Native People and Allies Hold National Day of Mourning

By Nadrat Siddique

Plymouth, MA
November 23, 2017

In the U.S., there is Holocaust Remembrance Day, Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day, and 9-11 Remembrance Day. There is no day to remember the indigenous people who lost their lives in the colonization of North America. Nor is there a day to remember the victims of the Ma’afa. And—it is debatable if such a day would even be appropriate, given the abject lack of U.S. government remorse or repentance for these duel genocides, and the fact that war against Native people and Black people continue. In the interim, however, Native people decided to establish the National Day of Mourning so that their dead might not be forgotten as the White Supremacist power structure would wish.

Background

Indigenous peoples of North America have long held feasts to give thanks to the Creator. However, they do not accept the Thanksgiving myth as it is written by Europeans. In part, this is due to the fact that a massacre of native people regularly followed the numerous colonist-initiated thanksgiving celebrations held in the area of the United States now called New England.

Among the more well-known of these was the “Thanksgiving” which followed the massacre of Wampanoag (Native American) people and the butchering of their leader Metacomet. Metacomet’s head was hung from the village square by the colonists. Plymouth Colony then called for a day of thanksgiving for their “victory” over the Native people. Horrifyingly, this was the same Metacomet whose father, Massasoit, had just a generation earlier hosted the White settlers who landed near Plymouth Rock, saving them from famine. And—the massacre of the Wampanoag was only one of many such by Whites of the indigenous people.

In 1970, a small group of Native people, calling themselves United American Indians of New England, decided to establish the National Day of Mourning (NDOM). NDOM started out as a small gathering of about 20 people. Today, hundreds of people of every age, race, and walk of life, gather in the annual observance. They meet on Coles’ Hill, across from Plymouth Rock (Plymouth, MA), the putative location of the Pilgrims’ landing. I have attended the gathering with some regularity for years, as I believe it is the only place to be on a day associated with such terrible tragedy and loss of life.

At the NDOM gathering, there were indigenous people from nations as diverse as Mayan, Penobscot, Lakota, Dakota, Taino, Pequot, Haudenosanee, and others. There were Arabs, Pakistanis, Indians, Latinos, Africans, Caribbeans, and Caucasians. There were many Black people, including some from the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement. Their presence brought to mind the long-standing historical alliance between Blacks and Indians in their parallel struggles against slavery and outright extermination. Indians would often hide a runaway slave; African slaves would help Indians in a variety of ways; and Black and Indian intermarriage was quite common.

I was there to represent Jamaat al-Muslimeen and to offer solidarity to the indigenous people from the Pakistani community (I wore a “Free Dr. Aafia Siddiqui” teeshirt). Other Muslims of note at the gathering were DC-based activist Sr. Sumiyeh, who has long championed indigenous rights and was part of a Muslim solidarity delegation to Standing Rock on “Columbus Day” 2016, at the height of the fight against the Dakota Access Pipeline; Br. Reza, who was part of the same delegation; and Boston-based activist/ writer Sr. Karina Friedman, a regular contributor to New Trend.

A large number of politically-conscious Caucasians, including many labor union members, participated. The socialist Solidarity Center organized buses to transport supporters to the event from New York and Boston. To their credit, Caucasians took a back seat at the event, remaining in a support role. The spirit of solidarity and internationalism was inspiring.

Perhaps the best part of the NDOM is that only Native speakers appear on the dais. No White experts on indigenous affairs, self-appointed spokespeople, patriarchs, or other non-native solidarity speakers are permitted to speak. As I observed the dynamic gathering of Native people and their allies on Coles’ Hill, it occurred to me that Muslims could do well to emulate this policy. It seems to be a part of our collective self-loathing/ inferiority complex that we perpetually wait--depending on our political leanings—for either the White Leftists or the sycophantic DHS-approved Muslim Uncle Toms to speak for us. In either case, the result is a dishonest, non-authentic representation of the Muslim cause.

The National Day of Mourning began with a sacred Native American prayer, the filming of which was prohibited by the organizers. Then began the speeches. Among the Native speakers were:

Moonanum James, co-chair of United American Indians of New England (UAINE). He introduced the program and welcomed the participants. James is one of the original founders of NDOM. In 1997, he along with 24 others was arrested for having the audacity to challenge the Thanksgiving myth in Plymouth. His small group of Native Americans and a few White supporters refused to back down, ultimately forcing the town to recognize the Native peoples’ right to march on “Thanksgiving Day,” and to place commemorative plaques and statues—proffering a realistic portrayal of the savagery of Whites toward Native people—throughout the town.

Mahtowin Munro, a Lakota woman, who, along with James co-chairs UAINE, spoke with power and eloquence. She drew parallels between world struggles against colonialism and imperialism, including those in Latin America, the Muslim world, and Africa. She pointed out that Native people were targeted by police at even higher rates than Blacks, and that violence against Native American women was rampant.

Sr. June Sapiel of the Penobscot Nation spoke. Her son, a water protector, was shot by the authorities at Standing Rock. As a result of the attack on him (along with other peaceful protestors at Standing Rock), he is permanently maimed, she said, fighting back tears. The Penobscots are involved in a struggle--similar to that at Standing Rock--to protect their water supplies from contamination by multinational corporations.

Medicine Man Juan Gonzalez, representing the Council of Maya Elders, delivered a statement describing the world scene with a deeply internationalist vision. With intense emotion, he also shared his own observations on the destruction of the Mother Earth.

Vanessa Inaru Metzli, a Taino Indian from Puerto Rico spoke. She explained that the Taino were the original people of Puerto Rico, and delved into the U.S. government’s racist handling of the aftermath of the recent hurricane there.

Elder Bert Waters, one of the original founders of the NDOM, read a statement from imprisoned Native American leader Leonard Peltier.

The tragedy of Leonard Peltier

Many placards at the NDOM draw attention to plight of Native American political prisoner Leonard Peltier. Peltier, a leader of the American Indian Movement and a 73-year old grandfather, has been in prison for 40 years for a crime he didn’t commit. He was a leader of the American Indian Movement in the 1970s. In the U.S., Native people who wish to follow their own culture are relegated to reservations which lack arable land, and where multinational corporations dump toxic wastes. There, antiquated (or non-existent) plumbing, dismal job prospects, alcoholism, high rates of infant mortality, suicide, and domestic violence prevail. Indian reservations are administered by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, a wing of the U.S. Department of the Interior. In the 1970s, the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation was administered by a man named Dick Wilson. Wilson ran the reservation like a feudal lord (rather like Hamid Karzai’s brother ran Kandahar). His “goon squad” was notorious for its heavy-handed tactics against opponents. After numerous deaths under suspicious circumstances, the American Indian Movement came to the reservation to protect the people. Although they were there to protect the interests of the community, and had been called in by that community, they were labeled as outsiders and later even called “terrorists” by the U.S. government. In the climate of fear created by Dick Wilson, two FBI agents came to the reservation and were involved in a shootout with AIM activists and others. In the shootout, the FBI agents were killed, along with an Indian man named Joseph Stuntz. Leonard Peltier was among those charged. Despite a mountain of exculpatory evidence, Leonard was eventually convicted and sentenced to two life terms. It was his case which originally drew me to the Native American struggle. He remains a symbol of U.S. injustice and indignities toward Native people, and an inspiration to many who attend NDOM.

March through Downtown Plymouth

The rally was followed by a spirited march, replete with Native chanting, drumming, chants of “Mini wiconi” (“Water is Life”); and slogans calling for the freedom for Leonard Peltier. The colorful march--from Cole’s Hill, through downtown Plymouth, and back--passed all the major tourist attractions including Plymouth Rock. It was in stark contrast with the tourist foot traffic about town. Interestingly, nearly all the tourists sucking in the Plymouth Rock/ First Thanksgiving myth offered at various points including at the Rock itself, were White, with a few Asians adding to their ranks. You can fool some people sometimes..

© 2017 By Nadrat Siddique

A Khutbah on Prayer and Some Thoughts

By Nadrat Siddique

Last Friday, I visited Dar ul-Hijrah for juma'ah prayer. The mosque is a very large establishment mosque, frequented by a good mix of Indo-Pak, Arab, African, and American worshippers. The khutbah was by one Br. Ahmed Hassan, and the topic was "The Importance of Salah" ("salah" is the formal Muslim prayer). The youthful khateeb expressed himself well in both English and Arabic, and the khutbah was, at surface level, a beautiful one. Unlike some others I’ve heard, it was easy to follow and not at all soporific. He spoke on how the prophets (A.S.) throughout time were commanded to pray, and that while other pillars of Islamic faith, such as hajj, or zakat, could be forgiven at times, salah was an absolute requirement. However, the khutbah remained very academic, as Hassan did not tie it in to anything real, practical, or relevant, instead quoting beautiful, flowery Qur’anic verses instructing each Prophet to pray. He did this masterfully in Arabic and in English.

He did not address prayer's role in organizing the community, its role in shaping the Muslim identity, or most importantly, its affirmation of the Oneness of God. It is not trivial that one bows down in the prayer to one’s Maker. This is a physical affirmation of “Innal Hokmo Illah Lillah” (“Authority belongs to Allah alone”), and as such, a negation of all other authority, including human authority. Hence the very act of prayer can be a challenge to the prevailing power structure.

At the same time, the prayer strengthens the Muslim for all possible trials and tribulations which may arise in daily life, as well as in the course of confronting human authority. “Thee alone do we worship; Thee alone do we ask for help,” is the oft-repeated refrain of the Fatiha.

Following the juma’ah prayer, some friends and I went to Bamian, an Afghan restaurant near the mosque. To my amazement, Imam Hassan, whose “pie-in-the-sky” khutbah I’d just heard, was seated at a table very near us, along with three cohorts. I longed to ask him: Did he know of the recent U.S. bombing of his country? (I guessed that he was from Somalia.) And—was he aware of the U.S. bombing/ intervention/ neo-colonial occupation of numerous other African and Muslim countries? Further, did he know that in 2016, the U.S. dropped 26,172 bombs on Muslim countries including Yemen and Libya? Out of respect for another imam whom I greatly respect, who was seated at my table, I elected to play the good little quiet Muslim girl, and didn't accost the imam with these burning questions.

“If you know, why do you keep quiet about it, and fail to use a single second of your khutbah to speak the truth on these matters, given the command to the Muslim to do ‘amr bil mauroof’ and ‘nahi unal munkari’ (enjoining the right and forbidding the wrong)?” I longed to ask him.

“It is too political, sister. And the masjid doesn’t get involved in politics,” is the standard answer I get to similar questions. On the Last Day, is that what they will tell their Creator, that their brothers and sisters were being bombed, killed, raped, imprisoned, tortured, starved—but they kept quiet about it, because it was too political? And Allah ho alam.

Muslims Run for Gaza

 By Nadrat Siddique

Special to the New Trend

Washington, DC

September 16, 2017

Under beautiful sunny skies, hundreds of runners ran along the Anacostia Riverwalk Trail. The heat rose to 78 degrees that morning, and some participants wore tank tops, short sleeved tees, and shorts. But a large number wore kaffiyahs or tee shirts bearing the Palestinian flag. Many of the female athletes wore hijab. A few of the young men donned Palestinian flags, which flew behind them in cape-like fashion. The run was the Gaza 5K, which is held annually in five major U.S. cities, including Washington, DC. It is sponsored by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) USA, and raises funds for UNRWA’s Community Mental Health Programme (CMHP) for Palestinian children in Gaza.

Why a 5K run for Gaza?

There have been three major Israeli offensives against Gaza. Each had a devastating impact, and illustrated Israel’s utter disregard for international law. During the 2014 offensive—the last major offensive, 2,139 Palestinians were killed. Of these, 490 were children. Eleven thousand (11,000) Palestinians were wounded. Of that number, 3,000 were children. In addition, Israel destroyed 20,000 Palestinian homes in Gaza, and up to 500,000 Gaza residents were displaced. By comparison, in the same (2014) conflict, 64 Israeli soldiers were killed; 6 Israeli civilians were killed; and 1 Israeli child was killed. (Statistics: The Independent, August 27, 2014)

According to the race organizer’s (UNRWA USA) web site, “Children and adults alike continue to experience high levels of stress and distress as result of a decade of recurrent Israeli military assaults, deepening poverty, increased gender-based violence, isolation, and movement restrictions because of the illegal blockade imposed by Israel and Egypt.”

The UNRWA USA web page continues, “The stress of these issues has produced: post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety, depression, intense fear, bed-wetting, poor concentration, eating disorders, sleeping disorders, irritability, and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).”

So the Gaza 5K was for the innocent children of Gaza, and to this writer, who has done dozens of 5Ks, it felt right being there.

Teaming up at the Gaza 5K

Runners and walkers participating in the Gaza 5K have the option of running as individuals, or as part of a team. The teams participating were diverse, and illustrated the world community’s deep love for the Palestinian people and a broad commitment to human rights in Gaza. A total of 60 teams participated in the 2017 Gaza 5K.

The team U.S. Campaign for Palestinian Rights, which included many non-Muslim friends of the Palestinian cause, raised the most money for the refugees, at $4,875. The team’s self-description was “Jogging for Justice.”

Team Al-Hanooti included family members of the late imam of Dar ul-Hijra fame. Imam Muhammad Hanooti was born in Haifa, Palestine, and the family evidently does the race every year, including shortly after their patriarch’s passing in 2015. The team raised close to $1,777 among their seven members. Hanooti’s 29-year old daughter Shayma al-Hanooti finished the race in 39:54.

Another team was that of Albert Mokhiber and his family: Team Mokhiber. The former Arab American Anti-Discrimination Committee (ADC) head, now an attorney at a high profile law firm in DC, led one of the top fundraising teams, raising $4,772 for Gazan refugees. Mokhiber’s daughter Laila is Director of Communications for UNRWA USA, and the Mokhibers said the team was their way of helping Palestinian refugees. The 69-year old Albert Mokhiber walked the race, finishing in 1:02 (1 hour 2 minutes). His wife Hindy, 10 years his junior, finished in 48:50.

A Tribe Called Hibster was the fifth ranked team in fundraising, raising $3,309. The team included several members of the Dajani family, which has centuries’ old roots in Palestine. The team’s captain, Hiba Ismeail, fundraised with great fervor, but did not walk or run the event.

MAS (Muslim American Society) Maryland’s four member team raised $1,767. Their team member Marwan Oweis held an impressive pace of 7:29 min/miles throughout the race, finishing in 23:14.

DMV (District-Maryland-Virginia) Muslim Youth’s team was dominated by women, including team captain and longtime pro-Palestine activist Aneesah Abdul-Fattaah. The team’s Nathan Nesbitt, of Cambridge, MA, took first place overall, finishing in 18:25. He held an astounding 5:56 min/mile pace for the duration of the 3.1 mile course. The team raised $116.

The top female runner, 25-year old Cherie Bennett, did not appear registered with any team. With short cropped blond hair, shorts, and tank top, she blazed the field, finishing in 20:24. She was doing 6:34 min/miles! In the awards ceremony which followed the event, Bennett said she had been to Palestine, and supported the Palestinian cause.

Then there was Wadi Run, a team of Georgetown University students. They raised $1,061. Wadi Run team member Lauren Stricker was the 2^nd fastest of all women, finishing in 22:39. (She held a 7:18 min/ mile pace.) Her team mate, Keith McKay, finished just before her, completing the course in 22:34.

PLO Delegation, a team in itself, consisted of only three people, and raised exactly $79. One woman from that team, 31-year old Janeen Rashmawi almost took me, running 7:32 min/miles. (I was doing 7:25 min/miles, but more on this later.)

Islamic Relief, a team with 12 members, raised only $211. But IRUSA team members, mostly young, compensated by blazing the field. They were fast, most of them finishing in less than 30 minutes. Twenty-five year old Ibrahim Zafar, of Arlington, VA, was the fastest of them, finishing in 24:15 (he was doing 7:49 minute miles).

Jews for Gaza, a team with 9 members, raised $1,055. The team’s self-description was “Jews stand in solidarity with Palestinian refugees to support freedom and dignity for all.”

Their team mate, 23-year old Adam Beardsley, was the fourth fastest of all runners, finishing the course in 19:07. (He held a 6:09 min/ mile pace).

Team Jamaat al-Muslimeen

This was the first year that Jamaat al-Muslimeen participated as a team, called Team Jamaat Al-Muslimeen. Among others, the diverse team included Kalim Umran, a Muslim historian who is the narrator of a PBS video series on Barry Farms (a project in SE Washington, DC, and the subject of major gentrification attempts); Shakoorah El, an activist sister from Baltimore, who is also practiced in traditional African dance; and New Trend editor/ imam Dr. Kaukab Siddique.

Imam Dr. Kaukab Siddique of Masjid Jamaat al-Muslimeen-Baltimore, who is 74, completed the walk in 1:22 (1 hour 22 minutes). By all appearances, he was the only imam to physically participate in the Gaza 5K. Dr. Siddique, who used to run with his mother years ago, and then later with his daughter (this writer), did the course without stopping or feeling overly drained. He said he walked continuously for at least half an hour every day, and expressed the hope that his participation might encourage other Muslims to follow the Prophet’s example of physical fitness and staying active into their later years.

The Gaza 5K was Shakoorah El’s first race. She completed the course in 57:46. As awards were announced, she was astonished to hear her name being announced: She was awarded the “Fastest Masters Female Award” (the Gaza 5K’s masters award is granted to the fastest 65+ year old runner).

I was team captain for Team Jamaat al-Muslimeen, my first time ever as captain of anything. It was a liberating feeling, running the Anacostia Riverwalk Trail, in Southeast Washington, DC, an area which, to me, held many parallels to the Gaza struggle. The run was an out-and-back run, so that after one reached the half way mark and doubled back, one could see other runners approaching from the opposite direction. Some of the runners I saw as I doubled back carried the Palestinian flag. When I saw them, I yelled “Free free Palestine!” to which they responded in kind. Many of the runners and walkers expressed appreciation for my shirt during the race, as well as afterwards. (I wore a long-sleeve black tee, bearing the words “Free Palestine” above the red, black, white, and green Palestinian flag.)

After I’d been running for a while, I chanced upon Shakoorah El. She was speedwalking while talking animatedly with two other sisters in hijab. All three of them cheered me on, and I did similarly. Shortly after that, I saw Dr. Kaukab Siddique (Ameer of Jamaat al-Muslimeen). He was accompanied by Abdur Rahman Hasib (Masjid Jamaat al-Muslimeen custodian, and a dear brother and friend). They were walking in relaxed fashion, holding a steady pace. We exchanged chants of “Allah ho Akbar!” and fist pumps, after which it seemed to me that we all moved a little bit faster.

The crowd support propelled me to finish #1 in my division. I completed the race in 23:01, holding on for dear life to my 7:24 min/mile pace. And— I was the 4^th fastest female finisher out of the 312 women who ran the race. Only three women were faster than me, and they were 25, 21, and 30 years old (1^st, 2^nd, and 3^rd place respectively). I was #23 out of everyone including men (so out of a total of 545 participants).

I am 49-years old, and did not get into serious running until age 39 (prior to that, I engaged only in casual and sporadic running since my teen years). Aside from the personal sense of accomplishment in doing a race for a cause very dear to my heart—Palestine, the experience reaffirmed for me the notion that neither age nor gender necessarily define ability, and that some limitations are human-/ self-imposed. And— the hadith tell us that our beloved Prophet (SAW) engaged in very physically arduous military campaigns against the kuffar which required him to traverse long distances on horseback across the deserts of Arabia until the age of 65. If he is our role model, we, as a community need to up the ante on physical fitness. How many of us can run a mile comfortably? The Rasool (SAW) could, and did, with his wife, Ayesha Siddiqa (RA).

Alhamdulillah, our team, Team Jamaat al-Muslimeen, raised $743 in its first year of participating in the race.

In all, 540 people ran the Gaza 5K: 228 men and 312 women. There were Afghans, Libyans, Palestinians, Bengalis, Pakistanis, American-born Blacks, and others. There was a woman in a wheelchair, an evidently pregnant woman, and many who ran or walked with baby strollers. At race’s end, an elderly man who had walked the 3.1 mile course was taken away in an ambulance. From the ambulance he called out that he would be doing the race again next year.

At least for one day, at the Gaza 5K, the aphorism “The believers are but one brotherhood/ sisterhood” was evident.

©2017 by Nadrat Siddique

Spirit of Ramadan

By Nadrat Siddique

I had the most incredible iftar the other night at Cheesecake Factory (Inner Harbor) with my friend, N. She is a beautiful, young, Pakistani-American who wears hijab, even living and working in a very red neck area. Very earnest and honest in everything she does, she has been going through some trials and tribulations in her life. It was quite late, and we were seated outside, sipping our hot chocolates/ iced coffees, admiring the Baltimore skyline silouetted against the harbor, and catching up on events in our respective lives. The service was very slow, and the waitress seemed determined to ignore us, after our day-long fast.

People who were not patrons of the restaurant occasionally passed close to our table. One of these was a homeless Caucasian man. Emaciated and bedraggled, he walked with some effort. He mumbled something as he passed our table, but did not ask us for anything. My friend and I discussed for a moment the sorrowful condition of the man, and pondered how to help him. I lamented that I had only $3 cash on me, relying instead on my debit card. N said we should buy him dinner.

Then, before I could blink, she left the dinner table. First, she chased down our elusive waitress, and ordered a basic meal for the homeless man. Then, she ran after the homeless man (he had moved quite a distance away) to find out how else we might help him. She returned shortly with surprising news: The man declined the Cheesecake Factory meal. They treated him badly there, he said. And- he was very cold and needed to go indoors somewhere and get warm. A cool breeze was blowing over the water. It felt lovely to us, who were well nourished. But- I could see why it might feel unpleasantly cold to someone who had not eaten a proper meal for days, and had been sleeping on the streets.

N quickly caught up with the waitress again, and cancelled the order. She and I both apologized profusely to the waitress. Given the hour, and the fact that most restaurants in Baltimore close ridiculously early on weeknights, we were at a loss of what to do. "You did the best you could. Allah knows your intent was to help him," I told my friend.

By now, the two White women at the neighboring table were intrigued. They complimented N on her efforts, and expressed surprise at the homeless man’s unwillingness to accept the profferred meal. Even the waitress, who had been quite cold toward us previously, was bubbling with compliments for my friend's generosity and caring.

I leaned over and whispered to N: “It looks like you just did some da’awah inadvertently. Alhamdulillah.”

A short while later, the homeless man reappeared. This time, we invited him to sit at the table with us. Under N’s questioning, he shared his story with us. His name was Michael, and he was a Muslim, although his family was not. He wasn’t from Baltimore. He had come here to do some construction work, but his work partner had scammed him, and taken off with his few belongings. He had asked numerous mosques and churches for help, but none of these were forthcoming.

N asked Michael if he had a home. He did, in West Virginia, where he’d lived with his mother prior to coming to Baltimore.

“Maybe your mother could help get you home?” asked N.

“She is paralyzed. So she can’t really work,” said Michael.

“Well you shouldn’t have to sleep on the street, if you have a home,” said N. “We will try to get you home.”

We paid our bill. The rest of our iftar evening was spent trying to buy Michael a bus ticket home, a bit of a chore, since he didn’t have ID (everything had been stolen from him by the partner), and we couldn’t simply pay for his ticket on line..

Running the Boston Marathon for Pakistani Women’s Rights

(Or in particular, for the rights of an outstanding Pakistani woman political prisoner)

April 22, 2017

Letters to the Editor

The Boston Globe

PO Box 55819

Boston, MA 02205-5819

Dear editor,

Dr. Aafia Siddiqui, a Pakistani neuroscientist, once attended MIT on full scholarship. She completed studies in biological sciences, and went on to do her PhD in cognitive neuroscience at Brandeis University, successfully completing it despite being in an abusive marriage (with a Pakistani from whom she later divorced). Her PhD focused on helping dyslexic and otherwise learning disabled children. Today she languishes in a U.S. federal penitentiary, a political prisoner for whom tens of thousands of Pakistanis demonstrate regularly on the streets of London, Karachi, Islamabad, and Peshawar.

I am a Pakistani woman athlete who has run 31 marathons in nine years (including seventeen sub-4 hour marathons). The case of Dr. Aafia Siddiqui, who had adopted Boston as her home for over a decade, was so compelling that I could not run America’s oldest marathon except in her name. So, on Patriots Day 2017, I ran my first Boston Marathon in an attempt to draw attention to the egregious human rights violations against this innocent Pakistani Muslim woman.

As I stood in the Boston Commons on race morning, waiting with other runners to board the bus to the race start in Hopkinton, I could picture the slight and slender Aafia among the other doctors, scientists, and health professionals who were among the 27,000 athletes running Boston this year. Instead, Aafia occupied a tiny holding cell at the United States Penitentiary at Fort Worth, completely cut off from her family and community, her health gravely impugned by 14 years of political imprisonment.

She was arrested in Islamabad in a joint U.S.-Pakistani intelligence operation in 2003, one of many innocents caught up in a broad net of politically-motivated, arbitrary, or misplaced arrests during the “War on Terror.” At first, Aafia’s captivity was kept a secret by her captors. This lasted about five years. In flagrant violation of the Geneva Convention, Aafia’s captors refused to acknowledge her presence within the prison system, allowing them to act with complete impunity towards her. She spent part of her captivity at the U.S. Air Force Base in Baghram, Afghanistan, where she was known as “Prisoner 650.” During this time, Aafia was denied proper medical treatment, and repeatedly tortured and raped.

Two of Aafia’s young children, Ahmed and Mariam, were arrested and imprisoned along with her in violation of Geneva Convention stipulations on the detention of children. Like Aafia, they were not entered in any prison registry. Much later, Ahmed and Mariam were released and ordered not to reveal anything about their captivity.

In 2008, Aafia’s captors finally acknowledged that they were holding her, and she was sent to the U.S. to face charges. Her trial was held in a Manhattan courtroom beset by fears of terrorism. She appeared in a wheelchair, displaying signs of having been tortured. Bizarrely, the 110-pound, 5’2’’ Pakistani neuroscientist was charged with the assault and attempted murder of seven U.S. servicemen in Afghanistan.

Despite grave contradictions in the prosecution’s case, and clearly exculpatory evidence in Aafia’s favor, she was convicted and sentenced to 86 years.

On Monday, I ran the Boston Marathon in honor of Aafia, who did so many great things while in Boston. The front of my race tee-shirt bore her image with the words “Free Dr. Aafia.” The back of the tee read “Prisoner 650,” a reference to the early period of Aafia’s captivity when she was held secretly in Baghram. Throughout the race, I met many wonderful race volunteers and runners who were students at MIT. I wondered how many of them knew of their government’s abuse of a Pakistani woman scientist who had sat in the same classroom as them.

Aafia’s case is a glaring example of the government’s disregard for due process, human rights, women’s rights, civil rights, prisoners’ rights, and children’s rights. It is my hope that women’s rights groups and civil libertarians in the U.S. will call for her release. These groups have vociferously and consistently opposed the oppression of Muslim women and girls in cases like that of Malalai Yousufzai, the Chibok girls in Nigeria; and in cases of honor killings. If they are act on principle and not politics, they must speak out for Dr. Aafia Siddiqui.

-Nadrat Siddique

We Did it for Aafia

By Nadrat Siddique

Training for a marathon (26.2 mile race) is a months-long process, very different from casual running for fitness.

In the lengthy preparation for a marathon, many things can happen to derail one’s training:  With 8 weeks left before the 2017 Boston Marathon (held in April), I developed a looming shin splint. I addressed it immediately, switching over to walking and low impact workouts at the gym for about three weeks.

Then, with 7 weeks left before Boston, I woke up one morning with shingles (I had chicken pox as a child). This lasted about two weeks.

Then, about 5 weeks before the marathon, my 26-year old stepbrother passed away. His sudden and tragic death deeply affected the family, and for me, brought back many memories of the death of my child, Hanzela, who died a SIDS death in his second month. At that point, I decided I really did not feel up to running Boston, either mentally or physically.

A week passed, then two, and I saw the mother of my dead stepbrother (my stepmum) heroically carrying on the motions of life, despite the passing of her beloved son, and I toyed again with the idea of running the illustrious marathon.

At this point, I’d run 31 prior marathons, and qualified for Boston many times. At the risk of sounding cocky, I had little to prove! The original—really the only—reason I’d wanted to run the race was to bring attention to the plight of Dr. Aafia Siddiqui, the Pakistani neuroscientist nabbed in a joint U.S./Pakistani operation in Pakistan, raped and tortured by her captors, and ultimately sentenced to 86-years by a kangaroo court for a crime she clearly could not have committed. It particularly sickened me that neither the Pakistani government, nor any of the major Muslim organizations in the U.S. were actively seeking her release from what was a clearly politically-motivated and flagrantly unjust imprisonment. If I ran the Boston Marathon—held in the city where Aafia, a top scholar at MIT and Brandeis University—had excelled both scholastically and spiritually—it would have to be in her name. Once again thoughts of running Boston entered my head.

There were only two weeks left before the Boston Marathon when a tiny lump I’d had for three years on the side of my neck suddenly became inflamed. It turned out to be an inclusion cyst which developed an abscess. I tried ignoring it until after the marathon, but it only got larger and more inflamed. Then on Monday of the week prior to the marathon, I had a minor surgery for the cyst. Three days later (Thursday), I did a 15-mile run on a favorite tree-lined trail, with the gash on the side of my neck from the surgery, to see if I was up to the task of a marathon. I felt fine afterwards, and was egged on further to attain the seemingly unattainable.

On Saturday, I jumped in my car, packing little but my marathon outfit and some food items (I am a picky eater), and took off for Boston, arriving around 1:00 AM. The next day was Sunday, and I took the Boston subway to the mandatory bib number pickup at the John Hynes Convention Center, prayed a lot, and did little else.

Then, on Monday—Patriots Day in Boston—I ran the Boston Marathon wearing my long-sleeved black “Free Dr. Aafia Siddiqui” tee (prepared for me by brothers from Masjid Al-Islam in SE Washington, DC). I was the only Pakistani woman in the field of approximately 37,000 runners, and finished the very hilly course in 4 hours 4 minutes, despite high temperatures during the mid-afternoon race (Marathons are ordinarily held in the early morning to decrease the possibility of heat injury among the athletes. But in Boston, the runners in my “wave” did not start running until about 11:00 AM, and we did not finish until about 3:00 PM. I saw many runners being carried off in stretchers, likely as a result of the very warm weather. According to the organizers’ website, 810 people were unable to finish the race; the Boston Globe reported that 2,000 required medical treatment during or after the race.)

About an hour after finishing the race, I was in my car, and on the way back to Maryland, composing letters to the Boston Globe on Dr. Aafia Siddiqui in my head as I drove. I reached Maryland safely at 3:00 AM. God is Great.

Jamaat al-Muslimeen Decries Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman’s Political Imprisonment and Death in Captivity

Press Statement

Nadrat Siddique

Jamaat al-Muslimeen National Majlis-e-Shura member

February 18, 2017

February 18, 2017, is a dismal day in the history of the United States, even by its own genocidal standards. On this day, Islamic scholar Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman, also known as “the Blind Sheikh,” died a political prisoner of the U.S. government.  To multitudes of Muslims the world over, he will be viewed as a martyr of Islam. The American mainstream might better understand Muslim sentiment if they considered how they might feel if Pope Francis—or another beloved religious figure— was imprisoned in a Muslim country, allowed virtually no contact with constituents, followers, and family, and then left to die a slow painful death from untreated (but treatable) medical conditions.

A visionary, Dr. Abdel Rahman articulately and consistently spoke out against the U.S.-backed Egyptian dictatorship of Hosni Mubarak decades prior to the Arab Spring, insisting that the resources of Muslim countries, including Egypt, be used for the betterment of those countries--and not be pilfered by Western Powers or multinational corporations. These basic and seemingly logical demands were rewarded with imprisonment and torture by the Egyptian regime.

Fleeing the Egyptian regime’s torture, Dr. Abdel Rahman sought political asylum in the U.S., which he viewed as a land of freedom of expression, and whose laws he repeatedly emphasized must, in accordance with Islamic rules on guest-host relations, be respected by all Muslims who sought asylum therein, including himself.

Far from being accorded freedom of expression, he was brought up on trumped up charges, tried in a climate of utter fear and emotion, and, in 1995, convicted of conspiracy to bomb New York landmarks, almost entirely on the word of an informant who was paid over a million dollars.

Although he undoubtedly knew he was facing decades of jail time, he stood before the Court, unafraid of all but the Creator. His final words before being marched off into the American Gulag were a telling: “Fuzto Be Rab-e-Ka’aba” (“By the Lord of the Ka’aba, I have succeeded”).

The blind, elderly, diabetic scholar of Islam was detained and held for over 20 years under what can only be described as conditions of “Cruel and Unusual” punishment. Since he could neither see nor speak to his captors (he was blind and spoke no English); was barely allowed a monthly phone call to his family in Egypt; and was held in solitary confinement, he no doubt suffered all of the psychological trauma associated with long-term solitary captivity. On top of that, his advanced stage diabetes went untreated for months on end, until its effects, including gangrene, were irreversible, and he was finally relocated to the Butner Medical Center in North Carolina, where he would ultimately die. His family’s hunger strikes and appeals to the (post-Arab Spring Egyptian) regime of Muhammad Morsi for his repatriation to Egypt were fruitless, and Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman—loved throughout much of Egypt and the Islamic world—died alone, a slow painful death from diabetes.

The long-term political imprisonment and death in captivity of Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman seems part of a trend by the U.S. and its proxies to silence all independent, vocal, and effective Muslim leadership, and in particularly those who hold the title of imam, a position of high honor and respect in the Muslim community. It seems that the only imams of major mosques permitted to operate freely are those who kowtow to the government; bandy American flags on Muslim religious institutions; welcome video monitoring of their mosques; and encourage or allow censorship of their own words and those of their constituents by the authorities—clearly compromising their faith, as well as American principles of: "Separation of Church and State.”

The death of a renowned and respected Islamic scholar under such circumstances is an abomination. Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman’s treatment in captivity clearly violated both American laws on the treatment of prisoners (set out in the Bureau of Prison regulations), as well as numerous international laws. Jamaat al-Muslimeen decries Dr. Omar Abdel Rahman’s political imprisonment on trumped up charges, and laments his tragic death under clearly dehumanizing conditions.

END

Thoughts of Leonard Peltier on Eid

By Nadrat Siddique

In addition to being Eid ul-Adha, September 12 is Leonard Peltier’s 72nd birthday. Even though he’s not a Muslim, he made an Abraham-esque sacrifice for the oppressed Lakota (Sioux) people in 1975. His sacrifice stems from his participation in the American Indian Movement (AIM) camp on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.

Peltier is Anishinabe (Ojibway), and not of the Lakota tribe or Pine Ridge. Hence his actions could be considered rather self-less and internationalist (or at least intertribal). AIM was an national organization fighting for the rights of indigenous people throughout North America. In this context, it came up against both corporate greed and the corrupt local tribal councils which did the dirty work of the corporations. Like many movements which fight for self-determination, human rights, and against the seizure of their peoples’ resources by U.S. and European multinational corporations, AIM was quickly labeled a “terrorist” organization by the authorities.

The camp on Pine Ridge was established to protect the local population from the reign of terror being enacted on them by the puppet tribal council of Dick Wilson. (Indian reservations typically have neither city council nor mayor; instead tribal chair and tribal council are the nearest equivalent). As a Pakistani, I would compare Dick Wilson’s reign of terror to that conducted by the Pakistan Army in Waziristan. As in Waziristan, many Pine Ridge residents were driven out of the area, while others lived in daily fear of the regime over an extended period of time. Many of Dick Wilson’s opponents wound up dead, and it was believed they were murdered by Wilson’s goon squad. Day-to-day life was totally disrupted in Pine Ridge (as was life in Waziristan by the Pakistan army incursions), hence AIM was called in to protect the local people.

It was only as a result of his presence on Pine Ridge that Peltier could be charged with the murder of two FBI agents--a crime which all the evidence, including undisputable ballistic evidence, shows he did not commit. And so Peltier, nearing 40 years of incarceration, continues to languish in an American prison.

This Eid Day, please pray for Peltier, and for all other victims of the American system of Injustice.

© 2016 By Nadrat Siddique

The Passing of a Community Mother—Muneera Afifa

By Nadrat Siddique

May 20, 2016

Burtonsville, MD

Today I attended the janaza of a very old and dear friend, Muneera Afifa. Idara-e-Jaferia (mosque) very kindly hosted the services. Immediately after juma’ah prayers, the janaza (funeral) prayer was held. The scene at Idara resembled a reunion of Jamaat al-Muslimeen members, former members, and associates. I ran across Sr. Yasmine Abdul-Jalil; Sr. Fatimah Abdullah and Sr. Hamdiyah, both from Philadelphia; Sr. Amatullah; Sr. Safiyyah Abdullah; and Sr. Sumayah Nahidian and her daughter. Then there was Sr. Najah; Sr. Zainab Kareem; and Zainab’s son Natheer Kareem. There were others who looked familiar but whom I could not immediately place. Br. Mauri Saalakhan of the Aafia Foundation had cancelled a speaking engagement in New Jersey to be there. Br. Saifuddin Waliullah of Masjid Al-Islam and Br. Khalid Griggs from North Carolina were there. Jamaat al-Muslimeen Ameer Dr. Kaukab Siddique, a long-time friend of Muneera, was not physically present as he had a juma’ah khutbah to deliver at Masjid Jamaat al-Muslimeen in Baltimore, but had sent condolences with his daughter (this writer).

We met, wept, and commiserated with each other, and then left in a miles long funeral procession for the cemetery. The interment was held at the Maryland National Memorial Park in Laurel, MD, where Idara-e-Jaferia holds a section specifically for Muslim burials.

Muneera was a leading member of the DC chapter of Jamaat al-Muslimeen c.1978 – 1985. I remembered her being at every Jamaat meeting, along with her close friend Yasmine Abdul-Jalil, whom she knew from the Islamic Party. Yasmine—along with her then husband, Mustafa Abdul-Jalil—hosted many of the meetings in their Silver Spring home. She had given Muneera shahada, and the bond between them was tight.

Muneera was lively, outspoken, and down-to-earth, attending Jamaat al-Muslimeen meetings with her three small children, Sulaiman, Nafeesa, and Atiya, whom she did not hesitate to breast-feed during the meetings. The organization’s platform included racial and gender equality; permissibility of women’s leadership over men (contingent on their respective taqwa-levels); anti-imperialism; and internationalism. Muneera encompassed all of these tenets. A Black Washington DC, native, she appeared regularly at Jamaat al-Muslimeen protests at the Egyptian Embassy (against the regime of Hosni Mubarak, known for his torture of political opponents); at marches through poverty-ridden DC projects (carrying the revolutionary message of Islam to local communities); at pickets of the Saudi Embassy (calling for an end to the monarchy there); and at Jamaat al-Muslimeen local and national conferences, which relied heavily on her organizing skills.

“Patience and perseverance,” qualities of a Muslim mentioned throughout the Qur’an, were regularly mentioned at DC Jamaat meetings. And Muneera exemplified these traits, despite going through many trials and tribulations at various points in her life.

To me, she was a tower of strength, unflinching in faith. It was the era before political correctness, and I was then attending Annandale High School, a mostly White school in affluent Fairfax County (just outside Washington, DC). There were no other evidently practicing Muslims at Annandale High at the time, and I met major harassment for my adaption of the hijab. At the time, hijab was not the norm in my family—my mother wore it nominally; my sister, my aunt, and my grandmother wore it not at all—and support for my decision to publicly identify as a Muslim was nowhere to be found. As daily persecution against me at Annandale High, including physical attacks by ignorant, corporate-media informed youth, increased, I looked to Muneera. She gave me unconditional support for the path I had chosen, and an affirmation far beyond that of a mother. Somehow, she found the time and energy to be there for me, even while being the young mother of three small children. And- as I heard repeatedly at the janaza, I was not the only one for whom she did this. As a fellow janaza attendee told me, Muneera was the mother to an entire community.

As I stood in the cemetery thinking of the pivotal role Muneera had played during my teen years, and the selflessness with which she’d given of herself, tears rolled down my cheeks. The Iranian clergyman conducting the graveside ceremony went on at considerable length in Arabic—which most of the attendees clearly could not understand. He offered durood as-salaam to the Prophet Muhammad’s (SAW) family, including the twelve imams. Oddly, he could not remember or pronounce the name of Muneera’s father (Glover Collins), in his opening statement.

By this time, Muneera’s daughter Nafeesa and son Sulaiman were completely inside the (open) grave with their mother’s body. They adjusted and re-adjusted their mother’s body, until Muneera lay on her right, with head towards the ka’aba. (In an Islamic burial, the body is buried directly in the ground enshrouded in a white sheet, and no coffin is needed, other than perhaps for transport. Family members are encouraged to perform last rites themselves, rather than relying on an undertaker.)

Upon completing the task, Nafeesa emerged from the grave with shovel in hand, and asked the women to move forward, as they were to approach the grave first, to offer prayers, or to symbolically throw dirt on the body. A pile of dirt had been placed on a nearby cart by cemetery workers. After heaping several shovel-fulls of dirt over her mother’s body, she offered the shovel to the women watching. Several of the women, including the stylishly-dressed Fatimah Abdullah from Philadelphia, were grabbing up handfuls of dirt from the pile, and placing them in the grave. However, none stepped forward immediately to take the shovel from Nafeesa, perhaps because it was rather large and unwieldy. I stepped forward, and took it, placing several shovel-fulls of dirt over my beloved friend’s body, memories of the years in Jamaat al-Muslimeen with Muneera flooding my consciousness. I would have continued in my reverie, but Nafeesa reclaimed the shovel from me, and offered it to the other women, before turning it over to the men. The men then completed the job of covering the body with dirt.

Nafeesa was the heroine of the day. The burial ritual over, she stood before the crowd, speaking with grace, clarity, and without breaking down. She thanked the attendees for the outpouring of love shown her mother, and for their support of her and her family. I remembered Nafeesa as a small child, dressed by her mother in dark-colored hijab similar to the one she wore now. She had flowered into a poised, self-confident, and beautiful young woman. I knew that her mother would be proud of the manner in which she presided over this, most difficult of ceremonies.

Imam Khalid Griggs, of the Community Mosque of Winston-Salem, poignantly detailed his life-long friendship with Muneera. He mentioned how she would energize any Islamic project with which she was involved, and how it was hard for her to refrain from becoming involved any time she heard of positive Islamic work being done.

The last time I saw Muneera was at a gathering for Palestine (Quds Day) in Washington, DC. It was Ramadan and well into the fast, and everyone was feeling its effects. Traversing the crowd to get to me, Muneera greeted me with her characteristic loving embrace. From the time frame described by family members, she may have already seen the onset of the disease which ultimately took her life. But there she was, undaunted, by heat, fatigue, and hunger, a Black woman standing up for Palestine. May Allah forgive her sins and grant her Paradise.

© 2016 Nadrat Siddique

Letter to Dawn (Pakistani Daily Newspaper) on Dr. Aafia Siddiqui

March 26, 2016


The Editor

Dawn

Karachi, Pakistan

Dear Editor,

I am a Pakistani Muslim woman marathoner, living in the Washington, DC area. Since 2009, I have run 26 marathons in ten different states of the U.S. (A marathon, by definition, is 26.2 miles.) In at least five of these 26 competitions, I have qualified for the Boston Marathon. (The Boston marathon is an elite and exclusive race, for which one must first meet the rigorous qualifying standards set by the Boston Athletic Association in another marathon.)

On March 12, I ran the Washington DC Marathon to call attention to the plight of another Pakistani woman: Dr. Aafia Siddiqui.

Dr. Siddiqui holds a bioscience degree from the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology and a PhD in neuroscience from Brandeis University. Although I have never met her, I can say with some certainty that she is highly intelligent, articulate, deeply Islamic, and cares about Muslim suffering in faraway lands. As such, she is a hero to me, as to many other Pakistani woman (and men).

March 31 will mark 13 years since Aafia was kidnapped from Karachi with evident collusion between the Musharraf regime and U.S. intelligence services operating on Pakistani soil. Her three minor children were captured along with her. Despite clear prohibitions on the imprisonment of children in the U.N. Declaration of Human Rights—to which Pakistan is a signatory—two of Aafia’s children were imprisoned along with her. The third, an infant, appears to have been killed in the course of the rendition.

Running 26.2 miles without stopping is not easy. It can hurt. It can make one feel hopeless, very minute in the overall scheme of things. Many people never complete the race. Exhausted, they commence walking part way through.

There can be other complications like the one I had the night before the marathon. Due to some complication, the custom-made black and white “Free Dr. Aafia Siddiqui” tee shirt I had ordered to wear during the race did not arrive. So I took it upon myself to make one. The excitement of the race and painting the homemade “Free Dr Aafia” shirt kept me up the night before, and I slept only four hours. Around 20,000 people would be running the race, so parking near the starting line was out of the question. I got up before fajr, grabbed my gear, and boarded the Washington DC subway to the race start near the Washington Monument.

The race started at 7:30 AM sharp. As I ran up a steep hill near DC’s famed Dupont Circle, the lack of sleep caught up with me and my muscles ached. I wondered how I would complete the race. For some reason, as I ran along DC’s picturesque Southwest Waterfront, the picture of Aafia’s angelic face in hijab came clearly to my mind. I thought about the horrors she had endured. Aafia, mother of three, who loved children so much that her PhD thesis centered upon them—watching helplessly as her baby Suleman slipped from her arms and fell to the ground, his skull fractured, as Pakistani police roughly arrested the young mother. Innocent, sweet Aafia, with the face of a flower, repeatedly raped and tortured in a remote U.S. military base in Baghram, Afghanistan. What kind of sick bastards could do that to a Muslim woman? My physical pain melted away, to be replaced by psychic pain, and I ran faster, finishing the marathon in 3 hours, 57 minutes.

After five years of being held without charge, and denied even official recognition that she was a prisoner (her name did not appear in any prison, police, or military registry during this time), Aafia was officially handed over to U.S. authorities, and tried in a New York court. The trial was presided over by Judge Richard M. Berman, a Zionist who was clearly biased against Muslims. Not surprisingly, she was convicted and sentenced to 86 years in U.S. prison.

What is surprising—and indeed was the reason I felt compelled to run the Washington DC marathon in Aafia’s name—is that she remains in prison. She is in extremely poor health, has been denied proper medical attention, and can die in U.S. prison—without ever having seen her children and other family members.

The ordinarily vociferous feminist groups, quick to deplore the violations of women’s rights by “those horrible Talibans” have been completely silent on her case. In fact, it is noteworthy that feminists on both sides of the Atlantic, including those who embraced Malalai Yousafzai, have said not a word about Aafia and the very long range torture she endured. Similarly, the liberal U.S. media, such as the Daily Beast, Salon.com, and others, who are ordinarily extremely vigilant about the violations of Pakistani—and in general—Muslim women’s rights because they love us so much [sarcasm intended], have uttered not one word about Aafia.

The Pakistani government has taken no effective steps toward her release. “Israel,” when its citizens are captured, sends commandos to free them. The U.S. government, under President Jimmy Carter, sent a military mission to free American hostages then held by Iran. Other nations have interceded either militarily or diplomatically (eg, via prisoner exchange) when one of its citizens is wrongly held by a foreign government. General Musharraf, under whose reign Aafia was captured, is long gone, and largely discredited at least among some sectors. But- Pakistan, a nation headed by Muslim men—with Qur’an and hadith as their Guiding Light—continue to sit idly by while a Muslim woman is held captive, tortured, and raped for over a decade.

The Pakistani press, too, appear to have written her off.

Aafia is a political prisoner, being held not for any wrong doing, but for the crime of being a Muslim and in the wrong place at the wrong time. What is wrong with us, that we can’t stand up even in this most clear cut case of injustice?

As a Pakistani Muslim woman athlete, I urge the immediate release of Dr. Aafia Siddiqui, and a cessation of illegal and unmandated (by the Pakistani populace) U.S. intelligence activities on Pakistani soil which lead to tragedies such Aafia’s.

Sincerely,

Nadrat Siddique

Maryland

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA