Born to Love
Every morning when I wake, I peel back the covers from my tired face and open my eyes to see the man I love lying next to me. As I swing my legs from the bed and press the soles of my bare feet over the uneven ridges of the wood floor, I move the curtain slightly to the left to glance out of the window. Like a living photograph, my bedroom window perfectly frames the minaret tower of the neighboring mosque. It is made of textured marble, adorned with a mosaic of small ivory and emerald tiles which surround the circumference of the massive pillar.
Here in Turkey, I am the minority. In this Muslim country, I wake every morning to the sound of the call to prayer, next to a Muslim man who was raised by a loving Muslim family. In this culture intricately influenced by the religion of Islam, my minority status as a non-Muslim is not something that I very often stop to consider. It is not something I am reminded to think about.
Just over one year ago, a man with a gun killed 51 people in two New Zealand mosques. My strongest memory of hearing the news that day was that the shooter, upon entering one of the mosques, was greeted with two words, “Hello, brother.” This man was the first victim.
Our labels are so powerful. Muslim. Christian. Jew. Man. Woman. Conservative. Liberal. Terrorist. White Supremacist. Feminist. Racist. American. Turkish. New Zealander. White. Black. Brown. You. Me. Them. Every label most likely brings an association to your mind, what you are, and what you are not.
Take a moment to pause and consider the labels that first come to your mind when you read the words “Islam” and “Muslim.” We have all fallen victim to the negative media rhetoric associated with stereotypes and labels. The propaganda surrounding the Islamic faith is powerful and convincing. In countries like New Zealand and the United States, it is a widely accepted assumption that there is something inherently wrong with Muslims, that Islam is rooted in violence and that we must always be guarded and suspicious of the Muslim people. It is painful to witness the mobilization of this harmful sentiment interpreted by the most dangerous among us, those with little knowledge and heavy hands.
Following this tragedy, #HelloBrother has since become a well-known social media hashtag. Awareness of Islamophobia and interfaith dialogue are on the rise in New Zealand and in other countries around the world. Our governments react to these tragedies of pure hatred with vigils, public commitments to acceptance and unity, and even by changing laws in hopes of limiting the spread of hateful ideas. Interfaith and intercultural dialogue is encouraged and funded by universities and governments.
This is how we can honor those who have lost their lives to hate and ignorance. It is only through this dialogue that we will see what has always been there. We must continue to seek guidance, justice, and peaceful living beyond the clouds of suspicion and observe one another through a lens of curiosity. Once we have cleared that which clouds our thinking, all may be revealed and we can observe our neighbors without the baggage and danger of our own labeling. We all criticize, judge, lie, and possibly even hate but we also love, care for, give affection, support, and console.
Despite our best efforts and those of (some of) our elected leaders to curb the violence of hatred targeted at Muslims, the violence continues and not always in the form of murder. Amidst the anniversary of the massacre in New Zealand, a growing situation in India headlines major international newspapers. Indian Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, is filtering his own populus, doing his best to sift Muslims from Indian society by retracting their status as citizens. Government officials in the state of Assam were asked to screen their communities to create new citizen rosters. Those left off of the rosters, mostly Muslims, have been marked as “suspected foreigners” despite the fact that many of these people were born and lived their entire lives on Indian soil. The New York Times interviewed several of these officials whose final citizen rosters included “too many” Muslims. These officials were subsequently fired. India has since passed a new country-wide citizenship law, favoring all major religions in South Asia. Except Islam. This anti-Muslim agenda is just one example of institutionalized religious racism and exclusion.
No matter our religion or nation, the journey to opening our hearts and minds begins within each of us, with our own prejudices and self-made boundaries. There is a gaping hole in our knowledge and in our abilities to understand one another. This vacuum prevents us from seeing the truth right in front of our faces and instead fills us with our own polluted assumptions of “them,” the other, and the unknown. Life is difficult and sad and relentless but we all push forward and continue existing for the same fundamental reasons; to be happy and to feel loved.
Nelson Mandela wrote in his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”
Since moving to Turkey my opinion of Muslims and Islam remains unchanged (although my knowledge has increased). What I see when I peel away my bedroom curtain and allow the morning light to spill in are mothers pushing their children in strollers to the Saturday market, children riding their bikes along the canal that separates my apartment building from the mosque, and men walking side by side in lively conversation. Sometimes I step out onto the cool white tiles of my balcony, following my ears towards the soft clinking sound of tulip-shaped Turkish tea glasses, to see my neighbors setting the table for a late breakfast in the garden. The same neighbors who would never allow me to walk by without asking me how I am, if I have eaten, and if I would like a hot cup of tea.
In the early hours of the morning, I forget the labels. Humanity buzzes around me as the world wakes up to another day. A day ripe with opportunities for the flawed but forgiving practice of giving and receiving love.
