attitude of non-violence. That’s not to be confused with pacifism, which is a political ideology that some meditators adopt and others, like me, don’t. After all, someone committed to non-violence can’t stand by when the peace of others is being violated. So I don’t deny the Islamist threat to all our freedoms. Nor do I advocate relativism.

Rather, an attitude of non-violence continually compels me to consider which type of conflict is unavoidable, and which type will only serve to further harm others and buttress my ego. As a serious vipassana meditator, I know through experience that when I act out of self-righteous anger, the first person I damage is me.

Honoring this knowledge is what starts reversing the process of misery and forms the essence of a non-violent mind. It launches me into the fray of responsible civic engagement with eyes and heart wide open, even toward my enemies.

Irshad’s mission of democratizing ijtihad, Islam’s tradition of independent thought, seems like a compassionate common ground in the necessary fight against Islamist dogma. I call it “common” ground because ijtihad has a rich historical pedigree that’s fully compatible with the principles of modern, pluralistic, open societies. Its very basis is freedom of thought. And since ijtihad is an Islamic tradition, it doesn’t require faithful Muslims to abandon the identity they cherish.

Practically, supporting ijtihad means supporting those Muslims, many of them young, who are willing to be agents of moral courage in their communities and who boldly use the Qur’an to defy harmful reigning orthodoxies.

It means creating a space that affords Muslims the human dignity and human right to openly question and explore faith on their terms.

It means encouraging them to deepen their relationship with questions, encounter spirituality over and above rituality, and discover a shared human consciousness.

Irshad can bear witness that renewing ijtihad is a life and death business. It doesn’t mean sanitizing the practices of many Muslims or ignoring the bloodthirsty bits of sacred text. Ultimately, it means rocking the status quo from a foundation largely devoid of practical compassion, in both the secular and religious camps.

After reading Sam’s reply and seeing how he commendably organized a meditation retreat for his fellow scientists, I realized a remarkable omission on my part. While I challenged my atheist friends to sit a vipassana session, I let my Muslim brothers and sisters off the hook.

So here it is Muslims — reform, moderate, orthodox, or otherwise. You’ve officially been served. In the spirit of ijtihad, I challenge you to undertake a ten-day vipassana retreat. That includes you, Ms. Irshad Manji.

And just because Irshad calls me a Bu-Mu (Buddhist Muslim), please don’t assume I’m asking anybody to become a Buddhist. I’m not. Vipassana has nothing to do with institutional religion. See for yourself. I’m speaking to Muslims in Tehran too, where there’s a vipassana center.

While I’m at it, why stop at Muslims? Jews, Hindus, Protestants, Catholics, agnostics, Episcopalians, Jains, pagans, Mormons, witches, dreads, francophones, World of Warcraft elves, communists, Stalinists, snowboarders, waitresses, friends, enemies… Consider yourselves all officially served.

In case you’re wondering, vipassana is free. You hear that, my fellow South Asians? (*Wink*) If it sounds like I’m trying to convert, I assure you of this: The only conversion I hope to see is from misery to happiness.

If you do sit a retreat and feel like having company, let me know when and where: mr.shahid.man@gmail.com. I just might join you.

South-Asian-girl post-script from Ms. Irshad Manji: Did Shahid say “free”? Hell, I might join you.

Sam Harris responds

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts, Q & A on May 23, 2008

It appears that my Buddhist Muslim (Bu-Mu) friend, Shahid, has hit a raw nerve.

In my previous post, I featured the Bu-Mu’s advice to “hard core atheists.” (Notice that he’s singling out only those whom he considers extreme. He’s not generalizing about all atheists.)

Shahid counsels atheist crusaders to transcend their “self-righteousness.” They can do so, he says, through a particular approach to meditation — vipassana, which means to see reality as it is. Once missionary atheists are humbled by vipassana meditation, “intelligent consideration and practical compassion” can be their guide. And that’s bound to make for a more harmonious world, right?

Not so fast, says Sam Harris. He’s the best-selling author of The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation. He’s also someone whom Shahid explicitly names and directly challenges. Today, Sam sent me this spirited response. Call it his Letter to a Buddhist Muslim:

Irshad:

It is obvious that this person has not actually read my work. The entire last chapter of The End of Faith is devoted to deconstructing the “self” and to the benefits of meditation.

I have frequently spoken and written about these subjects (to the consternation of many atheists). For example, read this. I have even organized several vipassana retreats for scientists.

I would especially turn your friend’s attention to the remarks I made at the largest gathering of atheists in the country. The talk is available on YouTube, entitled “The Problem with Atheism.” The last ten minutes or so are devoted to meditation. Here’s the transcript.

I normally would not take the time to respond to a misinformed blog post but I find your friend’s approach to this subject far worse than intellectually lazy. The irony is worth pointing out: I have spent over two years on silent retreats of the sort that he recommends. And yet, I am an even harsher critic of Islam than Dawkins or Hitchens is.

This is not an accident. It is, in fact, very difficult to think of a perspective that makes the contents of the Qur’an seem less wise, useful, necessary, or noble than the perspective of vipassana.

Harmony be damned! Awaiting the Buddhist Muslim’s response…

Advice to atheists, from a Buddhist Muslim

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts on May 22, 2008

My good friend Shahid is a Bu-Mu: a Buddhist Muslim. He views the teachings of the Quran through the lens of humility emphasized by the Buddha.

Recently, my Bu-Mu bro wrote to me about how missionary atheists such as Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris mangle spirituality through their own fundamentalist hubris. But rather than merely complain, Shahid offers them constructive guidance:

Religion doesn’t poison everything. Self-righteousness does. Self-righteousness is something that Hitchens and his boys have a heap of in their anti-God books.

It might be more productive for hardcore atheists to put aside questions of God’s existence and explore the question of what exactly is this self that’s getting all righteous. And to do so with the same spirit of scientific inquiry that generates their very reasonable skepticism in the concept of a supreme authority.

If one believes that there is a self, then self-righteousness seems a natural, even productive emotional state. I would argue that this unexamined assumption about the self, more than religion, is the greatest metaphysical problem for us as a species. That’s because self-obsession leads to dogma in all its forms.

Science, as a discipline, isn’t the answer. The illusion of self is an emotional fallacy which science has no vested interest, stated aim, or, most importantly, practical means of undoing.

But the scientific approach of experimenting can be valuable here, and atheists should practice the scientific method as much as they preach it. So I suggest that all my atheist friends go sit a 10-day Vipassana meditation course. Vipassana means to see reality as it is. (Hitch, however, might have to smoke a pack of cigarettes in the parking lot before he starts several days of exploring reality at its subtlest levels.)

My prediction? The atheists will soon discover it ain’t so easy to give up the ole’ self-concept, and just as they are attached to their ideas, so are the religious.

Demanding that religious people favor the atheist flavor of reality isn’t a very compelling offer in the face of the pain of attachment; nor do the non-believers offer a compelling navigation of reality for those of us who don’t consider ourselves loony tunes, yet feel there’s more to this world beyond what can be strictly measured.

The desire to wish away religion and its adherents may be less helpful to our species than a desire to effectively speak up for those aspects of shared humanity that all religions worth their name mention. Let intelligent consideration and practical compassion guide.

Sorry boys, I started off in your camp, but was moved by the simple and fair logic of experimenting for myself. That’s neither an endorsement nor a denial of God. It’s just that squabbling about the almighty’s existence seems like a juvenile place to start once you’ve been humbled.

Dear 2008 graduates…

Posted in Speeches, Irshaddering Thoughts on May 18, 2008

2008 graduating class of NYU’s School of Public Service

On a rainy morning, in the gorgeous Brooklyn Academy of Music, hundreds of students gathered to celebrate their graduation from New York University’s School of Public Service.  

I had the privilege of addressing them. My aim: to be honest about what they’re getting into when the politics of social justice can get downright nasty. It’s one thing to inspire. Quite another to romanticize. I wanted to do the former without resorting to the latter. You can read my remarks below.

But first, let me tell you about the woman who introduced me. Hope Tumukunde served as governor of Butare province in Rwanda. Her leadership in the fragile post-genocide era has made Hope a member of Rwanda’s National Human Rights Commission.     

In introducing me, she emphasized our Oprah connection: Hope came to NYU’s School of Public Service as an Oprah Scholar, while I earned Oprah’s first annual Chutzpah Award for “audacity, nerve, boldness and conviction.”

On that note, I began my remarks to the 2008 graduating class…

Honored graduates: If I had a Chutzpah Award to bestow, it would be going to all of you – as an expression of faith in your capacity to live life large.

You see, “chutzpah” doesn’t simply mean “guts.” It’s far more interesting than that. There’s an element of brazen, passionate zaniness to it. A zaniness that evokes reactions like, “Is she all there?” Or, “Does he really believe that’s possible?”

Chutzpah is a commitment to see something through when others shrug their shoulders and mumble, “Why bother?”

No doubt, that’s what some will be asking about your choice to pursue public service in a cut-throat culture. Why bother?

The fact that you’ve made it all the way to graduation suggests you’ve thought about this. You know why you’re compelled to serve. And frankly, you don’t need a meshugeneh [insane] Muslim reformer to tell you what you already know.

But a few years from now, you’ll need to remember why you’ve chosen public service. Because despite our ideals – universal human rights, critical thinking, eco-justice – despite such noble and shared ideals, the reality is that public service has politics written all over it; politics that can reek of hypocrisy, hysteria and myopia.

I speak with some experience. When I wrote a book calling on my fellow Muslims to affirm the dignity of women, Christians, Jews and gays, many self-described moderates labeled me a fascist – the extreme liberal equivalent of Osama bin Laden.

I recall engaging in lengthy dialogue with one group of angry moderates from New Jersey. After listening to their complaints, I asked what they would have me do now. The spokesman promptly whipped out a list of offensive passages and demanded that I remove them from my book.

 “But wait,” I thought to myself, “isn’t that what fascists would do – censor, suppress and ban? In the name of harmony, should I pretend to consider their proposal and later decline? Or, in the name of honesty, should I explain here and now why I can’t accept their approach?”

Welcome to the politics of public leadership. That’s just the beginning.

We live in a time of intense identity politics. So when immigrant Muslims are branded “inauthentic” Muslims because our ideas are incubated in the West, I have to wonder how Mahatma Gandhi would respond.

After all, Gandhi came of age in South Africa, not India. Was he therefore illegitimate?

Gandhi’s concept of satyagraha or non-violent resistance took shape in South Africa. Did that make it impure?

Gandhi studied the American philosopher and anti-corruption activist Henry David Thoreau, who wrote a classic essay on civil disobedience. By drawing inspiration from a white Western man, did Gandhi sell out?

You can see how intellectually parochial these political games are. Yet they’re emotionally powerful, especially now. In our age of instant gratification, the fastest way to belong is to sacrifice your complex self for the security blanket of groupthink.

Here’s the problem with that shortcut: It’s a shortcut. Fast does not mean fulfilling. If you bow to petty politics too often, public service will lose meaning – the very meaning that brought you to it in the first place.

The very meaning that spoke to your core commitments based, as they are, on who you are.

Your authenticity.

Your individuality.

Your integrity.

At some point in your public service career, your conscience will pose a highly inconvenient challenge. You’ll have to decide whether to speak truth to power in your workplace, in your social movement, in your family of fellow travelers, and speak that truth for the sake of a greater good.

If you do, you’ll be exercising what Robert F. Kennedy called “moral courage.” Sounds deliciously lofty. Except that moral courage comes with major costs. For starters, backlash from your own. Followed, inevitably, by loneliness.

Bobby Kennedy didn’t airbrush these realities. He admitted, “few are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence.”

Then why bother? When you know you’ll be flayed and a glorious outcome can’t be guaranteed for your pains, what’s the point of having moral courage? It’s nuts. It’s chutzpah.

Allow me to offer three reasons that you should bother with moral courage:

First, for the pragmatic graduates – and I’m looking at all of you – moral courage gives you a competitive edge. Bette Midler, the comedic actress, once advised, “Cherish forever that which makes you unique, ‘cuz if it goes, you’re really a yawn.” Call me cynical, but imitating everyone else isn’t exactly a selling point to innovative employers or investors.

Let me put it more positively: Nobody can execute better what you have been placed on this earth to do. In a world of puny agendas, moral courage equips you to defend your vision.

Now for the second reason to bother with moral courage: Because even if you feel lonely, you are you not alone. Gandhi is part of the company you keep. But he’s only one example.

Gandhi’s methods taught Martin Luther King Jr. a thing or two, including how to handle criticism from his own community. Liberal members of the clergy, white and black, accused Reverend King of creating “needless tension.” Rather than dilute his integrity or beg to be understood, King confronted this charge.

In his now-famous Letter from a Birmingham Jail, Reverend King wrote, “I must confess I am not afraid of the word ‘tension.’ I have earnestly opposed violent tension but there is a type of non-violent tension that is necessary for growth.”

Alright, graduates, I’m about to test you: Imagine having to navigate not just the President’s animosities toward you, not just the FBI’s dirty tricks against you, not just the media’s suspicions of you, not just the average citizen’s ignorance about you, and not just your family’s fatigue with you and your 24/7 mission.

On top of it all, there’s the insecurity and insularity of your supposed allies. Being an icon of civil rights did not shield Martin Luther King from having to deal with that noise. So when you’re facing it too, you’ve got to believe that you are not alone.

The good news is, no one’s expecting you to transform an entire culture. We only expect you to shove it forward.

Which brings me to the third reason that you should bother with moral courage: Leaps and bounds don’t happen without the pushes that generate momentum.

To this day, a lot of Americans assume that Martin Luther King motivated Rosa Parks to keep her seat on that bus. Nope. Ms. Parks hit the civil rights scene before Rev. King did. She helped move him to the front lines.

And who was Rosa? A seamstress. A tailor’s assistant. By today’s professional standards, a veritable nothing. Yet a small, strategically executed act of conscience made her the mother of America’s civil rights movement.

Our acts of moral courage won’t assure massive change today. Likely not even tomorrow. Progress is never that linear since power is never that simple. But bother anyway – because in an open society, everybody counts.

To drive this message home, I’ll finish with a deeply personal story. My family and I are refugees from Uganda. General Idi Amin, the military dictator, expelled us along with hundreds of thousands of other Muslims.

We settled in Vancouver, Canada. But our port of entry was Montreal. The immigration agent on duty had no official reason to care about us. She engaged with my mother, anyway. “Why do you want to live in Montreal?” she asked in French.

My mother grew up in the Belgian Congo, so mercifully she spoke French too. “Why do we want to live in Montreal?” mum replied, buying time. “Well, Montreal begins with the letter ‘M,’ and our family’s name begins with the letter ‘M,’ so maybe God thinks we would fit nicely together.”

(You try coming up with an answer on the spot when you’re terrified of being deported!)

Sensing my mother’s anxiety, the agent assured her that this wasn’t an interrogation. “It’s just that I’m looking at your three daughters,” she said, “and I realize that they’re all dressed for tropical weather. Madame Manji, have you ever seen snow?”

Still assuming this to be a grilling, my mother exclaimed, “No, but I can’t wait to see snow!”

“Then you’ve come to the right country,” the agent assured her. “But with your permission, I’d like to send you and your girls to the closest thing we’ve got to a mild climate.” A few stamps on the paperwork later, we were bound for the other side of Canada – Vancouver.

Some would reduce this immigration agent to a shrewd arbiter of cheap labor. And she may have been. I won’t deny that possibility. But she was also complex, risking her job by asking what we might need more of, like sunshine. Her minuscule demonstration of chutzpah, bucking an ice-cold system, helps fuel my own chutzpah today.

Bottom line: In an open society, the choices that any individual makes matter. Open societies are under constant renovation, the conclusion not yet known if it ever will be. So what you choose to do contributes to the grander narrative of who we are and what we can become.

Your voice carries. May it carry us into a future when we’ll proudly admit that a little craziness is sometimes the sanest response of all. Thank you for your service, God bless and go get ‘em, graduates!

Learn about the Moral Courage Project…

 

Inspiration for a new generation

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts on May 15, 2008

Engaging students at the Research Center for Leadership in Action, Wagner School of Public Service, New York University

This week, I’ll be giving the convocation address to the graduating class at NYU’s School of Public Service. The speech is almost written. Almost.

I’ve got room for a few more lines — and I’m inviting you to provide them.

What do you think is vital for young human rights activists, aid workers, eco-warriors and other social entrepreneurs to know?

If you could grab them by the shoulders, stare into their blood-shot eyes and mess with their heads, what would you say? And can you say it in 25 words or less?

Here’s your chance to reveal that soaring (a.k.a cheesy) phrase you’ve always wanted to use, but could never insert into a conversation with your buddies because they’d mock you forever. Let me mock you.

To get your juices flowing, I’ll confess that I’ve always wanted to tell a throng of exuberant voters, “Tomorrow begins tonight.” Of course I tried that in the draft of my convocation speech.

Didn’t work. “Tomorrow begins this morning” just doesn’t have the same ring. “Tomorrow begins today” is limp. There’s no disco ball to it. The line lives and dies by “tonight.” And maybe it deserves to die, period.

So don’t take it personally when your best suggestions flop. As some grads have heard convocation speakers spout, “If you never give up, you can’t say you’ve failed.” Damn, that’s good.

But not for our speech. We can do better.

Make no mistake: I’m thrilled with what I’ve already written. Still, over the years of engaging with readers, I’ve learned to learn. Which means inviting you into the process at precisely the moment that I’m “thrilled” and thus feeling smug about my own wisdom.

Mess with my mind if not that of the next generation. Your deadline is Friday morning, New York time.

Meet my mum, the Obama of the ummah

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts on May 11, 2008

Mum in the middle, flanked by my sister and me

Everywhere I go these days, one of the first questions people ask is, “How’s your mother?”

Already, on this Mother’s Day, I’ve received a number of emails from perfect strangers wanting me to convey their “salaams,” “greetings,” and “duas” (prayers) to my mum.

Why do they care? Because my mum is the undisputed star of Faith Without Fear. The film is being widely watched, and a lot of viewers have fallen in love with her.

I can’t blame them. In the movie, mum is dynamic, funny, humane and humanizing. And I’m not saying this because she agrees with everything I believe. Quite the opposite. She challenges me big time, even managing to shut me up in one scene.

Don’t get too excited. I recover quickly.

In another scene, mum responds to a couple of Muslim men trying to humiliate her. “Trying” is the key word: Her grace proves Eleanor Roosevelt’s point that nobody can take away your dignity without your permission.

Mind you, this isn’t the first time I’m paying tribute to my mum. In the “Afterword” of my book (written before the film), I tell the story of how she came to realize that we share the same struggle for Muslim reform. It’s just that we approach it in different ways. Which is entirely halal because unity is not the same thing as uniformity — a distinction that the worldwide Muslim nation, or ummah, would be wise to learn.

More than anybody I can imagine, my mum represents the hope for Islam today. She shows herself to be the kind of Muslim whom moderate liberals and moderate conservatives have a hard time hating. You could say she’s the Obama of the ummah.

Meet my mum by downloading video clips from Faith Without Fear. Let me draw your attention to two clips in particular:

* “Irshad and her mother discuss the dangers facing Irshad”; and

* “Irshad and her mother debate faith and prayer.” This is where she has me on the ropes.

So, to get back to the question: How’s your mother? In short, great — for more than one reason. A few days ago, she became a grandmother for the second time. Mum now has a girl and a boy who’ll see her either as a mentor or as a tormentor.

Or both, like her own daughters do.

Agent of moral courage: Roi Ben-Yehuda

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts on May 08, 2008

It’s Israel’s 60th birthday, and not every Jew is celebrating unconditionally.

Witness Roi Ben-Yehuda. He’s no party pooper. This boy knows how to have a good time. (Last year, he introduced me to the obnoxious Sacha Baron Cohen character known as Borat, and still imitates this clown at the most absurd moments in our otherwise serious conversations…)

Far from being a wet blanket, Roi is an agent of moral courage. He speaks truth to power not only when necessary, but also when inconvenient — on a landmark anniversary.

Here’s what I mean. As a rising journalist and public thinker, he’s just published a “tough love letter” to his country of Israel. A key passage from it:

“At sixty years young, you are an amazing success story and we are your grateful children. But grateful does not mean blind. When you shine a light on an object, you are also bound to get its shadow. And there is no escaping the fact that your shadow is Palestine.”

Roi goes on to write words that some will consider harsh. I consider them humane in that he sees the shared humanity of Palestinians and Israelis. So he also sees their destiny as shared. (I do, too, and I’ve blogged about the surprising insights that young Palestinians have clued me into.)

That’s why, elsewhere in his extraordinary letter to Israel, Roi writes that “the greatest gift you can give for your birthday is to lend a hand in creating a birthday for the Palestinian state. Don’t settle for just removing yourself; help construct a positive future for your sister nation.”

Imagine: a patriot who believes in giving rather than receiving on his country’s birthday. And giving not as an act of charity, but as a statement of national renewal. It’s what I’ve come to expect from these odd creatures whom I call agents of moral courage.

From the rest of the world, I’ve come to expect allegations of racism. Recently, I received several emails accusing me of anti-Semitism when I pointed out that secular Jewish women in Israel must still go to rabbinical courts for divorces. Even then, they often wind up with the shaft. Israel, in short, isn’t a perfect democracy for Israeli Jews, let alone for Israeli Arabs.

Finding this “shadow,” I suppose, makes me an anti-Semite. So be it. But what a shame for more than just Israel; for democracy itself. Democracy demands dissent — not to undermine its ideals but precisely to help realize them.

Roi Ben-Yehuda is one who gets it. He embodies a sentiment prominently showcased at the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC: Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.

To read about other agents of moral courage, click here.

Mullah malpractise

Posted in Irshaddering Thoughts, On The Road on May 04, 2008

Signing books at one of Indonesia’s biggest universities

The best ideas can be stated simply and clearly. You’ll love this one: malpractise suits against hateful mullahs.

Let me explain.

Last week, at one of Indonesia’s biggest universities, I spoke about the need to renew ijtihad, Islam’s own tradition of independent thinking, debate and re-interpretation. Two well-known scholars joined me. To my surprise, both agreed that ordinary Muslims, not just religious authorities, have the right and responsibility to exercise ijtihad. It’s when ordinary Muslims think for ourselves that we keep God’s self-appointed ambassadors honest.

During the Question and Answer session, a woman from the local Islamic political party disputed our call to democratize ijtihad. When she needs her teeth fixed, she said, she goes to a certified dentist, not some shmo (or Mo) spreading the gospel of indie thinking.

I must tell you that I hear the dentist analogy all the time. While it’s unoriginal, it’s also effective among Muslims who equate creativity with scientific formulas. Effective, that is, until now.

One of the professors on my panel responded to the woman this way:

When dentists and doctors harm people with their decisions, they can be sued for malpractise. Sister, if you’re going to liken religious authorities to medical professionals, then Muslims should have the right to sue mullahs when their conclusions harm people. And, in effect, that’s what Irshad Manji is doing by exposing their damage in the court of international public opinion.

Direct. Concise. Logical. Maybe too logical: The woman left before the Q & A ended.

Although I’ll never know her response, I do challenge the critics who read this site to send me their replies.

Meanwhile, don’t forget to floss.

As you’re doing that, enjoy my Indonesia photo album.

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