Blog Mission: Rise Activists is a blogspot that is intended to promote awareness, critical thought, activism and Islamic identity among Muslim youth. Part of this initiative is to directly affect self-development of the reader by challenging socio-political, spiritual and religious thought. It is our belief that strong communities and a stronger Ummah, derive their strength from holistic and God-conscious activists.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Young American Muslims hope to help, educate


http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2008-07-17-muslim-club_N.htm


DEARBORN, Mich. — They filled the cafe night after night. To the casual observer, it might have appeared to be a roomful of 20-somethings with enviable amounts of idle time.

Yet the 30 young Muslim men and women who met for 30 days had serving society, not socializing, on their minds. And the group calling itself 30/30 emerged from the meetings with an agenda: to help teens in their community deal with social ills such as drug and alcohol addiction and mental illness — and to teach those on the outside about their faith.

A few goals emerged from the caffeinated conversations, now being fine-tuned in follow-up sessions: Establish mentorship and counseling programs for high school students, offer leadership retreats for young adults and develop brochures that explain Muslim practices such as women wearing head scarves.

"We had a list of objectives when we first started," said Mariam Zaiat, 22. "Part of it is to educate. Part of it is there is a void and we need to fill the void. Part of it is that we are capable and what are we doing?"

The quest seems well-suited for the young activists in a community with one of the largest Arab and Muslim populations in the country. Many are the children or grandchildren of immigrants. They are training to be doctors, lawyers, nurses, social workers and therapists. Their sense of mission took root at the Islamic Center of America and affiliated Young Muslim Association.

"I really think that the previous generations, when they came here, they were thinking this is temporary and we're going back home, so they didn't want to invest too much in this. Their main goal was survival: 'We need a job, we don't speak the language, we're in a foreign country,"' said Zaiat, who is working toward a master's degree in occupational therapy.

"With us, people that are born and raised here, and got to school, this is our community. We never think, 'Oh, we're going to go back somewhere.' So that's another reason why we invest so much is because our hearts are here."

That investment begins with tackling internal problems, such as substance abuse, mental illness and domestic violence. The 30/30 sessions became a workshop for the nascent Muslim Youth Social Support Network, which will pair young leaders with high school students, and offer an online forum and a hotline.

They aren't bigger issues for Muslims than for any other ethnic, racial or religious group, members say, but treating them can be trickier in a culture that uses shame to deter socially unacceptable behavior.

"There's a big stigma around receiving help in this community, so it's going to be an anonymous forum online," said Latifeh Sabbagh, a 24-year-old who leads the support network and serves as a social worker in the Dearborn Public Schools.

"When people disclose their information, sometimes there's shame, embarrassment. If they can do it and it's anonymous, it's so much easier for them to open up about what it is..."

The area offers many human service programs, but none focusing on youth and led by young adults from a Muslim perspective.

"We're not reaching out to these kids," said Ali Dabaja, a medical student who grew up in Dearborn. He spoke by phone from New York, where he recently started his residency. "They don't have a good support structure."

Dabaja, a founder of the Young Muslim Association and networking and advocacy group Allied Muslim Youth of North America, came up with the idea for 30/30.

"I was trying to foster this sense of activism, this sense of taking responsibility for the direction of the community," he said. "Just one day I was thinking, ... 'How about if we just get together for 30 days and bring the best and brightest of the community together?"'

Dabaja says it's important to be apolitical and independent of existing organizations because young people typically seek a less bureaucratic experience. But the group would work with others if that's what it takes to get something launched.

Another goal is to produce brochures and distribute them nationally to mosques, which would offer them to visitors seeking information about Islam. Jennifer Berry said the idea is to explain why women wear hijabs, or why followers pray five times a day or fast daily for one month a year.

Islam "is under a lot more scrutiny because it's under the scrutiny of the media right now," said Berry, 28, who expects to finish her nursing degree next year. "When you have the media pushing out negative ideas about Islam, people are going to have the same negative ideas."

On a recent morning, four group members gathered at Caffina Coffee, the site of their meeting marathon back in May. The shop is owned by the family of member Dewnya Bakri, 21, who starts law school in September.

Bakri says enlightening others also can come through conversations — and her group can use the life lessons it's learned.

"We're blessed with education. We understand the cultural barriers, and we understand how to relate to non-Muslims, how to discuss things with them in a way they would understand it," she said.

For Dabaja, the internal and external missions of 30/30 are inextricably linked.

"I want a thriving, flourishing, righteous, God-conscious community that Americans can look at and say, 'Wow, look at what Muslims can do in America,' he said. "We want to change our immediate environment, and people will take notice."

Friday, May 16, 2008

My Last Day of Medical School

Today was the last day of my medical school career. Four years of my life have gone past so quickly, almost effortlessly. Time has that affect on memory I guess, or is it the opposite? Experiences good and bad become diluted, emotions fade, wounds long past heal, attenuated and painful periods contract. And as I walked into this particular hospital one last time, time would once again leave an impression on my mind. A lasting, meaningful one? Perhaps. Only time would tell. Or would it?

Opening the stairwell door to leave the intensive care unit, a friend I had worked with for several years hurried past me in a frenzy. I stopped her to inquire as to why she was in the hospital, and she explained that her 22-year-old brother’s heart had suddenly stopped and in the next day or so they expected that he would pass away. She was a girl in her mid-twenties; a black scarf was draped over the corners of her exhausted face in the traditional Yemeni way. Her black eyeliner was freshly applied, but without that precision most girls pride themselves for. I followed her to her brother’s room, offered some contorted almost rehearsed words to comfort her mother. The mother uttered a few praises in Arabic asking God to help me succeed in life, and returned her full attention to her son. I stepped out. I almost felt ashamed that I had walked in there. I reminded her of her son; tall, dark, Arab. And she probably resented me for that. I peered into the room before leaving and saw her softly place the side of her face on her son’s chest as she wept quietly. It was too unbearable to see a mother mourn in this way. The gravity that normally permits a downward course when you walk down stairs felt unusually heavier this time as I made my way down to the hospital lobby. There was a heaviness in my heart. Instead of feeling joy for finishing medical school, my mind started to wander to thoughts of life, self, spirit, inadequacy and death. I felt like a fool—naked, exposed. I was an ungrateful punk about to start a new life in medicine without having a clue. I couldn’t help but think how time had jaded me.

I made my way to medical education and said my last goodbyes to the staff. I cleaned out my locker, turned in my badge and checked my beaten up pager one last time before giving it up. Tired, somber and somewhat relieved, I took off my soiled white coat and stuffed it in the trash bin while exiting the hospital. It had so many holes and stains that I had patched it up with white tape. It was hideous. I stepped out onto the parched asphalt, and just then a brisk rainfall poured down while the sun broke through a cluster of clouds. I never believed that all things happen for a reason. But that moment couldn’t be a coincidence.

Rain is a good omen in the Islamic tradition. It represents God’s mercy. It brings hope, new beginnings. I looked to the grey sky as droplets hit my face and recited several prayers. I asked God to bring good days my way, to strengthen me, to let time work in my favor. My mind started to rationalize and reinterpret the rain in the way it always does with obscure ideas and events. Maybe the heavens are crying for me? No, about me, and my life thus far, and my state. Maybe, just maybe, the rain abruptly stopped to signal to me that I had missed an opportunity in my yesteryears. The ample opportunities that God had provided me, from his infinite mercy that I had ignored or wasted. I opened the door of my car and plopped myself onto the leather seat. The humidity was suffocating, so I cracked the windows before driving off.

The rain passed and the streets seemed to drink up every little drop of water that had fallen. My mind continued to wonder as I drove. I had always struggled with the concept of time. I would sit down sometimes to attempt to write about it, to understand it in a vacuum, but it proved to be elusive. And today, as the sun shines through the dusty clouds, with clarity I say that it is because time is pegged to our memories and thought processes, to our actions, successes and failures. With every moment that passes, we shape and continue to reshape ourselves and we choose how time affects us. And I thought, that perhaps at some point, I had chosen a path of jadedness. Allowed time to impress on me the worst of it. I absorbed it, allowed it to seep into my being, into my eyes, my sight, my spirit.

Bint Al-Houda, a famous religious female scholar and activist tortured and killed by Saddam came to mind. All of what I had just pondered she had summed up in one utterance and took it a step further. “It shall not be that time will leave its imprint on me, but rather I shall leave my imprint on time”. How visionary, I thought. A vision that perhaps I had failed to see all these years. AH Dabaja