This post was sent to me by the author's mother, who is a friend of mine here in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia.  Her son, 25 year-old Bilal Raychouni, wrote this powerful letter to the current US President, in which he expresses himself and his feelings articulately in ways that Americans can understand what it's really like to be a Muslim today in the USA.  It is raw and poignant and I hope it will make you think.

Reprinted from the blog: 

The Compositions of Bilal Z. Raychouni

"My Name Is Bilal"

ATTN:
Mr. Donald John Trump
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500

ALTERNATIVELY:
Mr. Donald John Trump
721 Fifth Avenue, 26th Floor
New York City, NY 10022

Mr. Trump:

My name is Bilal. I am American.

I was born in the City of Williamsburg, in the Commonwealth of Virginia, to a woman whose ancestry extends as far back as the settlers of that colony almost four hundred years ago. My mother’s blood is the blood of the English and the Irish, the German and the French, all of whom came to this nation when it was a disjointed mass of Colonies, who sought better days in this Land of Opportunity.

My name is Bilal. I am Muslim.

I was born to a Lebanese man who left his home as a teenager in the middle of a war that threatened his life more than once, with barely a nickel in his pocket and not a lick of English on his tongue, praying he would earn that great American dream, that he could build a family, a career, a life for himself in this nation, whose Lady Liberty beckoned him with the promise of a better life.

My name is Bilal. I am condemned in my own home.

One month before my 10th birthday, the actions of the radical few, acting by order of a man so violent that his own family cast him out of their house, and in the name of a Prophet who would condemn their actions outright, brought your hometown and my home country to its knees and painted a target on my back. From that day onward, I was marked: I was and am a terrorist, because it is absolutely reasonable to blame a nine-year old boy from small-town America for being the mastermind behind such evil. I was and am a terrorist, because it is totally sound to take an entire faith and beat them into submission for daring to call God by a different name.

My name is Bilal. I am a Millennial.

I was born in 1991 and have witnessed the miracle that was the start of the Information Age. I am the one that older anchors on your favorite newscasts refer to with daggers in their eyes and spite on their tongues. I am the one dismissed as a spoiled brat who has it too good nowadays, while my colleagues struggle to build their lives out of the nothing that has been left to them. I am the one dissatisfied with recycled sitcoms and disgusted with the status quo you call God.

My name is Bilal. Your friends do not like me.

I belong to a number of different groups who have been told that in the grander scheme of the ideal America, our lives, our issues, our problems do not matter. I am a friend to far too many people who belong to groups even more diverse, who have been told that their lives somehow matter even less than mine. At some point, the powers that be decided as a collective that the assortment of non-Caucasian, non-Evangelical, non-heterosexual, non-biologically male individuals that make up more than half of this nation’s population simply do not matter to the success of this nation, that these individuals and their issues do not contribute to the ideal American Dream.

My name is Bilal. I was named for a man renowned for his voice.

Bilal ibn Rabah was an Ethiopian man born into slavery in Mecca. He was considered a “good” slave, with a rich, resonant voice and a confidant air about him. Drawn to the preaching of the Prophet Muhammad, Bilal was one of the first individuals to convert to Islam, and his master very nearly killed him because of this. As he drew what would have been his final breaths under the weight of a massive boulder in the heat of the Arabian sun, the Prophet’s family bought Bilal’s freedom, and the Prophet Muhammad asked that Bilal use the gift that was his voice to call other Muslims to prayer. To this day, every voice that echoes from the minarets of every mosque around the world emulates the call to worship first made by Bilal.

My name is Bilal. Contrary to popular belief, it is not you I fear: it is the deranged attitude that you encourage with your venomous tongue.

I am not black. I am not a woman. I will never experience the struggles faced by Africans in America, made to build a nation they did not want, whose heads, despite the weight of the polished shoes that have stood upon their shoulders for decades, are still held high as they continue the good fight for the right to be treated like any other American; nor will I ever experience the struggles faced by women in America, who have historically been silenced by their patriarchs, who have been told to their faces that their bodies do not belong to them, who are more easily regarded by men as mere playthings than they are as living, breathing people.

My name is Bilal. I have been told to sit down and shut up.

Your supporters would like me to get over myself. I have been told that the fate of this nation and of my people has been sealed with your Presidency. I have overheard the hoots and hollers of the working white man who praises your reign as a triumphant return to good old-fashioned values, a foundation for a new America built on the bones and sealed with the blood of my family and my friends. Every day since your inauguration, it seems, I awaken to news that if my people aren’t being beaten in restaurants or detained in airports, then my friends are coming home to shattered windows and spray-painted doors, to nooses in their trees and rainbow flags burned black on their lawns. But I am the one who is told to get over myself.

My name is Bilal. I am done putting up with you.

I do not know the struggle of the black community. I do not know the struggle of the female community. I do not know the struggle of the queer community, those individuals tortured and ostracized because their love is offensive under a bastardized translation of the word of the Lord, or because their gender may not conform to the strict dichotomy that color-codes children’s toys.

But, my name is Bilal, and I know hate.

I have been hated for existing. I have been randomly selected at the terminal and pummeled into the dirt because my father’s heritage makes me an enemy of the State. I am a terrorist because at the dinner table, my family’s Grace begins with Bismillah. As I grew older, I heard the stories of my friends, whose families have barred them from their homes because their love was deemed wrong, whose great-grandfathers tilled Dixie dirt at the end of rusted chains in the antebellum sun, whose grandmothers fled across stormy gray seas with numbers burned into their skin and unspeakable horrors burned into their eyes, who to this day are made to feel less than human because of who they are.

My name is Bilal. I am calling you out.

Because I am, for all intents and purposes, a Caucasian man, I have been granted a voice to which most people in this country may actually listen. Like the Bilal who walked with the Prophet, so too will I use my voice to unite those to whom you remain deaf. For my friends who are not white, whose skin is enough of a reason for your proud champions to pummel them in the streets, my voice is theirs. For my friends who are women, who have been told countless times that they have no right to their own body, who are paid peanuts when men who have done less are somehow awarded more, my voice is theirs. For my friends in the queer community: whether they have come out and have been subsequently abused for daring to be, or their identity remains secret because your advocates would deliver unto them their despicable brand of divine retribution, my voice is theirs. For my friends of all faiths, whether Muhammad is their Prophet or Jesus is their Lord and Savior, whether they observe Shabbat or worship nothing and no one at all, my voice is theirs.

My name is Bilal.

I have watched too long as my friends and family suffered at the hands of the powers that be. Your behavior over the course of your lifetime has been nothing short of vile, and the attitude that you have encouraged in this country, this attitude of contempt for anyone and anything that doesn’t fit in your delicate definition of America, is disgusting. We are a nation of immigrants, united by our collective differences. There is nothing in this world like the United States of America, which is defined by its diversity. To denounce difference, to spit in the face of that which makes America truly great, is, in a word, wrong.

My name is Bilal. I have a voice, and I refuse to get over myself.

My name is Bilal. I will not sit down.

My name is Bilal. I am American.

I will not shut up.

To read more writings from Bilal, check out his blog that he has been penning since 2012 by CLICKING HERE.

Saudi Women: Changing Reality, Making History

Assumptions are made about Saudi women all the time - faceless, nameless women hidden away by their own society.  The main reason for these suppositions is based solely on their seeming invisibility and nonexistence due to their homogenous veiled clothing.  But in the five short years (or long, depending on how you look at it) since I moved to Saudi Arabia, I have seen changes and accomplishments achieved by Saudi women at an accelerating warp speed that I could have never imagined…     

  

For example, last summer a group of 11 Saudi women reached the base camp of Mount Everest in an effort to raise awareness for breast cancer.  Their journey was even more remarkable for the fact that they were the first Saudi women ever to climb the world’s highest mountain and to accomplish such an arduous feat.   Leading the expedition was HRH Princess Reema Bandar Al Saud, a motivated and driven modern Saudi woman who supports many charitable causes, chief among them being breast cancer research and awareness.  

Team of Saudi women who climbed Mt. Everest in 2012

Politically there have been some sweeping and historic changes for women in KSA.  For the first time ever, thirty Saudi women were recently sworn in to the Shura Council, the prestigious but virtually powerless consulting advisory board to the king.   Women have also been given the green light to vote in elections in the year 2015. 

When I first moved to KSA in 2007, the only fields women were allowed to work in were education and medicine.  This meant that women were put in the demeaning and uncomfortable position of having to purchase intimate apparel, cosmetics, and abayas from salesmen.   Reem Asaad, a successful Saudi financier, wife and mother, conceived of and spearheaded an effective three year long campaign which made the King himself sit up and take notice, with the end result changing the face of retail establishments in Saudi Arabia and upping the number of women in the work force by leaps and bounds.   

Saudi women's rights activist Reem Asaad

In the 2012 Olympics, two Saudi women made history by becoming the first ever female athletes to compete representing Saudi Arabia.  Although the circumstances surrounding their involvement in the Olympics bordered on extortion - KSA was forced to cave in to pressure by the Olympic Committee’s very real threat of disallowing the kingdom’s male athletes if females were not allowed to participate    (heaven forbid if Saudi men were deprived from competing!) -  these two token Saudi women definitely created the most buzz and attracted the most attention of any athletes at the Olympics.  

Saudi female athletes at the 2012 Olympics

Another Saudi woman made pioneering history this past year when she became the first Saudi filmmaker to produce a feature movie filmed wholly within Saudi Arabia.  Haifaa Al Mansour’s film Wadjda has been warmly received by audiences around the world and tells the tale of a young girl who has a simple but forbidden dream - owning and riding her own bicycle - and how she courageously stands up for herself, and in effect, for oppressed females everywhere.  Director Al Mansour met with challenges and difficulties while filming the movie, resorting to directing her crew by walkie-talkie from inside a nearby van out of fear that there would be problems if she were seen giving directions to the male members of her crew in public.    

Saudi filmmaker Haifaa Al Mansour

Okay, so women are still not permitted to drive yet in the kingdom, but I do feel that progress is being made in this area.  From all appearances, measures are being taken in preparation for women driving in Saudi Arabia to become a reality.  The Shura Council has agreed to take the matter of women driving under advisement.   Manal Al Sharif garnered worldwide attention and became the face of the women’s driving issue when in 2011 she was jailed for ten days for daring to drive on the streets of Saudi Arabia.  She has since received numerous honors and awards from organizations around the world.  

Saudi women's right activist Manal Al Sharif

So next time you think Saudi women are oppressed, think again.  

I’ll end this post with a popular anecdote about Bill Gates giving a speech in Saudi Arabia to an audience that was segregated by gender – men on one side and women veiled in black on the other side of a separating partition.  After Mr. Gates spoke, there was a question and answer period.  Someone asked if Gates thought it was realistic for Saudi Arabia to aspire to being one of the Top 10 countries in the world in technology by 2010.  “Well, if you’re not fully utilizing half the talent in the country,” Gates said, “you’re not going to get too close to the Top 10.” 

And how did the audience react?   “Well, one side of the room loved it,” quipped Gates.

KSA's Crown Prince Sultan Dies

Saudi Arabia is a country in mourning as its citizens learned of the October 22nd passing of Crown Prince Sultan bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, who was next in line to the Saudi throne. The news opens up major speculation as to who will be named to replace him as Crown Prince of the oil-rich nation. The Prince's health in the past few years had been failing, as he reportedly battled colon cancer and Alzheimer's disease.

Reports of the age of the Crown Prince range from 81 to 86 years old, a common dispute for many older Saudis. My own husband actually has three different official birthdays. Saudi Arabia uses the lunar Hijri calendar, which is 11-12 days shorter than the Gregorian calendar used in the west. This can create disputes about someone's birthdate when trying to convert the Arabic dates into the western calendar. The Islamic calendar is purely based on the moon and does not take into account the seasons. The cycle of the seasons repeats itself in the Hijri calendar only once every 33 Islamic years.

Crown Prince Sultan was a half brother of KSA's ruling monarch, beloved King Abdullah, who himself last week underwent yet another back surgery and is still recuperating. Sultan served his country in many varied capacities over the years - as First Deputy Prime Minister, Inspector General, Minister of Defense, Minister of Aviation, Governor of Riyadh, Minister of Agriculture and Minister of Communications. A Wikileaks document of a diplomatic cable dated March 2009 revealed that the Crown Prince was "incapacitated," due to the effects of dementia or Alzheimer's.

Crown Prince Sultan was fluent in English, married at least ten wives, and was father to at least seven sons. His funeral arrangements have been set for October 25, 2011, in Riyadh.