Police Brutality in Minnesota: A Statement from Minnesotan Ismailis
Ismaili Rise Up is centering the voices of Ismaili Minnesotans witnessing the continued acts of police violence on display in their home state. These acts of violence come one year after the police-killing of George Floyd, which sparked a conversation and reckoning within the Ismaili Muslim community in the U.S. around systemic racism, state-sponsored violence towards Black people and other racial minorities, and our role in both of these things.
Below, you’ll find thoughts, reflections, and action items from members of our community on what this moment represents, and where we go from here.
From educator and artist, Alia Jeraj:
April 14, 2021
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.
Jayanthi wrote the song in 2015. Six years later, we are in the midst of the trial for Derek Chauvin–the police officer that the world witnessed taking breath and life from George Floyd. Now, we gather for Daunte Wright, a Black man pulled over because of the air freshener hanging from his mirror was allegedly a traffic violation. 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?
Salima Khakoo:
Since the untimely death of George Floyd that we all watched with horror, it is as if we have collectively had trouble taking our breaths and as if our chest is tightened and unable to let go.
The agony of watching our community businesses attacked by white supremacists from outside of our cities in the aftermath as well as the political leaders blaming the Black Lives Matter movement instead of white supremacy for the fruits of a poisonous original sin that has plagued our nation, namely the very predictable results of slavery and Jim Crow, has been almost too much to bear.
Daunte Wright, a man who is younger than my older child being taken away in the prime of his life because of an expired tab and an air freshener is an ever reminder that until we confront the demons of racism and privilege, we will never as a nation experience the blessings of liberty. After all, true freedom requires peace and justice as its shoulders and each of us has to do our part as called upon by our faith to make it a reality.
As someone who has raised a young Black son for several years and knowing others who are raising Black children, understanding that we have families of African descent, as well as interfaith marriages where murids of our Mowla are Black or married in Black families, the fears and trauma experienced by Black communities are not far away from our own lives.
This pain is ours, and the injustice and inequity is happening within us. But it is also important to not empathize only when we have an Ismaili connection.
As a 50-year-old, my time on this Earth is shorter than most who will be reading the statement. Our Mowla is the Mowla of the world, and therefore George Floyd and Daunte Wright are our spiritual brothers. We need to start seeing every human the way we see our fellow Ismailis as each of them is worthy of our support, our care, and our fight for justice. Because they are us.”
Noureen Wallani, social worker:
In the Nahj al-Balagha it says, “when a person oppresses the creatures of Allah then, instead of His creatures, Allah becomes his opponent, and when Allah is the opponent of a person He tramples his plea; and he will remain in the position of being at war with Allah until he gives it up and repents. Nothing is more inducive of the reversal of Allah’s bounty or for the hastening of His retribution than continuance in oppression, because Allah hears the prayer of the oppressed and is on the look out for the oppressors.”
Our faith is not a private matter, practiced in corners or in darkness. It must be lived and it must be the compass to our actions. We are reminded throughout our history that when we call ourself a person of faith, that faith must be lived. There is no separation of Din and Duniya.
Social justice is not a separate endeavor- it is integral to living a life of faith. It is not passive, it demands that we act. Which means that when we witness injustice it is an extension of our faith and practice to speak up.
I find myself torn in these times — as a social worker — I work with both those who are oppressed and those who oppress (after all, all of us are capable of both). I have been trained in my profession that I need to be neutral. But neutrality in the face of injustice is itself unjust. And as I find myself having to challenge individuals and systems, I answer the call of my faith. As I bear witness to mothers crying because they know when they send their Black sons into the world, they may not return. I practice my faith. As I speak up against peers and others who say that it was their fault for being murdered — I practice my faith. As I call out oppressive practices with clients at my agency — I practice my faith. It is not comfortable, but it is necessary.
As I think of my own children who have already been told that those with dark skin are the meanest in the world and therefore they are the meanest in the class — in pre-school — I realize that the myth that we as South Asians tell ourselves are false. We are seen as the Other and they dehumanize us as easily as we see people dehumanizing George Floyd. Or, saying, it’s Daunte’s fault for being scared and running.
As I support my friends going to protests and creating safety plans, I think of how I can go without risking my health or life. My children depend on me. And I realize Daunte’s two year old will never remember his father’s voice and hugs.
The night after Daunte’s murder, my husband drove me to the ER at 4 am. I was filled with pain. And my husband shared he was filled with fear. Not for me, which he was concerned for, but for the fact he was driving while breaking curfew; and even though it was legal, he as a Brown man has to be more aware. He thought of his expired license because with Covid the earliest appointment was 2 months out. It is easy to say it won’t happen to you, just do the right thing. Except as people of color, **especially as Black people,** doing the right thing is a moving target. And often requires us trading liberation for chains of conforming to our role in this apparatus.
What I want people to remember is that this is not someone else’s fight. This is our fight. It is our fight because our liberation is tied up with our Black siblings. It is our fight because it is for a world we want to raise our children in. It is our fight because it is the mandate of our faith. In the Hadith al Qudsi, we are reminded that when we fail to take care of Allah’s creation, his people, we are failing Allah.
Muniza Ahmed, educator:
When the news broke of the tragic killing of Daunte Wright, only 20 years old and killed for what can only be understood as negligence (not an accident) if not intentional, I felt deeply deeply saddened. I couldn’t imagine the trauma and heartache of his loved ones who he left behind. I tried to understand how it feels to have a loved one leave the house in the morning and never return home because of a fatal encounter with folks who pledge to keep us safe.
As a city, while we await justice for George Floyd’s death just a few miles away, to suffer the pain of this senseless tragedy and heartbreak at the hands of those who are sworn to protect us is unbearable and unforgivable.
Daunte Wright is not the only victim in this tragedy. In truth, this crisis impacts so many around him. His parents whose life has been derailed, his infant son who will grow up without a father, and so many people of color who live in the constant fear of injustice by law enforcement. They are all victims.
I stand unequivocally in support of ending the killing of unarmed Black and Brown people by law enforcement, for ending systematic racism and hate against people of color. I stand against over-policing, racial profiling, and injustice brought down by police violence.
Daunte Wright’s killing is one of more than 260 police killings that happened in the first three and a half months of 2021. These statistics are staggering.
This is a crisis. We all deserve safer cities and a better future, and as a brown Ismaili Muslim American, I stand for justice with the Black communities during this crisis.
In hopes of justice,
Muniza Ahmed
Anya Adam, 10th Grade Student:
The incident that took place with Daunte Wright was completely incorrect and fully intentional. I don’t believe that this was an accident and the lady who shot him should be charged for it.
I personally believe that the current protests happening in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota over the death of Daunte Wright are completely valid and should be happening. Police brutality against the BIPOC people in USA has gone on for way too long and should be stopped. As an Ismaili Muslim, I stand by justice and peace for all.
What the police and Minnesota government are doing by setting a curfew is trying to silence our voices; it’s just an excuse to arrest us at our peaceful protests and make them look violent when it’s the police shooting rubber bullets, deploying flash bangs and making gas masks a felony when they tear gas us. Minnesota is going to burn and honestly rightfully so. This needs to end.
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.
Below 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?
