By Farah Rahaman
My childhood was filled with trips to and from Newark to attend religious services at the National Islamic Association. NIA, as it is called by those who attend, is where weddings and births are celebrated. It is where cricket is practiced with great fervor and where plans to raise money for parking lots are hatched.
But last week, my fond memories of NIA were overshadowed by these words: active counter surveillance observed.
That phrase surfaced in a secret report by the New York Police Department, which traveled out of its jurisdiction to Newark in 2007 to spy on Muslim-owned stores, restaurants and mosques, such as the NIA. When I looked up the definition of “active counter surveillance observed,” I discovered it meant evading surveillance. How did the NYPD qualify the actions of the people I grew up with as “active counter surveillance”? Were they thrown off by the dedication of the cricket team? Were they surprised by the number of people who lingered after prayer service to buy food and catch up with their friends? I was confused, and shocked and felt as though the NYPD had invaded my home.
When I was a child, my parents were active in the small but tightknit Guyanese Muslim community. Everyone knows one another, and if they don’t know you, they knew someone who was related to you or was your neighbor in Guyana.
During the early 1980s, the community shifted from Queens and fanned out across the tri-state area. My family moved to Rahway, which was close enough to Newark so we could make our weekly trip to NIA.
My father was a leader in our mosque and I was proud every time he gave the Friday sermon. We knew everyone who attended NIA. The imam spent most of his time raising money for an additional parking lot. Mothers passed time swapping stories about their children. The children played basketball or chased each other in an elaborate form of tag.
In Rahway, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a community that was very accepting of Muslims. While I didn’t have to worry about bigotry in my small community, I was aware that we weren’t viewed as being “fully American” but I didn’t truly understand what that meant until Sept. 11.
After Sept. 11, my family was worried about the backlash and discussed whether I should continue wearing the hijab. But as time passed and things began to settle down, we returned to our regular routines. There were a few blips that marred our lives. My father was flagged and pulled aside every time we flew on a plane. When I left for college, my father asked me to not become politically active because he worried that Muslim organizations were being monitored, so I kept my head down and focused on causes that were not controversial.
Although our political environment changed, NIA remained constant. I went there for every jummah service that I could attend. The same people who attended NIA when I was a child were still going there and they still regarded me as my parents’ child, even though I was now an adult. My sisters and I loved being surrounded by people who had seen us grow up to become the young women that we now are.
If the NYPD had been watching carefully, it would’ve seen this and realized it was wasting its time. The NYPD report did little to shed any light on the Muslim community in Newark, which is a diverse and fascinating community that transcends race and socioeconomic status. Instead, it only sends a chill through the community and creates distrust. I now wonder about the times I went to Unity to buy meat or when I went to Ali’s West Indian Store to buy curry powder. Was the NYPD watching me the whole time?
The majority of Muslims in Newark are American citizens and some have been here for generations. We are Americans — and the best way to understand a community is by taking the time and effort to establish a relationship with us.
Farah Rahaman is a Newark resident and works at the American Civil Liberties Union of New Jersey.
http://blog.nj.com/njv_guest_b...ce_chills_thriv.html
My childhood was filled with trips to and from Newark to attend religious services at the National Islamic Association. NIA, as it is called by those who attend, is where weddings and births are celebrated. It is where cricket is practiced with great fervor and where plans to raise money for parking lots are hatched.
But last week, my fond memories of NIA were overshadowed by these words: active counter surveillance observed.
That phrase surfaced in a secret report by the New York Police Department, which traveled out of its jurisdiction to Newark in 2007 to spy on Muslim-owned stores, restaurants and mosques, such as the NIA. When I looked up the definition of “active counter surveillance observed,” I discovered it meant evading surveillance. How did the NYPD qualify the actions of the people I grew up with as “active counter surveillance”? Were they thrown off by the dedication of the cricket team? Were they surprised by the number of people who lingered after prayer service to buy food and catch up with their friends? I was confused, and shocked and felt as though the NYPD had invaded my home.
When I was a child, my parents were active in the small but tightknit Guyanese Muslim community. Everyone knows one another, and if they don’t know you, they knew someone who was related to you or was your neighbor in Guyana.
During the early 1980s, the community shifted from Queens and fanned out across the tri-state area. My family moved to Rahway, which was close enough to Newark so we could make our weekly trip to NIA.
My father was a leader in our mosque and I was proud every time he gave the Friday sermon. We knew everyone who attended NIA. The imam spent most of his time raising money for an additional parking lot. Mothers passed time swapping stories about their children. The children played basketball or chased each other in an elaborate form of tag.
In Rahway, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a community that was very accepting of Muslims. While I didn’t have to worry about bigotry in my small community, I was aware that we weren’t viewed as being “fully American” but I didn’t truly understand what that meant until Sept. 11.
After Sept. 11, my family was worried about the backlash and discussed whether I should continue wearing the hijab. But as time passed and things began to settle down, we returned to our regular routines. There were a few blips that marred our lives. My father was flagged and pulled aside every time we flew on a plane. When I left for college, my father asked me to not become politically active because he worried that Muslim organizations were being monitored, so I kept my head down and focused on causes that were not controversial.
Although our political environment changed, NIA remained constant. I went there for every jummah service that I could attend. The same people who attended NIA when I was a child were still going there and they still regarded me as my parents’ child, even though I was now an adult. My sisters and I loved being surrounded by people who had seen us grow up to become the young women that we now are.
If the NYPD had been watching carefully, it would’ve seen this and realized it was wasting its time. The NYPD report did little to shed any light on the Muslim community in Newark, which is a diverse and fascinating community that transcends race and socioeconomic status. Instead, it only sends a chill through the community and creates distrust. I now wonder about the times I went to Unity to buy meat or when I went to Ali’s West Indian Store to buy curry powder. Was the NYPD watching me the whole time?
The majority of Muslims in Newark are American citizens and some have been here for generations. We are Americans — and the best way to understand a community is by taking the time and effort to establish a relationship with us.
Farah Rahaman is a Newark resident and works at the American Civil Liberties Union of New Jersey.
http://blog.nj.com/njv_guest_b...ce_chills_thriv.html