I watched the PBS documentary Cities of Light: The Rise and Fall of Islamic Spain, back in August 2007. I think that Thawrat ash Sha’ab has a good summary of the highs and lows of the documentary. I would definitely recommend the documentary to those who want a glimpse of the Islamic empire in Spain. However, what really touched me in the video was the reference to the poem called the “Lament for Seville” which was composed by Abu Baqa’ al-Rundi in 1267 to bewail the fall of the city of Seville. It is a heart-breaking poem, and a lasting reminder of what we as Muslims lost in the fall of that once amazing Islamic empire.

His words are just as relevant in today’s religio-political atmosphere as they were in 1285. They are a cry to waken the dormant spirits of Muslims everywhere. They are meant to bring tears to the eyes and light a fire in the heart. They act as a reminder that we have a legacy of greatness that deserves preservation. Indeed, given the condition of Muslims today, “Even the mihrabs weep though they are solid; even the pulpits mourn though they are wooden!” (Al-Rundi)

Poetry was the mass media of the middle ages. Through this once lofty pursuit of information and art, we have a glimpse of the pain that accompanied the fall of Islamic Spain. It is a very hard heart indeed that reads the words below without feeling that pain of loss and lamenting. just a little, the loss of Seville.

The poem was translated by James T. Monroe and historically, is believed to have been composed in “the hope of gaining aid from Muslims in North Africa to help battle Christian armies. Although the fall of Seville is its theme, the text was actually written in 1267, after the Nasrid ruler Muhammad ibn al-Ahmar surrendered several cities to Alfonso X.” It is a fairly lengthy poem and I will only reproduce the latter half. For the full translation in English, the original Arabic text, as well as more information about this work and the ancient Arabian and Persian references found within, please visit the following website.

The Lament for Seville .

Last week, I attended a Round-table discussion organized by the EKOS Research group and sponsored by the Cross-Cultural Round-table for Security (CCRS). As a student with lots of ideas and strong opinions on the state of security in Canada, the issue of politics involving the Muslim community and the marginalization of the said community, I went in prepared for a high level of intellectual discourse and problem-solving strategies. I was ready to learn more about how CSIS, the RCMP and CBSA and the Department of Justice operate and to use that information towards building a more comprehensive strategy when it comes to dealing with various issues involving Muslims, and more broadly, involving other Canadians- our neighbors, coworkers and friends.

 I have never been more disappointed or mortified in my life as I was that day!  First of all, the ratio of adults to youth was strongly skewed. Over all, there were perhaps 5 students in a round-table gathering of 50+ people. Secondly, the ratio was awfully biased towards the South Asian and Middle Eastern community. There were perhaps 10 Caucasian and other ethnic minorities. And as expected, it was members of the South Asian and Middle Eastern communites who dominated the discussion. I wouldn’t have had a problem with that except rather than any productive thoughts and ideas, what was shared were bitter accusations and silly conjecture. It almost appeared as though the Round-table discussion was a free-for-all opportunity for these people to a) show off how politically connected and informed they were, b) lament their personal grievances against their own community (i.e. “My community calls me an apostate.”) or c) viciously attack the agency’s representative and hold them responsible for all their personal grievances. In truth, the experience made me realize the truth behind the stereotypical character of Babur in Little Mosque on the Prairie.

I am a big fan of freedom of speech and respect for everyone. However, at the end of the discussion, I wanted to go apologize to the representatives of CSIS, RCMP and CBSA. I am not an apologist. I strongly feel that there are certain issues that need to be resolved if we are to continue thriving as a nation and as a community. However, the sheer lack of etiquette and tact exercised by members of my own community left me thoroughly ashamed. Rather than working with these agencies towards a mutual goal, we were too busy hurling accusations at them and each other. Instead of coming across as a community that is knowledgeable, eloquent and politically aware, we presented ourselves as ignorant yet pompously verbose individuals. I realize that some of you may be thinking that I am being too harsh but the reality of the matter is that there were times an individual would stand up and start talking (this was during Q&A) and by the time they finished, I had no idea what they had initially started off asking. Comments, meant to be brief, were turned into 20 minute long speeches that had virtually no relevance to the topics at hand.

The Round-table experience made me realize just how important it is for the Muslim students across Canada and North America to raise their voices, to stop letting others speak for them. In retrospect, I didn’t do that at the discussion, simply because it was easier to sit there and be stupefied by the intellectual deficiency in the room than participate and have someone start screaming at me. And that, as everything else, was yet another disappointment in the round-table saga…

My father-in-law recently told me a story that was very poignant and really made me think about how we structure our reality and what constitutes as normal in our lives.

The story is about a man who buries people for a living. He is a poor man, like so many of those around him, and his only sustenance comes when someone loses their parent/spouse/friend. It is a tough life with limited joys for him and his family. It is difficult for them to know when their next meal will be and what they will eat. His children, however, only know that whenever their father goes to bury someone during the day, they have sweet rice in the evening.

Days turn into months and the cycle continues. The family struggles until someone in their community dies and that day, the grave-digger’s family has sweet rice for dinner.

One day, the children see their father preparing to go bury someone but without any of his usual vigour. They worry but their minds are focused on the treat they will have that night. Night falls, and their father returns but there’s no fire in the hearth and no treat on the stove. The children, disappointed, go to their father to ask what has happened and he starts weeping. He starts weeping because it is none other than their mother whom he has buried that day.

This story came after a conversation we were having about tow-trucks that park at locations on the highway where there’s a high volume of accidents. This is so that they are the first ones on the scene and thus get the job. Initially, that was an extremely selfish practice in my mind… to wait for someone to hurt themselves so that one may fill their pocket wtih dollars. But after hearing this story, I realized that my norms have been defined by my experiences. Alhumdullilah, I have never had to worry about where my next meal will come from or where I’ll sleep at night. I have always been able to find well-paying jobs and when I haven’t, I’ve always had my parents to rely on. And so, I cannot possibly imagine the lifestyle of someone whose sustenance depends on the whims of nature and luck.

Without the grave-digger, how would we bury our dead? Without the tow-truck, our highways would become lined with smashed up vehicles. While we may abhorr the premise of their profession, its function is essential for our reality. We are willing to accept and enjoy the results of their works but unable, and generally unwilling to acknowledge their motivations. After all, all professions are selfishly motivated- whether it is a banker who sits atop piles of money or the grave-digger who buries him- their ultimate goal is survival. Their definitions of surivival may be defined by their circumstances and experiences, but they just want to live in relative comfort.

We don’t always know what motivates others around us and often treat their decisions with disdain and cynicism because they transcend our defintion of normal. Waiting for someone to die so that one may have sweet rice may not be our definition of normal, but that does not, and should not mean that it is any less normal than our everyday actions and expectations.

As you can see, we’re taking a little break from my adventures and talking about a real-life problem.  

I’m taking a very interesting course this semseter called Religion and the Moral Imagination. The premise of the course is to differentiate between the act of looking and that of seeing. The fundamental difference between the two, as described by our prof, is that looking does not impact our soul. It does not reach out and makes us relate to those around us. Most importantly, it does not touch us. Seeing, on the other hand, requires us to open ourselves to feel the pain/joy of others around us. It requires us to feel what the other is feeling, even if it means losing something of ourselves in that pain.

 While I disagree with a lot of ideas that our prof has presented in this course, I see the merit of this distinction. After all, if we “saw” that others around us were in trouble, that they needed help or even if they had to share some joyous news- it would take our time and more importantly, our energy, of which we have very little to spare.

For me the realization of this distinction is the first step towards becoming a more discerning individual. To be able to see someone, to see their pain and their happiness, is to share and celebrate the commonalities we share. We, all of us, have our joys and our sorrows- both of which are often hard to contain within the confines of our psyches. Perhaps if we “see” someone through their moments of need, we shall have the support of their discernment when our time comes around.