Human Rights

 Bismillahir Rahman nir Raheem

Human Rights - the rights of the sole intellectual species that inhabit this planet - are in jeopardy today. Unabashed racism, and selfish acquisition of land and resources are new normals. In this age of material progress and moral regression, the age of unashamed and unfair exploitation of the vulnerable by those who hold the clout and bullet, the farce being enacted in the name of ‘human rights’ is diabolically deceptive.

An examination of the western world social structure based on capitalism shows that the universal conscience is dead and economies are driven by greed. Exploitation, loss and suffering of ‘others’ are not the concerns of power hungry governments ready to squeeze them dry so long as they themselves can benefit. 

The question now is: why has the human being fallen so low that he is worse than a beast? 

You don’t have to look too far to find an answer. The answer lies in the mind frame of those who have compiled the ‘Universal’ Human Rights in the West. A quick browse through them will show that in all of these rights - the individual is at the centre. Every individual and every community is then intent on protecting its own interests. This attitude is promoted from a very young age and is an essential part of the education system. The right to choose what one wants for oneself is of paramount importance. This is an ‘individual’ centred structure, where everyone is ‘looking out for themselves’ in the words of JB Priestley. O yes, we talk about ‘human rights’: our right to speech, our right to privacy or our right to what ever it is we want. But in all these discussions, it is the individual who it at the centre. This feeds the human ego, and makes us feel good because we feel important. Our minds are therefore trained to expected the world to give us ‘our rights’ and our feathers are ruffled if anyone encroaches into our ‘our space’. This ‘self interest’ is individual at its inception but becomes a collective ideology of groups of people. All the people ‘inside’ the group become the beneficiaries - the privileged ones.

This structure, however, opposed to being beneficial, is actually detrimental to our well being. It isolates us and this isolation is the root cause of many mental illnesses the society seems to experience today. The individual is focused on seeking satisfaction from promoting and pampering the ‘self’. Experience tells us that the ‘self’ is never satisfied. It always wants something more, something different … and dissatisfaction sets in. The mind becomes ‘sick’ with a number of psychological imbalances. We then further indulge the ‘self’ and assign big, important sounding names to these sicknesses of the mind. We turn to science for solutions and science turns to medicine and medicine offers  drugs to alleviate the symptoms and give temporary respite. But the sickness, remains. Science can find no cures. 

This approach cannot succeed. It is bound to fail because we are trying to find a physical solution to a psychological problem. 

What we need is a perspective shift.

This perspective shift is a unique view on a social structure offered by Islamic thought. In Islam, the individual is not at the centre. Yes, Islam gives rights and ordains responsibilities to every individual but the angle of observation is different: instead of being ‘individual centred’, it is ‘other centred’.

The fulcrum is still the individual but he/she is now looking outwards. Now, every individual thinks of the rights others have over him/her. For example parents rights over him/her, or neighbour’s right over him/her, or children’s rights over him/her and so on. Rights become responsibilities as well, because now, there are expectations. As a son or daughter, I must fulfil the rights my parents have over me. As a wife/husband, I must fulfil the right my spouse has over me. 

This approach, immediately provides a solution to all the problems in society. Automatically we are more inclusive, more tolerant, more respectful, and consequently, more happy and fulfilled. 

Her First Hunt

Black and grey feathers were littered around

Broken glass, china-flakes embellished the ground

The toolbox lay open, it’s content all scattered 

Old vases tipped over, gift-wrapping all tattered.

 

It looked like a battle had raged through the night 

And its results were apparent in the morning light 

I gazed in sheer horror that grew by the minute 

At the chaos and destruction. Who could have done it?

 

Realisation flashed then, like a lightning bolt

Kitkat! The culprit! SHE was the one at fault!

For amidst assorted debris of this and of that  

Lay the lifeless victim of the cheeky cat! 

 

The poor little birdie was tousled and small

Quite stiff and all mussed up, but definitely whole. 

Soft pawed and silent, the felon strolled in 

“Mine!” averred smugly, eyes brazen green.

 

We confronted each other, the miscreant and I

Eyes locked. Mine: annoyed; hers: proud, satisfied.

“Where’s the honour? (they questioned) Where’s the fame?

The kudos? The applause? On my very first game?”

 

Let’s pause here, for a moment to truly see 

Who the boss is, where score stands, between her and me.

Well, this house – it’s mine, and I am the mistress - for sure 

But, when it comes to the sunroom, she can show me the door!

 

For she owns all it corners, its nooks, all its spaces 

The shelves, old shoe boxes: are courses for races  

There’s her snug and her cushion, her private litter tray 

The bowl for her goodies, her scratch post… the array.

 

So here we were stood, both intractable and mulish 

I, not pleased at the mess in the room; she confusedish. 

The atmosphere was tense, a rant roared in my head

As I reined-in in vexation, leaving grim words unsaid.

 

Then, the wily missy made her move: apologetic - perhaps cajoling?

Sidling up silently, curling, soft around my legs, beguiling... 

And that’s it.

I had melted - like ice cream on a warm tongue

All anger gone - in a blink,

Like the fizz out off a drink!

 

(And yes, I did spend a good part of that day tidying the sun room!)

The Ocean

 Ocean, you’re black; ocean, you’re blue 

You choose garments of many a hue

Ocean, you’re grey; ocean, you’re  green

Moody? Playful? Wild? Or Mean? 

Lovingly gentle, you can lap at the shores 

Or rage and storm with deafening roars

You can let mighty cruisers sail without sinking 

Or swallow them whole - in an eye’s blinking

Ocean, o ocean how soft is your touch

So silky so smooth so extravagantly plush 

Yet sharp as a knife, huge caverns you carve

And bite off big boulders - you will not starve!

Deep are your dungeons, and dark are your ways

Mysterious and awesome are your hidden pathways

Currents are your highways for migrating denizens 

Hurtling along in search of new tenements 

 

Busy are your nooks and filled are your crannies 

With mums, and dads and siblings and grannies

Of creature quite bright and of creatures quite pale

As large as a whale or as small as a snail

Treasures you hide, no one knows what lies 

In the folds of your gut, in the rise  of your tides

Abundance of life forms survive in your waters 

You are their world, you’re all that matters.

O ocean, great ocean you are the key 

To the evolution of life, to the making of me.

You source the clouds, you bring the rain

On mountains, deserts, woodlands and plains. 

Sleepy and lazy, you are almost benign 

But alert: God’s agent, with a keen watchful eye

Witnessing man’s mad and mean machinations 

You can turn in a flash, demand reparation

A reminder that all arrogance must fall

A tsunami, you rise and devour it all.

Then roll on: it’s business as usual for you

While abased and humbled, man starts life anew.

The River

 

I - an ancient river - am old and wise

On-the-go always, in the hills I rise.

My journey is long, as I tumble down hills

And into the oceans my water spills.

 

When dark clouds gather and it rains

I crawl over banks to flood my plains.

I bless all the fields with mineral-rich soil,

So you can grow grain, without any toil. 

 

Having hurried down mountains, I stop to breathe

Meandering and lazy as slow as I please.

I sprawl out and flatten, reflecting the sky

The clouds and birds as they fly in the high.

 

The fishermen throw in their nets to catch

Fish I am rich in, batch after batch.

Deep in my belly the brave divers find

Pink and white pearls of every kind.

 

I - an ancient river - I am rich

I have plenty of wealth and I like to give.

Water I give, and fresh fish to eat,

I let you ride me: boat, canoe – fleet!

 

But, you! O human, you! What have you done?

You’ve used me and trashed me, spoilt all the fun.

You have taken my joy, now I am filthy and grey,

Head low, I flow slow, with nothing to say.

Afshan Ali

The Summer of 2019 - Day 2

We were up ripe and early. It had been a cold night with the wind making its own music on the the fragile plastic tent right up to the early hours. We did not brave the weather to see the sun rise, although it was a tempting prospect. As the day grew though, and it became warmer, we emerged, showered and breakfasted. 

Mohammad slept on though :) while we chilled. 

 


It was a lovely morning – all the discomfort of the night before were forgotten. I settled down to read my book – something I haven’t done in years, preferring to listen and watch most of the time.
Later, with breakfast done, Mo browsed, I read, and Insh and Mahdi went of on a trek - equipped with a bucket and a net - in search of a brook to study the bugs that lived in the water. 

After the Prophet is an engrossing read - giving an interesting insight into how Islamic History appears from the outside - to a relatively unbiased writer - trying to understand what led to the unfolding of events that followed the death of the prophet. 

Mahdi is a tireless walker - he can go on and on, and now he was in his element  - vigorous and energetic, in wellies, ready for any adventure that came his way. 
The gentle breeze, the silence not disrupted by city noises, and the sun stealing through the clouds to warming my skin every now and then - i spent some of my most idyllic moments. 
Before we left the camp - Mahdi had some Mamu time. :)

 

We left Upper Hurst Farm - in search of the elusive Ice-cream shop in Tagg Lane - the makers of the creamiest, most satisfyingly flavoursome ice cream ever. What makes a visit to this ice-cream parlour more exciting is that it is in the middle of no where. Surrounded by fields and grasslands in all directions - the Tagg Lane farm is a lone building, ordinary and small, something that you can drive by without even noticing it, unless, of course you are actually looking for it. And we  - we always have our eyes peeled for it. 
Surprisingly, Tagg Lane Ice-cream is quite popular, especially at this time of the year - particularly with bikers; and inevitably we meet a bunch of motor bike enthusiasts taking a break - ice-creaming here. The gleaming silver and black motor bikes and their riders in professional gear and helmets, lent an exciting ambience to the small parlour. Mahdi went off with Mamu to get his ice cream. 

THE SUMMER OF 2019

Saturday – 20th July – we drove off at 8:51am – not early enough from Mohammad’s point of view - his target was 6:30! Fairly good from mine - considering that we’d been working through the week. Definitely better than Friday afternoon though, which Mo had been rooting for, for the past one week. Immediately after school, he said. I’ll pick you up at the gate and we drive off - pack up Thursday night and stack the car, he said. In the last week of school?! With innumerable things on the list of things to do?! It was an impossibility. Thankfully, he conceded. And we settled for 6:30am, Saturday morning. Alhamd.

 

Mohammad’s newly bought Land-rover was about to take us off on an often-dreamed-but-never-lived adventure – with just a vague idea of where we would be spending the next night and absolutely no idea of where our next breakfast would be. Quite exciting, really! TBH, we were heading off to Peak District... generally; but specifically... had no idea exactly where, once there. Over the past week Mo had been researching while Insha and I got on with our last week of school. And, thanks to Maulana Google, (christened by Sh Z) found a number of farms we could tent up in around Peak District. 

While, Insha, in the back seat, called around to find the ideal place, I settled down to enjoy myself. The weather was lovely, pleasantly warm, albeit cloudy. Honestly, just the way I like it. I don’t really care for too much sun and sweat – stops my mind from thinking rationally. The drive was relaxing, Mahdi was in his usual chirpy mood with his torrent of questions. In the background we had ABBA’s lilting tunes punctuated with Julie Andrews’ catchy and ever green songs from the Sound of Music to keep Mahdi entertained. 

Upper Hurst Farm – our final choice – was a small place packed with families in caravans and tents. We were high up, surrounded by rolling hills checkered with farms in different shades of green as far as the eye could see where the land met the white, overcast sky. The Skyline was spotted with brief patches of darker-green wooded areas – picture perfect.

It was steadily growing colder – for which we were not as prepared as we should have been – but the warmth of the novelty of the experience kept us cheery. Mahdi was thrilled to bits. Quite in his element. In a thin t-shirt and shorts, he insisted he was warm. They set up the wickets for a round of  cricket as the wind literally threatened to carry away the tent! Mo made tea – we drank and watched. 

Surat Al Hijr 6 -11

بِسْمِ ٱللَّـهِ ٱلرَّحْمَـٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ

They said, ‘O you, to whom the Reminder has been sent down, you are indeed crazy.(6)

Why do you not bring us the angels should you be truthful?!’ (7 ) 

We do not send down the angels except with due reason, and then they will not be granted any respite. (8) 

Indeed We have sent down the Reminder, and indeed We will preserve it. (9)

Certainly We sent [apostles] before you to former communities, (10) 

and there did not come to them any apostle but that they used to deride him. (11)

Qarai

___________________________

Bismillahhir Rahmannir Raheem

Above ayats are quite explicit in themselves – and what is obvious is: the basic mindset has not really changed. We may be living in the computer age: flying supersonic jets, manufacturing organs in factories and sky diving for thrills – but, the human beings have not come very far in actually ‘knowing themselves’.

Who are we? Why are we here? Where have we come from? Where are we going to? Is there a purpose to life?

We are not really troubled by any of these questions. And, even if they do occasionally appear on the screens of our mind, we ‘change page’ and divert ourselves – there is too much happening in our lives at present to be bothered – to be bothered about the great eventuality – that all of us must die and return, perhaps to where we came from.  And that is a great shame.

Prophets, over centuries have tried to guide and educate, to cajole and coax man to think - but the human race has always rebelled – been a non conformist, unfortunately, responding only to the ‘rule of the whip’. We more easily obey a tyrant – the gentle Warner has always been met with derision, disregard and disrespect.

It is important to acknowledge that the Prophets were here only to nudge us in the right direction. Time and time again, Allah (swt) says about the Prophets in the Quran that they are but ‘Warners’. They are here to educate and train us – if we allow them. It is not their responsibility to ‘exercise the whip’. They are to show the way and leave it up to man to ‘think’ and make the right choices. 

And, the mechanism for this is already implanted – all true knowledge is already embedded in our minds – we only have to access it by using our ability to ‘think’ – to open The Book of Truth and read. Man, to be fair, has been doing it – the clear proof being his evolution from being a cave dweller to a space traveller. However, somewhere along the line – progress in this world – which was really, only a means to an end, has become the end in itself. We have ‘forgotten’ that we are only travellers, journeying through this life on earth. There is a greater mission we are on. We have come from somewhere and we will be going forward to someplace else. 

Therefore, NOW, while we are alive, is the time to open up ‘The Book’ saved in the folder our mind, and allow the truth to reveal itself. It is time to ‘remember’. Get off the high horse of heedlessness, liberate from the shackles of self indulgence and use this time – the most precious wealth – to recognise that life in this world is an opportunity to get an ‘upgrade’ in the greater scheme of things.

Subhanallah!

Iltemase dua for the awakening of the Human Intellect