Community In The Time of Corona
by Kamilah A. Pickett & Rashida James-Saadiya
When we say “peace on earth,” we can sing about it, preach about it, or pray about it, but if we have not internalized the mythology to make it happen inside of us, then it will not be. ~Dr. Betty Shabazz
‘Rona got the whole game shook. Global pandemics tend to do that. In the span of a few months, COVID-19 has tripped fault lines that capitalism and rugged individualism would have us gleefully tiptoe and skip around. Individual anchors now seem insubstantial when weighted against entire communities under duress. In moments of crisis — when the game changes — it’s not a question of whether or not to respond, but how we respond is crucial. To be sure, there are always the helpers — the people in our communities who see a need and step up to address it. Less than a week into this particular crisis we saw a group of teenagers organize a makeshift grocery delivery service; a restaurant partner with a masjid to distribute halal meals on wheels, and a teacher crowdfund to deliver hundreds of meals in the span of a few days — keeping small restaurants in business and the seniors in his community fed.
Facebook conspiracy theories coupled with false medical information that has defined this moment as either a government experiment gone rogue or an end of times punishment — both of which can be simply overcome by duas and daily shots of elderberry and cayenne.
You know what we’ve also seen? A bunch of talking. Verbal attacks on imams and religious leaders who decided to follow Prophetic guidance, and center the safety and wellness of their congregations, by canceling Jummah prayers. Facebook conspiracy theories coupled with false medical information that has defined this moment as either a government experiment gone rogue or an end of times punishment — both of which can be simply overcome by duas and daily shots of elderberry and cayenne. Anger and fear masked as religious piety isn’t a catalyst for good. It only increases anxiety and grief and further divides our communities. The ‘Rona ain’t a conspiracy, but it is a trial and a wake-up call. It has exposed the frailties of our country’s healthcare system and exacerbated the cruelties of its carceral system. It has also exposed us, dear Muslims. This moment of uncertainty brings with it anxiety and fear, but also an urgent question: Who will we be when the dust has settled?
Conspiracy theories aside, it’s relatively easy to unite during moments of pain and suffering — there’s simply not enough energy to argue when we’re all just trying to survive. It’s after we’ve survived, when we get to the work of living and thriving, that things become complicated. When we have to figure out who we are, what we stand for, and how we want to live in this world, that’s when things get sticky. But what if we’re always just trying to survive? If we’re always under threat? What then?
One thing we can be sure of, even in this seemingly unprecedented time, is that marginalized communities will be disproportionately impacted by what is happening and what is yet to come, just as they have always been.
One thing we can be sure of, even in this seemingly unprecedented time, is that marginalized communities will be disproportionately impacted by what is happening and what is yet to come, just as they have always been. We know this as Black folks. We know this as Muslims who are Black. We ain’t new to this. Not struggle, not surveillance, not incarceration nor detention. Disenfranchisement and disillusion ain’t new to us, and neither is the concept of doing for self. When we say we been here, we mean it. With our whole chest. You don’t have to look long or hard to see our successes, but these are largely individual gains. For the most part, our communities are still under duress.
If we are to push ourselves towards honesty, then we must admit that the same space in which we bow our heads in search of mercy is also full of sharp edges and wounds that bandaids and heartfelt sermons can no longer conceal.
We all know what problems exist; some of us even make a living naming them. We are adept at fighting ‘isms’ and schisms in American society — racism, nativism, ethnocentrism, sexism, classism, and white supremacy. Our commitment and bravery to speak truth to power seems to dissipate, however, upon entering the local masjid. On the surface, we are a glowing example of charity, social harmony, and racial unity. Yet there is a great distance between who we really are and the illusions we’ve crafted about ourselves. The American Ummah is a faux shapeshifter — one that transforms every Friday into communities of pious love, acceptance, and support. Allegedly. That righteous indignation seems a bit more indignant than it is righteous though, no? If we are to push ourselves towards honesty, then we must admit that the same space in which we bow our heads in search of mercy is also full of sharp edges and wounds that bandaids and heartfelt sermons can no longer conceal.
We push our chests out proudly when recalling the character and sacrifices of our spiritual ancestors as if being a decent human being is more about religious pedigree than actual work. It’s not. And we all got work to do. We have to move past naming the problems and talking about the issues and hand-wringing and pontificating and take tangible steps to solve them. Being in community with each other is hard, but this is what makes a true community. Otherwise, we’re just a collection of people that pray the same.
Our current vision for improving our state seems to only include more overpriced conferences, academic programs, and elaborate architecture — cause being in America but forgetting you’re in America is unquestionably important when making salat at your local masjid. We have successfully mastered the art of crafting spiritual spaces with fancy amenities but no love and care. It seems way too easy to forget the true purpose of community and spaces designed to aid us in remembering the Mercy of the All-Merciful. Where are the believers willing to lend their hands and resources to build sustainable and healthy communities? What is the role of the masjid in American Muslim life, if not a space for communal healing, truth-telling, and growth? Something is missing. Perhaps it’s a deep understanding that crafting a path towards liberation has always required physical, spiritual, and emotional labor. In case you didn’t notice, we are in desperate need of concerted creative, intellectual and spiritual strategies to effect more humane experiences for the vulnerable among us and fewer folks whose part-time job is spreading judgment masked as piety.
At its core, our faith demands that we take care of that which has been entrusted to us. This includes the physical, mental and spiritual well-being of others within and outside of the Muslim community. We urgently need a paradigm shift to reshape our current ideas of what it means to be in a community with imperfect beings. Real change takes people, plural. We need all hands on deck. To utilize a Black proverb that has been used for generations and is most fitting at this time, “What you gon’ do?”
