I proceeded to the main prayer hall which was upstairs. It was a simple large room with a dark green carpet. There wasn’t a partition or a separate prayer hall for women like I’ve seen in most other mosques (some consider the lack of a partition to be closer to the Prophetic tradition). I saw a couple of older sisters setting up chairs for themselves and decided to help them. I started asking them questions about Malcolm X and as it turned out they had actually met him! They told me how they used to go to his talks and that they became Muslim during his time. I inquired further about how it was for them to move from the teachings of the Nation of Islam to orthodox Islam. They explained that for them it was just another step in the learning process; the transition was relatively smooth. However, they did mention that some of their friends had difficulty and even went back to the old ways.
I visited them in during Ramadan and it was time to break fast. Dates were passed around and the men and women gathered around in the hallway and broke their fast. We then proceeded to the prayer hall where sunset prayers were offered. The individual leading the prayer recited the Arabic in a unique African-American accent; it was interesting to listen to it, sometimes I felt he might have jumbled up the words.
I met some of the brothers after the prayer. One of them might have been around eighteen; he was the youngest one present. He too was a convert and become Muslim after studying Islam on his own. He explained he’d been coming to the mosque even since and has learned how to practice from the Imam who teaches on Sundays. He told me that about 95% of the people at that mosque used to be Christian at one point. I met another gentleman who too had met Malcolm X. He however did not become Muslim until the late 90’s, some forty years after Malcolm Shabazz’s death. His story reminded me never to lose hope in people you do dawah to; you never know when their hearts will be guided. I was a little disappointed by the numbers at the mosque though. During sunset prayers in Ramadan a total of maybe 30 people came out, most of them were quite old too.
I was then invited for Iftar by the people at the mosque. The dinner was prepared in a separate dining room on the main level; it was to be served on a table as opposed to on the floor. I was informed that the room actually used to be a coffee shop and Malcolm X would often hangout here; he liked his coffee black I was told. There was a strong sense order and discipline amongst these people. Everything was to be done in a specific fashion and you couldn’t do it otherwise. For example, the sisters were responsible for serving the food and the brothers were to wait for it to be delivered. I tried to get up to help myself but it was frowned up and I decided to stay seated.
The food was all homemade and very delicious. It wasn’t the usual birayni though; they served meat loaf and vegetables instead. The conversation was quite enjoyable; they told me stories about Malcolm X and things that go on their community. I felt quite welcomed even though I was an outsider in many ways. They had a strong sense of community and it was quite apparent that their bonds went years back. A guy came in late and one of the older sisters scolded him like a typical grandma; it was funny moment.
As I walked out of the masjid and into the dark Harlem streets to head home, I reflected on the incredible achievements of Malcolm Shabazz. He single handedly transformed a community and left an unshakable legacy. His determination, open-mindedness and uncompromising pursuit for the truth inspires people to this day. Malcolm’s story is to be studied for it is a testament to not only the transformative powers of religion but also of us as human beings.
Last summer I had the opportunity to visit New York City. I was excited for this trip as I have always wanted to visit the Big Apple. It has a rich history, a vibrant culture and in my opinion it is decorated with the world’s best collection of sky scrapers. In addition to checking out all the regular touristy sites I wanted to visit a not so touristy part of New York; Harlem.
For those that don’t know, Harlem is the cultural capital of the African American community in New York. I wanted to visit Harlem for several reasons. One reason was to explore African American culture. Being black in Canada means something very different than what it means to be black in America. I wanted to get a chance to observe African American culture and there is no better place to do that than Harlem. More importantly, the reason I wanted to visit Harlem was because Malcolm X was primarily based out of this place. It was in this neighborhood where he was once a hustler and it was from this place that he eventually led his movement. More specifically he transformed this area into the heart of the black Muslim community in the 60’s.
Initially, I just wanted to walk around the neighborhood. I wasn’t sure if there were any historic landmarks that I could visit. I looked at the map I had purchased and my eye caught the attention of a land mark that read ‘Malcom Shabazz Mosque’. I was excited. I wasn’t sure if the mosque would be related to Malcom X in anyway or if it was just named after him. I decided to visit the mosque and find out my self. I got lost on the subway but luckily ran into a stranger (a gigantic Cuban guy who could barely speak English) that agreed to drive me to Harlem! It was big risk getting into a car with a stranger but it certainty paid off.
I was dropped a few blocks away from my destination which meant I had to walk a little. I started to notice the cultural differences right away. Not only were the inhabitants predominantly black but there was a sizable muslim population too as I saw men in kufis, women wearing hijabs and abayas. I asked for directions to Malcolm X’s mosque and was soon guided in the right direction. I was walking down Malcolm X Avenue; it was evident that Malcolm X held an esteemed status in this neighborhood.
I soon sighted a building with a gigantic green dome; I had arrived at my destination. I entered and saw a front desk attendant at the mosque. It’s not normal for a mosque to have such a thing so I just tried to bypass the desk but was stopped. I was a little scared; I know the Nation of Islam was dissolved at one point and all ‘temples’ were converted to orthodox mosques but I wasn’t sure about this particular one. The attendant asked me why I was there and I explained I was there for prayers. I looked around saw a chart with the five daily prayer times and some other symbols that convinced me this was an orthodox mosque. I then asked the attendant if this was the mosque where Malcolm X was based out of. His eyes lit up when I mentioned Malcolm’s name; ‘Yes! This is it. This is where it all happened’. I knew I was in for a treat.
After hearing about the crazy protests in Toronto this Saturday, I decided to take a stroll downtown on Sunday to take a look at the damage that was done and to see if I could get a glimpse of the action myself. Things of that magnitude never happen in Canada so it was a once in a life time opportunity. I’ve never really been to a protest or witnessed vandalism of that sort so curiosity dragged me to the core of Toronto where the G20 was happening.
My bag was thoroughly searched as soon as I got out of Union station; apparently the police was given full permission to go through everyone’s stuff. I started walking around to see if any protests were going on. The downtown area was pretty much empty around 4:30pm, with the exception of a small group of people protesting by King and Bay. They were just sitting in a circle peacefully surrounded by police; there wasn’t much action there. I then starting walking North. The vandalism from yesterday was still quite apparent; windows of nearly every other store were smashed up till Dundas Street. The Eaton Center was almost empty; nothing like what you’d normally see on a Sunday. I made my way up to Queens Park and it was deserted too. ‘I missed all the action’ I thought to myself. After surveying most of the downtown core, I started walking back to Union station to head home.
I saw a girl handcuffed and being questioned by a few cops on University Avenue as I was heading back. I decided to stand and watch what was going on. All of sudden this officer turns around and yells at me, ‘What the hell you doing standing behind my back you creep!! Get back!! Do you know this girl??!! This is none of your business! Get Back you Creep!!’. I was infuriated at the unnecessary rudeness demonstrated by this officer but there wasn’t much I could do. ‘Try being a little nicer’ I whispered. Two cops came up to me and started searching my backpack (this was the third time now) and questioning me. I protested when the officer pulled out my journal and started skimming through my notes, ‘So you guys are just gonna violate our basic right today’ I said. He bluntly responded, ‘Right now, you have no rights’. I was about to experience that statement in full force a few minutes later.
I was ready to go back home after this quick confrontation with the police. However, walking back I saw a large group of protestors rallying westward on Queen Street. I got a little excited and quickly joined them. There must have been over a thousand odd people, it was a pretty large group. After walking with the group for a few blocks I started to realize that most of the people weren’t really protesting anything significant. I heard them chant random things such as ‘Whose Streets? Our Streets!’ every once in while; only a few people actually had banners and signs. Majority of the crowd comprised of curious young adults and teenagers walking along peacefully and taking pictures; trying to be a part of the G20 experience. I’d say may be about 50-100 people were actually a part of the protest, the rest were random folks like myself who just wanted to check out what was happening.
The ‘protestors’ were finally stopped by a wall of police officers and their bikes at Queen and Spadina. We couldn’t go forward or turn southward on Spadina. I don’t really know what the police wanted us to do. The protestors started chanting, ‘Let us through! Let us through!’ but the police wouldn’t budge. People settled down in the middle of the intersection and starting protesting in various ways. One guy started throwing out monopoly money in the crowd while dancing with a boom box on his shoulders, thus symbolizing the money wasted on this summit. Another guy was holding a sign that read ‘Everything is OK!’. He would go up to the police ocassionaly and say things like, ‘Are you guys a fan of oppression?!’ and ‘You guys need to quit your jobs and start doing something more meaningful with your lives!’. Others just sat around in circles and sang songs like ‘We shall over come…’ and ‘Oh Canada’. There were journalists taking video footage and reporting live from the scene. With the exception of the southbound traffic being blocked on Spadina, everything was very peaceful. It was quite the party actually.
After about fifteen minutes our so we started noticing riot police arrive in their vans in the distance; it was about 6 pm at this point. They parked on the south side of Spadina. People started booing and expressed disappointment, ‘Oh Right, cuz we are just that scary’ one protester exclaimed. After about 10 minutes they quickly marched up and instantaneously replaced the regular police officers and their bikes. Their sheer presence was intimidating and I got a little frightened. I decided I was going to head back. Some protestors continued and chanted, ‘You’re sexy! You’re cute! Take off your riot suit!’ Only a few minutes later another group of riot police marched up from behind the first group in their usual robotic swagger and quickly blocked off the eastern end of Queen Street. They pushed and knocked over innocent bystanders as they did so. We were blocked from three sides now. I was only thinking about heading northwards when I saw another group block the North end of the intersection. Th intersection at Queen and Spadina was blocked off from all four corners now.
Panic was in the air at this time as most of the people were just innocent bystanders and curious onlookers checking out the protest. It wasn’t fun and games any more. Police in riot gear are scary as hell and to top that they were screaming and yelling at us, telling us to move back while banging on their shields with the batons and marching forward. Amongst those corralled were journalists, seniors, young teenagers and dogs. Most people just wanted to get out of there but there were no options. Tensions were running high. I heard some people started to cry out of fear and anxiety. The officer in command went around telling the police, ‘If they cross the line, they are under arrest’.
We asked the riot police how we could get out. Many of them were just as clueless as we were and some told us to just calm down and they’ll soon give us a way out. I thought this was their way of breaking up the crowd and clearing the intersection; it worked fairly well as we were pushed to the sides and the intersection was cleared up in just a few minutes. I figured they’d let us go soon. All of a sudden I saw a group of 4 or 5 officers violently jump one guy from the crowd and took him in. He was pinned against the floor and handcuffed. I figured he might be one of the violent protesters they were searching for from yesterday. A few minutes later another guy was taken in, not as violently this time. This procedure was repeated several times. So much so that at one point it seemed that they were doing it completely randomly; if you were close enough they’d grab you. I decided to stand as far as I could from the frontline where they were snatching people.
After about an hour or so, rumors started spreading around in the crowd that we were all under arrest. I was horrified when I heard the news. Will I have a criminal record now? That’s gonna ruin my future I thought. How am I going to tell my folks at home where I am? My mum would freak if I told her I got arrested. How am I gonna explain my absence from work? What will my manager think? All these thoughts were running wild in my head as I stood there helplessly waiting. I was beginning to regret my decision to come downtown. Just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, it started raining cats and dogs. I don’t think it has ever rained as hard. It continued to pour and pour. Some people had umbrellas and others didn’t. Luckily I had mine and a group of people flocked under it as soon as I held it up.
There were several media personnel from stations such as CP24, CTV and 680 News. This gave me some hope as I thought they’d get us out of here; however after sometime most of these people had disappeared. Either they too were arrested or were allowed to leave because of their special name tags, I don’t quite know. I started asking the riot police for updates and they confirmed the rumors about all of us being arrested. They told us that they only quick way to get out of the rain was to voluntarily get arrested; they’ll eventually come get all of us anyways. About two hours later several people lined up and voluntarily turned themselves in out of desperation. I too thought about doing the same but later decided against it, ‘they’ll have to come get me if they want me’ I told myself.
The crowd was slowly shrinking. People were hungry, cold and wet; many feared they’d contract hypothermia. The rain wouldn’t stop and the cops weren’t making things easy. No official instructions were given to us and we weren’t told what they were going to do with us. All the information received was either rumors or information individuals received after inquiring with some officers which was later spread around. Many officers wouldn’t even answer questions. At one point they stopped arresting volunteers. We were told that there wasn’t any room to put us and they were waiting for buses to come that would take us to the detention centre. I saw buses arrive at around 8:45 pm. Some were TTC streetcars and others were large Greyhound style buses.
At one point even the riot police put their guards down. They started chatting and joking around with those that were corralled; even they recognized that something wasn’t right. By this time people had made new friends within the crowd. I met this poor woman who was on a lunch break from work and got stuck here. People continued complaining about how their rights were violated and how they’d sue the city as soon as they got out. Many compared the treatment to that of the Nazi’s. I soon realized that this experience was a slight preview into the lives of those that are oppressed around the world. The Palestinians go through oppression far worse than this on a daily basis. This feeling of complete helplessness and subjugation is something I’ve never experienced. I thank God for the freedoms he’s blessed us with in this land.
At about 9:40 pm, over 3 hours after this episode began an officer came out and made an inaudible announcement. Shortly after, the riot police magically dispersed and those remaining in the crowd were allowed to go free. There were still around 100 odd people left. The crowd dispersed immediately and people started running home as soon as they were released. Bystanders clapped and cheered us on as we made our way out; we felt like heroes. There were reporters standing outside filming us and taking interviews, I even managed to make my way onto live television. It was quite the moment.
I came looking for an adventure and I got more than what I asked for. In the five hours that I spent in Toronto, I’ve learned lessons worth a lifetime. Its hard to believe that things of this nature could happen in a free democratic state like Canada; I’ve learned to not take our freedom for granted. As frustrastring as the situation was, I must say that the experience was certianly unforgettable. I returned home, tired yet thankful, only to hear the ‘I told you so’ lecture conveniently prepared by my mother.
BloomingPeaches - Sit. Think. Imagine 