Sunday, September 03, 2023

 

How some Muslim and non-Muslim rappers alike embrace Islam’s greeting of peace

In many parts of the world, hip-hop has become a way for Muslim artists to assert their belonging and identity.

Phife and Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest perform in 1994. (Tim Mosenfelder/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)

(The Conversation) — Ever since the United States’ “war on terror” began, American media has been rife with stereotypes of Muslims as violent, foreign threats. Advocates trying to push back against this characterization sometimes emphasize that “Islam means peace,” since the two words are derived from the same Arabic root.

Indeed, the traditional Muslim greeting “al-salamu alaykum” means “peace be upon you.” Some Americans were already familiar with the phrase, thanks to an unexpected source: hip-hop culture, which often incorporated the Arabic phrase.

This is but one example of Islam’s deep intertwining with the threads of hip-hop culture. In her groundbreaking book “Muslim Cool,” scholar, artist and activist Suad Abdul Khabeer shows how Islam, specifically Black Islam, was a crucial part of hip-hop’s roots – asserting the faith’s place in American life. From prayerlike lyrics to tongue-in-cheek references, Islam and other religions are woven into hip-hop’s beats.


That’s the focus of a class we teach at Boston University. One of us is a professor of religion, history and pop culture, while the other is a graduate student in Islamic Studies.

More than ‘hello’

In Muslim cultures, “al-salamu alaykum” is more than a way of saying hello. It points to the spiritual peace of submitting to God – and not only in this life. Saying “peace be upon you” is a prayer that God will grant heaven to the person with whom you are speaking. Many Muslims believe that “salam” is also the greeting heard upon entering heaven.

The Quran instructs Muslims that “when you are greeted with a greeting, respond with a better greeting or return it.” This means that the proper response to “al-salamu alaykum” is, at a minimum, to respond in kind: “wa alaykum al-salam.”

This exchange has been adapted by several rap artists – including Rick Ross, who does not identify as Muslim, and turns the phrase’s meaning on its head. Ross uses the greeting in the hook of his song “By Any Means,” referencing a famous speech by civil rights leader Malcolm X, who was a minister of the Nation of Islam for many years until shortly before his assassination. In 1964, Malcolm X declared African Americans’ right “to be respected as a human being … by any means necessary.”

Half a century later, Ross rapped,

By any means, if you like it or not
Malcolm X, by any means
Mini-14 stuffed in my denim jeans
Al-salaam alaykum, wa alaykum al-salaam
Whatever your religion kiss the ring on the Don

Ross’s use of the phrase, right after he mentions Malcolm X, appears to insinuate that if one wishes him peace, he will wish them the same. However, if one wishes him violence, he will not hesitate to respond in kind.

‘Peace to all my shorties’

Other hip-hop artists have used “al-salamu alaykum” in many different ways, including lyrics that show broader familiarity with the laws of Islam. For example, it is sometimes contrasted with pork, which is prohibited in Islam, and by extension, the police – the “pigs,” in derogatory slang – though it is more common for non-Muslim singers to use it in this way.


“Tell the pigs I say Asalamu alaikum,” Lil Wayne says in “Tapout,” a song that has little else to do with Islam. Joyner Lucas likewise raps, “I say As-salāmu ʿalaykum when I tear apart some bacon,” in the song “Stranger Things.” Combinations of the sacred and the profane are present throughout hip-hop, not limited to references to Islam.

Finally, many rappers, particularly those who are Muslim, use the greeting in a more straightforward manner. In their 1995 song “Glamour and Glitz,” A Tribe Called Quest raps:

Peace to all my shorties who be dying too young
Peace to both coasts and the land in between
Peace to your man if you're doing your thing
Peace to my peoples who is incarcerated
Asalaam alaikum means peace, don't debate it

Here they affirm and assert that the core of the greeting is one of peace and harmony – not only between people, but between all of God’s creations.

Shared identity

A man with braided hair in a white t-shirt with neon patterns on it gestures and holds a microphone on stage.

French Montana performs during the premiere of ‘For Khadija,’ a documentary about his family, at the 2023 Tribeca Festival.
Arturo Holmes/Getty Images for Tribeca Festival

But even if Muslims come in peace, society may not see them that way – and that experience of discrimination often comes through in some lyrics. Rapper French Montana, who immigrated to the Bronx – the birthplace of hip-hop – from Morocco, raps in his 2019 song “Salam Alaykum:”

As-salamu alaykum, 
That pressure don’t break, 
It don’t matter what you do, 
they still gon’ hate you

It’s a harsh recognition that whatever one’s actions, whether violent or peaceful, they may still result in racism – a realization he shares with some fellow Muslim rappers in Europe. A comedic take on this is done by Zuna and Nimo in their 2016 song “Hol’ mir dein Cousin,” where at the start of the song, Nimo states he has a shipment of “haze–” marijuana, but at the end of the video, it turns out the shipment is of “Hase–” bunnies. Yet, throughout the song the rappers speak about violence and drug trade, painting a conflicting picture of innocence versus guilt.

Fatima El-Tayeb, a scholar of race and gender, calls hip-hop a “diasporic lingua franca” in her 2011 book “European Others,” highlighting how an art form created by African Americans, and speaking to their experiences, has become one of the main ways minorities around the world speak about their struggles and successes. Some young Muslims in Europe, for example, use hip-hop as a key way to assert their sense of belonging in societies.

In hip-hop, “al-salamu alaykum” is not treated as though it were part of a foreign culture. These rappers’ beats create a space where it’s OK to be Muslim – a space in which Islam is not merely tolerated, but recognized as a valuable part of pop culture.

(Margarita Guillory, Associate Professor of Religion, Boston University. Jeta Luboteni, Ph.D. Student in Religion, Boston University. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)

 Opinion

Sinead O’Connor was a rock star and a Muslim. Why did obituaries miss this?

Obscuring O’Connor’s faith is a missed chance to fight Islamophobia.

Irish musician Sinead O’Connor appears on “The Late Late Show” in Ireland in 2019. Video screen grab

(RNS) — Sinead O’Connor, the Irish singing star whose funeral was held Tuesday (Aug. 8) near Dublin, will always be connected with Roman Catholicism after she ripped a photo of Pope John Paul II in two on “Saturday Night Live” in 1992 to protest the church’s handling of sexual abuse by priests. The backlash dampened her success, and though she said she didn’t regret the moment, it defined her public image for the rest of her 56 years.

But the rites for her burial Tuesday were not Catholic but Muslim, and Sheikh Umar Al-Qadri, an Islamic scholar and the chief imam at the Islamic Center of Ireland, eulogized her as Shuhada Sadaqat, the name she took after converting to Islam. It’s not something the news media have reported much about, part of a seemingly willful ignorance that was more interested in her reputation as a rebellious and even sacrilegious celebrity.

For a long time, O’Connor’s relationship with religion was complicated. Many recent retrospectives, such as here and here, published after her death, comment on her spirituality. She was indeed repelled by much about religion, particularly inflexible religious labels. Yet she was constantly attracted to spirituality, and it powered her creative work. Her album “Theology” contains Hebrew Bible texts that she rearranged and set to music. In 2007, she declared that she had become a Rastafarian.

And she kept up her sometimes contentious conversation with Catholics. Tapping into the debate about women’s priesthood, she caused controversy in April 1999 when she announced she had become ordained as the first-ever priestess in the Latin Tridentine Church, a dissident Catholic group in her native Ireland. In 2019, she reflected on Catholic-dominated Ireland in an interview on “The Late Late Show”: “It was a very oppressed country, religiously speaking.”



But O’Connor’s seeking phase ended when in 2018 she embraced Islam. What she told of that process was evocative of a statement I heard dozens of times from converts to Islam I interviewed for my book, “Wearing the Niqab: Muslim Women in the UK and the US.” In her interview on “The Late Late Show,” she said: “I had been a Muslim all my life and didn’t realize it. … I am home.”

This fact, that it was Islam that finally brought her peace, has been neglected entirely or treated as a footnote.

Her obituary in Vogue does not mention her Muslim faith at the time of her death but makes an obligatory note of the photo-tearing incident. The New York Times, The Washington Post and the Chicago Sun-Times all made only brief asides saying that she had converted and changed her name. (In its story today, The New York Times included more about her Muslim funeral.)

Her obituary in The Guardian, a British daily that usually aspires to be diversity-affirming, was puzzlingly insensitive when it came to noting her faith: “On her final concert tour, in 2019, she wore a hijab and abaya, but nothing else had changed — her voice still raised the hair on the back of the neck.”

Why would her voice or her talent change after conversion? Does the author imply that a Muslim woman would have less power as a performer? This statement feeds into prevalent stereotypes of Muslim women as silent and oppressed.

On its X (formerly Twitter) account, the Council on American-Islamic Relations argued that photos used in her obituaries — many of them pre-conversions photographs of O’Connor with bare arms and her head uncovered — would be counter to O’Connor’s adoption of a hijab and abaya.

Another CAIR post said, “We also urge the media to respect her acceptance of Islam by acknowledging the name she chose for herself, Shuhada’ Sadaqat, & using recent photos that depict how she chose to present herself.”

This sentiment was echoed by Khaled Beydoun, a prominent scholar of Islam: “Many Mainstream media outlets are overlooking or erasing Sinead — or Shahuda’s — Muslim identity.” (Another scholar of Islam, Amanullah De Sondy, points out that O’Connor’s gender-fluid identity is similarly being erased by the very same media outlets.)

O’Connor often used her birth name as a stage name, so using it for clarity is understandable. But to focus completely on her conflicted relationship with Catholicism oddly fails to explore what came after her entanglement with the religion of her homeland, and the religion that eventually brought her peace after a tumultuous faith journey.



The obscuring of O’Connor’s Muslim faith by the mainstream media suggests that the Islamic faith is still seen as somehow incompatible with show business. Few Muslim female singers reach global fame on this scale, so it is disappointing that so few in the media saw O’Connor’s brilliant life as a chance to challenge Islamophobia. But more disappointing is that in remembering her, something so important as her religious agency — her religious choice, belief, practice and identity — was seen as an afterthought.

(Anna Piela, a visiting scholar in religious studies and gender at Northwestern University, is the author of “Wearing the Niqab: Muslim Women in the UK and the US.” She is also the senior writer at American Baptist Home Mission Societies and an ordained American Baptist Churches USA minister. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)

 Opinion

Robbie Robertson, the Band, and a song of exile

I already miss Robbie Robertson of the Band. Ah, but there is one song....

My son and I have much in common, besides our facial features. One of those things is a love of rock music, and most particularly, a love of the Band, the classic 60s-70s mostly Canadian rock group.

Therefore, you can understand the poignant father/son moment that we shared when he texted me and told me that Robbie Robertson, the leader of the group, had died at the age of eighty years old.

Robbie Robertson was one of my musical heroes. He was a statesman of rock music, both as a member of the Band, and as a solo artist. He was eclectic and prolific. He composed and produced the soundtracks for such films as “Raging Bull,” “The King of Comedy,” “Casino,” and “The Departed,” among others. As a performer, he dripped with charisma, in ways that some have compared to Mick Jagger. Just watch “The Last Waltz” again, and you will see it.

How does Robbie Robertson make his way, posthumously, into this column?

First, because of his family story. His mother was Cayuga and Mohawk, raised on the Six Nations Reserve southwest of Toronto. His father was of Russian Jewish background, a gambler, killed in a hit and run accident. Robbie never met him, and only learned about him years later.

Was Robbie Robertson Jewish, or Jew-ish? His spirituality was rooted in the First Nation experience, and he loved that music and celebrated it. But, as you will see, there was something very Jewish inside him as well.

Take a tour with me through my Band collection (the Robertson solo material is also wonderful).

“The Weight” (love this version): This was their first hit, off the “Music From Big Pink” album (1968). I loved the album so much that I actually persuaded my parents to take a detour on a Catskills outing to find the Big Pink house.

“I pulled into Nazareth..” It begins with a biblical vision, and yes, Fannie has to deal with some kind of weight, and there are all sorts of murky and sketchy characters in the song. But, it turns out that the biblical Nazareth was actually Nazareth, Pennsylvania, the headquarters of Martin Guitars.

Greil Marcus, in “Mystery Train: Images of America in Rock ‘n’ Roll Music,” took rock criticism to a whole new level — a level that few have attempted since he wrote that seminal book about the meaning of rock music in American life.


This is what he says about “The Weight:”

You don’t need to analyze the lyrics of “The Weight” to understand the burden Miss Fanny has dropped on the man who sings the song…We never find out who Miss Fanny is, let alone what the singer is supposed to do for her; but the music, not to mention the singing, is so full of emotion and complexity it makes “the weight”—some combination of love, debt, fear, and guilt—a perfect image of anyone’s entanglement.

As Gary A. Anderson writes in “Sin: A History,” in the Hebrew Bible, sin is sometimes imagined as a weight that must be borne; in fact, it is the Bible’s dominant metaphor for sin.

What is most striking is the frequency of the idiom “to bear [the weight of] a sin” within the Hebrew Bible; it predominates over its nearest competitor by more than six to one. For Hebrew speakers in the First Temple period, therefore, the most common means of talking about human sin was to compare it to weight.

“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” From “The Band” (1969). The story of Virgil Kane, who mourns the South’s defeat.

This song and I have a painful, complex history. My late father hated it: “What the hell are we doing, mourning the defeat of the South in the Civil War? They were traitors!” “Virgil, quick come see — there goes Robert E. Lee…” Robert E. Lee and his soldiers fought for an evil cause — the maintenance of slavery as a social and economic system.

Still, I set aside my discomfort with the song, because it’s just that good, and because I believe Greil Marcus when he writes:

“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” written for [the late] Levon [Helm], who sings it—is not so much a song about the Civil War as it is about the way each American carries a version of that event within himself…It is hard for me to comprehend how any Northerner, raised on a very different war than Virgil Kane’s, could listen to this song without finding himself changed.

“King Harvest (Has Surely Come).” From “The Band” (1969). Here we have one of the finest rock songs of the 1960s, IMHO. It is the narrative of a man who “works for the union, because she’s so good to me.” It is the song of the working class man in rural America, waiting for autumn to come across the fields as King Harvest, almost like an agricultural messianic figure.

Again, Greil Marcus:

In “King Harvest,” probably Robbie’s greatest song, we meet a man who might be Virgil Kane’s grandson—or our contemporary, you can’t tell. He works that same farm, but it fails and sends him into the bitter mills of the New South; when times are slow the mills shut down, and he runs into the arms of a union, hoping for one last chance. Yet wherever he is driven, he carries his roots with him like a conscience. He cannot escape the feel of the land any more than we can escape its myth.

I cannot listen to this song without crying.

“The Rumor” from “Stage Fright” (1970). I always thought that this song might have been about the Salem witchcraft trials, or about McCarthyism. 


Now when the rumor comes to your town

It grows and grows, where it started, no one knows.

Some of your neighbors will invite it right in.

Maybe it’s a lie, even if it’s a sin.

They’ll repeat the rumor again…

My favorite line, which I have adopted as a semi-mantra: “You can forgive, and you can regret, but can never, ever forget.”

But, for me, Robertson’s most powerful song is “Acadian Driftwood” from “Northern Lights-Southern Cross” (1975). It was influenced by Longfellow’s poem “Evangeline,” the story of the expulsion of the Acadians from Nova Scotia during the wars between the British and the French, and their long trek to Louisiana, where Cajun culture was born. Check out this video that combines the song with that history.

Why does this song move me so much?

It is not only one of Robertson’s finest compositions, both lyrically and musically. It is a song of exile, of what Jews call galut — of a displacement that is not only geographic, but a destruction of a world of meaning.

“How can we sing the LORD’s song in a strange land?” the Psalmist lamented. That singing of songs in strange lands is a human experience that many groups have shared, and it behooves us as Jews to hear all their stories (yes, even and especially that of the Palestinians).

Who better than Robbie Robertson, the product of two displaced peoples, to write such a song? Who better than a son of the First Nations and a Russian Jew?

This evening, I am loading up my Band playlists, and listening to them, and smiling, and crying.

May the blessing of Jaime Robert Robertson be an eternal blessing.

Quoting one of the Band’s song: “When you awake, you will remember everything.”

I sure will. I always will.

From interfaith vegans to inclusive heathens, religious Parliament offers it all

The exhibit hall at the Parliament of the World’s Religions brought the diversity of religious practices and spiritual beliefs to life.

THE PARLIMENT COULD ONLY EXIST IN  AMERICA
Jain nuns participate in a climate repentance ceremony at the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago on Aug. 15, 2023. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

CHICAGO (RNS) — Not far from the entrance to an exhibitors space at Chicago’s McCormick Place stood a portrait of Swami Vivekananda, a Hindu monk and spiritual leader whose famed 1893 speech helped introduce Hinduism to the United States public and promoted the idea that people from different faiths can get along.

“I am proud to belong to a religion which has taught the world both tolerance and universal acceptance,” he said at the 1893 Parliament of the World’s Religions, credited with launching the modern interfaith movement. “We believe not only in universal toleration, but we accept all religions as true.”

The 2023 Parliament, which has drawn more than 6,000 faith leaders from around the world to Chicago, lives out Vivekananda’s vision in ways both big and small. In plenary sessions in a cavernous hall and in breakout sessions, religious leaders and activists challenged each other to address issues like climate change and the rise of authoritarianism.

In the exhibit hall, attendees chatted with each other, enjoyed massages and meditation, and learned about other religious faiths. 



Swami Vivekananda’s portrait, for example, stood outside the booth for the Vivekananda Vedanta Society of Chicago, which was flanked by booths from the Theosophical Society and from the Chicago-based Brilliantly Mad collective, which promotes “art, music, spirituality, and well-being.”

Nearby was The Troth, which promotes inclusive heathenry, along with booths from Catholic and Buddhist religious orders.

A visitor to the Parliament of the World's Religions exhibit hall picks up printed materials related to The Urantia Book on August 15, 2023. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

A visitor to the Parliament of the World’s Religions exhibit hall picks up printed materials related to The Urantia Book on Aug. 15, 2023. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

Down the hall, near a booth from the Archdiocese of Chicago, a group of older folks who study The Urantia Book, a spiritual text first published in the 1950s, ran a booth with paperback and hardcover copies of the book, both in English and in Spanish. The book retells the history of the human race as well as the life of Jesus, as recounted by spiritual beings who are believed to have dictated the book to a pair of doctors, one who was also a minister, in Chicago.

Nathen Jansen, who runs an operational management company in Vancouver, and Rob Mastroianni, a family practice doctor from Maui, said they both began studying the book in the 1970s and have been hooked since.

“It couldn’t be anything but the truth because it’s so revealing,” said Jansen, who helps lead Zoom and in-person study groups.

Mastroianni said he was torn about coming to the Parliament in the wake of the wildfires in Maui. He had long planned to attend the Parliament and was also scheduled to teach at a training program for study group leaders in Chicago after the event.

He said that he’s been inspired by the way Hawaiians have rallied together after the fires.

“It’s a wonderful experience to see so many people so willing to help each other in any way possible,” he said.

Many of the booths offered materials explaining the basics of their beliefs and practice and selling resources or art related to their faith. A host of interfaith groups also had booths, such as Interfaith Alliance, Interfaith Light and Power, Interfaith Rainforest Initiative and the Interfaith March for Peace and Justice.

At the Interfaith Vegan Coalition booth, co-founder Lisa Levinson, who is Jewish, and volunteer Katie Nolan, who studies religion, handed out stickers with cartoon images of cows and elephants, with the message “Jesus Loves Me, Too” on them.

The group is a coalition of about 40 groups from different faiths, said Levinson, which advocates for the defense of animals and choosing a vegan life. They’ve protested Pope Francis’ visit to a circus where elephants were performing and sought to help faith groups find vegan alternatives for rituals that use animal products.

They said they hope to apply the golden rule — common to many faiths — to all beings, not just humans.

“We are certainly not protesting religion,” said Levinson. “What we want to do is support compassionate alternatives.”

Jonor Lama, right, demonstrates the vibrations of singing bowls for Diane Maltester, left, in the exhibit hall of the Parliament of the World's Religions in Chicago on August 15, 2023. Maltester, a classical clarinetist, said she was interested in incorporating singing bowls into her music. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

Jonor Lama, right, demonstrates the vibrations of singing bowls for Diane Maltester, left, in the exhibit hall of the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago on Aug. 15, 2023. Maltester, a classical clarinetist, said she was interested in incorporating singing bowls into her music. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

Both Levinson and Nolan were also leading workshops during the Parliament, including one Nolan was leading on ethical fundraisers for religious nonprofits. Nolan said many faith communities often use events like barbecues or lobster boils — popular at Episcopal churches — to raise money for their work. She hopes to convince others to try alternative fundraisers that don’t involve animals or animal products.

“We’re trying to promote compassion and kindness, not just for humans but for all beings across all religions,” she said.

Next door was a booth from the Tzu Chi Foundation, a Taiwanese Buddhist group known for its disaster relief and ecological work. The foundation’s exhibit featured disaster relief supplies, such as a shelter and blankets made from recycled materials, as well as a chart promoting the climate benefits of eating a vegetarian diet, which has a lower carbon footprint.

Tzu Chi also had a booth explaining Buddhist beliefs, as well as a third booth for kids and families, with games and toys promoting recycling and taking care of the Earth.

Pick-Wei Lau, a volunteer at the Tzu Chi kids booth, said the foundation’s goal is to apply the teachings of the Buddha, especially about compassion, to everyday life.

Lau, who was manning the booth along with his kids, said he’d been struck that many of the people at the Parliament had similar hopes for their religious traditions — using their spiritual values for the common good.

“It’s eye-opening to see so many faiths under the same roof,” he said. “And yet — despite living different faiths, we are all speaking the same language, to be honest.” 

Visitors to the exhibit hall could also take a break from the hectic pace of the Parliament. At a booth not far from a statue of Jesus set up by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, volunteers from Labourers for Christ Apostolic Ecumenical Network, a Chicagoland interfaith group, offered massages.

Nearby volunteers Archana and Atul Sakhare helped visitors try out a free meditation app in comfy chairs using headphones attached to a series of tablets at an exhibit from Heartfulness Institute, which teaches spiritual practices such as yoga and meditation.

Atul Sakhare, who works for Abbot in the Chicago suburbs, said he first began practicing meditation about 15 years ago.

“The first time I tried it, I thought I couldn’t stay for one minute,” he said. Instead, Sakhare said he stuck with it for 45 minutes. Now an enthusiastic advocate for meditation, he eventually became a volunteer trainer with the institute, which has centers around the world, including several in Chicago.

The group’s meditation app offers short, guided sessions — beginning as short as three minutes — with soothing music and a guide’s voice encouraging users to shut their eyes and relax their posture. Visitors to the booth could also download the app right at the booth.

Visitors to a booth run by the Federation of Zoroastrian Associations of North America could pick up brochures or buy books, including an illustrated board book of prayers for small children.

A Zoroastrian flag in the exhibit hall of the Parliament of the World's Religions in Chicago on August 15, 2023. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

A Zoroastrian flag in the exhibit hall of the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago on Aug. 15, 2023. Photo by Lauren Pond for RNS

Ervad Kobad Zarolia, a Zoroastrian priest from Canada, said the federation represented several dozen centers. He said there are about 8,000 Zoroastrians in Toronto, where he lives, and said the community is thriving.

“We don’t give problems to anyone,” said Zarolia, a former engineer and retired insurance broker who immigrated to Canada from Bombay in his 20s. “Nobody gives us problems. That’s the way I look at it.”

He described the principles of Zoroastrianism — one of the world’s oldest religions — in three simple terms.

“We have three words we teach our children,” he said. “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds. You follow that, you are a saint.”