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When Cristóbal Colón (aka Christopher Colombus) a Spanish Jew, left Spain and landed in the islands of the Bahamas, he brought with him the oppression of the very empire that was oppressing his own people. Five centuries later, the ghost of that landing continues to haunt the world. The Haitian uprising, its revolution, and its final phase of emancipation is a blueprint of how freedom is won. A man who wakes up to his own oppression and that of others, who sees that death is inevitable but an honourable life is not necessarily given to you, who becomes fully awake to the reality of his purpose, is a man that must be feared. He--like Boukman, Toussaint Louverture, and Jean-Jacques Dessalines--cements his name in history, carries his nation forward, and is the rallying cry of all oppressed people.  "...[C.L.R James] cast doubt on the assumption that the revolution would take place first in Europe, in the advanced capitalist countries, and that this would act as a model and a catalyst for the later upheavals in the underdeveloped world. Secondly, there were clear indications that the lack of specially-trained leaders, a vanguard, did not hold back the movement of the San Domingo revolution." As this new century marches forward, the old beliefs, ideas and traditional behaviors are again questioned. Societies and communities finding themselves in an existential crisis. The decay that the last century became with its excessive materialism, anti-God, individualistic humanism-- coupled with a loss of religious, social, and political community, and the destruction of familial bonds--has created (especially in Westernized societies) an apathy that is more destructive to the human soul than any other state.
We have to understand this is by design. The state actors involved in the push for apathy do not fear the people. They know that even though people are aware that their livelihood, communities, and societies in general are not quite what they should be, and that every generation is becoming not only spiritually poor but materially poorer than the previous generation, most just shrug this malaise off and lose themselves in the next shiny thing.
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❝ I grew up going to Sunday school
Little girl with big eyes and a bigger hunger for God Mouth so full of Arabic before I even knew what my tongue was capable of Allāhumma ṣalli ’ala sayyidinā Muhammad And that word — sayyidinā -- That master Sat in my chest like a stone I was too scared to name Because where I’m from, Master was not a title of love Master was not a title we gave willingly Master was the whip that bent backs Master was the auction block, the blood on the bark of southern trees Master was the reason my last name ain’t the one God wrote for me So how do I, a Black woman, Descendant of the stolen and the unspoken, Pray with the word master on my tongue and mean it with love? ﷽ Photo by Alexey Demidov on Unsplash How every good Bahamian story begins: “Once upon a time and a good old time "Have ya’ heard of B’rabbi and Br’fox? ‘Vell, B’rabbi is a rascal and his biggest nemesis is Br’fox. No two characters ever did hate each other like those two. I blame B’rabbi the most though—now hear me out. A fox is doing just what foxes do; why now B’rabbi think he can just harass Br’fox all day every day and not think a fox will come for him? What kinda thinking is that? That rascal was just bored, I think. Bored and maybe a bit jealous? ‘Cause Br’fox came up with some real clever tricks to trap him. Who can forget the ‘Ta’ Baby’ incident of ‘31? Ya never heard of the ‘Ta’ Baby’ incident? ‘Vell chile! Br’fox made a tar baby to catch and vex B’rabbi. And it almost work too...but unfortunately B’Boukee has a weakness too; he too greedy! You want me to tell you about the ‘Ta’ Baby’ incident, ya say? I ‘ain gat time today but it’s very famous ‘round here. Ol’ Mrs. Pratt down the road, she gat time, ask her, but make sure ya gat time because the Lawd is my witness, that woman can run on!" Storytelling saves lives.
 "The Storyteller" - Thierry Lamare ❝ I am the Black girl that crossed the dark sea Carrying in my body the seed of the Free Now home on Native land I am the woman who worked on the field Bringing the cotton and the cane to yield I am the one who laboured as a slave Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave Children sold away from me, husband auctioned off, mamas voided too No safety, no love, no respect was I due A prey to white violence, a slave to white lust No value, low-priced Back then I sucked salt and bit the dust Four hundred years deep in the South But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth God put a dream like a steel drum in my soul Freedom gave fire to this body turned cold Now, through my children, I'm watching the seed grow, Post up like the Fruit, Now, through my children, I'm hitting the goal. Realize child the blessings denied to me I couldn't read then, I couldn't write I had nothing back then, not even the night Some days the road was hot with sun But I had to keep on till my work was done I had to keep on! No stopping for me-- I was the seed of the coming Free I nourished and nursed the dream, the struggle That nothing can smother Deep in my breast-- The Black mother I had only one hope then, but now through you, Black children of today, my wildest dreams must come true All you dark children in the world today out there, Remember my blood, my sweat, my tears Remember my years, heavy with sorrow- And make of those years a torch for tomorrow. Make of my past a road to the light, A revolutionary path Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night. ❞ * Written by Zaakirah Rose ﷽ "I think that in order to struggle you have to be creative. In my life, creativity has been something that has sustained me; it awoke my spiritual struggle." A few weeks ago we heard of the death of Assata Shakur, who chose to be called, ‘she who struggles for community and is thankful’. She was a daughter, sister, mother and revolutionary fighter, a woman who saw injustices and wanted to fight against it. She died free in Cuba but in exile from her birth nation of the United States of America. This is the outcome of those that are true, those that stand up against tyranny and oppression. They are mocked and vilified - and if those tactics do not work, then they face imprisonment, torture, exile or death. We have seen the tyrannical techniques played out against people like Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela and many other freedom fighters and revolutionaries. If we want to know who is on the right side of history, see who their enemies are. The entire United States government, both left and right, demonized and hunted our sister Assata Shakur, branding her a terrorist - the first American woman to be put on the terrorist watchlist...even though all charges against her were either dropped or acquitted. Yet she remains on the list to this day. This is the price of making true change, of speaking the truth, of actively standing for truth. We honour our sister, her sacrifice, her commitment to her people, and her solidarity with all oppressed people in the world. May Allah have mercy on Assata Olugbala Shakur.  "A woman’s place is in the struggle."
The Hajj solidified his journey towards traditional Islam and embracing a more inclusive and universal practice. It was a transformative experience that fundamentally shifted his worldview. The following excerpts are taken from letters written from abroad. Jedda, Saudi Arabia April 20, 1964 Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitality and the overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced by the people of all colors and races here in this ancient holy land, the home of Abraham, Muhammad and all the other prophets of the Holy Scriptures. For the past week I have been utterly speechless and spellbound by the graciouness I see displayed all around me by people of all colors.
Last night, April 19, I was blessed to visit the Holy City of Makkah, and complete the "Omra" part of my pilgrimage. Allah willing, I shall leave for Mina tomorrow, April 21, and be back in Mecca to say my prayers from Mt. Arafat on Tuesday, April 22. Mina is about twenty miles from Mecca. Last night I made my seven circuits around the Kaaba, led by a young Mutawif named Muhammad. I drank water from the well of Zam Zam, and then ran back and forth seven times between the hills of Mt. Al-Safa and Al-Marwah. There were tens of thousands of pilgrims from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blonds to black-skinned Africans, but were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe could never exist between the white and non-white. Dreams are often indications from beyond this place Where life plays out confined in time n space Intersecting with the mind yet flourishing from beyond thought A tale told without restraint meanings found yet at times lost Ever consider the entirety of That where they're from Just look at The Eternal Energy pouring forth from the sun This Fountain never falters and will never dry It's the What for all to notice - not the How or Why Dreams. Peaceful realities amongst this here show and prop Have you ever absorbed the Ultimate Reality of the thought Absolute is only One Source - Grand above all you hold dear Open yourself to This warmth and absorb truly without fear * From the Author Assalamu alaikum. I am 48 years old and I'm going through this life and its blessings with challenges looking to solidify and ground myself with good company insha Allah. I've sent this in because my Lord gifted me this blessing and I hope to give and receive through this connection with the Sakina Literary Society of the Arts. - Noorjahan Shaikh Would you like to publish your work with us?
Submit your work for consideration - we are accepting all forms of creative expression! 'Our story didn't begin in chains' Brother Malcolm reminded. Remember when we were free to just be? Be comfortable in the skin we're in? Where our chests were just as expansive as baobab trees? Where free traders and dusty foot philosophers threaded red earth paths of knowledge Seeking the truths we hold? Even held on to across the Seas? Where village aunties kept up tradition In colorful head scarves made educated guesses That healing was never done in isolation and understood that womanhood was the best hood to live in? Where children's classrooms were filled with wooden writing boards Not only blackboards To illustrate the long history of Islam and literacy in Africa? As lessons completed, boards were washed clean for reuse And the ink of young scholars flowed through the Savannah? Where the Sheikh and the mureed convened under the shade of palms from the heated sun beams sitting knees bent dripped in clothes without seams? Knowledge is a garden, if it isn't cultivated, you can't harvest it, the proverb says. Remember when they had us cultivating and harvesting everything else but in foreign, unwelcoming places and in cruel and unusual ways? 'But my hand was made strong by the hand of the Almighty' Brother Bob put forward And as we forward in this generation triumphantly 'We are going to emancipate ourselves from mental slavery because while others might free the body, none but ourselves can free the mind ' A lion name Marcus Mosiah authored So free your mind and be unconfined. Go ahead and tell your story Freely, in all your strength and glory The mind is a terrible thing to waste they said so don't waste time with those unworthy. Know your worth and charge taxes on every gem you drop Pick up where the ancestors left off and don't you stop. You are Black history and future in the making Through the joy and the pain Your spirit is steady manifesting The plant that God favours grows even without rain Resilience is a blessing Written by Zaakirah Rose
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