Locating A Living Islam: A Conversation With Sadiyah Bashir
“I grew up in a predominantly Black Muslim community where we knew Islam is a living thing, it is old and young.”
“Life is very short. What we have to do must be done in the now.”
― Audre Lorde.
This summer, the violent police murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor sparked international outrage and, across the diaspora, we took to the streets to demand change. But in the midst of our justified outrage for the death of our siblings, Black women, particularly trans women, and other Black folks don’t fit into heteronormative ideas of who is allowed grace and compassion when it comes to the brutalizing effects of white supremacy, continue to suffer in silence. While our summer has been shaped by uprisings, August itself marks a number of powerful moments in the history of Black resistance including the formation of the Underground Railroad, the Haitian Revolution, Nat Turner Rebellion, The Watts Rebellion, and Emancipation Day in Canada, Jamaica, and other former British colonies. Now, the month is commemorated with Black August, honoring the activists and freedom fighters that came before us and continue to work towards safer futures for Black people.
The need to move in defense of our lives is rooted in a long history of resistance. As, Black Muslims we experience the system of white supremacy and the compounding factor of racism, xenophobia, Islamophobia and homophobia. Black August, similar to the holy month, Ramadan, is a reminder that we are not alone in the ways that we think we are. Allah is always on the side of the oppressed, especially now when even our right to breathe is put at risk by anti-Blackness and a global health pandemic. Both Ramadan and Black August focus on self discipline and overcoming the desires of the earthly body. It is a time of introspection, fasting, sacrifice, and self-discipline to honor the fallen who we have lost. This serves as a reminder that the pursuit of justice is continuous not only for ourselves but for the future generation.
As we experience this powerful month we invite you to take a look at a conversation that took place in Ramadan, between Nyuma Waggeh, co-poetry editor for the Drinking Gourd Magazine and poet Sadiyah Bashir. Sadiyah is a freelance writer and poet. She took to poetry as a means of self-expression and became a two-time youth Grand Slam champion. Her poetry has been showcased on various platforms such as: Al-Jazeera, Apple, and UNICEF. Last year her poem “Reimagining Timbuktu” was featured in the Drinking Gourd Magazine. Sadiyah recently published Seven which explores trauma and triumph through the lens of Black Muslim womanhood.
You may also listen to the audio of Sadiyah and Nyuma’s conversation and look out for Part Two of our Spotlight Series with Sadiyah Bashir!
Nyuma: In what ways has art saved you and helped reclaim the parts of you that white supremacy and misogynoir has tried to instill self loathing in? What parts of yourself are you still reclaiming continuously?
Sadiyah: I grew up being a Black Muslim woman in America. Everything that tells me I cannot revolves around white supremacy and misogynoir. I’ve experienced both in every single aspect, it is ingrained, it is intergenerational. I remember being at the masjid in the women’s section and while the girls were braiding one another’s hair they asked me if I had long hair, something I don’t remember them asking any of the non-Black girls. I remember people would marvel at the way I pronounced certain things in Arabic, in ways that they wouldn’t for others. As I’ve grown into myself as a writer a lot of my work is about addressing my inner child. My inner child is so broken by misogynoir and white supremacy. A lot of my poetry is about being an almost 23 year old trying to gain stability in a number of realms. Be it spiritually, racially, in any realm. How can I hold onto my sanity?
Nyuma: I think about Assata Shakur, who said “we have nothing to lose but our chains.” Part of adulthood is accepting and honoring the trauma we experience at the hands of racism, misogyny, anti-blackness and sexism and doing the radical work of self growth by choosing to heal and align with yourself.
Sadiyah: I have to do this work or I will not survive, I have to do this work for myself.
“Home has switched for me in that I have to create a foundation of home for myself and for my family.”
Nyuma: In your poem ``Reimagining Timbuktu” there is a poignant emphasis on home and it’s interconnectedness with self, ancestry, the God of your understanding and storytelling. Reflecting back to when the poem was written relative to the state of the world now and the month of Ramadan, what does home mean to you? Has anything changed? If so, how?
Sadiyah: Everything has shifted in terms of what I know home to be home. Being in Ramadan in isolation is not new to me, I spent a majority of my childhood in isolation in homeschool. What’s different is being away from Muslims. It is on me and my husband’s shoulders to build the foundation of Ramadan that we want for our family. Thinking back to past Ramadans, I miss everyone sitting around eating suhoor, being silly, quoting Rush Hour and Coming to America, the things that make Ramadan what I know it to be. Home has switched for me in that I have to create a foundation of home for myself and for my family. Being a mother, I also have to create the foundation of home for the little person who just came into this world, and that’s scary. I’ve taken this time now to look deeply into how I was raised. Learning to translate the fundamentals of how I was raised to fit into a lifestyle that we are building. A lot of inner child work a lot of acknowledging where people went wrong, what they did well and mapping that out into what my life will be. I’m building home for myself every single day.
Nyuma: Ancestor Toni Morrison beautifully pens, “We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives” & sci-fi Auntie Octavia Butler states, “The only constant is change.” As a writer — how do you continue to challenge yourself to reclaim your narrative and master the craft of poetry?
Sadiyah: I started off writing poetry just from seeing people perform spoken-word and slam poetry. Slam poetry is different from written poetry and prose in that it is made for the stage. I had to learn to explore and dabble in different things. Ultimately, I want to talk about the things that I haven’t explored yet. For me, it’s about looking at the smallest ripple in the pond and asking myself, how can I expand that moment and memory into something bigger. There are so many moments that have been written about already. And sometimes it can be daunting for writers, because it kind of feels you’re beating a dead horse. I’m not afraid of those moments. What I want to continue to step into is taking the small moments and saying, how can I create a poem out of this and where are the words for this?
Nyuma: I think about how even water has memory, we just have to find whatever reflection it is that we are looking at and recapture each moment to bring essence and life into it as writers.
Sadiyah: Absolutely, and as Black people we orate like no other people. Beating a dead horse will never be an issue for us. There is a style to it that is something else. It’s like Quavo and Future were just rapping about this but I have to listen to it.
Nyuma: It’s melodic and enticing and it resonates with you. I was talking earlier to my mentor about Duende, a concept by Fredrico Garcia Lorca who was inspired by the Harlem Renaissance and the Jazz era. He looked at the way that people of color take the trials and tribulations we experience and push that into our art. Especially hip hop and the variations of what it is.
“I grew up in a predominantly Black Muslim community where we knew Islam is a living thing, it is old and young.”
Hows does Modern Day Islam impact you currently, as a Black woman? Challenges? Blessings? How has that aligned who you are as a Black muslimah today?
Sadiyah: I don’t look at Islam as a modern vs. traditional or old vs. new. As Black Muslims, we step into it in a way that other cultures may not. I grew up in a predominantly Black Muslim community where we knew Islam is a living thing, it is old and young. I’ve always viewed my Islam as living how I’m living. Now being in my 20’s I’m realizing there was a lot of shame and fear based coercion that wasn’t necessarily from my parents. A lot of it was imams at Sunday school or other people in the community. And of course, a lot of that is also wrapped into anti-blackness. Things like telling Back girls to cover-up because they may be curvier than other girls. Or people would talk about my older brother in Arabic, and not realize that he was fluent in it and understood what they were saying.
Nyuma: What I’m hearing from you is that the components of faith are interchangeable with healing. Ultimately, it is a process that takes time and healing isn’t linear. It looks different every day. It’s about nearing the aspects of Allah that we see around us, about seeing yourself and honoring the fluidity of your being.
The radical work of self acceptance is long and arduous but as muslims we understand that loving and honoring the self is an act of worship. Now, like Ramadan, Black August is a time for self-work, for acknowledging our rich legacies and for holding space alongside community. We are now in the beginning of a critical moment in history where we have been called to imagine a society, with intention, and to be there for one other. A society based on community, with resources provided to meet our basic needs so we don’t merely survive but truly live. Think about our ancestors and elders who came before us. We have a responsibility to the people who have survived for us, and to our collective society to remind ourselves that all revolutions are rooted in love. Change is gradual but not impossible. Today, as we demand justice for our siblings that have been harmed by police brutality and other forms of violence, we must strive towards a better future, a better tomorrow, and begin by loving ourselves.
