Not in Our House, Not in Our Name, Not in Our Community

Peace,

I cannot tell you how good it felt to be chanting those words, "Not in Our House, Not in Our Name, Not in Our Community" candle in hand, cupped to protect the flame against the wind, following and being followed as we emerged into the masjid parking lot. Flyers with the Power Wheels had been distributed on "the strip" on Mill Ave; pressed into hands of couples and thugs, retirees and girls clicking by like giraffes balancing on their heels.

We were Christians, Hindus, Spiritual Free-lancers, and of course, Muslims. Insensitive planning left our Jewish brothers and sisters out of the event, but I know their prayers were with us. Indeed, one of the barriers of getting the Abrahamic siblings together is negotiating worship days.

Earlier, in the afternoon after asr--the time of day when the light is golden and dapples my curtains drowsily--I was Raggedy-Anned in the armchair, head back, tears rolling down my cheeks. The day had been full of iritating setbacks. Numerous and persistent like ant bites, their collective poison now seeped into me, my heart heavy and tired. It felt pointless. I'd gotten a stream of cancellations dressed in well-wishing clothing and invitations to other events. I had been bullied in a totally unrelated forum. My exhaustion had moved past tired into discouragement. I didn't leave the house until the last minute, convinced I would be walking alone, trying to keep my candle balanced and pass out the flyers I'd made simultaneously.

As is so often the case when I'm feeling like my efforts are for naught, Grace intervenes and I am proven wrong. Greeted before and after prayer by those that had come to join us, my heart grew lighter with each smiling face, each additional faith represented.

The participation from last year's event, organized with the American Islamic Fellowship in Atlanta and several other congregations around the country, was more than doubled. Instead of sitting in a room closed off, we had decided to break our isolation and go onto the streets, out into the community. Domestic violence knows no religion, no race, no class. We repeat these words, we know they are true. But we also know that there are many that mangle and twist scripture to justify their tyranny in the home. We see it in the marriages around us, the way a woman scurries like a mouse. We smell it in our worship spaces in our lack of representation, the silencing of our voice, our concerns.

The Qur'an has one verse that can be mistranslated, and so many others that speak unequivocally against anything other than justice and tranquility in a marriage. The language of the Qur'an is gender-balanced: man and woman being repeated as often as sun and moon, day and night. There is no "Fall", so Eve is simply the Mother of Humankind, not the reason sin exists. The Earth is not a place of punishment, but was created with humans in mind. For these reasons and more, I see Islam as having a duty to lead the way in bringing faith communities together to speak out against violence. The doctrine of tawhid, or Unity, in Islam naturally leads us to ask: how can there be justice in our society if there is not justice in our homes? Our civil rights threatened, held in suspicion by the culture at large, this question has an added heaviness in the Muslim community.

The Qur'an tells us that God will not change our condition until we change ourselves. We have strayed far from the Path, deep into injustice and tyranny. It is time to return. The setbacks and obstacles experienced to make the vigil happen confirm for me that Darkness knows how powerfully transformative this change will be. The family is the basic building block of society; changing how we are in our homes means changing the world.


Date night in Tempe, Arizona; home of one of the biggest party schools in the country. We were laden with flyers on the wheels of Community Accountability for domestic violence, the Characteristics of Healthy Relationships, the Power & Control and the Equality wheels. Many passersby were receptive, many were not. Some kids, after having passed by 3 or 4 times, squatted 10 feet from us and started asking people for money, making it difficult to approach people. Many were hostile, others scared. It is a strange and uneasy feeling to witness the translation of the words in your hand to flesh and blood standing before you. Simultaneously disheartening and encouraging; a wretched validation of the importance of the work.

There were also many that took the information gladly. Couples, heads together, reading as they waited for the light. Many that smiled, many that talked.

"Any man that beats his wife is a coward!", one man declared from under the bill of his cap.
"Then this flyer is perfect for you! Its about our responsibility as a community to keep it from happening and to intervene when it does."
"Allright, then. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout," he said as he took the flyer. "Now, it's no excuse, but ya'll can make us real mad sometimes," he added.
"That goes double for us," a hijabi sister called from over my shoulder. We all broke into peals of laughter.

When difference is no longer a potential spark for violence, we will indeed have become "the most evolved of communities."