Dear Muslim men,

I am not afraid of you.

This is the birdsong of my thoughts, in hopes that one day I will believe it.

Before classrooms were my training ground, my education was assembled piecemeal from the hushed conversations of women and the smoky tobacco clouds of men. This is where I learned the words “custody,” “police,” “divorce,” and “shari.” The men made out like thieves in these hidden tales from what I could figure out: the money, the house, and most critically for the women, the kids.

That men kept their social collateral to be immediately remarried while their exes financially and socially floundered for decades was not on the minds of these women they’d beaten at home and in court. The women wanted to cover their bruises and children with their shawls and hijabs and run home to families overseas, who often refused to take them back. The community they adopted wouldn’t not adopt them once their “business” went public . They would whisper among themselves (and out loud):

“What will people say?”

“She broke their home.”

“Men are the caretakers of women.”

If this was all true, why were husbands beating them? I was five years old and wondered this.

Today I am 45 years old. I was born and raised in the U.S. and always knew Allah (S) is real and that I am Muslim. My faith in Islam has been unshakeable. But I have always mistrusted Muslim men. Too many women were bereft of financial freedom, decisional autonomy and physical safety in my childhood experience for me to give Muslim men the benefit of the doubt. I did not know where the Muslim men were who were supposed to be the protectors of the aunties and friends I had.

This October, in honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to know from you – my imams, masjid uncles, and the so-called social brotherhood of my peers – why have I never heard you speak publicly about this?

Yes, the rare khutba (sermon)about men being the protectors of women and the gentle behavior of the Prophet (saw) towards the women of his household are great. But why haven’t we heard them outside our mimbars (pulpits) and MSAs, when you were backhandedly courting some of us and wanted to appear progressive? Then some of you went on to marry our friends and abuse them. Teen programs, masjid fundraisers, Quran study classes and Islamic schools are our perpetual community goals, not lectures committed to identify and coalesce against perpetrators of domestic violence because we “make 70 excuses for our brothers.”

Why isn’t the sin of physical, mental and emotional harm against vulnerable populations taught in our Sunday schools and at our kitchen tables?

Yes, I grew up with the mythical Muslim American corp of vigilantes who often “took care of” an abusive man so he never laid a finger on his wife again. But they didn’t fix the ones who financially, verbally or emotionally abused their women as far as the urban legend went.

Masjid uncles, when you hear about a brother emotionally or verbally abusing his wife, maybe you could refrain from saying, “At least he doesn’t hit her. He’s such a good provider. Why is she being ungrateful?” Pull him aside and let him know his behavior is shameful to him and your community. “This is how men are,” is not an excuse anymore. Repercussions need to roll out, and you have the power to do that.

Fathers and brothers, when your daughters and sisters report that they are being abused in any way, you could unleash hell on her husband rather than say, “Go to counseling. Insha’Allah you will be pleasing to him.” Call the cavalry and show up for the women of your blood and earn your right to call yourself her protectors. When you chastise her for ingratitude, indiscretion or impatience, you become an oppressor, too. Believe her so she doesn’t lose her belief in you.

Imams, you have such status in this nation now that you didn’t when I was a child. You publicly shame oppressors on other shores, but what about the ones standing right behind you in the saff (prayer line), right before you from the mimbar? Kudos to many of you for training in social sciences and counseling to help these families rather than advise the women to have “patience” and the men to exercise more “discretion” (don’t get caught, brother) when they abuse their wives like the immigrant imams of yore.

But use the mimbar to instill fear in these men. Let them know you know, and that the community will hold them accountable in its court. Let them feel the loss of social currency they’ve undeservedly enjoyed. I’m certainly not against making the myth of the Muslim American vigilante a reality and sending the crew out wherever a sister needs her husband to feel the physical force she’s been putting up with so long.

But violence isn’t the only answer to violence.

At the other end, let us see you elevate women. Don’t just build them shelters. Arm them intellectually and financially so they can support their children on their own. Help prepare to escape. Train masjid families to step up for women and children of DV households instead of feeding the fodder of gossip. Offer funds for culturally competent, trauma-informed family counseling, rehabilitation for the oppressors, and support for children who witness and inadvertently memorize dynamics of violence. Break the cycle before someone is scarred, maimed or killed.

I don’t doubt that there are good Muslim men in my radius or in the farthest reaches of it. But they’re not loud enough. They implicitly acquiesce when boys live by different norms than girls and perpetuate unhealthy, un-Islamic social expectations based solely on gender. They’re not holding abusive men up as examples of everything Islam came to extinguish, as pariahs. Families of women fail to prepare and protect them from naming and fighting oppressive behavior, and men continue to hurt and murder their wives.

How old will I be when I hear men louder than women against domestic violence? I’m afraid for all of us. Why aren’t you? Where are you, brothers?

Suspiciously yours,

Uzma

Dr. Uzma Jafri is originally from Texas, mom to four self-directed learners, a volunteer in multiple organizations from dawah resources to refugee social support services, and runs her own private practice. She is an aspiring writer and co host of Mommying While Muslim podcast, tipping the scales towards that ever elusive balance as the podcast tackles issues second generation Americans have the voice and stomach to tackle.