Hey Jude,
The most beautiful part of my time on earth is simultaneously the most terrifying part of my day. For a few minutes every morning after you wake up I get to hold you, and we both look out the window at the world together. You smile and point at things with wonder, and your laugh grounds me. As we smile at the world outside, I drift in and out of seeing a world on fire, and a world in constant disruption. Like many other parents, this gives me anxiety.
Charlottesville
In Charlottesville, Virginia, just a few hours drive from us, some of your fellow Americans traveled to a town and aggressively expressed their dislike of brothers and sisters from the Jewish, Muslim, African American and immigrant communities. They are extremists, and they decided to go to a place not their own, and terrorize it. If that sounds familiar, it’s because that is what ISIS does to innocent communities in the Middle East, like parasites. People are hurting in Charlottesville. One person died. And the President of today, well... he didn’t act like a President of the people. Instead, he made it clear he is President for ‘a people’.
You are just under two years-old right now. Who knows how old you’ll be when you’re able to read these words. I am sharing all this with you Jude not because I want to scare you or make you feel disempowered. Sometimes, the best way to drive through clouds of confusion and tragedy is to visualize the future, write it out, and actively bring the future one step closer to the present. So I am publicly writing a letter to you my son.
Love over fear
While I am grateful for the humanitarian work I get to do, it also takes a mental toll sometimes. Because I been working in some pretty dark places, I needed to mentally check-in with myself in April 2017. I took a sabbatical, and left you and your mom for a few days and traveled to North Georgia to sit with my thoughts and rethink how I was going to heal. Before leaving, I was told: ‘People that look like you should be careful there. You’ll get some looks...’. But having returned from refugee camps and communities overseas, I didn’t think any threat would happen in my own country. Well, I was wrong.
After a day in the small town, three hours outside Atlanta, I realized I might as well have been a unicorn. But my hosts were warm and hospitable. They made me feel safe and welcome. I drove to the town’s coffee shop, sat in the parking lot and drank my coffee in the sun. From time to time, trucks with confederate flags would drive by. No bother. As I sipped my coffee, I noticed one such truck circled me and my car. Ok, fine. No bid deal. Then the same truck came around again and parked next to me. My body tightened, my heart rate increased.
Racism is not just an exchange of words. It’s an energy that can be both seen and felt at a distance, much like seeing storm clouds roll in on an otherwise sunny summer day. In such cases, the body knows it’s not safe. A man hopped out of his truck and started looking at me in an unfriendly way. His eyes hiding behind his shades. His mouth aggressively chewing gum. I pay him no mind, until he takes his phone and starts filming me, slowly waving his phone as if it were a bomb detector or a magic wand. Then came a ‘snap’ from the camera phone. And then another. He was taking photos of me and my car license plate. Why? Son, sometimes people who don’t know you, may see you as a threat, or as something you are not. You are not in control of their actions. But that is not an excuse to not be in control of your own mind and body.
I could react with anger and confront him. That is a story that has been played out in the news so many times. Hate begets hate. Violence begets violence.
Another option: I could drive off and disempower his fear of me by not reacting to it. Your own faith in love and peace matters in times where love and peace are challenged by outside forces. Love and peace, even freedom has no meaning without struggle. And that is what makes America great Jude: faith in love and peace in times of uncertainty.
The American Revolution, the Civil War, the Great Depression, the Civil Rights Movement...so many moments in our history, when we had every reason to give in to hate, fear, and division. Our history is a series of stories where we as a people fought the urge to live by one narrative because the cost meant the silencing of millions of others.
As I drove home, man was I angry Jude. I was also confused. I didn’t know what to do. And I had a lot of self- doubt. I thought of you, and was worried that this is the world you’ll grow up in.
I called the owner of the secluded AirBandB property where I was staying and told them I may be in danger. The local hosts apologized on behalf of their town, even though it was no fault of theirs. With being a Muslim today, people in our own community are all too familiar with what that is like. In the words of artist Riz Ahmed: ‘My religion is being taken over by tomorrow’s headlines..’.
I got to my shed, locked the door, and shut my eyes to try and sleep away my hurt. Suddenly, I hear a loud knock. I slowly open the gate to see a large man in a flannel shirt standing in the sun, eyes squinting, breathing hard. I brace for the worst, my body tenses up out of fear again. He moves in. Here we go. And then it happened: an open hand to greet me, rattling my bias and fear, awakening a thirst for empathy and human connection.
He tells me he heard what happened and apologizes, explaining that some people are like that in town, but that “not all of us are like that guy.” He asks me if I was ok, and says “If anyone comes on this property to hurt you, me and my boys got your back.” Wow. My own biases suffer a knock out blow.
Later that night, my AirBandB hosts come by to check on me. Again, these were not people I normally interact with. It dawns on me how so much of this country remains geographically, economically, and culturally isolated from one another--even with social media. Just like how there is no one type of Muslim, there is also no one type of American, myself included. My hosts spoke different from me. Dressed different. Despite all the reasons on paper why we might not hang out normally, there endured a shared story among us: we are American, we love rock and roll, and we care about our children and how they will grow up stronger, kinder, and inspired to do better. My hosts generously cook me dinner by the River Soque. We eat burgers, and talk about our mutual love for the Beatles.
We entered the dinner shaking hands and apologizing for the actions of one racist person. But we departed the dinner by hugging each other, and disempowering that ugly incident earlier, because that one negative action led to a cascade of beautiful human connections. All it took was resilience, and faith in love over fear.
BE!
It was not an accident that the day turned out that way, Jude. Human kind’s capacity for division and destruction is outmatched only by our capacity for love, peace, and social cooperation. But it’s not enough to just have faith in peace and love, my son. We have to BE peace and love, as Dr. Cornel West often preaches. You have to BE it, not just post about it online.
Jude, this world will fail you from time to time. Your school, dreams, or friends may fail you. I will fail you, and sometimes you will fail yourself. But that does not mean you have to fail our world. Great things are born when love trumps fear.
Sound too idealistic? Before you were born, some cultural pressures tried to keep your mom and I apart because your mom is caucasian, born to a Christian family, and your pops is an American-Muslim born to a Muslim family from Kashmir. The dream your mom and I had to be together didn't make sense to some people. But we had a patient, unconditional faith in love over fear. And guess what, we live in America. This is your land, left to you by brave and fearless changemakers that came before you. You came into this world on 1 October. You are far more powerful and meaningful than a few instances of fear, anger, or discrimination your mom and I faced when building our union. If we had let the outside noise dictate our inner journey, you would not be here Jude. And a world without you is not one I want to be in.
So I guess my vision for you in these times of constant change is to dream loud Jude; fail hard; be resilient as hell; and never subscribe to one narrative of things, including your own identity, or your country’s.
Love,
Papa