who our friends are

i've been blown away by the support we've received for the park51 project:
strippers, socialist workers and gay and lesbian organizations, hebrew school students, woody allen, salman rushdie, michael bloomberg, jon stewart, russell simmons, the african-american community, the jewish community of lower manhattan, christians, buddhists, hindus, agnostics, atheists, even a pot-smoking, amarillo, texas-raised quran hero (who ended an anti-muslim rally by grabbing a kerosene-soaked quran off a grill and skateboarded off, famously saying, "dude, you don't HAVE a quran!")

and, as a muslim, i keep asking myself, "are we going to remember who our friends are?"

when all the controversy dies down, are we going to leap on to the tea party's campaign and fight gay marriage and abortion, and complain about the jewish conspiracy and all those leftwing liberals?

we muslims - as any woman who's walked into a tea party full of vicious aunties will tell you - can be somewhat judgemental. the pursed lips and head-shaking and murmured, "astaghfir'Allahs" (God forgive us). the sideways glances as the porcelain tea cups clink politely. oh yes, and then there's the taliban.

will we have learned the right lesson from this? that tolerance, love and compassion, for people and situations we don't understand or that make us uncomfortable are always the better way. as muslims, we've been shown this kind of solidarity. can we learn to release our judgements and show the love back?

a friend of mine sent me an email today in which he said:

"One can only teach and live by example if one wishes to remain true to the larger spirit of humanity. Narrower interpretations are based on vicious forms of group tyranny. I am sure that it hurts when these narrow interpretations cloak themselves in the name of Islam - claiming to "own" it in some way that excludes all others."

in my mind, the most important lesson in Islam is the opening of every chapter (or sura) - the phrase we repeat over and over again, until perhaps we don't hear it any more - "the merciful, the compassionate." as the native americans said, all faiths are threads of the same rope. even if those faiths include agnostics and atheists. it's not just "people of the book," it's all of us. every one. we must learn to embody that compassion.

what i loved about william chittick's blog about islam on the huffington post is that it reminded us that the rules (and the people who break them) are not the point.

our friends are not always the people who seem to be just like us. our friends are the people who stand by us when we need them. we must appreciate their generosity and stand by them, too.

to all of our supporters - i know this isn't why you do it but - thank you.

Why Park51 Needs Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Wafa Sultan. And Irshad Manji and Parvez Sharma and El-Farouk Khaki

Like every Muslim in the world (with internet access) and a bit of extra time, I've been watching the daily drama surrounding Park51. In my case, I watch with more interest. Though I am not a spokesperson, Park51 is in my neighborhood and was an outgrowth from the overcrowded mosque I attend.

What is becoming increasingly obvious, apart from the fact that no one seems to really know the facts about the Park51 project, is that as a community, we are letting outsiders make decisions and pronouncements FOR us. We are reacting rather addressing our needs.

Whether you are for or against men and women worshipping together, for or against gay and lesbian rights, for or against playing and listening to music, for or against hijab; let's talk to each other.

I read an article somewhere about how to react when you see a parent being abusive to a child in a public place. If you start by chastising the parent, you've guaranteed the child an even worse time when you leave. The first step is to tell the parent you understand how difficult it is, that it's hard to be patient. Then you might tell the parent what a wonderful child they have, or something to help them to see the situation differently for a minute. Help them step away from a moment of frustration. The first step to change starts with building bridges, releasing tension. Even with someone you really disagree with.

As Muslims, we need to start listening to each other. We need to engage and explore, gently and respectfully, especially in the beginning; but definitely thoroughly.

Park51 was created based on love and inclusion. It is open to all people. Thus it is also the place to learn and start dialogue about Muslim identity. We are redefining our identities as American Muslims - and whether we agree or not - we need the points of view of all Muslims who are open to dialogue, from Hamza Yusuf and Reza Aslan,Irshad Manji, Parvez Sharma, El-Farouk Khaki and anyone else who wants to make peace with his or her faith.

But we also need all those thinkers (some brilliant) who have thrown up their arms and walked away. We need to take their questions and critiques seriously. While we may need to separate cultural and personal narratives from larger issues, we need to listen, not dismiss. We need Hirsi Ali, we need Wafa Sultan, We need Ibn Warraq and Salman Rushdie. Because for every writer who has walked away, there are hundreds of other people who have found themselves alienated in similar ways and deserve to be heard. We need Muslims who have never before found a place where they feel at home and accepted - no matter how they choose to practice.

We also need everyone else - Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, Bahai, Agnostics, Atheists. As the Prophet Muhammed (p.b.u.h.) is reported to have said, "There are as many paths to the divine as there are souls." We need a place where we can listen and discover our similarities and accept our differences. We may find crucial pieces that were missing in our own understanding of faith. The Dalai Lama has spoken beautifully and eloquently on Islam, so has Karen Armstrong and, of course, others.

We need to find a safe space to ask ourselves the hard questions - about female circumcision, about forced marriages, about poverty, literacy and violence, so much more - reach a real place for consensus on issues that harm people and lovingly agree to disagree in places where people can make choices.

Park51 has infused in its roots the interfaith work of Imam Feisal Rauf. But as an Muslim interfaith center, it cannot possibly allow itself to be circumscribed by any one man or woman. Even with people we admire, who seem beyond reproach - let's say, Gandhi or Mother Theresa - we often discover that they were humans after all, and as such subject to human foibles and caprices.

Park51 must be larger, more diverse and more committed to New York City and its values.

Park51's location is already forcing us to take so many sensitivities and viewpoints into account. We are in the unique position of having brought to the forefront so many different viewpoints on Muslims, on Islam, on our constitution and our freedoms, on our ways of worshipping and showing respect.

Ideally, we will become the crucible for Muslim thought in America and New York City's symbol of tolerance and harmony with all expressions of faith.

The Satanic Verses... replay

Open on a scene of fist-pumping, screaming book-burners. Cut to a scene of screaming, sign-waving anti-Muslim protestors reciting the Lord's Prayer at a community board meeting or a pastor burning a Quran a day.

As someone who's been involved with the Park51 project from the beginning, I feel like I'm watching the same movie. (Deepak Chopra agrees in the Huff Post)

Some years ago, I interviewed Salman Rushdie for a magazine, just after the fatwah, before the hiding. When I read the onslaught of media about our project, it's down to the same thing Salman Rushdie told me, "No one's actually read the book."

Even my own mother said, "What?! It's not a mosque? It's not on ground zero? Why isn't anyone TELLING us this?"

Let me explain. I LIVE in lower Manhattan, about 12 blocks from the World Trade Center site.

Contrary to popular opinion, we are desperate for prayer space in the area. In our neighborhood, there is an increasingly large population of Muslims. Many of them work in the Financial district, but also on Canal street and in other local businesses.

Because the Muslim holy day is Friday, when most of them are at work in our area, our tiny storefront of a mosque spills over with people. They are lined up outside, crowding the sidewalk like an open call for a multicultural American Idol.

According to fire codes, our storefront mosque can only hold about 75 people. Thus, on Fridays, we had to schedule four or five prayer consecutive services in order to accommodate people. People who have to rush back to work have to pray on the sidewalk on pieces of cardboard. Mira Schor's My Whole Street is a Mosque explains how our whole neighborhood becomes instantly "hallowed ground."

Opposition suggests that there are other prayer areas in Manhattan, but they obviously have never tried to get from the lower Westside to the Upper eastside and back by lunch time. (You Muslims in the suburbs, especially the Canadian ones, clearly have NO idea.)

Some members of our congregation put together a plan to buy a nearby building to house the overflow. Obviously, Tribeca real estate is expensive and they bought an affordable but broken-down building that's sat empty for years, on a more or less deserted street. It was close, cheap and fulfilled our needs. It wasn't meant to be a symbol of anything.

In the fall of 2009, they started having regular Friday prayers and by the late fall, hundreds of people were coming. Because we LIVED in the neighborhood, it was a necessary service. It was one without symbolism – except when, from time to time during the Qutbah (sermon), we reflected on how lucky we were to be living in America. As for the charges against Imam Feisal, as someone who listened to his new-agey-self-searching qutbahs over the past 15 years, they were down to a word, spiritual and reassuringly apolitical. He never failed to remind us to be grateful for being American Muslims.

Now that the prayer room was operative, we all had a look at the space and realized it was much bigger than we needed - and, being Muslims, we all felt the right thing was to give something back to the neighborhood. Especially, a neighborhood that was made a wasteland by terrorists calling themselves Muslims.

We wanted to SHARE our space – our private property - with everyone.

We started brainstorming. One person dreamed of a gallery. Another, a playspace for kids. We envisioned cooking classes, performance spaces, classes for teenagers, a basketball court, a swimming pool (MY personal favorite), a wellness center. I wanted a Muslim prayer area that treated women equally, that was open to people of all sexual orientations, that was open to dialogue amongst Muslims of all beliefs, sects and practices - as well as other religions and atheists. We all wanted sustainable building materials and eco-friendly construction – maybe solar panels on the roof?

We got really excited about offering this gift to our community. We imagined the first-ever Muslim Y, with access for everyone. It would be something that we, as American Muslims, as New Yorkers, could really be proud of showing to our grandchildren.

Thus we made our first mistake. We introduced the idea at the community board meeting. All of a sudden, what we saw as a gift, an effort to enrich and heal, was taken (by some) as an assault on the people who had suffered on September 11.

Experience is not a qualifier in itself, but on September 11, 2001, I put my 6 and 4 year olds on the school bus. Then I watched the planes hit and wondered if I would ever see my daughters again. I sat on the steps on my building and comforted a sobbing neighbor whose husband was at Cantor on the top floor of the towers.

As the first tower collapsed, I ran through the crashing, the dust and crowds of screaming people, pushing my 1 1/2 year-old in a stroller. I went on a 13-hour trek with her and a friend to search for my older kids who had been evacuated from the U.N. school and then to bring them back home and give them something to eat.

I started out exhausted that day because the night before I'd come back from a week of looking after my ex-husband who had just suffered a brain hemorrhage. He was in the hospital in Stony Brook, Long Island.

Eventually, I escaped upstate for a few days. As we drove back into New York City, still in a panic, I called my youngest daughter's godmother, a Jewish friend who had lived with us for a while. She thought I shouldn’t come into the city until after Rosh Hashannah, just in case people found a reason for reprisals against Muslims.

We picked her up on our way back into the city and she rode back down with us in case we needed help. We were lucky the police let us through the barricades because we had a car full of groceries and air purifiers, hard hats, water bottles and gas masks to deliver to the workers down at ground zero. The hardware stores in the city were sold out and everything downtown was a ghost town.

I spent the next two months crying. I sobbed every time I ran into a friend or a neighbor who survived, who was alive and well, and we hugged each other in the street. I cried at funerals for friends and neighbors I lost. I cried as I walked my kids through the acrid air up to Soho to the school bus. I cried every time I put them on the bus and was seized by a panic that they might not come back. I cried every time I caught a glimpse of the news. Though like so many of us downtown, I stopped reading newspapers or watching tv. I’d already watched people jumping out of buildings in real life, I’d felt the incredible rush of wind and scrape of dust as the buildings collapsed. I lived near the burning wreckage for months.

But even while our tears were still wet, we felt the beginnings of the backlash. One evening, crossing Canal street at the police checkpoint, I was dressed in a sari for an Indian art event. A group of sandy-haired young men strode towards me and jeered, “We’re going to bomb you m--f---s right back to the stone age!” and spit on my sari, as the police just stood silently and watched. I was scared but I understood. America is physically isolated. They can't tell an Indian from an Afghan.

Then I was in the Tribeca Grand working on an ad campaign for unity when my super-trendy Sikh friend, Waris Singh Aluwalia, was pushed up against the sofa by some tipsy preppy guys standing at the bar. Not long afterwards, he was punched, too. All right, they can't tell a Sikh from an Afghan either.

Still, slowly but surely, life went back to normal. The burning cooled. The air cleared. The restaurants and shops hobbled open. People who were traumatized moved away. New people moved in (mostly financial industry types). There were babies and strollers and a Wholefoods. The playground got bigger. The school was packed.

And, as everyone knows, the best antidote to suffering and trauma, is the joy of life and moving forwards. For those of us who lived around the World Trade Center site, it became a nuisance as its construction continually halted traffic, blocked roads and made our cell phones go out. We still shopped at Century 21, had coffee in the park, walked over the windy pedestrian bridge to get to the movie theater on the other side.

The only people who still called it Ground Zero were tourists who came to look and buy postcards or baseball hats or snowglobes of the burning buildings. Or to take pictures of each other in front of the fence.

All of a sudden, the argument isn’t about reviving a deserted street in our neighborhood. It isn’t about all the jobs and services we will bring to the place where we live. It’s about a symbol.

The same symbol you can buy on t-shirts and postcards and posters.

Maybe the analogy's not the Satanic Verses, maybe it’s abortion rights. We all love children. Who doesn’t want to kiss rosy-cheeked babies?

But some of us feel the day-to-day life of the mother and her unborn child might be so difficult, that we have to agree to the pain of abortion. Some of us feel that human life – as a symbol – is so dear, that there is never any justification for taking it. Is it the prosaic or the poetic?

Is this a place where New Yorkers live? Or is it a symbol for all of America?

And if it’s a symbol – where does the No-Muslim-Zone end? No-Muslims three blocks’ away? No-Muslims four or five? Can they pray on cardboard on the sidewalk or is that an affront as well? What about Muslims living and working in the area? Should they be denied services because their religion was hijacked? Where does our presence stop causing offense? (A taxi driver will tell you, all the way up to 23rd Street, at least).

Should I and my Muslim neighbors leave lower Manhattan in deference to the hurt feelings of all Americans?

I can’t deny the anguish and suffering of people who lost loved ones on September 11. I remember that panic, that sense of being violated by the event itself. I live the trauma myself.

But isn’t the answer to the hole that pain creates, the pleasure of life and love? Isn’t the most effective way to heal through forgiveness and faith? That's what they tried to do with the Catholic Center for Prayer and Understanding near Auschwitz.

We want Park51 to be a sanctuary, a refuge, a place to restore yourself, body and soul – no matter what your age, religion, sect, race, gender, sexual orientation.

And the money for the project? We're working on it. But we want to make sure that every donation is above board. We are vetting every penny. None of us wants ties to people who might use their money to buy influence and destroy our dream.

So let me explain again. It is not a mosque. It is a nonsectarian community center and prayer space. There will be an interfaith meditation room and memorial to the people we lost in 9/11. It is not at ground zero. It is two very long dark blocks away.

It is a place where children of all faiths will play in the pool together. A place where teenagers of all faiths will perfect their basketball techniques. A place where everyone might learn how to cook and eat delicious foods from around the world. This where we can have a library with a reading room, a place for high-risk adults to learn to read or learn how to apply for jobs, for the elderly to have a meal and meet their friends.

Park51 is our gift to ALL New Yorkers. Especially those of us who live downtown and need every service it offers.

Let's not burn books. Let's take a deep breath and read them for the message of understanding they might bring.

buying soul

avon just made the front page of wwwd by buying a jewelry brand sterling silver jewler silpada along with two skincare lines, liz earle (british natural skincare) and tiny tillia (children's bath products).

sounds smart. avon can become a purveyor of hotly-desired objects and perhaps overcome some of its psychological obstacles for consumers in north america. they can benefit from the learnings of small brands that are still close to the passion and striving of the original owners. small brands are often based a love for the product as well as for the consumer.

how lucky for avon to catch that magic.

high fashion online? how common.

marc jacobs has broken down. according to the ny times, high-fashion businesses are stepping gently into the internet pool.

i have to admit, even when down to my last dollar, i am a luxury consumer.

if i can't afford it - and i can't find a cool target/h&m/uniqlo/topshop collaboration that requires a lot of hunting to obtain - then i'd rather go without.

sometimes, especially at the last minute or while in remote locations, i absolutely have to have a deck of tarot cards thus they must be made by prada or hermes and i am forced to buy them on ebay.

oh, and i live too near canal street to have more than disdain for fakes.

what's an addict to do?

when i was in miami this spring, i fell madly in love with a cavalli dress from the current collection, but was wise and didn't fall prey to an impulse purchase. however, when i come back to nyc, it seems i can't live without it and i cannot find it anywhere but the saks website. and it's sold out in my size. ebay?

oh, if only cavalli sold his collection online.

but gasp, yes, roberto cavalli has a link on his site to yoox - and i am rescued!

let's face it, luxury brands, i am shopping online.

it's true, nothing beats the scent of the store, the music, the feel of the fabric in your hand, checking the fit and shape in the flattering light of the dressing room, the gleam of the chrome, the heart-pumping moment when the saleswoman hands you the shiny shopping bag.

but in a pinch, i'll shop online - and, if i am, so is everyone else.

i might be pressed for time, have second thoughts, or be too far away from the boutique.

high-end retailers take note, i HAVE seen some really sexy home pages, especially on my glossy screen powerbook. if you don't believe the online experience can make you rabid with desire, check out glossy internet magazines like nowness and drool over the glistening images of untouchable objects.

i suppose, at some time, shopkeepers might have refused to make catalogues, the idea being that a mere photograph couldn't possibly capture the soul of a beautiful object. but that was before irving penn made toothbrushes divine, before hiro made make-up delicious and raymond meier made prada shoes lickable.

the experience might not be same but the end result is - the click of my credit card and the shiny package in my hands.

i suppose i'm just common.

let's be friends

ok, everyone's on facebook these days.

from school kids to grandmother's sharing pictures of the grandkids to MI5 agents (they've been taken off) to corporations, production companies and brands.

amongst the successes, brands that appeal to young people, that are also young, playful and spontaneous

like avon's mark

http://www.brandchannel.com/home/post/2009/12/14/Avon-Is-On-The-Mark-With-Social-Networking.aspx

so here's the question - can you be friends with a luxury brand?

i asked a couple of people what they expect from their facebook "friends"

they all said the same thing, they want to see what their friends are doing, want to see if their friends are interested in the same things, they want a window into their friends' lives.

for a luxury brand, they want some "secrets" - inside information on what really happened at the shoot, the items that people are REALLY buying, the most exciting trend predictions, maybe secret sales or info on how to get on the waiting list for the latest "it" bag - they want to feel like they are part of the brand story.

they want all that stuff that's "just between friends" - they want to feel part of something special.

what they don't want is recycled press releases and advertisements.

The Revolution will not televised

gil-scott heron had it right.

every 5 minutes (it feels like), someone asks me to work on a project, be part of a team or tells me about a "revolutionary" new way to approach advertising and marketing.

there's the incredible new car app - that resulted in an interactive billboard in times square that you could draw on from your iphone if you downloaded their app.

cute. and really fun. but it's a party trick. does it bring you closer to buying that car? does it speak to the car's benefits and your desires?

it seems like most of the earth-shattering new product development ideas are like that. gimmicks, party tricks or attention-grabbers, but unrelated to the the key - the reason you wanted anti-cold medicine or vitamin-enhanced energy bars to begin with. or they are personalizations - just a step ahead of the old nike id - you can choose the color, the laces and the logo - but it's still the same shoe. you can't turn it into a hiking sandal, a boot or gloves. and, of course, the big brother corporation will still limit how far your "individuality" can go. thus they are not customization, just variations.

the point is - breaking the mold isn't just changing the shape of the mold - it doesn't mean putting your print ads online and/or making them interactive. it's not enough to just keep bombarding consumers with the same stuff with slight variations, in slightly different formats.

as consumers, we're fed up. we're no longer willing to drop our dollars on novelty items that are not much better than what we had before.

so what is new?

1. start with product development - try and think like a start-up - what is missing in people's lives? where's the hole? what do people really want? what do you really want?

if you're stuck, think BIG. think macro.

what do we all need? food, shelter, water, air. and then work your way backwards until you arrive at the beautiful, insulated teapot that pours perfectly, keeps your tea warm for hours and has a leaf strainer so efficient that you will never go back to tea bags. price it fairly. package it enticingly.

but re-bottling an old product you have and then trying to make your target market love it is sneaky, unless you really can fulfill a need. try and solve a problem beautifully and elegantly.

ask yourself WHY DO WE EXIST? why is this product necessary?

if you're interested in longevity, design AND substance matter.


2. think about new ways to talk to people. think about how you respond yourself. think of ways in which to bring the consumer into the story, to speak to them respectfully, to really listen to their desires. it's no longer tv commercials or tv commercials on youtube.

it's communication that adds richness and density to their lives.

it's more than just a packaged, sponsored sale pitch, it's something that allows you to feel the fingerprints of the maker still smudged into the surface.

it's something that makes you feel connected to something bigger and more important.

or something that makes you see the incredible beauty in minute detail perfected. come on, zen buddhists know all about this.

it's not about your methods of communication, it's about your ability to reach into people's souls. and really speak to them. honestly. with love, intelligence and caring.

it's not shiny and plastic.

it's deep and complicated and very pleasurable. but also trustworthy.

that is the revolution.