Blank Canvas

A brother sent me an article in the last few days by a sister about her choice to wear hijab. It was like others I had read before: a defensive response to the perceptions of others. ‘So next time you see me,’ the author concludes, ‘don’t look at me sympathetically. I am not under duress or a male-worshipping female captive from those barbarous Arabic deserts. I’ve been liberated.’

I have often reflected on our response to non-Muslims’ perceptions of us; indeed, on our perception of their perception. I have no doubt that we do often encounter hostility, but I wish to say that we must not let ourselves ‘expect’ it.

I recall the day I became Muslim and the weeks after it. My shahada came after a very personal journey over the preceding years, months and weeks, and yet when I had made the decision to utter those words, I found my whole life thrust into public view for all to scrutinise as they pleased. I had considered it a personal affair, but within only hours the news was in the public domain. I had many friends at the start of that day who, by nightfall, would now refuse to speak to me. At the time we were in the midst of our second year exams and I put their strange behaviour down to exam stress. Only, when the exams came to an end, the same people would still only smile, as if embarrassed, when I said hello, if they didn’t just turn their back on me and walk away.

Relating to other people became very difficult: it was paranoia time. I came to understand the reactions of two unconnected sisters to my behaviour when I was not a Muslim after they had taken to wearing hijab.

When I first went to university, there were really only two things which I ‘knew’ about Islam: Muslims don’t eat pork 'because pigs eat dirt' , and Muslims only eat halal food. I didn’t have an opinion of Muslims – I didn’t even think they were all terrorists or that they oppressed women. But one thing I found when I went to university was that there were Muslim women there who wore the head scarf. I cannot tell you why I reacted as I did, because I do not know; I just thought that I should; but whenever I saw such a person, my eyes would hit the floor. I would not look at her face. I think I thought that because she wore the scarf, she wanted privacy and, therefore, I was not allowed to look at her. I remember there was a day when I was sitting with an ‘ordinary’ Muslim girl from my course in the university’s common room, and she pointed to this sister wearing hijab and said, ‘Can you guess where she’s from?’ I thought this was incredibly odd, because I thought I was not meant to look.

I encountered the paranoia tendency twice because of the way I behaved. The first time it was in my first year, the second time in my second year; both times those involved were new to wearing the head scarf. Both times my refusal to even look at the person was taken as meaning that I hated Muslims or that, at least, I had a great problem with them wearing hijab. I really thought neither; I just acted as I thought was expected of me.

Now that I have been there, almost in their shoes, I know just what is like. Visually, little had changed about me, but words were enough: without me even telling anyone, the grapevine revealed that I had become a Muslim. Most of those acquaintances who have never been very close, but you considered them friends, drop you in an instant. They blank you when you say hello or look at them, and you come to know that they hate Muslims or that, at least, they have a problem with something that you believe. Later, other friends, even your closest friends, drift away. They don’t have a problem with you, they say, but then they cut off all our ties. And when you experience this, you start to think that everyone thinks this way.

But they don’t.

I remember finding people on my course when I was in the third year periodically ignoring me. I would think, ‘Oh, well this is because I’m a Muslim.’ But often it wasn’t. People get stressed, consumed in their own worries. Study gets on top of them. Then there are the people who don’t know exactly how to react around you; they just want to show respect. So there was me, once upon a time, feeling that I should show respect, my intentions being misinterpreted, and then me later on doing the misinterpreting when others respond to me in exactly the same way.

In the two and a half years that I have been a Muslim, I have encountered all sorts of different reactions to me and my beliefs. I have encountered fascination as well as disinterest, respect as well as hatred, curiosity as well as being boycotted, sincerity as well as mockery. I have met people who have asked me question after question about Islam, searching on their own for the truth. I have known people who don’t even have an opinion on Islam; who aren’t even confident that they can pronounce the word ‘Muslim.’

So what I’m really trying to say here is, please treat every potential Muslim you meet as a blank canvas. Don’t assume things about that person. It is so hard, I know from experience, to decipher what people are thinking, but we must try our best to be optimistic. Should we start on a negative like, ‘I’m not a terrorist, you know?’ or begin with a positive like, ‘Hello, how are you?’ Islam is a blessing, so don’t forget to share it. We really have been liberated!

T.Bowes 18/02/2001

The tiniest spark

Today I felt a discomfort in my soul, like on another day a week or two ago. There was no reason for it really, but for a moment, seeking something in common with my peers, I complained aloud about my Project Manager. I fed upon my own boss’ cynicism about her abilities and complained that the translation that I was supposed to be working from was incomplete, and that she had written for me a note of what I had already explained for her on a yellow post-it note on my folder. ‘How stupid,’ was my implication. Ten seconds later, having said it, regret filled my mind. I felt like sending an e-mail to a brother. ‘I’m becoming no better than a kaffer [disbeliever].’ I didn’t write it. I questioned my intention. But I thought it. ‘I should know better. Maybe that makes me worse.’

A week ago, it was about my boss. It wasn’t a complaint, but a description of a question he had asked me. An almost accusing question which had slightly offended. Returning from the production room, I engaged in pointless chatter with the Office Manager. Then, as if it were a release, the unnecessary repetition slipped off my tongue. There was no need to pass on what he had said to me. No need at all. Regret, again, struck me, this time as I said it. ‘What am I doing?’

I remember in days gone by when I would study the Bible, there were words in the Letter of James which I could appreciate so well. I had seen their example in action; felt the pain and the misery which grew from the tiniest spark. ‘…think of a ship,’ wrote James, ‘large though it may be and driven by gales, it can be steered by a very small rudder on whatever course the helmsman chooses. So with the tongue; it is small, but its pretensions are great. What a vast amount of timber can be set ablaze by the tiniest spark!’

I believe in it so strongly. I have been cast aside because of rumours. I have been dismissed because of words. I have seen and felt it all. And yet, here am I tonight, examining my own soul, noticing that I too will drop a spark when it suits me. Because that is always how it is: it happens when it suits us. We fear alienation from our colleagues, so we join in with their games. We have been done down, and we want to get back up. We have been slandered, so we want to get revenge. Or maybe it is more subtle than that. Down in the roots of our intentions. Maybe we want respect; surely words will win that prize. Maybe we hate being despised; surely a word will cure all that.

Perhaps I feel like sharing this because I know I’m not the only one who falls into Shaytan’s [the devil] trap. I have been looking at feedback columns on the internet; reading the thoughtless rantings of brothers [this the way Muslims refer to one another] responding to words which didn’t need to be said with more words which don’t need to be said. I listen to brothers telling me about such and such a brother, speaking words which need not be uttered. We sit with our friends and take in everything they say to us, because they are our friends. We accept slander of our enemy, because he is our enemy. ‘These sisters, they’re no good, because they did this and this…’ ‘Don’t trust that brother. He did such and such!’ ‘Don’t talk to him, he’s no good.’

Do we ever stop and ask, ‘How do you know?’ Or do we just accept it because our companion told us so? Do we stop and say, ‘I don’t want to hear this. I’m abandoning your company until you desist’? Do we ever enquire? Do we verify our facts? Will we find out one day that our witness, only actually heard it from his friend, who heard it from his friend, who overheard it from some people talking one day, who heard it from a friend, from a friend who wasn’t even Muslim and wasn’t even there? Will we find out that our confidante has never even spoken to the sister she deconstructs and scrutinises for our benefit? Will we discover in the end that the brother who we convicted kaffer, was in fact more sincere and pious than the best of us? Will we one day find out that we have learned nothing, except that we learned nothing about our companion?

It is shocking how perfect a metaphor we have in that tiny, insignificant, glowing yellow spark. Something to think about.

I write all this in the hope that somebody may learn a lesson from the mistakes I have made. Do not go there. Do not be tempted to say a word of ill-intent, no matter how small it may seem. When you feel isolated, alienated from the crowd, seek refuge in Allah and let that be sufficient for you. Do not seek an escape by turning to mischievous words. Be careful, thoughtful, and guard your tongue.

As to the words I uttered this morning, seeking to ally myself with my colleague; those ‘harmless’, private words; I am horribly reminded of a hadith:

Abu Huraira related that the Messenger of Allah, peace be upon him, said, “The servant speaks words, the consequences of which he does not realise, and for which he is sent down into the depths of the Fire further than the distance between the east and the west.” (Al-Bukhari in Kitab ar-Riqaq and Muslim in Kitab az-gharib)

The need to express gratitude

This morning my car wouldn’t start, so I had to call out the AA. It is funny how something foreign can become so familiar within such a short space of time, such that something we could once do without becomes something we take for granted. And it is funny how when something is always there, we don’t thank God for it as we do when something new comes along. We pray for safe travels when we go on holiday, and thank Him on our arrival; but the daily trip to work and back becomes a routine normality which we don’t thank Him for. We pray for sound employment, and thank Him when He responds; but we take our daily bread without the same words of thanks. We ask for good health when struck down with illness, and thank Him when we recover; but as we go about our everyday business in good health, do we forget to thank Him, who has power over all things?

When I first got the car I was wondering at all the blessings which God has bestowed on me. Now I get in the car in the morning, drive to work and park, failing to say, “All Praise is for God,” for this blessing. Just as I make my sandwiches at lunch time without saying, “Thank you Lord.” Just as I wake in the morning without thanking God for the opportunity of another day to better myself. Just as I write an e-mail without thanking God for giving me sight (and what an amazing thing that is). Just as I take so many things for granted and do not express my gratitude to the bestower of all things.

It reminds me of the words of a poet: “If my thanking God for His blessings is a blessing, then I must thank Him in the same measure again. How can one thank Him save by His grace as time goes on, and life goes by? If a good thing comes, I rejoice heartily; if a bad one comes, I receive a reward. In both cases He gives me a gift too large for the minds of men, and the land and sea.”

I think, today, I won’t moan about the frost killing my battery. I think I’ll thank God giving me time to reflect on His blessings. How perfect He is. How we fail to express the gratitude He deserves.