If you had told me 20 years ago that one day I would convert to Islam I would have responded with a detailed lecture on religion and how it has been used to manipulate the innocent, denying them what they are entitled to as children of an undefinable being. Not having been raised religious, if I submitted to anything, it would be an act of liberation, setting me free from the chaos of this world, caught between the beauty of creation and men claiming that scripture grants them the authority to paraphrase divine truth to serve their personal interests. Living in the midst of such manipulation I concluded that peace would only be found the moment my soul separates from my physical body, releasing my spirit to fly beyond the stars, far from the burden of earthly ignorance. When I arrived at this otherworldly place I would declare my religion, until the day of my assumed assent I would protect myself from those who dare imply they possessed a heavenly mandate, preferring to trust my inner reflections, concluding that my heart was more reliable than testifying before self-declared men of God.
After graduating from college I would designate myself as a solider in the fight against inequality. My first mission would be as a social worker in Prince Georges County Maryland where armed with my best intentions and a list of names and addresses, I would drive into neighborhoods late into the evenings to deliver state sanctioned services. In an aging Mercedes Benz handed down to me from my father, a car that was once used to carry me to play in an area soccer league, I would arrive at the homes of those I was supposed to help save. Far removed from freshly lined grass fields and goal posts woven with white nylon nets, the diesel engine revved like a tracker trailer to expose me, after years of providing me with a privileged childhood, its roar proclaimed an inherent contradiction with my perceived mission. How could someone who attended a private prep school and a well respected state university, driving an inherited Mercedes, know anything about how to guide folks out social and economic stratification? How could I expect to reverse centuries of social injustice by doing 10 home visits a day equipped only with a good heart and a list of names attached to a clipboard….
My determination and compassion were complicit in sabotaging my mission to save America from itself, no matter how hard I attempted to make a difference, what I witnessed brought me to my knees. The truth I sought would be found in pleading to understand the predicament of those I was expected to help. The irony was that they would end up saving me, bringing me closer to understanding the miracle found in putting your interests aside and seeking mercy for all humanity…
I will never forget the things I experienced during my home visits, houses that looked so peaceful from the outside but when you walked inside another story unfolded. In the living spaces you notice the obvious, decorative objects strategically placed in attempts to hide the evidence of pain, glass framed family photos shielding the sight of stained couches and walls, odors so stale you’d be left speechless, knowing that for them, it had become normal, their sense of smell accepting their fate. I was a naive witness to a brutal but yet quiet war being waged in which the casualties survive, becoming silent victims, ashamed of their condition. It is the greatest lie ever told in the land of the free, that people make a conscious decision to live in poverty, that their lack is their fault, that they must remain prisoners to the consequences of their misfortune regardless of their desires for something different. I saw how families turned to religion as a way to ease their suffering, to feel some semblance of hope, finding refuge in the promise of a savior, having to accept as I had, that peace may only come the day we would be granted permission to fly free from this world to declare our religion.
Once again, I was forced to evolve, step back and look at the picture before me, one overexposed by the narrative of a nation that was laced with contradictions. I realized that the things we want to change most about the world are often things we must first change in ourselves, that the plight we seek to change might be the same plight that exists in our own hearts, if we change what’s in our hearts we just might change the world…
Dedicated to El Hadj Malick Shabaz – A man who walked his path regardless of where it took him, who fought to carry the light of truth and who didn’t fear if it meant facing the consequences of shinning that light on himself…..
American Immigrant in Africa 