Thoughts and Action Items From Ismaili Educator and Artist, Alia Jeraj, on the Murder of Daunte Wright in Minnesota.
April 14, 2021
Last night I drove 20 minutes from my home to Brooklyn Center. I left my house at 7 pm, knowing there was a 10 pm curfew, and planning to come home before it started. I didn’t know the curfew had been changed to 8 pm until it was 7:45 pm. I was already there, and ready to stay.
It’s important to remember that the ACLU has spoken out against curfews as violating First Amendment rights, and that curfews in the U.S. have a history of racism. I thought about my Jamat — members who might still be at Khana, who could potentially, without meaning to, break curfew on their way home. I thought about the broader ummah in the Twin Cities, breaking their fast these first few nights of Ramadan with the knowledge that though there are technically religious exemptions from curfew, being Black (as much of our Twin Cities ummah is) and out past curfew is dangerous.
Last night I arrived outside of the Brooklyn Center Police Department in time to sing Jayanthi Kyle’s Hand in Hand —
The day’s gonna come when I won’t march no more
But while my sister ain’t equal and my brother can’t breathe
Hand in hand with my family we will fill these streets.
She wrote the song in 2015. Six years later we are in the midst of the trial for Derek Chauvin, who the world witnessed taking breath and life from George Floyd. Now, we gather for Daunte Wright, a Black man pulled over because of an air freshener hanging from his mirror. We used our breath to sing together, in perhaps the most profoundly human communal act.
Last night I was in Brooklyn Center with my people. Today, I have a challenge for my Ismaili community. We have just started the holy month of Ramadan, which encourages us to do good deeds, and sacrifice our personal comforts. While we often think of these as material comforts, I ask that you consider thinking of it too as mental and emotional comforts.
Can you dispel any and all of your negative thoughts about the people on the streets? Can you consider that the rage we feel is real and valid and justified? Can you imagine that every single accusation of racist police behavior is true? Can you trust the lived experiences of your Black neighbors? And then, can you go even further outside of your mental comfort zone? Can you start to believe that the safety you might feel around police does not exist for everyone? That the darker your skin is the more likely you will be pulled over, arrested, or killed by someone with a badge? Can you begin to imagine that a world without police could be better, safer, and more just than the world we live in now?
Last night I left Brooklyn Center around 9:30 pm. I left running.
Across the street from the police department stand apartment buildings. Babies live there. Families have evacuated to protect themselves and their children from the teargas that seeped in over the past three nights, and the projectiles police fired into windows.
It’s comfortable to blame this on the protestors — to say, had we complied, had we left at 8, had we not been violent, none of this would have happened. I implore you to reject that comfort to consider what I saw:
A wall of police, state patrol, an army of national guard members wearing military-grade armor, carrying unrecognizable weapons, standing behind a steel fence; Shadowy figures on top of the station, walking back and forth with long-range weapons; Police firing flashbang grenades into the crowd blasting gunshots sounds, then canisters of pepper spray intended to intimidate and harm. Those of us on the other side of the fence covered as much of our skin as we could with our masks, scarves, and hoods; Community took care of each other, passing around water bottles, earplugs, medical supplies, hot burritos; High schoolers ran from the sounds of cannons, regrouping, and screaming to each other again when they got separated. One of them had a name that sounded like mine.
Last night I had the privilege of returning to my safe, warm home by 10 pm. My adrenaline did not allow me to sleep or process the night. All I could think of was that it felt like what I can only imagine it might feel like to be in a war. I remember all the sacrifices and migrations so many of my ancestors made so that I have been able to live for 26 years without ever experiencing war before. I am filled with gratitude to those who came before me for that gift, and overflowing with grief and rage for the babies, the children, the teenagers, for whom those sounds and feelings are too familiar, including the Black babies trying to grow up in this country.
As an Ismaili community, I know we understand what it means to be persecuted by unjust systems and leaders. As a community, we must recognize the U.S. police system as inherently and systemically racist, unjust, and violent. As a community we must step outside our comfort zones to accept these truths and rise against them.
In strength and solidarity, Ya Ali Madad, and Ramadan Kareem,
Alia Jeraj
To continue your Ramadan practice of giving up comforts, you can begin to listen to stories and news from the perspectives of the people on the ground. There are a number of incredible alternative media sources, and Black activists and artists in the Twin Cities. Here are a few to start. Notice as you listen what your initial reactions are — are you feeling defensive? Angry? Mistrust? Can you use this month of Ramadan to push your comfort and let those guards down so you can really listen with openness, curiosity, and trust?
