Emotional Hostages

IMG_0406 The American Muslim community is a relatively young one. Its process of coming-of-age has, and continues to be, an understandably tumultuous one. The ground upon which we stand is an ever shifting one and thus, naturally there are going to be some mistakes, missteps and snafus. And while I’m not here to begrudge any of that, I would like to comment on a damaging tendency that is currently wreaking havoc on our community and that is namely the emotional hostage taking that we currently see. It is detrimental enough that this takes place between rank-and-file Muslims (particularly online through social media) but it becomes even more nocuous when it’s perpetrated by leaders. So I make these few comments, not in the spirit of fanning flames, but in hopes we can reconsider alternative methods—more productive ones—that will allow us to have our differences but also allow us to maintain unity (which is not the same as uniformity!).

To put it bluntly, American foreign-policy cannot be the litmus test or yardstick by which American Muslim leadership is judged to be efficacious. Not all institutions are equipped or even necessarily concerned, with such subjects. In the case of Dr. Tariq Ramadan and ISNA, myself, along with others, would question whether or not such political jockeying is (A) something ISNA is equipped to do, and (B) if ISNA would be effective at achieving that goal. Additionally, Dr. Ramadan’s critique include no roadmap as to how ISNA, or any other Muslims organization, might achieve those goals. I personally find those clamoring for changes in foreign policy (as detestable as it is) whilst silent on domestic injustices indicative of a broader malady, one which highlights why the Muslim community still struggles to find a niche in the American narrative: by and large, we’re not concerned with what America does at home, only what it does abroad. Nor can foreign-policy be the preferred or prestiged conduit by which American Muslims formulate (or attempt to formulate) communal unity. Case in point: post-sermon du’as (supplications/prayers) are often highly politicized, resulting in complaints because one geographic location was mentioned while another was not. With the current levels of injustice in the world, American Muslims need not feel they must pick which continent to root for. We can have solidarity with our brothers and sisters no matter where they are, though local issues should take priority as they are the ones we are most likely to have the ability to affect change in.

Lastly, to return to the topic of leadership, (American) Muslim leaders must be conscious of the influence and power they wield. From fanboys (and fangirls!) to followers on social media numbering in the thousands, we must know and acknowledge we operate and employ tremendous sway. So when we draw ideological lines in the sand we must know that we’re not only drawing our own personal lines, but also lines for potentially thousands of others. If a leader chooses to boycott or not attend a certain conference it can have damaging effects by dragging out grievances (justified or otherwise) into the public sphere where it quickly devolves down into pitting one person’s followers against an institutions like a grudge match. Instead, we as Muslim leaders must work to forge environments where our disagreements and grievances can be legitimately aired without turning every instance of ikhtilaf into a public drama.

Required Reading: Explaining Islam to the Public

The following is an article that was published in the online Blog, The Immanent Frame. The piece, by Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis religious studies professor, Edward E. Curtis IV, is well worth the read. Professor Curtis highlights some of the difficulties, dangers and pitfalls to the symbiotic relationship between 9/11 and Islam in the Academy. In particular, Professor Curtis speaks about the issue of authority and the media’s demand for authoritative voices about, as he puts it, “x or y”:

The expectation that Islamic studies scholars were prepared to “cover” the Islamic tradition and speak to its beliefs and practices on a normative, global basis was stressful for many of us.

We were not allowed to answer, “It depends.” What was generally desired, it seems, was a fatwa, an authoritative ruling on what the Qur’an, the Sunna, and the ulama’ say about “x,” not a lecture on how the historical practices of real people refuse easy generalization.

I hope you will enjoy reading his article and take away a seldom head but very much needed critique of not only the media, but also of American academic institutions.

Note: this article was originally published on The Immanent Frame‘s web site. For whatever reason, the article was down so I have republished it here. My apologies for stepping on any toes. I felt the article needed to be read. You can read it here on SSRC’s web site.

Explaining Islam to the Public

from The Immanent Frame by Edward E. Curtis, IV

Perhaps no group of scholars has had as much at stake in the public understanding of religion of late as Islamic studies pecialists. The attacks of 9/11 indirectly created opportunities for career advancement for Islam specialists. Though the number of positions for scholars of Islam advertised through the American Academy of Religion (AAR) has increased only modestly, from 61 between 1996 and 2001 to 74 between 2002 and 2007, Islamic studies scholars found new funding sources through both the government and private foundations, and they scored higher publication rates in journals of record during the latter period. At the same time, all the new public attention resulted in attacks against Islamicists by the general public and, perhaps more alarmingly, systematic campaigns, led by groups such as Campus Watch, to deny tenure to scholars of Islam. In addition, foreign scholars, such as Tariq Ramadan, were prevented by the U.S. government from even attending the meetings of the AAR, which subsequently sued over the matter.

The expectation that Islamic studies scholars were prepared to “cover” the Islamic tradition and speak to its beliefs and practices on a normative, global basis was stressful for many of us. The idea that we could speak with authority about the practices of 1.4 billion people who speak dozens of languages and have inhabited the planet for the last 1400 years is absurd, of course. Like other academics, Islamic studies scholars are trained in certain fields of knowledge; in the best of programs, they are trained to be exceedingly careful about claiming too much. The pressures to become the academic voice of Islam both on campus and in the media frequently led scholars to abandon caution. We reached for our copies of the Encyclopedia of Islam and sent out queries, sometimes quite urgently, to the AAR Study of Islam listserv. “What does Islam say about x?” was the way questions were often framed. We were not allowed to answer, “It depends.” What was generally desired, it seems, was a fatwa, an authoritative ruling on what the Qur’an, the Sunna, and the ulama’ say about “x,” not a lecture on how the historical practices of real people refuse easy generalization.

The pressure to come up with one-liners and sound-bites was particularly acute when Islamic studies scholars were asked or permitted to participate in media outlets. Here the line between professor of Islamic studies and practitioner of Islam was often blurred, as Muslim professors offered answers that reflected, not only their considerable knowledge of the topic, but also their personal opinion or practice of Islam. Not all of them did so, of course, but autobiography was one strategy for dealing with questions about Islam’s position on x or y. At the least, these scholars could answer questions about what Islam says about love, war, life, and death by giving their own views as Muslims. It was as good as any other way of trying to answer impossible questions. But explaining one’s personal beliefs and practices was not a viable strategy for non-Muslims. In both cases, Muslim and non-Muslim scholars were forced to develop strategies, or simply to improvise, to deal with questions about veils, terrorism, churches in Saudi Arabia, Ibn Taymiyya, and a whole host of topics that were bubbling up, especially among anti-Muslim hate groups and in online forums.

My opportunity to participate in national debates over these questions came with the Ground Zero mosque controversy in the summer and fall of 2010. This controversy took the spotlight away from Islam abroad and shone it on Muslim Americans. Like many other Americans, I was angered by the intolerant tone of the debate. I was especially maddened by the idea that building a Muslim community center near Ground Zero would be insensitive to the hallowed ground of the 9/11 attacks. I didn’t like the conflation of the 9/11 hijackers with the Muslims of lower Manhattan and one of their leaders, Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, who happened to be the single most prominent proponent of interfaith dialogue in New York City. I decided I had to
do something.

So, I wrote an op-ed.

Rather than discuss issues of freedom of religion or the politics of contemporary Islamophobia, I wanted to stress the idea that Muslims have lived and worshiped in Lower Manhattan since the Dutch first arrived in the New World. I don’t know, in the end, if shedding light on Muslim contributions to the history of the United States helps to reduce contemporary prejudice against Muslim Americans or Muslims more generally; but if I am to participate in public scholarship, this is one area in which I can do so with intellectual integrity. Even if history is boring to a lot of folks—as some people have gingerly admitted in response to my speeches about Muslim-American history—I also know that this is a novel approach to Islam in America, and I still get a lot of “I didn’t know thats,” “wows,” and “goshes” when I outline the imprint of Muslims on the thirteen colonies and the United States in both public and academic forums.

The editorial that I penned included descriptions of the Muslim slaves who lived and worked either on or just blocks away from the Ground Zero site when New York was still New Amsterdam. It mentioned the escape of Muslim slave Mahommah Baquaqua from a Brazilian ship on Manhattan’s docks. It reminded New Yorkers of the Arab-American Muslims who lived in the very neighborhood where the twin towers were eventually built. I sent it to a few papers and heard back from the New York Daily News—to be sure, not the New York Times, but still, a New York daily with a circulation in the hundreds of thousands. The editor didn’t think he could run it, but he did ask if I had references for all of my claims. Yes, I told him, I did, and I sent him a very long list of peer-reviewed references. The take-home line of the piece was, “It may be a strange, even perverse fact of history, but Islam in New York began on or near Ground Zero.”

The first draft that I sent to the Daily News was informational. It largely avoided direct criticism of the anti-Muslim activists who opposed the building of the community center. My goal was to make it impossible to talk about Muslims as new or foreign, thinking, perhaps, that if Americans thought of Muslims as part of their shared past, they would be less inclined to perceive them as threatening. But my editor encouraged me to take a stronger stand and to criticize the Islamophobia that animated much of the opposition to the community center.

Thus, my third draft used the word “troubling” to describe how politicians had exploited the pain of 9/11 victims to advance their own anti-Muslim agendas. I even used the word “lie” to label the argument that the community center would be a “9/11 victory mosque.” But this still was not enough for the editor, who added the following lines himself: “Comments by [Gubernatorial candidate Rick] Lazio and [Sarah] Palin are mere drops in an ocean of right-wing vitriol over this issue.” And: “Rhetoric that treats Muslim Americans like hostile foreigners fundamentally—and intentionally—skews the story of New York and its Muslim community.”

My reaction to these edits was, “Yes, exactly! But … I didn’t know that I was allowed to write that way.” My first draft, which attempted to relate the long history of Muslims in Manhattan as an antidote to Islamophobia, assumed that the reader would understand my larger purpose. I was writing history without explaining why I thought that history was so urgent to expose, and I had forgotten that I was writing for an editorial page. It was a form of self-censorship. In order to find a publisher, I had unconsciously written in the dispassionate tone of the so-called objective academic, trying to avoid the expression of my own feelings. I never expected that an editor for the New York Daily News would help me find my voice, but he did, and he made the op-ed better as a result.

But if working with the Daily News helped me to find my voice, my next experience with a major media outlet, the Washington Post, was a different story. In this case, I lost my voice, or at least a part of it. The Post contacted me to become a one-time contributor to a regular feature of the “Sunday Outlook” section called “Five Myths.” They wanted me to identify and then correct five myths about mosques in the United States. I pointed out that religious studies scholars use the word myth to meanmore than misconception, but that was just the name of the feature, they said. I accepted their offer and submitted the five myths that I wanted to correct.

One was that “all Muslims pray in mosques.” I hoped to point out that Muslims also pray in private homes, Sufi lodges, Shi‘a imambargahs, Isma‘ili jamatkhanas, and Nation of Islam temples. There was too much focus on mosques, I thought, and not enough on other Muslim-American sacred spaces. But this suggestion was rejected on the grounds that it was “interesting, but maybe not worth devoting a full myth to.” In its place, a new myth was suggested by the editors: “Mosques seek to spread shari‘a law in the United States.” One editor wrote that “this one has been coming up so much in conversation … in particular, people have been raising the status of women under shari‘a law.” I went to work correcting the five myths—in 1200 words or less.

Following the scholar Khaled Abou El Fadl, I responded to the myth about shari‘a by writing that shari‘a is an ideal, that it is not codified, and that the human attempt to realize this ideal is called “fiqh,” or jurisprudence. I said that most contemporary mosques don’t actually teach the shari‘a because it is too dry, too pedantic, too arcane. I stressed that mosques devote their weekend classes instead to discussions of the Qur’an and the Sunna and how they apply to everyday life

But my answer had sidestepped the question. In retrospect I realized that I was trying to respond to the negative feelings of Americans toward shari‘a by downplaying its importance in American mosques. I didn’t want to leave people with the idea that lots of Muslims were busy learning when and how to take the law into their own hands and apply hudud penalties, such as the stoning of adulterers. Working on a deadline and with space for two paragraphs or so, perhaps this was the best I could come up with. I was much more pleased with the other parts of the piece, but I had to move on.

In any case, it did not seem to hurt the piece’s reception. Whereas the Daily News op-ed about the history of Muslims in Manhattan received about 500 likes on Facebook and a few dozen comments, this piece received 4000 likes on Facebook and 523 comments. It was syndicated in papers around the world, and more people read this short piece than anything else I have ever written. It led to two subsequent interviews on NPR’s Weekend Edition and Tell Me More with Michel Martin; a harrowing call-in to a show on a Pittsburg Fox radio affiliate (during which my wife almost took the phone away from me to tell off some callers); several speaking engagements; some severe criticism by Stop Islamization of America leader and professional Islamophobe Robert Spencer; and some very angry emails. I got a lot of compliments, too. All of this attention and feedback made me nervous, excited, and scared.

I also received an email from a colleague who wanted to quibble about my claims regarding the teaching of shari‘a in American mosques. Yes, he said, I was technically right that the whole shari‘a is not taught in mosques. That would be impossible. But some of it is, he said. That’s how Muslims know when and how to pray, how to observe Muslim holidays, how much money to give to charity, etc.

He was right. My answer hadn’t exactly been wrong, but my response to the question was not sufficient. In addition, it did not respond explicitly to the public’s biggest fears, for instance, about the cutting off of hands and stoning. When a Middle East studies newsletter asked for permission to reprint the piece, I kept some of my original answer but added the following: “most mosques in the United States teach only those parts of the shari‘a having to do with religious rituals and obligations. They do not teach the part of the shari‘a having to do with criminal law.” And further: “Few Muslim Americans advocate a shari‘a-based theocracy. Instead, most Muslim Americans insist that democracy is the most Islamic system of governance in the world today.”

During the brief course of my five minutes of high-profile public scholarship I came to realize just how difficult such work is. Many of the topics on which I was queried and the ways that I could write about them were already determined in such a way that I felt like I was making an appearance in a largely pre-written script. Responding to the public’s misconceptions about Islam is part of what we do. But if we cannot question the assumptions on which questions are posed, we cease to be critics. We must retain the ability to ask questions as well as to answer them. The problem with my Washington Post piece was that I did not explicitly name the prejudice that was animating the question about the shari‘a in the first place. As recent legislation passed in Oklahoma demonstrates, there is a special animus on the part of millions of Americans toward shari‘a, which is viewed, like Islam more generally, as particularly dangerous.

As I reflect on my moment of high-profile public scholarship, and on teaching religion more generally, I want to conclude with two further responses to the “myth” that “mosques seek to spread shari‘a law.” First, perhaps my response to the myth should have been: Yeah, but so what? Most American religious organizations seek to educate others about their ethics and rituals, and that is exactly what most of the shari‘a taught in American mosques is all about. Second, most Muslim Americans are not “spreading” shari‘a; they are trying to figure out how to apply it to their own lives.

The final point I should have made is that public discussions about shari‘a and other aspects of Islam are inevitably influenced by and reflect anxieties about the nation’s war-making in Muslim lands. A supermajority of the American public thinks that Islam is more violent than any other religion. As I wrote the original version of this piece, which I delivered as a talk at a recent meeting of the Midwest AAR, Congressman Peter King was holding hearings on what he calls the “radicalization” of the Muslim-American community, demonstrating that it is far easier to project blame onto either the Muslim foreigner abroad or the Muslim other in our midst than it is to acknowledge and reflect on American culpability for the deaths of thousands.

To be sure, foreign Muslims who resist U.S. dominance in their own countries utilize their religious traditions in so doing. But analyzing this religious violence in isolation from U.S. foreign policy, economic dominance, and military interventionism renders us mute as critics of our own societies and serves—however inadvertently—to normalize the secular nation-state’s monopoly on legitimate violence. There is a clash of interests between the U.S. and those whose lives it seeks to shape, often in its own image. But this story does not begin in Mecca; it begins in Washington. Middle Easterners, including Osama bin Laden, were not fantasizing when they saw the U.S. establish military bases in the Gulf region nor when it restored the Kuwaiti amirate to power in 1991 when it intervened on behalf of both the Iraqis and Iranians in the Iraq-Iran war, when it shelled Lebanon in the 1980s, and the list goes on. This is not primarily a story about religious fanaticism but a story about secular, imperial power

It may be tempting for religious studies scholars to take advantage of this historical moment by deploying one-dimensional explanations of religion to justify our own usefulness to the academy and to the nation. But even if we have to admit our ignorance, or just say that it’s complicated, it is better to resist further propagating or reinforcing simplistic conceptions of Islam, or of religion in general. Instead, we should spend more time exposing the political contexts in which popular understandings of Islam and religion more broadly are generated, disseminated, and used. And if we must produce a sound-bite about Islam’s role in making violence for the media, then let it be this: “Islam is not the cause of violence, but it does offer one means of resistance to U.S. political, military, and economic domination in Muslim lands.”

Does America Have A Muslim Problem?

In a recent article featured in The New York Review of Books, Malise Ruthven postulates on the phenomenon of Islam in Europe.  He interrogates the question by examining Christopher Caldwell’s Reflections on the Revolution in Europe: Immigration, Islam, and the West, in tandem with Tariq Ramadan’s What I Believe.  Essentially, Ruthven sees both authors, while articulate, essentially digging the respective posts of their respective fences further into the ground.  Caldwell, in Ruthven’s opinion, does not provide substantiated evidence to support the claims of his argument which endeavors to pit a large “believing” population of Muslims against a skeptical, atheistic Europe.  Caldwell’s evidence looks impressive as he calls upon a number of wide ranging sources such as government statistical reports and social/census data.  Ruthven questions the validity of these findings by presenting some facts of his own, namely that in 2001, a French survey found that approximately 60% of French Muslim men did not practice, while French Muslim women came in at around 70%.  Though non-practicing, according to the findings, these Muslims still observed what they felt were “cultural attachments” such as avoiding pork or alcohol, or fasting during the month of Ramadan.

When turning her attention to Ramadan, Ruthven’s findings were no less scathing.  She accuses Ramadan of being a moral elitist, whose academic work is more like a Friday sermon in sheep’s clothing.  He also finds that Ramadan’s willingness to engage in difficult debate, where he might have to face some heavy-handed criticism coming from Europe’s intelligencia, too shallow for his taste.  In the introduction to What I Believe, Ramadan writes, “I will not waste my time here trying to defend myself.” For Ruthven, this is self-indictment on Ramadan’s part, a form of “doublespeak”, as he puts it, which only provides more ammunition to some of Ramadan’s staunchest critics, not the least of them is Caroline Fourest.  Fourest, whose dealings with Ramadan can seem to almost border on the obsessive, continues to find plenty of fodder to infer  a type of “double-talk”.  Fourest examines the tone and topic of Ramadan’s public works and those that speak to a young Muslim audience.  The topics range from his familial ties and history [his grandfather, Hasan al-Banna, the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood] to his academic work, which at times seems conflicted between accepting or rejecting Darwinism as well as the philosophies of the likes of Kant and Pascal.

I bring these issues to light, not because I concur with Ruthven’s or Fourest’s viewpoints, but rather because they do highlight a key issue: ethics.  There is a need for greater adherence to ethics and integrity on the part of Muslim leaders and intellectuals; an ethics that avoids the “doublespeak” and disparate opinions that morphs from arena to arena, depending on who is being “served”.  There are plenty of examples of political doublespeak on the part of prominent Muslim leaders, whose condemnations, before 9/11, included claims like, “the US being the Dajjal”, just to name one.  There is also the moral doublespeak on the part of Muslims in America, where the fiasco of MANA releasing a letter in condemning domestic violence, only to have the author of the letter, guilty of the same charge.

This is not a clarion call to not speak out to injustices when we see them. Like Moses [peace be upon him], we are commanded to speak that World of Truth to tyranny.  And in reference to Tariq Ramadan, my advice would be: Stick to your guns.  If you reject Darwinism [as this writer does], then state that plainly.  And while I would not suggest bogging oneself down in trivial debates, there are times when one must engage critical thought, even if much what is being said has little to no validation.  I am becoming more keenly aware of how hard and how difficult a challenge it is to be a Muslim who is on the minbar, in the classroom, or in the public eye, and maintain that level of ethical and moral fortitude.  There are times, quite frankly, when the weight of being a public spokesperson or leader is daunting.  Even the Prophet [s] faced this enormous task of delivering this message.  God articulates this dilemma the Revelation itself: “Had We not made you firm, you would have inclined towards them a little” [Q: 17: 74].  This verse is not so much about Muslim/non-Muslim relations as it is about the weighty task of the Prophet had in delivering the Message and his [s] desire to succeed in that task.  Likewise, we must be cognizant of audience bias and know that there are “Noble Guardians, recording, who know what we do” [Q: 82: 10-12].  With this approach in mind, we can hope to be better for Muslims in the short- [Dunya] and long-term [Akhirah], God willing.

Read in contrast of the article, Does Europe Have A Muslim Probelm, at the Immanent Frame.

It Wasn’t Meant To Go This Way

The above seven words say so much about the state of Islam in the world today. More immediately, they describe a despondent viewpoint of Muslims in Switzerland, who, after having high hopes that the Swiss would embrace them as one of their own, had that hope dashed on the rocks in a vote of 57% majority against the construction of minarets in their country. As many have felt, this vote had more to do with the rejection of Islam as a valid religious expression in Switzerland than anything to do with architecture. And while I empathize with the Muslims in Switzerland, I also find this moment highly prophetic. In many ways, I see the issues that European Muslims face a presage to the reality that Muslims in America will face if we do not act while we still have agency to do so. I do not want our children to utter those same seven words.

In order to take stock and lesson from this major roadblock for Muslims in Europe [the ramifications stretch far beyond the borders of Switzerland – just ask any of the Muslims in France as to how they’re reacting to it] the first step will be to analyze what the hardships were/are [and thus, what they may be/are for American Muslims] for Swiss Muslims and what they might have done differently [what might we do/not do]. Some of my first thoughts drift towards what inroads did Swiss Muslims make, in their efforts to navigate Islam in the Swiss cultural and social landscape. Did they attempt to broker an accord that would have allowed them to see themselves as validly Muslim [as well as the Swiss seeing them as validly Swiss] and Swiss? Pre-9/11, did this discourse did not seem to occupy European or American Muslim imaginations to any great extent. To be fair, this process is not wholly in the hands of Swiss Muslims. The Swiss themselves play a key part in for who they open their cultural doors to or not. And yet, I feel there is a self-applied stigma amongst the Muslims that being Swiss or European is somehow innately un-Islamic. This mentality relegates Swiss Muslims to the fringe – often to live a xenophobic experience – where they are incapable of playing any important role in society. The specificities of this argument at too numerous to delve into here but the proofs are readily accessible for anyone wishes to read deeper.

In this inquiry on inroads, we have to ask how are such inroads made and who paves them. Who is best skilled for such a job? In a conversation I had with a brother the other day, he lamented that as a father, he failed to inculcate his children with the tools, agency, and autonomy to navigate their lives as second generation Muslims in America. As a result, his children have grown up not only not practicing Islam, but having an aversion to it. They perceive it as a foreign enterprise or country club, where their membership was either denied or not offered in the first place. Similarly, many young Muslims in Europe have bemoaned that they do not feel a close kinship with their religion because the method in which it is preached and propagated leaves them feeling like second-class citizens. The old guard speaks Arabic or Turkish or Urdu while the new generation speaks French or German, or English. A classic generational divide that has real consequences for the survival of Muslims in Europe.

I believe there is a tremendous lesson to take from this; a lesson not simply to catalog and file away, but to use a call to action for Muslims in America. In a private conversation, one of the top Muslims scholars in America estimated that Islam in America has at most, fifty years, perhaps less, to indigenize and find its footing before it is washed away by the tide of the demands of the dominant culture. Looking towards the European model, those words certainly seem to ring true.  Islam in Europe is a a teetering point – will it stay or go? We can see that if the very difficult challenge of making Islam valid and relevant in its environment – be it America, Europe, or anywhere else, is not met, European Muslims cannot hope for any longevity in their predicament.

The title of this post is a quote from a recent article by Tariq Ramadan, one of Europe’s most popular scholars on Islam. In his article, he continues the conversation and states that Switzerland is, “the land of my birth”. And while Ramadan may identify as Swiss, how many of his other co-religionists in Switzerland identify in the same manner? For that matter, in Europe as a whole? This crux of identification is one of the most important dilemmas that Muslims the world over have to contend with in modernity. This is something that both American and European Muslims are having tremendous difficulty articulating. I see this as especially pertinent to American Muslims, where indigenous Muslims struggle to see themselves as legitimately Muslim in the face of foreign-born expressions of Islam, and immigrant Muslims scramble to appease the dominant culture without loosing their religion. Will American Muslims cooperate to find a middle ground or will they continue to play high-stakes winner-take-all chances?

Going back to Ramadan’s article, he sites some of the issues being related to the invisibility of Muslims in Swiss society [read Europe for the purposes of this article]. I would challenge this observation in that it is not simply the invisibility of Swiss Muslims but rather the Swiss may not like what they see. Again, I acknowledge that this decision is not wholly in the hands of Swiss Muslims but it does beg the question of how non-Muslim Swiss see Swiss Muslims and how that can be analyzed for the betterment of Muslims in Switzerland. It would be grievous, not to mention complete dereliction of duty, to conclude that what the dominant culture thinks of Muslims is frivolous or inconsequential. The challenge is to meet this test with a creativity and intelligence that has the dignity and longevity of Muslims as its chief and primary concern, not simply blaming the European [read American as well] populists as failing to, “assert that Islam is by now a Swiss and a European religion and that Muslim citizens are largely ‘integrated’.

I pray we can learn from this, that we can take the opportunity to reflect on what we’re doing and how good we have it. And believe me, we have it good compared to our European cousins. May God make it easy for all of us. Amin.