Addressing extremism is more art than science for Muslim leaders
Many support practical, organic approach that focuses on feelings that lead to radicalization
“Nobody gets radicalized in the masjid; they get radicalized in the garage, in the bedroom, the living rooms, online.” Waleed Basyouni, imam of the Clear Lake Islamic Center
Days after Omar Mateen carried out a massacre in Orlando, Fla., that killed 49 people while pledging allegiance to the Islamic State, presumptive Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump revived a controversial campaign trail talking point. He called for surveillance of mosques, he said, because if the problem isn’t solved, it will “eat our country alive.” This problem, however, will be hard to find in local mosques.
“Nobody gets radicalized in the masjid; they get radicalized in the garage, in the bedroom, the living rooms, online,” said Waleed Basyouni, imam of the Clear Lake Islamic Center and vice president of the Al Maghrib Institute.
For Basyouni and other Muslim leaders in Houston, how they address radicalization is more akin to an art form than an exact science. Instead of doubling down on a topic that the overwhelming majority of Muslims worldwide condemn in a diverse region as Houston, they choose to take a more organic approach, addressing issues that could lead to feelings of isolation, a warning sign of potential extremism.
Many try to address the youth in a manner relevant to their lives, on topics such as how to maintain a balance between one’s faith and everyday life, or how to join the political process to affect change. It’s the loss of that balance that can cause problems and lead to any form of extremism, said Basyouni.
Khalis Rashaad, an imam with the Ibrahim Islamic Center, thinks the best way to combat the possibility of an extremist mindset is to discuss religion in a practical manner, congruent with everyday life in America, “so people can weave it into their lives, in the here and now.” Instead of lecturing from a podium, Rashaad encourages people to ask questions and chime in during discussion.
Since the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, Muslim communities in America have faced scrutiny on a variety of fronts. While groups routinely criticize acts of violence carried out by extremists in the name of religion, anti-Islam rhetoric links these actions to the broader Muslim community. They’ve also been called upon to play the first line of defense in rooting out extremism. On one hand, counterterrorism efforts of the past that
relied heavily on profiling and surveillance have left some suspicious of law enforcement and concerned about violations of civil liberties. But, many find value in forging real relationships with authorities, to share information and have ongoing dialogue. There isn’t a specific guide or blueprint on how exactly to do so.
‘Safe space’
In the small storefront mosque off Almeda near the Museum District, sandwiched between a gas station and a candle shop, men and women plopped down on the two-tone carpet for Rashaad’s Wednesday night class. He sat at the front of the room atop two floor cushions with a Macbook laptop and a couple of dry erase markers. Discussing the life and times of Muhammad, some philosophical detours led to a sidebar on Third Ward gentrification.
“A social scientist looks at this and says, ‘What can we do about this?,’” Rashaad said. Perhaps a better understanding of urban planning could help, he added.
Instead of looking at everything through the lens of religion, he encouraged people to look at social issues as well, as earlier communities of Muslim Americans did in the 1960s and 1970s.
Rashaad, who converted to Islam two decades ago, wants the center to be a “safe space” where people can feel free to think for themselves and discuss topics freely. In many cases, members are children of immigrant Muslims, he said, born in America who don’t always relate to their parents’ interpretation of the faith.
“Nobody’s going to check your hijab (scarf ) when you walk in the door,” he said.
While Rashaad doesn’t have an official curriculum for discussing extremism, he doesn’t want one, either. For him, a rigorous protocol would be stifling and less effective than oneon-one counseling on anything from financial issues to marital advice.
“I can’t see myself creating some strict anti-radicalization program and teaching from a booklet in my religious space,” he said. “That’s kind of some of the language I hear that’s out there.”
Engaging youth
A lot of those people aren’t in the mosque either, he added. While his plan isn’t to track and hunt down would-be radicals in the streets, he wants religious leaders to “really, really come into the 21st century” to better relate to the youth in the community.
That means addressing young people in English and not preaching to the “oldest person in the room.”
Basyouni takes a more deliberate approach. In 2014, his mosque held a two-day seminar about the rise of ISIS and its claim to be a caliphate. His Facebook page mixes anecdotes about humility and understanding with daily video feeds of night prayers specific for Ramadan and critiques of extremist groups such as ISIS or al-Qaida.
In an 11-second Facebook video, Basyouni told viewers that as the holy month of Ramadan winds down, good deeds should increase.
He uses social media to reach out to people beyond the walls of his center, to counter the lure of ISIS and its digital reach.
“Real empowerment comes from knowledge, from being part of the system, part of the society you live in. Not in a fantasy world behind screens,” he said.
His outspoken online presence may have made him a target himself. In April, his name appeared on an ISIS death list in its propaganda magazine Dabiq. He admits he’s made some changes to his routine, such as extra security at weekend seminars and less posting of his whereabouts on social media. But, he said one thought kept coming back to him.
“Wow, we’re really hurting them,” he said. “It’s because whatever work I’m doing, my colleagues are doing, is really working. It’s making people turn away from them.”
Basyouni encourages people to “find creative solutions,” whether that’s through interfaith work or by becoming involved in the political process. When people see a little bit of change, when they see success, they’ll want to keep going, he said, dealing a heavy blow to the “us vs. them” rhetoric of groups such as ISIS.
One example of community involvement came about in 2015, when some community members drafted their own “countering violent extremism” plan. Nationally, the White House held a summit on the topic, prioritizing partnerships between law enforcement and communities but with little guidance on how to best do so. Critics of these efforts say they disproportionately focus on Muslim communities and ignore other groups that could be radicalized in different ways.
Finding solutions
“Houston, to be clear, doesn’t have a radicalization problem; it doesn’t have a Muslim radicalization problem,” said Wardah Khalid, a writer, speaker and analyst on Middle East policy and Islam. She was one of the plan’s facilitators.
Instead, she said, the plan’s focus was to “build a resilient community” through partnerships with mental health organizations and more engagement with youth in local mosques. The plan is still in its early stages.
“I don’t want to say we are doing enough. I don’t want to say we aren’t doing enough,” said Rashaad of the Ibrahim Islamic Center. “We all could do more to shine a light on this topic, but I think most of it will come through the way we teach religion, the way we council.”
Back at the Ibrahim Islamic Center, the countdown was on until sunset. As Rashaad wrapped up, he left the class with one final question: How are you helping in your community?
“Even if you do this in your spare time,” he said. “How many people spent three hours watching the NBA Finals?”
With that, class ended.