I guess it is evident that I am participating in this fast pretty much on my own. My family circumstances most immediately include two wonderful new grandsons and so any who would fast is engaged otherwise. I’m looking forward to visiting my other children later this month so I can have some one to eat suhur with and to be there after dark on a fasting day. It’s okay. I’ve had to do Ramadan alone before and maybe I will explain once how to get through it. For one thing, seeking the company of other fasting Muslims is a special thing in Ramadan. Because I’ve only lived here for four months after a year and half in Indonesia, I don’t have very strong networks or too many close relations yet. It’s just family and as I said, at the moment no one of my close family is fasting with me.
This week I began my intentional socialization. I had a guest earlier in the week and a few on the list for the week ahead. This weekend, has been pretty busy. Friday I went to an organized iftar for LGBT Muslims. Or better “LGBT Muslims and others”, because some were not Muslim and I am not LGBT. I am not really fond of the iftar-in-a-restaurant experience; but the company was great, the discussions were interesting, and it was helpful again, for me to not be always alone.
Last night I think was my best fasting day ever. I had to ride with a friend a couple of hours from home, for a program amongst some Sufis. The program involves (meditative) sitting, prayer, doing dhikr and having a discussion led by the shaykh. It is organized weekly throughout the year with an added pot luck iftar in Ramadan. I hang out with Sufis all the time. The imam at my favorite mosque is Naqshabandi, and they have dhikr at that mosque every week. Other Sufis are friends, though most of them are far away from me right now. So I miss that Sufi orientation, which includes both the loving company and the orientation for love for Allah: as the greatest principle of Islam. My own shaykh is on the east coast and a visit to him and some time in retreat is already on my calendar after I visit with my family.
What was particularly striking for me last night, is that this particular company among Sufis was also made up of mostly well-educated, American professionals, over 50. Let me be direct here about what it means to say that one is American in the context of identity politics and Islam. Most of the people present were NOT first or second generation immigrants from a Muslim majority country.
Although there are a lot of Americans that fall into that immigrant category, I am not the one to say they are not really American. But the politics of identity and Islam in America goes like this: some people are Muslims because they come from generations of Muslims no matter how nominal is their Islam, and no matter how intimate is their relationship with Allah. We call these “cultural Muslims.” In my own analysis here, they are not Muslims because they love Allah. But I want to be clear here: I think all such Muslims, who are now Americans, should do what we have done as African-Americans. Even if we have no idea who our African ancestors were, we take the hyphenated self naming to indicate a political history, an ethnicity, as well as a citizenship status.
I don’t get first generation immigrant Muslims who claim themselves mere Americans, but that is what the majority do. The only time they claim their country of origin is when they express a kind of privilege about being from a Muslim culture, over the vast majority of Muslims in America who are converts and our descendants. I don’t get the tendencies of double self privileging: more American than African Americans and more Muslim than converts, but that happens a lot.
So when I say American here, I should also be specific then, I mean white Americans. I was the only African American present and this happens for the majority of the Sufi contexts in the U.S.
Sufism has been an important route into Islam at the end of the 20th century for more white Americans. African Americans came to Islam at the beginning of the 20th century, for various reasons. African Americans are minorities within the American Sufi communities. These communities are mostly populated by white Americans and the should-be-hyphenated-Muslim immigrants and their descendants.
I don’t consider Sufism about race politics. In addition, generally these communities are made up of white Americans who are much more conscientious than their average white non-Muslim American counterpart. But it won’t do any good for me NOT to mention this race factor. Last night, I admit, I was more comfortable than usual because I shared three aspects of identity: level of education, (African-) American and baby boomer. There are a generation of us whose experiences of spirituality in Islam have been shaped by the times of our own maturation, the times we came to Islam and how we do our Islam now.
And how do we do our Islam now? Very laid back!
There is a special comfort for me to be around native English speakers of pretty high educational levels and within certain professions. Most of my work on Islam and gender happens outside the US. Most of the countries are not English speaking as a first language. All of my presentations are modulated either for immediate translation or for a pace that allows second language speakers to follow. Even my accent changes and is more British because second language speakers were mostly colonized by the British and not the Americans. Plus the American accent is harder to decipher.
I had a similar experience earlier this year when I had a short stint as a visiting scholar in Australia. I am naturally a very, very fast talker. But I have to really slow down when in most international contexts. I’m used it. I started living abroad 35 years ago and so my sense of Islam in the world is shaped by the world, not just some ideal of the world. Last night and when I was in Australia, I found I got more said in a short period of time than I could in most of my professional situations internationally. It does something to free my brain.
But let me not side step the pace of my heart. I am not an intellectual separate from a Sufi, and not a Sufi without a very strong intellectual personality. I some times feel alone in this combination and there are actually some Sufi teachers who speak very negatively about scholars. So, to be in a place and time when I do not have to be less of who I am in order to be more in with those I am with was really a delight.
What do Sufi Americans over 50 do that was so special? They seem to just go about the business of worshiping Allah in loving fellowship— and triviality is set aside, on the back burner or completely out of the picture. For example, we prayed two different salah times together: once led by a woman and once led by a man. Nobody had to make a big deal about either. We just stand, make prayer, sit, make dhikr, and discuss in large and small communion. It was this non-sensationalist aspect that really soothed my soul. I guess, that’s what it was. All aspects of the worship together were normal. We make it special only in as much as each of us remember ourselves before Allah—not as a matter of politics.
This is why I think our age mattered. I am clear; maturity is not in years alone. A 70-year-old idiot is more idiot than 70— and a 17-year-old mature, person of etiquette— or adab, as is so important in Sufi discourse and behavior—is a mature person. Age does not make maturation, per se. Yesterday we had the best of the best; the age was augmented by the quality of maturation and illuminated by the etiquette (or adab) of simple yet deep devotion. I was, for a brief moment, at home and when this happens to me, I feel a special grace from Allah. I could just be in the midst of my own love for Allah. I did not have to fight. I did not have to struggle for justice. And even more: I did not have to explain: almost paradise.
So I want to thank my hosts, whom I keep unnamed to respect their privacy, but I want to leave off with this, from one of our dhikr:
One small drop, became a spring
and now that spring is overflowing.
A clear stream floats into the sea,
and there we are drowned, al-hamdu liLah.
The lover is always overwhelmed by the love of the Beloved. Thank you, Allah, for giving me one evening to bask more in Your love than over the politics of being a lover. And thank you K and C for your gracious presence!
