Observing Ramadan as a white Muslim amid anti-Black violence

As usual during Ramadan as an adult, I have worked to find ways to make this time meaningful and special without the ability to fast from food or drink. I did a bit of research into the spiritual benefits that can flow from fasting from food and drink during Ramadan, and alternative ways to try to achieve those benefits. I’ve tried modifying my food and drink intake, fasting from video games, praying more, whirling, journaling, listening to Sufi music and Qur’an recitation, helping organize queer Muslim events, reading Islamic books, and studying a little Arabic. In the first week, I have sometimes met most of my goals, and sometimes fallen short on nearly all of them, mostly because of work stress.

But on Friday, at jummah service, I realized that the goals themselves might be wrong, or at least incomplete and poorly prioritized. The facilitator of jummah at my masjid once more brought up unrelenting anti-Black racism and police violence in this country, and challenged those of us who are white to commit to taking concrete action in the coming week. With that guidance, it eventually sank in for me that it is probably considerably more meaningful for me to use the minutes I can pry away from work to take action against white supremacy than to study the Arabic alphabet.

Of course, many Black Muslim leaders have made similar points. Last Ramadan, I wrote about my difficulty accepting that a compassionate God plans to torture us for our sins. It’s actually Malcolm X who has helped me partially come to terms with the idea of Divine wrath. If God is angry at white people in the U.S. for white supremacy, well, it’s hard to argue that’s in any way unjust. And actually, I think Malcolm X was generous toward what he called white America, at least in one key way. He always clarified that God is warning us, but still giving us a chance. Like Pharoah, we have the opportunity to do the right thing. It is only if we refuse that we will experience God’s wrath:

History must repeat itself! Because of America’s evil deeds against these twenty-two million “Negroes,” like Egypt and Babylon before her, America herself now stands before the “bar of justice.” White America is now facing her Day of Judgment, and she can’t escape because today God himself is the judge. God himself is now the administrator of justice, and God himself is to be her divine executor! Is it possible for America to escape this divine disaster? If America can’t atone for the crimes she has committed against the twenty-two million “Negroes,” if she can’t undo the evils she has brutally and mercilessly heaped upon our people these past four hundred years, then America has signed her own doom.

Malcolm X, God’s Judgment of White America

Notice that “if,” and with it the possibility of atonement. That is generosity. That is mercy. Malcolm X goes on to call for white America to give Black people land. Of course Indigenous people have also called for white settlers to return their land. Asian American farmworkers had to fight for years to end racist laws that made it illegal for them to own land. Land is key.

So how will I, a white Muslim, observe Ramadan in the coming week, after so much violence against Black people, including Black trans people, Black Muslims, and Black trans Muslims, as well as against Indigenous and Asian people? I have shaped some different intentions, and I pray that God/dess will help me not to fall short:

• Monday, Ramadan Day 7: Post a Free Ashley Diamond selfie, and let people I work with know about the Free Ashley week of action. Contact the NCAA and UCI about boycotting Arkansas.
• Tuesday, Ramadan Day 8: Do Free Ashley phone zaps. Also make calls to free Karim Golding.
• Wednesday, Ramadan Day 9: Write letters to Ashley and others. Contact North Dakota governor to ask for veto of anti-trans bill.
• Thursday, Ramadan Day 10: Contact my legislators in U.S. Congress and urge them to support reparations. Contact Florida governor to ask for veto of anti-trans bill.
• Friday, Ramadan Day 11: Call CA governor to free Gabby Solano, and send Gabby a note of support. Call TN governor to free Mindy Dodd and send her a note of support. Contact my NY legislators to urge them to support Parole Justice.(There’s also a Free Ashley phone bank this day, but I won’t be able to do it.)
• Saturday, Ramadan Day 12: Study up on which candidates in the NY Democratic primary come the closest the supporting full defunding of the NYPD and look into how to support them. If needed, do texting for Fair Fight. Also check out #SettlerSaturday on Twitter and pay some rent.
• Sunday, Ramadan Day 13. Give to Believers Bail Out, Survivor Care Fund, and Black Trans organizations and individuals. Reach out to at least three white people and tell them why I support the BREATHE Act, and ask them to volunteer for the social media team. And buy this Stop Asian Hate sweatshirt as a gift and share information about it.

I’m looking at this list and realizing that most are not about land. But it all comes back to land, doesn’t it? What can we do to get land held by government, big business, or wealthy white people into the hands of Black, Indigenous, and Asian people, other people of color, and Indigenous nations?

Dream locker room

I had a dream the other night that my colleague C. had designed a public bathroom, and was showing me around. It had no gendered sign, of course, and a wide, welcoming entrance. Actually, I don’t think there was any door, though I do think there was a nearby wall or short corridor–people passing by wouldn’t see in by accident. When you first walked in, there were some lockers and cubbyholes, but no benches–the design suggested that no one would actually be getting changed right there. Shelves and hooks had large, soft, clean towels and bathrobes in various sizes. Interspersed in the lockers were stations for ablutions (low bench, faucet, and drain, designed for Muslims to do wudu).

As C. took me around, privacy was created by all the many twists and turns, as well as by colorful curtains and attractive, self-closing doors. Around one bend, you might find a heavy rainbow cloth curtain with a little space before a shower curtain and a spacious, roll-in shower designed with wheelchair users in mind. Take another couple of turns and you could find yourself a wooden, self-closing door away from a wide area with a clean toilet, lift bars, free tampons and pads, soft toilet paper, and a trash receptacle. Or there might be no curtain, but a wudu station or a sink, designed in different ways for different body types. There were changing areas and baby changing stations. Everything was beautiful and clean. There were polished stones, and some semi-precious stones, in displays near the sinks, along with luxurious, scent-free soaps, lotions, shaving creams, and towels. Pots with dried flowers appeared here and there. The lights were soft and warm–bright enough to see what you were doing and easily notice if an area was occupied, but not florescent or glaring. It was a very public space, designed to be used by many people at once, but also felt completely private and secure.

In my dream, I started weeping, because I was so overwhelmed with how wonderful it was.

Why I’m Muslim, and why I don’t read the Qur’an

A core way to observe Ramadan is to fast from food, drink, and sex from dawn to dusk. I cannot fast from food or drink for medical reasons. Another typical way to observe Ramadan is to read and study the Qur’an. I struggle with that as well, but for different reasons.

I am not Muslim because of the Qur’an. Some are, and it always amazes me. I’ve met many people who converted to Islam or returned to Islam or just stayed Muslim because of the beauty and power of the Qur’an. That isn’t me. 

I engage with the Qur’an because I am Muslim. And actually, the Qur’an may be what has caused me the most concern and doubts about Islam.

Why am I Muslim?

I believe in God. I always have. On a few rare occasions, I have felt the Presence of God. I believe that God is One, although I’m not sure exactly what that means.

My mother was Muslim, and raised me Muslim in a Sufi community. I liked how Islam helped me feel connected to something bigger than popularity or grades. I loved collating books in the print shop while listening to the hutba Fridays. I loved pressing my fingers into the deep carpets, smelling the musky incense, and admiring the Arabic calligraphy in the peaceful environment of the mosque. I loved the way that after prayers everyone on the women’s side stayed until they had greeted everyone, wishing each person salaams, hugging and kissing them, looking them in the eyes, placing their hand over their hearts, and smiling. I admired the open, loving face of the sheikh and one of the imams. In a few rare moments listening to talks, I felt connected to the sublime. And connection to the sublime or not, I always savored the delicious buttery spaghetti they made for us kids Sundays. I loved the gentle music of reciting the names of God over and over (dhikr). I loved the way fasting sharpened my senses, reminded me of God, connected me with my mother, elicited praise from Muslim adults, made me feel strong, and helped me to appreciate everything. I enjoyed Eid–not the getting up early, sitting cramped thigh to thigh, and stumbling through Arabic recitation so much (although even that in a way), but the waiting in line for tasbih, candy, and maybe a dollar from the sheikh’s room, and then the rare delights of vegetable biryani and cake outside. I even liked the cut-and-dry prohibitions I understood from Islam–they simplified decisions, sometimes made me feel special in a good way, and gave me an excuse not to do things I often didn’t really want to do anyway. I had the opportunity to go on umrah when I was 16, and the beauty and the power of the pilgrimage reshaped me. It seemed like miracles were happening every minute. 

As a young adult, when disillusionment with Muslim community combined with theological doubts drove me away from Islam for a time, I tried other religious communities. I spent some time with Wiccans, Unitarian Universalists, and Quakers. I did appreciate the Wiccan rituals, and happily participated in them for a time. I have also learned a lot from Jewish ritual and Buddhist practice more recently. But I still always felt a longing for the ritual, practice, and community I had grown up with. I also had not found another way to those precious moments of connection to something transcendent. And I did not want to keep separating myself from Muslim identity in a political climate that seemed to keep getting more hostile toward Muslims. I didn’t turn back to Islam in any one, decisive moment, but rather gradually drifted back over the years, incorporating more and more aspects of practice back into my life as time went on.

Now, some of the practices that worked for me as a child no longer do. But I still find that dhikr nurtures my soul in a way I crave, and helps me feel some of that connection I missed. I now also love reading and listening to feminist Islamic theology and Islamic liberation theology, on my own or (especially) with a group. I have deeply appreciated participating in jummah services at woman-led, LGBTQ affirming mosques. I have thrown myself into social justice work, which I have discovered is another way of practicing Islam. At times I have found some rewarding ways to serve my Muslim community through volunteering with queer Muslim organizations, writing cards to incarcerated Muslims, contributing to a bail fund for Muslims, protesting anti-Muslim immigration policy, and cooking for iftars. Sometimes listening to sheikhas, sheikhs, and other Muslims has given me new insights into our relationship with God and how to live a better life. When I was young, I never managed to do all five prayers in a single day. As an adult, while I still often miss prayers, I find it much easier to do them, and sometimes quite grounding. I now pray on the men’s side or in gender-integrated settings, and I must say the hand shakes and nods with salaams are not the same as a full embrace–but they are not nothing either. And while I remember feeling bored and antsy listening to Qur’an recitation in the original Arabic as a child, I often find it soothing and beautiful as an adult. 

But reading or listening to the Qur’an in English–that typically feels stressful and alienating to me now, just as it did when I was a child. It seems like on every page God is threatening us with terrible punishment for disbelieving or wrongdoing. Even if I agreed that everything the Qur’an condemns were worthy of condemnation (and I don’t), I would struggle with an all compassionate and all merciful Creator who would torture us in Hellfire (and sometimes in this life) as punishment for our sins. Call me a bleeding heart liberal, but I have always felt strongly that torture is wrong. So almost every time I have tried to read the Qur’an in English, I have stopped after just a page or two, queasy at what seem to me the only possibilities: 

1. The fault is with the Qur’an. The Qur’an in English is not a translation of the Word of God. This possibility disturbs me because I have always been taught that it is a core article of faith for all Muslims that the Qur’an is the Word of God. So if I don’t believe that, perhaps I am not really Muslim after all. But I already tried not being Muslim, and it kind of broke my heart. The idea of trying not to be Muslim again makes me terribly sad.
2. The fault is in my understanding of the Qur’an. If I could read the Qur’an in the original classical Arabic with the guidance of a proper teacher or divine inspiration, I would understand that God is not planning to torture us in Hellfire to punish us for our sins, or that God doing so is somehow a good thing, or that it doesn’t really matter and I should be paying attention to other things about the Qur’an anyway. This is unsatisfying. Studying for years to properly understand a book I can barely stand to read a page or two of seems out of reach. I’m also just not sure I buy it. I’ve looked at a lot of different translations, and read a fair amount of commentary. Brutal Divine punishment seems like a Qur’anic theme. 
3. The fault is with my own understanding of right and wrong. If God says it, then it must be right, whatever my own conscience and convictions say, and whatever the people I trust and admire say. This, for me, is a non-starter. I’m not willing to completely silence my own moral compass, even in favor of an extraordinary source. It wouldn’t even be consistent with the Qur’an to do so. The Qur’an enjoins us to not to accept something simply because our parents did, but to use our reason, reflect, and look to the natural world, history, and messages from prophets for guidance. And I worry that overriding one’s own conscience in favor of an external source, even when the issue isn’t necessarily about how to conduct one’s own life, paves the path for worse (too many commit atrocities and rationalize it as obeying orders).   
4. The fault is with my understanding of Islam. One can be Muslim without believing every part of the Qur’an represents the Word of God. This one makes me nervous. Who am I to say this core aspect of Islamic theology could be wrong?
5. The fault is with my understanding of God. God is not exclusively good, but also encompasses evil. Our prayers, negotiations, and right actions are not merely for the sake of bringing ourselves closer to God and embodying God’s beautiful qualities more fully, but also for the sake of influencing God to incline toward the good and away from the evil that God has created. This one also makes me nervous. It seems a little too much like setting myself above God. 

So where does that leave me, aside from uneasy? I have not resolved my conflict with the meaning of the Qur’an. But I do very much believe that it is not a problem (and actually a very good thing) for people to practice Islam in different ways. Engaging directly with the meaning of the Qur’an may not be for me, now or in my lifetime. But I can still engage with the Qur’an, in a few different ways.

One way is to engage with the text of the Qur’an itself, in Arabic, by listening to it, looking at it, reciting it, and memorizing it with an open heart and mind. While these days it is fashionable to look down on “rote memorization” without understanding the meaning of a text, a long and distinguished Islamic tradition maintains that hearing and internalizing the text, even without an understanding of any of its vocabulary or grammar, has significant benefits, bringing us closer to God. (Check out The Walking Qur’an by Rudolph Ware for more on this living tradition.) Certainly I appreciate the beauty of the Qur’an in Arabic, and find it often calms my heart, especially if I don’t understand the meaning of the words. To memorize even just a few of the shortest surahs takes a great deal of work for me as an adult with very little practice memorizing texts, an elementary understanding of Arabic script and pronunciation at best, and no real experience with oral tradition. It is work I can look forward to.

Another way is to engage with the meaning of the Qur’an indirectly. I have found it motivating, enlightening, moving, and sometimes mind-blowing to study the Qur’an through reading books about the Qur’an, and through discussing the Qur’an with groups of queer, trans, disabled, feminist, or prison abolitionist Muslims. Asma Lamrabet, Amina Wadud, Amina Barlas, Carla Roman, Shadaab Rahemtulla, Rudolph Ware, and Farid Esack are some of my favorite authors of books about the Qur’an so far, but my shelves are full of more, and the idea of exploring them delights me. These authors have found emancipatory readings that not only don’t trouble my conscience, but challenge me to deepen my practice and understanding of justice and compassion. And when something about their reading does trouble me, it doesn’t provoke a bunch of anxiety about what it all means: No one is claiming that the words of these authors is the Word of God.

So for me, Ramadan does not involve fasting from food or drink, or even reading the meaning of the Qur’an. But I can fill it with service, community, dhikr, dua, and salat, and I can access the Qur’an at other levels and from other directions, all of them enriching in their own way.

A practical guide to climate change for chronically ill queer New Yorkers

I’ve been working on this project as a labor of love for the 50th anniversary of Earth Day for quite some time. I wasn’t sure whether to still share it since we are all still in the middle of a massive COVID-19 crisis, but I decided to go for it–who knows what the future holds, and who might find a resource like it useful? It’s designed with chronically ill queer NYers in mind, but I have hopes that others might find it useful as well. It covers collective and micro action for climate justice, as well as disaster preparedness. All mistakes are mine, and I apologize for them in advance. Teasers:

Working class and poor people are precious and indispensable, including those who can’t afford to shop at the farmer’s market. Trans and queer people are precious and indispensable, including those who have to take ubers because of harassment on the streets or on public transit. Sick and disabled people are precious and indispensable, including those who need a fucking plastic straw to drink. And, for God/dess’s sake, there is NOTHING wrong with Black and brown people having any number of kids.

Recently, I was at a workshop for people working toward social justice. I confided to two other participants that I wasn’t sure how much the type of work I was doing for trans rights really mattered in the era of climate change. They both exclaimed that it absolutely did matter, and that it was climate justice work. Their vehemence surprised me, especially since one of them did full-time environmental justice work. They explained to me that we have come to this point because of a view that only a few people–the most powerful and privileged humans–really matter, and that everyone and everything else is exploitable and, ultimately, disposable. It is an “us v. them” ethic that lumps most humans and all non-humans together as “them.” They each insisted that any work insisting on the intrinsic worth of any group that has been labeled disposable, and any work that breaks down binary thinking, is work against climate destruction and for collective survival. The strength of their conviction in my own work humbled me.

I have been starting to learn that one of the most important, most fundamental things we may need to do as individuals, communities, and a species is adjust our relationship to the rest of the natural world. To see ourselves as a part of it, in community with other species, not intrinsically better than or worse than, not inevitably harmful or beneficial, and not separate or apart. Hopefully over time this different awareness leads to different ways of behaving in our relations with the other-than-human.

I was shocked when I learned how harmful jet fuel is. COVID-19 has given some of us a window of what it would be like if we couldn’t or didn’t have to fly, and we may want to think about reducing our air travel even once this particular crisis has passed. I like to opt for trains when I can anyway. Jet fuel aside, trains are cheaper, easier on my body, and don’t have TSA gender checks. But I expect I will still fly fairly often for work once it becomes possible again. For those of us who keep flying, there are some simple harm reduction steps we can take: try to book a flight with as few stops as possible, and keep the window shades down during take off and landing. Both those things reduce fuel use. A “carbon offset” is not a solution. Carbon offsets do not keep fossil fuels in the ground or stop pollution. They do often involve taking forested land from Indigenous people who have lived on it for centuries or millennia so the land can be “preserved” by settlers from the global North. In some instances, armed “eco-guards” have beaten Indigenous people seeking access to their own land. One study found less than half of land “protected” through carbon offsets was still forested after just four years. Instead, I recommend giving 5% of whatever you spent on your trip to the Indigenous Environmental Network and another 5% to a group indigenous to whatever land you are traveling to.

Our culture pretty much only permits us to imagine climate catastrophe in the context of post-apocalyptic science fiction. But while climate change will definitely accelerate and bring upheavals we have not yet experienced and can only partially predict, climate change is also already here. We have experience we can build on.

Check it out and pass it on: https://bit.ly/2XV71Yr

How to Take Action without Leaving the House

CW: COVID-19, social isolation, suicide, abuse

I’ll be honest–I feel pretty panicky right now. One of my many fears is that in a moment when we need everyone to participate in political processes more than ever, we’re losing access to a lot of the ways people are used to doing that. So I made a list of some ways to take political action, right now, even if you need to limit your physical contact with other humans.

1. Call, email, tweet or otherwise DEMAND better from elected officials. Better in what way, you wonder? So glad you asked.

• Check this list of horrifying anti-trans state bills that try to deny trans kids participation in sports, use of facilities, access to healthcare, and life. Especially if you live in one of those states, call your legislators to urge them to stop these bills, and call your governor to ask them to veto! Trans kids are already far too vulnerable to suicide and abuse. The social isolation coming with the response to Coronavirus is making that worse. And these bills are making it way worse. Save trans kids’ lives and stop these bills.
• Tell Governor Cuomo that he needs to use his clemency power to release all prisoners vulnerable to coronavirus, including those who are elderly, pregnant, or living with any serious chronic illness. Also, tell him that he needs to pay all incarcerated workers, including those making hand sanitizer, at least minimum wage. And while you’re at it, tell him to institute a moratorium on evictions and utility shutoffs. Tell DeBlasio too. And let outreach teams give hand sanitizer and socks to houseless people.
• Tell all executives to make plans for how to protect incarcerated people from Coronavirus. Restricting visitation is not the answer—not only is it cruel, but it’s totally ineffective (many times more staff than visitors go into and out of facilities every day). The plans should involve releasing prisoners, starting with the most vulnerable ones; increasing sanitation and access to hygiene supplies; and increasing access to healthcare. And moratoriums on evictions should happen today.
• Tell the NY legislature that now is the time to protect incarcerated people and decrease prison populations as much as possible. Protect bail reform, and pass voting rights for people in prison (A8909/S6905); HALT Solitary Confinement Act (A.2500 / S.1623); Elder Parole (S.2144/A.9040); and Fair & Timely Parole Act (S.497/A.4346).
• Tell all legislatures that now is the time to reduce incarceration drastically and ensure the best possible conditions for people behind bars.
• Tell Congress to pass the NO BAN Act (lifting the Muslim, refugee, and asylum bans) WITHOUT the communicable disease amendment. Ableism, anti-Muslim racism, and nativism are ALL always wrong.
• Tell Congress to pass the Pregnant Worker Fairness Act. Especially now, some pregnant workers need temporary accommodations to be able to keep their jobs without sacrificing their health or increasing their risk of miscarriage. And there are a lot worse ways to celebrate Women’s History Month than by making it harder for employers to fire people, or force them to quit, because they’re pregnant.
• Tell Congress it’s about time to pass a bill requiring paid sick leave too.

2. Phonebank and Textbank for Bernie. I’m all in for Bernie. He’s far and away better than Biden and Trump on climate justice, reproductive justice, healthcare, war, racial justice, immigration, and the criminal legal system. Votes for him are votes that could save a LOT of lives. If you check out his campaign page, you’ll find that there are a lot of different ways to volunteer without leaving your own home, including hosting virtual events, texting people and making calls.

3. Join the Digital Climate Strike. People often denigrate online activism, but that’s ableist bullshit. It can be powerful stuff. On September 20, 2020 people around the world will walk out of jobs and school to demand action for climate justice. But you don’t need to join an in-person gathering to join in. If you run a web site or blog, you can shut it down for the day or add a banner for the Digital Climate Strike. You can spread the word about the climate strike on social media. You can add a climate strike overlay to your profile pictures. And you can join in demanding that global leaders take bold action for a just transition. Learn more and get tools to do all those things at the Digital Climate Strike site.

We’re ready for the global #ClimateStrike 20-27 September. Join the Strike

4. Connect. Isolation is bad for people. I mean, seriously bad. Those of us already inclined to depression or other types of extreme mental states are vulnerable to things getting a lot worse. People who have never experienced madness before may start experiencing it. Without contact with other people, those who suddenly fall sick or get injured are also less likely to get help. Those vulnerable to violence from someone where we live–whether that’s a significant other, parent, roommate, landlord, prison guard, or someone else–are that much more vulnerable when always in that place, away from witnesses and possible help.

Connecting can help people stay safer. It can literally save lives. It is also a profoundly important political act. You can become pen pals with someone who’s incarcerated, and maybe in solitary confinement, today. If you’ve decided to spend less time with people in person, set up dates for video calls, send texts, write cards, etc. Even playing games together online is something. If someone you reach out to doesn’t get back to you, reach out again. Do whatever you can to maintain, broaden, and deepen social connections. This piece has some beautiful advice on having sexy fun during “social distancing.” This piece talks about living fully while navigating fear and illness.

And as (more) people near us start to fall sick(er), I think we also need to be generous with care. Some of us have good support networks of people who could and would care for us if we were sick. Some don’t. To the extent we can, we should be checking on neighbors as the illness spreads, and helping each other out with cooking, cleaning, and company–all of those most vital forms of care work. Some of it can be done even without any direct physical contact–we can leave a home-cooked meal at someone’s door, let them know it’s there, and leave before they pick it up. We can get through this, but we need each other to do it. Many mutual aid networks are springing up–here’s one for NYC.

5. Make a plan to vote. In many states (not NY, unfortunately), it is possible to get an absentee ballot for any reason. Some states also have vote by mail and online voting options. Some have early in-person voting options, which can help break up the crowds. If you have a primary (or other) election coming up, learn what the options are in your state, and make a plan for how you will vote.

6. Volunteer. Even if you cannot or choose not to go to public places with other people, you can often volunteer from home. Some places need volunteers to do transcription, translation, data entry, or letter writing, for example. Some are looking for people who can lead webinars to educate folks about different topics. Check out some local groups, and see what they need.

7. Create. Arts and crafts can be life-affirming and very political. If you end up with more alone time on your hands than usual, consider whether you can use that time to paint, write, sculpt, knit, build, embroider, make, or design something, and find a way to share it.

8. Organize accessibly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–pay attention to the genius of mad, sick and disabled people who have been doing multimodal, accessible organizing and activism for centuries. And talk with other organizers about how to adapt to changing conditions.

9. Share money if you have it. One way to make change is to fund the people making it; there are tons of great organizations to give to. And also, in this moment, it’s perhaps especially important that we give money directly to people who need it. Some of us can work from home without losing income or job security. For many in low-wage, gig, or underground economies, that isn’t true. When universities close student housing, some students become homeless. Many small business owners are facing real loss of income right now too. Keep an ear out for folks who need help and be as generous as you can. For a few general ideas, here’s a way to donate money for autistic people of color in crisis. #SettlerSaturday collects info from Native folks accepting rent payments. The Okra Project pays Black trans chefs to cook for Black trans people facing food insecurity. And you can also donate money to be used as emergency funds for sex workers. Also, any bail fund is a GREAT place to give money right now–getting and keeping people out may save more lives than usual in this moment. Abortion funds need support too. And this thread shares some info on supporting independent bookstores without going there in person.

Close-up of a Filipinx woman with a filtering face mask, sitting at a table with notebook and pen. She has colorful flower earrings and headphones on while looking into the distance. Photo Credit: Disabled and Here

Coronavirus: 8 Tips

CN: COVID-19, hand washing, racism, ableism

One: Don’t be racist. Coronavirus related racism is really intense. Those of us who are white seriously need to check our behavior. Might also be useful to refresh ourselves on bystander intervention tips for racist violence, and to go out of our way to patronize Asian-owned small businesses

Two: Don’t buy supplies you don’t need. If you do not have a compromised immune system or another specific illness or disability related reason to need a face mask, and you are not a worker who needs one to do your job, for the love of God, don’t buy one! There are now serious shortages, and some people actually need them to live.

Three: Don’t make sick people come to work. If you are in a position of power at an employer, now is an excellent time to make sure that both your written and unwritten policies provide for robust paid sick leave. Too many workplaces make sick people feel obligated to come in anyway, or force them to choose between enough money to live and taking care of their health. For those who only employ a part-time domestic worker (babysitter, housecleaner, etc.), that’s equally true. Part-time domestics workers have a right to paid sick leave in NY and elsewhere–and even if you aren’t legally required to provide it, you still should. And if you employ someone who is supposed to clean or sanitize an area used by a lot of people, make sure to provide them with excellent protective equipment, so they don’t have to risk their own health to protect other people’s health. And people with suppressed immune systems or other vulnerabilities need accommodations to reduce their exposure–make it really easy for them to get those accommodations so they don’t have to put their lives on the line.

Four: Don’t lock people up, and support people behind bars. There is a real tendency to overreact and respond to health crises with different types of incarceration. That’s bullshit. We need to make sure people aren’t getting locked up, and we need to make sure that people who are quarantined, incarcerated, or held in any institutional setting for any reason are getting everything they need, including access to hygiene supplies and excellent care if they do get sick. People in prisons, homeless shelters, and similar settings where a lot of people are close together and hygiene is often poor can be particularly vulnerable to contagious illnesses. They are also particularly likely to experience medical neglect, and so are often the people who need the most support and solidarity during outbreaks. NY has announced prisoners compensated less than a dollar an hour are making hand sanitizer for people on the outside to stay safer. That makes right now the time to demand that the governor use his clemency power to release prisoners vulnerable to coronavirus and compensate incarcerated workers with at least the minimum wage. And anyone anywhere can demand that people with power over prison systems are making sure that incarcerated people have adequate healthcare and hygiene supplies, that plans are in place to address coronavirus, and that vulnerable people are released.

Five: Wash your hands. Washing our hands thoroughly in warm water and soap really is an awesome way to prevent a bunch of different illnesses, including coronavirus. Not a bad habit for almost all of us to get into–thoroughly wash our hands in warm water and soap before and after touching any bodily opening or body fluid (eating, using the bathroom, wiping our nose, having sex, masturbating, bandaging a wound, changing a diaper, etc.), before and after cooking, before visiting someone with immune suppression, after visiting someone sick with a very easily transmissible illness, and before and after being in a crowded place where we touch a lot of things other people touch. And for those who aren’t worried because they aren’t in a vulnerable group–it’s not all about you. If you get coronavirus you might be fine, but it might spread from you to others who would not be fine. That said, it is possible to wash your hands too much. If you wash your hands so much that they crack and bleed, it actually becomes easier to get coronavirus and other illnesses. So wash your hands thoroughly when needed, but try not to go overboard.

Six: Add content warnings. All the content related to Coronavirus everywhere online is making things harder for some people with OCD. Those who have intrusive thoughts about illness and contagion or compulsive behaviors related to hand washing and germ prevention may be struggling to manage their symptoms given the messages we’re all getting bombarded with right now. So if we choose to post about it online, adding a note at the top letting people know that’s what we’re doing can help folks minimize their exposure to content that may harm them.

Seven: Don’t stop organizing. Many of us can still show up for rallies, marches, and door knocking, so long as we wash our hands. But all organizing should already be multimodal and accessible, for people who can do incredible, valuable work, but can’t do those specific things in the ways abled people have often done them. Organizers should already be making sure that they are organizing in a lot of different ways, including folks who can’t leave their homes, can’t risk direct exposure to other people’s germs, and have different ways of doing things. And once the Coronavirus epidemic ends, organizers should continue making their organizing even more accessible. It is galling to see abled people suddenly realize not everything has to happen in person, when that’s one of the things disabled people have said for decades.

Eight: Stock up on what you do need. Coronavirus is serious, because a lot of people already have it and a lot more will probably get it. Even though a very small percentage of people who get it die, when a lot of people get it, that’s still a lot of people dying. A lot of people being sick and out from work also can cause disruptions and shortages of supplies. So preparing is not a bad idea, but to do that you want to think about what you would need if you got sick and couldn’t really leave the house for a few weeks, or if there were a shortage of a medication you take regularly, or if you felt fine but were affected by a quarantine order and/or were caring for a loved one who was quite sick. The answer is generally going to be enough food, meds, and medical supplies to get through a few weeks, plus cleaning supplies, Tylenol (for fever), and salt and sugar (to add to water to help with rehydration). These sorts of emergency supplies are probably a good idea to gather just in general for those of us who can–and to share with anyone else who needs them whenever there is an emergency.

What is pro-life?

I was pro-life and against all abortion (unless the life of the person who was pregnant was at stake) for a good ten years or so. I believed that individual human life began at conception, and I didn’t understand why people would say it was okay to deliberately end an individual human life.

It wasn’t a religious thing–the majority Muslim view is that the soul enters the fetus at four months gestation, so abortion before that point is fine, but abortion after isn’t. I didn’t have any such nuance. It wasn’t a misogynist thing, at least on any conscious level. I was a proud feminist, and I was also someone who could become pregnant and very much never wanted that to happen. It was a logic and morality thing. A friend explained her view to me when we were in middle school, and it made sense to me. I felt compassion for those I thought of as unborn babies.

But even at my most adamant as an anti-abortion advocate, I didn’t think that banning, much less criminalizing, abortion was the way to go. It seemed to me that abortion bans might reduce the number of abortions, but that there would still be lots–and they would be more likely to end two lives instead of one. That seemed like a terrible idea. And locking people up in these situations just seemed cruel, even though at that point I didn’t understand how likely incarceration is to shorten lives.

What I thought we should do to prevent abortion was to make contraception freely and widely available, make sure everyone has comprehensive sex ed, reduce wealth disparities and end poverty, make quality childcare freely and widely available, end rape and domestic violence, and end discrimination and stigma against pregnant and parenting teens. But I didn’t affirmatively work to support abortion rights, and did speak out against abortion (in a “choose life” kind of way).

Eventually, I changed my mind about abortion. Partly, I just learned more humility. At what point does personhood or individual human life begin? Does one truly have an obligation to share one’s body to support the life of another–and if so, why is this the only context where we seem to think we should impose that obligation on others? Do I really think that I have some sort of superior logic or moral sense that justifies my imposing my views on these deeply personal, moral, political, spiritual, and philosophical questions on pregnant cis women and trans people? Is anyone actually better suited to make these calls than pregnant people? The answers to those last two questions became no, and so my answer to safe, legal abortion on demand became yes.

I still support everything I supported before, except now I also speak out and donate to support abortion access. I regret not doing so earlier.

But whatever one’s position on abortion, I still don’t understand how anyone who genuinely supports life, and not just control over cis women and trans people, could support these abortion bans.

My mad trans Ramadan intentions

I feel more at peace this year than in the past with not fasting. Sadly, while fasting was an incredibly important spiritual practice for me when I was young, it is now harmful to my bodymind. However much it may hurt my pride and aggravate my sense of not belonging, it is clear to me that in terms of my closeness to God and my duty on this earth, it is better for me not to fast.

I realize one of the reasons why I have more peace about not fasting this year is not great. For many years, it has been clear that fasting was terrible for my mental health. The disrupted sleep patterns in particular wreaked havoc on me, and my mental health provider encouraged me not to fast. But this year a gastroenterologist has also told me that given the state of my esophagus I should avoid it. Intellectually, I don’t think that mental health is any less important or real than, or even really separate from, physical health. But emotionally, I have had a hard time really believing that. Insidious cultural messages that I should be able to “just get over it” get especially hard this time of year, even though I know that’s not what Ramadan is supposed to be about.

Below are the intentions I have made for myself this month. I still feel a bit embarrassed by them, because some of them fall short of what I understand Muslims to be supposed to do every day year round. But for me they are ambitious, and if I do them, inshallah, they will increase my spiritual focus.

• Host an iftar fundraiser for Believers Bailout.
• Attend three iftars. If they are potlucks, bring home-cooked vegetarian food. If the hosts accept volunteers to help with clean up, volunteer.
• Pray maghrib each day, followed by short dhikr.
• Attend jummah each week, including at least once at a masjib I have never gone to before.
• Do spiritual study, including watching two videos each day (one from a playlist I created on the themes of Islam, anti-Black racism, and prison abolition with videos in English; one from a playlist I created on the themes of Ramadan, Sufism, and Islamic gender justice with most videos in Spanish)
• Do careful meal planning for small, frequent, halal, reflux-friendly meals ending well before bed. Cook at least two meals of fish and green vegetables for me and my partner.
• Give at least a little money to anyone who asks me for it.
• Double my regular donations to community organizations, with a focus on climate justice and intersectional feminism.
• Create and send out a zine for incarcerated LGBT Muslims.
• Avoid backbiting.
  • Backbiting is saying anything negative about another person, or saying anything about another person they wouldn’t want me to say.
  • It isn’t backbiting if I am talking about an institution, talking to the person directly in private about my concerns, or saying something positive or neutral that the person would be okay with me sharing.
  • Exceptions when I think it’s okay for me to backbite:
    • Someone has asked me for my opinion or experience with another person; I believe speaking candidly might prevent harm; and speaking candidly won’t violate any confidences.
    • I share with someone, in confidence, how someone else has hurt me, when my only intention is to get help healing.
    • It is a part of my job as a lawyer advocating for a client.
    • The person is a public figure, my comments are focused on their actions rather than who they are, and my intention is to encourage concrete action to mitigate harm.

Telling stories, because what else is there to do in the face of death

Today, feeling heartsick about the attack in New Zealand / Aotearoa, I called my sister. She told me that when she watches the news, she realizes that shaitan urges her to give in to rage instead of noticing what is around her, and she has to set limits and refocus. I’m still processing, but at the moment I want to share some stories from Muslim leaders, stories I have heard in the last couple of days. It seems like a way of noticing what is around me. Also, stories feel important to me in part because I have been reading Daniel Heath Justice’s work. He is Cherokee, and out of that tradition, writes:

We will have done our jobs as good ancestors if the world we leave is one more fully alive with the stories of our time and those before, if the struggle of those who came before is honoured and shared, if the justice of our fight and the rightness of our relations carry on beyond us.

Why Indigenous Literatures Matter

Both the United States and New Zealand are settler colonial nations, and I hope that I am not stealing an Indigenous tradition by using Daniel Heath Justice’s words in this context. I hope that instead I am learning respectfully, and sharing stories in turn.

Thursday night, I attended the regular dhikr meeting at a nearby dergah. Before we began, the sheikha spoke to us. Here is some of what I took away from what she said.

All of the religious and spiritual traditions are so rich. Our Sufi tradition, Buddhism, Judaism, Indigenous nations–all so wonderful and so rich. There’s so much there. People ask sometimes, why can’t we all come together and be one? Aren’t all paths toward the same Truth? And of course we can come together, at the heart level, and at a level of mutual appreciation. Of course all traditions can help seekers on their way to the ultimate Truth. But what’s interesting is that all of these traditions need their people to sustain them. It isn’t enough to have the books, we need the people to read and interpret their books. We need the communities carrying out their rituals. So we can come together, but without different peoples sustaining their traditions, we cannot enrich one another and learn from one another.

I normally don’t go to Jummah, the Friday congregational prayers. But given the attack, it felt important to me to go. I went to the same dergah. The imam (a man I didn’t recognize) did not mention New Zealand at all. He instead focused on the Night of Ascension, which is the night when Muhammad, while still living, was transported to Heaven to meet with God. The commemoration of that event is two weeks away. Below is some of what I took away from the hutba.

When Muhammad was teaching in Mecca, the leaders of the land, the rich men, would say to him, “What sort of prophet are you? You are a poor man. You are not learned. And your followers? They are all slaves. They are nothing. They are dependent on us. If you are a prophet, why has your God not given you the riches of the world? Why are your followers slaves?” But then they offered to become his followers. Just one thing–they could not be expected to pray next to their own slaves. If Muhammad would just create a separate mosque in a separate location for the rich men, they would follow him, and bring their power, riches, and learning to his cause. Muhammad refused to create a separate mosque, responding, ‘If you were to offer me the sun in one hand and the moon in another, I still would not accept.’ Then they threatened to starve their slaves to keep them from coming to listen to him. His heart was troubled by this threat, which was why God chose that time to bring him to Heaven, to give his heart comfort, and to show him that many of the poorest on earth had earned the most in Heaven.

It’s fine to decide you’re not trans. It’s not fine to be an asshole about it.

I won’t link to Jamie Shupe’s recent article. I kind of wish I could go back in time and unread it. But I can’t, so I’m going to share what I think about it instead.

In case you are fortunate enough not to know, I’ll start by telling you what I know about Jamie from his recent article, assuming it is at all accurate. Jamie is a white veteran and child sexual abuse survivor with psych disabilities. He used to think he was a trans woman, then a non-binary person. He now believes that he is, has only ever been, and will only ever be a man. That’s fine, of course–but he now says that no one is really trans and that no one has ever been or can ever be any sex other than the one they were assigned at birth.

I won’t bother explaining why that’s messed up–I’m just going to pray that if you read my blog you already get it. But I will make a couple of other points about this article.

First, Jamie gives himself entirely too much credit. He obtained a non-binary sex designation on his ID in Oregon some years ago, and attributes the availability of non-binary sex designations on ID in many parts of the U.S. now entirely to his own efforts. He erases the labor of many, many, others in so doing, most of them non-binary people. He also acts like other nations–indigenous and foreign–do not exist.

Second, his argument about how doctors, therapists, lawyers, and judges should have treated him is deeply dangerous to all disabled people and survivors, and especially to those of us with psych disabilities. Jamie refuses to take any responsibility for his own choices and his own actions. He says that people–specifically, medical and legal professionals–should have known better than to help him in the way he asked them to help him, and should have forced him to accept that trans people don’t exist instead. He also says they should have forced him to get the treatment they should have known he needed for psych conditions other than gender dysphoria rather than accepting that he had anything important to say about his own needs. In other words, he argues for disregarding people’s own opinions about their treatment: he argues for involuntary treatment and psychiatric abuse.

That is reprehensible. We all make choices that we never would have made with hindsight. Blaming them on others is cowardly. But blaming them on others in this way could also get more people locked up, forcibly medicated, and dead at an early age. Jamie can speak for himself, but he does not get to speak for me, or for any other trans disabled survivor of sexual violence.

To be clear, while it is unusual for someone who understands themselves as trans to later understand themselves to be the sex they were assigned at birth, it does happen, and most people with that experience are nothing like Jamie Shupe. I can think of two people I know who identified with the sex they were assigned at birth after thinking they were trans.

One is a former client who previously understood himself as a trans woman and then realized that he was mistaken. He came to our trans legal organization for help changing his name back to a traditionally masculine one. We did that: it fit perfectly with our mission of gender self-determination, and was no more or less complicated legally than any other name change. He said he appreciated our help, as he had appreciated the support of the trans community when he believed he was transgender himself.

Also, at a trans community event, I met a woman who at one point took Testosterone and asked people to refer to her as he and him, then changed her mind, stopped taking Testosterone, and asked people to go back to referring to her as she and her. She did not regret anything about the experience, and resented those who would put her in the category of “trans regret” just because she was now living as a woman again. She felt she had learned a lot about her body, gender, and the world from her experience of taking hormones and going by different pronouns, and valued continuing involvement in trans community.

Jamie Shupe gets the spotlight maybe in part because he likes it, but also because his article is the fantasy of the anti-trans political far right. The article fits so perfectly with their narratives that I expect he may not have written it himself, even if he agreed to put his name to it.

Jamie himself has told us not to trust him when it comes to gender. Despite that, I’ll give him the same trust I give everyone–I’ll believe him about his own gender, I’ll disbelieve him when he contradicts what other people have to say about their own gender, I’ll support his having access to consensual treatment, and I won’t accept it when he behaves terribly toward others.