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>> vii Preface and Acknowledgments A Muslim is a brother to a Muslim. Let one not oppress another or betray him. Whoever sees the need of his brother, God sees to his need. Whoever relieves a Muslim from distress will be relieved by God from distress on the day of resurrection . Whoever protects a Muslim will be protected by God on the day of resurrection. ~The Prophet Muhammad, in a hadith report1 In this teaching about empathy, the Prophet Muhammad succinctly expresses the ideals of Islam. A Muslim should see herself or himself in every believer in order to overcome egoism and reach out to others with justice and compassion. See, serve, console, and protect others , he tells us—that is the practical demonstration that one worships God. Struggling to embody compassion and justice is the way to live out Islam—yet how quickly we forget. Muslims began their community as vulnerable and despised outsiders . When they became strong enough to impose their will on others, they all too often lost sight of their Prophet’s teachings of empathy, compassion, and justice. This book shares the voices of some marginalized within the Muslim community who call out to be recognized as fellow believers—sisters and brothers—who are worthy of respect, who deserve protection, and who demand justice. viii > ix lesbian, and gay Muslim activists from five nations on three continents, attended their conferences and spiritual retreats, and learned about their lives and struggles. Their stories reflect the experiences of countless others who do not have the courage to speak up or who never survived coming of age. Each person interviewed was so sincere and forthcoming with me; I thank these open-hearted people deeply for sharing with me their stories, which is an act of bravery and generosity. When I began this project, I was teaching at Swarthmore College, and colleagues there encouraged me greatly. At Emory University where I now teach, my new colleagues create an environment that is secure yet provocative, and I am especially grateful to Rkia Cornell, Vincent Cornell, Roxani Margariti, Benny Hari, Joyce Flueckiger, and Gordon Newby for their camaraderie and guidance. Two special students at Emory deserve my thanks: Ayisha Ashley al-Sayyad helped me to reorganize the manuscript and Jessica Lambert proofread it tenaciously . Jennifer Hammer, my editor at NYU Press, was encouraging and exacting, and I am obliged to her along with Dorothea Stillman Halliday and the whole staff. Writing a book is a unique opportunity to give thanks and there are many friends, comrades, and beloved ones who encouraged me. I am deeply grateful to Ben Hekkema, whose friendship made Amsterdam my home while I wrote this book, along with friends like Hans Veenhuys and Sami Abu Rayhan. In South Africa, my gratitude goes to Sa‘diyya and her family, and to Fayrose and Ilham. Many in the United Kingdom were generous with me, including Farah, Mujahid, Ubaid, Faiz, and Faizan, and I still long for their company. My admiration also goes to those whose courage to speak has shaped this book—those few whose interviews are quoted here and the many others who are not quoted or not interviewed, but who have shared experiences with me. They remind me of one of my favorite songs, a ghazal by Asadullah Khan Ghalib, the great poet of Urdu.2 I’m not parked here forever on your doorstep To hell with a life spent waiting! I’m not, after all, a stone Why this eternal revolving that bewilders my heart? I’m a human being—I’m not, after all, a cup of wine x << Preface and Acknowledgments O Lord, why does time move to obliterate my every trace On the tablet of the universe I’m not, after all, a misspelling There should be a limit to torment of your punishment I may be a simple sinner but I’m not, after all, an infidel In closing with Ghalib’s poem, I acknowledge my teachers in the Sufi order to which Ghalib, too, belonged. ...

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