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I’m reviving my blog after almost two years in hiatus to bring my submissions to the blog carnival hosted by the lovely Nicole Cunningham. Convert Truths: In Shades of Grey – check it out!

“We can’t listen to music, you know?” She said, her arm blocking the doorway, peering down at me.

“Really? I… not even-?”

“Not even Christian music. Anything with instruments is haram.”

“Oh. Well. I didn’t know, I mean…I’ve never read -”

“Well, it is. It’s in a hadith. It’s true.”  She folded her arms in such a way as to establish herself, a “Veteran Revert” and her lordship over me, the dumbfounded new shahada.

I started studying Islam when I was 15 after attending a series of Christian theology classes. I didn’t consider myself completely clueless when, at 19, I said the shahada over video chat with online friends – but I was.  Sort of. What I didn’t know was that when I decided to visit the mosque, and mingle among other Muslims, I should’ve put on my emotional riot gear and kissed my greatest expectations of a convert love fest good-bye.  I left the mosque, my psyche, my heart battered and bruised from the do’s and the don’ts and the rampant attacks on all the I had considered me and with which I identified. Most of all, I hadn’t even taken on the five pillars I had been reading so much about, and I was already so discouraged. I had only converted three months previous, and that night left me so shaken, I thought I had made a terrible, foolish mistake.

For years, I mulled this evening over and over in my noggin to figure out why it was so important for “Veteran Revert” (as she called herself) to batter any and all things “Western” out of me in front of other Muslims and make me feel so inadequate. She had only been a Muslim one year longer than I. Was she right? Did I really need to change so much? Would I really burn in hell for listening to the Beatles whilst wearing flip flops?

Islam has never really caught me off guard. I’ve come to know that if I read something in the Qur’an that seems slightly odd, sooner or later, with a little effort, I’ll find its reasoning and logic eventually. However, Muslims themselves, (particularly converts), have seemingly launched a full-out assault on my intellect, and left a permanent dent in my forehead from six years of *facepalm*s. While obnoxious, it’s not even so much of the taking on a fake accent or the need to dress (modestly) to impress. It’s not the Arabphilia or the obsession with Backhomeistan. It’s the repeating of opinions, ideas and “rulings” from others in lieu of personal study. I know, now, that if I hear something that’s slightly odd, (especially if it’s coming from someone adamantly defending their standpoint with unrelenting fervor) usually, in the sanctuary of my own private study, I’ll come to the conclusion that it’s a half-truth at best, cultural/tribal idea or something completely false that has been passed along as Gospel truth.

“Well, it is. It’s in a hadith. It’s true.”

Had I known, had I had the wits about me to ask which hadith, the transition and strength of said hadith and where to find its basis in Qur’an, I’m sure my “Veteran Revert” couldn’t answer. The more I became exposed to her, the quicker I discovered she was simply repeating what others had told her to believe as fact. She was deeply insecure, and would often shut down during our conversations and spew, “well, I don’t like it either, but that’s the way it is!” without actually furthering the reasoning.  She believed that Islam was infallible, like most of us, but by proxy also believed that the words of Muslims who were born into Islam or converted before her were also.

Though she would berate me about my need to wear hijab, my need to get married, etc., I started to feel sad for her. I knew she didn’t wear hijab because she wanted or was convinced by iman, she wore it because someone told her she should. She didn’t marry because she wanted to or was ready. She did it because she was told it was right thing to do, and told, by him and others, to absorb what he said as fact (he was a born Muslim, after all, and their marriage would secure her shahada). I felt sad because while she might have been suited most opinions of “correct” Muslimhood on the outside, she didn’t know Islam in her heart like she needed to.

She wasn’t my only example in real life, and when I turned to the blogosphere and different forums, I could see it was definitely a pandemic among converts from all over the globe, from all walks.

“My husband said.”

“The imam said.”

“The sheikh my husband’s cousin knows said.”

“Islam Q+A said.”

I started to see that few converts personally owned their Islam. I started to see that few people really knew much about Islam at all. Any challenge of logic or knowlege and the “[someone] said” or Google Sheikh and Bing Bukhari was a reflex response.

I’ve definitely had moments there. Not having been born into an Arabic-speaking family, I struggle with semantics the most. Non-Muslims have asked me questions before, and wanting to seem ever-so-convinced and knowledgeable, instead of saying something like, “I don’t know, but I’d gladly find out for you” and spend four to six hours deciphering bits of Arabic, I’ve opened my mouth and let the “wisdom” of others flow.

There’s not really a problem with parroting, assuming that others and their translations and interpretations are correct, but the more I’m learning (and yes, I say still learning) the more culture I have to pick out like weeds from the garden. And still, aside from cultural bias, there is so much to consider when looking at a singular hadith or the passage from Qur’an that is often ignored.

[A simple example: The Qur'an, like the Bible, was not written in chronological order, but unlike the Bible, it's also not arranged or recited chronological order, so when we read a passage, we must first consider its historical context.  That takes slightly more thought than a copy + paste from Islamq-a.com.]

I’ve also found that it doesn’t really matter what Islam says – some people will choose people over Islam. Yeah, I said it. Challenge someone and give them daleel, or proof, that negates their opinion, and out comes another “[somebody] said.” This is among both born Muslims and converts, but the grasping at straws converts do to prevent looking like fools is usually the best (read: worst).

Nothing makes me cringe more than, “My husband said” – especially from those from those who married into Islam. I trust my husband fully and his opinion (we debate and discuss on a regular basis), so perhaps this is a false stereotype, but from reading what usually follows, “My husband said,” there are a lot of dudes out there teaching Americans and Europeans their own twists on fiqh in order to bring about the wife that suits their needs, rather than the wife that enjoys the freedoms and respect Islam grants to her.Those wives then go to teach others what they have “learned” either because they’re truly convinced it’s correct, or because misery loves company.

There are converts out their with their own minds, their own thoughts, bodies and brains. I have met and befriended many. But more often than not I run into the parrots, the birds trapped in the cages of Hislam, insecure about their own beliefs, and obsessing over trivialities and/or superficial knowledge of fiqh and squawking about it all the loudest.

Music-forbidding Veteran Revert eventually cracked. After four years of “practice,” she folded.  She had done everything that everyone said was right, and eventually couldn’t handle it anymore. She was deeply depressed and unhappy and she unraveled at the seams. She removed her hijab, (not that I have a problem with that), and stopped praying and fasting. She took up eating pork and drinking because she she missed it. She realized she didn’t love her husband, and in fact, hated him and had an extramarital affair out of spite. She lost interest in caring for her daughter. She filed for divorce, left them both, and moved back in with her parents.

The last time we talked, she told me that she didn’t know what she believed any more. She wasn’t even sure there was a “god.” She told me all these “rules and regulations and expectations” were simply too much. When times of crisis came (especially between cultural difference disputes between her and her spouse), she had nothing to retreat to, and nothing in which to abide. It was all very superficial and something she did because she thought she should. It was all a lie, she said. I tried to console her, and tried to help her start over, but she said, at that point, she wasn’t ready. That was two years ago.

I always tell converts, like in any other arena in life, if it looks and smells like bullsh*t, it probably is. Unfortunately, this certain type of bullsh*t can make or break your Islam and apparently your life, so you have to be particularly careful.  Take most of what others say with a grain of salt, and pace yourself. Above all, own what you say, do and believe, and stay true to self.

The Prophet (saw) received his message around 40, and died around 62-63. For the first 11-12 years, before the Prophet (saw) took the believers to Medina, he spent his time pouring his efforts into teaching the creed, iman, the heartbeat of Islam, the characteristics of Allah, the differences of Islam from other religions, the story of creation and numerous other ideas. While modesty for both sexes was a cultural norm, it wasn’t until after they went to Medina,  that any zakat or salat or hajj or prohibition of alcohol, etc. Allah (swt) knew that if the people focused on the pillars of faith first, that the pillars of practice could come later. People needed to see things and learn things for themselves rather than be forced, pressured and coerced into practices they didn’t quite grasp.

Learning Arabic, studying, picking out the culture from the reality can be a chore – I know – but it can be done. In the end I want to pass on knowledge that I own, not knowledge that I’ve stolen. I want know that I do something because I’ve been convicted in my heart, not because someone told me I should. I want to be convinced by the Almighty, not someone who wants to show off their piety. In the end, on the Day of Judgment, I want to stand and know that I gave it my best. I don’t trust people with much, and I especially don’t want to trust them with my soul.

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