Support from my Sister

A'salaam alaikum wa ramatulahi wa barakatuhu. My sister wrote this for me when I was having somewhat of a bad day and I wanted to share it with you all. Thank you, Jacque. It's as beautiful as you and it means a lot to me. 

"My sister is Muslim" is usually a sentence I utter when someone asks what I think of "Islamists" or "dirty Muslims" or "sand niggers." 

"My sister is Muslim and I love her."  That's what I think of it.  No one usually presses the issue. Some appear uncomfortable.  I don't know if they think that maybe I am Muslim as well, since she is, or if they're suddenly afraid they've offended me (I'm offended because of how you are asking the question because I'm a person and you are talking about other people). Some, I can see, are surprised to hear me say it.  Some appear confused.  I am clearly Caucasian and most see primarily the European descent.  A few pick up on something else that doesn't "seem" European to them.  I usually explain we have a good mix of Native American blood as well.  Most know I'm from Oklahoma originally.  None of this explains the wayward sister who chose Islam.  

I think I knew the choice before many others.  My sister has a tendency to ask for an opinion when she has almost decided herself (or completely decided, but hasn't figured out how to announce said decision).  She asked me around Thanksgiving a few years ago.  

"What do you think of Islam?"  

She had been taking classes at university about religion, sociology, etc., similar to classes I'd taken.  

"I think of Islam about what I think of all other organized religions:  It has some good parts.  Those parts can be amazing.  It has some parts that I don't agree with personally.  There are people who take it way to an extreme and out of context, like many other religions. There are people who give it a terrible name.  There are people who give a good positive name."  

I never asked what she thought of my answer.  I didn't need to know her opinion of my response--she knows I've never been the religious type despite having familiarity with many religions.  She knows that.  She also knows I am a philosophy major and I love research.  I started studying Taoism and Buddhism at fourteen.  I researched Paganism in its various forms about the same time.  I've researched Christianity and have a bizarre fascination with Gothic churches and the activity of the Catholic Church since before the Holy Roman Empire.  I want to be allowed into the Vatican's libraries to study the manuscripts.  I want to sit in wonder in the same room as the Dalai Lama.  I've researched Judaism.  Qabalah.  Ancient Greek and Roman mythology and philosophy have always held a special place.  The various tribal religions across the worlds are fascinating.  Religions and cultures mesmerize me.  I'm not religious, though.  

"My sister is Muslim."  

This has not changed our relationship.  I worry about her safety more since she reverted.  Not because she cannot take care of herself. but because ignorance leads people to fear, anger, and hatred.  I want to protect her from harm.  I want to hold her gloved hand as she walks veiled in public so she has something to which she can direct her frustration and anger.  If it means squeezing my hand, so be it.  I want to be able to look someone in the eyes and say, "She's my sister.  You wouldn't judge me as harshly as you judge her by looking at me and you don't know anything about me.  You would likely assume that I am more like you than she is.  Why is it acceptable in your mind for you to judge her when you know nothing more about her personhood than you do mine?"     

I want to be the one who explains that the covering of one's body is not necessarily a bad thing.  This is one of the more extreme things Americans see when they see Muslim women.  Why is it so acceptable to Americans to show so much skin?  Yes, the adage "sex sells" is prevalent, somewhat true, but is it necessary?  I was once told that I am "too smart to be as pretty as I am" by another woman.  Or maybe she said I was "too pretty to be as smart as I am."  Either way, why is it one or the other for us?  Why can't we listen to what a woman says?  Why can't we accept that women can be beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, empathetic, courageous, etc.?  Why do we judge women by their measurements and by only that which we can see? Why is covering oneself so restrictive and so controversial?  Why do little girls perceive that their value is based on their bodies and dress bodies they don't yet have?  What would happen if we encourage more modesty of dress and more presentation of mind?  Why is revealing our bodies the way to protect ourselves from judgment of others, when it opens us up to physical assault?  I want to be able to spark those thoughts in others, but especially now that my sister, who is physically beautiful, is covered and no longer has that to protect herself in our society.  Instead, she stands out whether fully veiled or in her scarf. 

Now, she is a target.  She has a brilliant mind.  One that she probably never received much credit for possessing because she was the beautiful blonde in our family, who inherited all the genetic ability to be buxom as well.  She knows so much more than she lets on and she thinks so much faster than most people believe. She is immensely compassionate. Covering her body, one would think would allow her more freedom to express those thoughts and her compassion as people who not be distracted by the amount of cleavage or the size of her ass.  They don't see that.  They don't see what I see.  

"My sister is Muslim."

She is not a terrorist.  She is not a jihadist.  She is a mother of two boys.  She is a wife.  She is a daughter, a sister, an aunt.  She also happens to be Muslim.  She chose Islam (or it chose her).  She did not marry into it.  She is not married to someone from KSA or elsewhere in the Middle East.  She is a hard worker.  She worries about what her family thinks.  Her family worries they might lose her.  
Her nineteen year old self would not recognize her now. She has become the woman that was always inside her, who was waiting to appear.  Waiting for the frivolity of life to pass.  Waiting for an opportunity to say, "You are so much, much more than you have been.  You can do great things.  You need the mechanism and the inspiration to do so.  You need to feel whole. Find that."  She did.  

"My sister is Muslim."