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Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise

Lyn Rye
Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise
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  • This Eid I Wore a Crocheted Shawl
    This weekend Muslims around the world celebrated Eid Al-Adha, also known as the Festival of Sacrifice. Over the years my relationship to this holiday has grown deeper and my understanding of the story that inspires it has blossomed. But it’s a challenging one, one that required a lot of working through before something finally clicked.This essay is an attempt to share what I’ve learned from Eid Al-Adha with a broader audience. Many hearts are troubled these days and looking for sources of courage. I hope to walk you through my understanding of the Eid Al-Adha story and tie it to our present moment in the world. For Muslims, I hope it enlivens your connection to this tradition. For everyone, I hope you take some inspiration, and that you feel more connected to the stories and people in your life who help you face the biggest, hardest questions.This whole essay series, this whole Inshallah & The Creek Don’t Rise project, it’s all about the power of story. And the reality that many communities are facing crises at the same time. And that we need to tell our stories. And that we need each other. Today, we’ll touch on all of these themes through the story of Eid Al-Adha.First, let me tell you about Eid Al-Adha and how my understanding of it has evolved. For some of you, talking about the Quran may be familiar, for others of you, this may be a very strange, new experience. Thanks for diving in. Just remember, every culture has its stories, and every culture can get stuck within its own stories. But some storytellers are able to breathe new life into a story and help their people grow and heal. That’s what we’re trying to do here, inshallah.For those who are unfamiliar, Eid Al-Adha revolves around a story that is shared in both the Quran and the Old Testament: the Prophet Ibrahim, or Abraham, has a vision that he is commanded to sacrifice his son. In the Quranic version of the story, Ibrahim tells his son about the vision and the son submits willingly to the sacrifice. But God intervenes, provides a ram to sacrifice instead, and blesses them both for their virtue. For Muslims, Eid Al-Adha tends to be a somber, serious festival that celebrates the willingness to sacrifice and unshakeable faith.If this story about Ibrahim and his son causes some discomfort, you’re not alone. It raises a lot of hard questions: “What kind of faith would reward the willingness to commit human sacrifice for no apparent reason?” or “What kind of parent is praised as being virtuous because he became convinced God wants him to murder his child?” Plenty of Muslims ask these questions as well. It’s one of these really, really, really old stories that is hard to grapple with in the modern day, in no small part because of how much damage has been done by religion and people with religious power. Celebrating the idea of religious obedience can get real dicey. But that’s not the only way to understand the story.My first breakthrough about the Eid Al-Adha story came from my experience facilitating the Quran Study at Masjid Al-Rabia from 2018-2020. Masjid Al-Rabia was an Islamic community center in Chicago focused on the needs of marginalized Muslims. Many people who came to Masjid Al-Rabia had been abused in the past and had religion used to justify this abuse. Many came to our Quran Study hoping to work through that trauma and rebuild a relationship to their identity and faith tradition, whether that meant becoming a practicing Muslim again, or simply having a new appreciation for the beauty of their identity, free from the control of their former abusers, free to heal as they chose. The Eid Al-Adha story was always a tricky one. Many people who had experienced abuse being justified by religion found this story troubling and alienating. If the takeaway message of this story is obedience to the point of self-sacrifice, or obedience to the point of committing murder, that sounds a whole lot like real abuse that real people have suffered.In working through this story at Masjid Al-Rabia, I started to really zoom in on the fact that both Ibrahim and his son are described in the Quran as being gentle-hearted. The story begins with Ibrahim having a vision that he kills his son, but to me this sounds more like a nightmare. And Ibrahim, the gentle-hearted man, shares this nightmare with his son and asks what he thinks - “What do you see?” Ibrahim asks (37:102). The gentle-hearted son responds that he believes his father should do as he is commanded and says, “You will find me, God willing, among those who are patient” (37:102). But God intervenes and provides a ram to sacrifice instead.Something about the detail of these people being gentle-hearted cracked the whole story open for me in a new way. I was touched by imagining this as an intimate conversation between a father and son who are close confidants. Ibrahim and his son began to feel so much more like ordinary people. I began to imagine this story as a tale about a very gentle-hearted and loving person having a nightmare about the worst thing that he could ever imagine: being asked to kill the son that he loves. And he confides in his son about what is probably the worst thing the son could ever imagine too - having violence done to him by the father who he loves. Then the father and the son grapple with this nightmare together, affirm their trust in God, and conclude that they would both do what was needed, if that’s what it came to.This is where I really started seeing this story more as a representation of a deeper truth rather than a literal model of what obedience should look like. What is this deeper meaning? For me, this became a story of two gentle-hearted people trying to remain steadfast even as their worst nightmare is coming true. And I also see that the Divine’s main role in this story is intervening and stopping the nightmare from occurring and blessing these two people for their pureness of heart in the face of the unfathomable.In our Quran Study at Masjid Al-Rabia, I think it was far easier to feel kinship to Ibrahim and his son when we thought of them as representing ordinary and kind-hearted people facing their worst nightmare together. Perhaps in the case of this story, the worst nightmare is having to kill one’s own son, or having violence done to you by a family member. But in our discussions we connected this story to a whole range of things, whatever any of us might consider to be our worst nightmare. And what we chose to take from the story was not that we should practice unquestioning obedience, but more that we should ask ourselves - how do good people respond when their worst nightmare is coming true, or the most ultimate sacrifice is asked of them? We began to see the story as an invitation to ponder - What happens when ordinary people are confronted with no other option? When the end of the road comes, what would we give of our life, our livelihood, our liberty, or our love? What would we sacrifice in a situation in which our worst nightmare was coming true?In our Quran study at Masjid Al-Rabia, we started to reclaim this story as being a call to pureness of heart in the face of the unfathomable, not a call to commit the unfathomable. We realized we did not have to see this story as, “You should be willing to kill your kid if you think God is telling you to,” or “You have to let your dad do whatever he wants to you if he tells you it’s what God wants.” Instead, we chose to let the story ask us: “How would you respond if your worst nightmare was coming true?” We were proof that the Eid story does not have to be a call for religious fanaticism, obedience to the death, and pointless suffering. We chose gentle-hearted, poignant, and intimate questions about ultimate sacrifice instead.This was the first breakthrough* I had about Eid Al-Adha while working at Masjid Al-Rabia. But I had another breakthrough recently, this past Ramadan, when I heard someone tell an extremely powerful story and thought to myself: “This is the real-life, present day version of the Eid story. This person’s story describes exactly what I’ve been trying to take away from the Eid story for years.” The person who I met, who I heard tell their story, was Marcellus Williams Jr., the son of Imam Khalifah Williams.Imam Khalifah Williams was wrongly executed in Missouri in September 2024. The campaign for his life to be spared garnered international attention. Even the prosecutor who had originally sought the death penalty fought for Imam Khalifah’s life to be spared. During Ramadan this year, I got to hear and meet Marcellus Williams Jr., his son. His son spoke about his father’s profound faith and unwavering bravery in the face of his fate. Imam Khalifah was a devout Muslim. His last words were, “All Praise Be to Allah in Every Situation.” He frequently made the traditional du’a (prayer), “If life is good for me, give me life. If death is good for me, give me death.” He gave advice to others on death row: “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be okay, I’m going to tell you God carries you through all things.” He was a spiritual advisor to many, both inside and outside prison walls, and corresponded with hundreds of people. Close to his death, he wrote a poem about “The perplexing smiles of the children of Palestine,” and how the persistence of their smiles even in the face of genocide strengthened his faith. According to his son, he went to his death peacefully, even telling the prison guards, “Let’s go, let’s do this.” On the execution gurney, Imam Khalifah was dressed in a white robe and had his arms crossed over his chest, the position Muslims take for prayer. From the death chamber, he checked on his son repeatedly, asking if he was okay, asking if he needed to leave. His son stayed.In the case of the nightmare that this father and son faced, the roles were reversed. It was the son who watched his father be laid down to die, and it was his father who went willingly. But I can think of no better example of what the Eid Al-Adha story is really about for me, and what it is that gentle-hearted Muslims all around the world are truly yearning for by celebrating this festival. There is something within our faith tradition that calls us to the type of dignity, grace, and bravery that Imam Khalifah and Marcellus Williams Jr. showed. I see Imam Khalifah and Marcellus Jr. as walking in the footsteps of this sacred story they both held dear. This is the pinnacle of faith that many Muslims aspire to, and which moves the hearts of many, regardless of religious background.But of course it’s not just Muslims who can possess astounding dignity, grace, and bravery in the face of doom. No one culture or faith tradition has ownership over any of these traits. People from all backgrounds show the tremendous beauty of the human spirit in unthinkable circumstances. And ever since I had this breakthrough after listening to Marcellus Williams Jr., I’ve been finding the core human truth of the Eid Al-Adha story everywhere I look.One of the very first people to teach me about the human spirit was a woman who I’ll call Mrs. E. She was a Lutheran elder in my hometown in Indiana, and when I was maybe about 12 years old, she came to tell me and other children about her story. When Mrs. E was a child, she witnessed her family be murdered. She was hiding behind the couch and watched them be killed. In a few horrific moments, she became totally alone in the world. But Mrs. E was not there to tell us about the horror. She was there to tell us about how in the aftermath of this trauma, she discovered that she is never alone. She discovered love. And not just any love, but what she understood as God’s love, the sense of being held in something so much greater than herself, something that is always loving and ever-present. When I was a little older, about 15 years old, I went through some very difficult times with my health. Mrs. E crocheted me a shawl that I could wear in the hospital to remind me that I too am held in love at all times. To go through something like Mrs. E went through and have it turn you into a more gentle and loving person - this is exactly what our Eid story is about, as I now understand it.In October of 2023, I was working at the health clinic of the Inner-city Muslim Action Network on the southwest side of Chicago where many staff and patients are Palestinian. As bombs began to rain down on Gaza, one of our colleagues lost 24 members of her family in a single night. Many of our patients came into their appointments distraught about current events, regardless of whether or not they were Palestinian. As a team, we talked about these very same questions - “How do you respond when someone’s worst nightmare is actually coming true?”So much wisdom was present in the room, and many people shared perspectives that strengthened all of us. Personally, I shared about my time in 2019-2022 working with an underground railroad for LGBTQ+ people fleeing Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The work sometimes involved staying on the phone with people as they made incredibly dangerous feats, like making a run for it from a safe house, or crossing a militarized border, or navigating human traffickers and militias and armies and vengeful families. It meant talking to people who knew they could die at any moment. And unfortunately, some people did not make it. One young man was cornered and killed by the Taliban in real time on the phone with someone from the railroad.Mercifully, no one that I worked with died while on their journey, but I was involved for some incredibly close encounters with death. What do you say in moments like these? You say, “I’m still here. Listen to my voice. I’m here with you. I’ll stay with you.” You say, “God loves you, so so much. We love you, so so much.” You say it over and over again. You say, “We will tell your story no matter what. We remember you always.” I shared this with my colleagues at the clinic just to say: even in the face of nightmare, you can still bear witness, you can still help carry someone’s story onward, and you can always remind others of love. You can be as peaceful as Ibrahim’s son. You can be Mrs. E’s crocheted shawl with your voice, holding someone in love, no matter what.We never know when we may be called upon to respond to nightmare, and what we might find within ourselves in the process. Last month I had the opportunity to meet some organizers from a community group called ROAR. The group is based in the remote mountains of North Carolina and were suddenly thrust into doing emergency response work when Hurricane Helene tore through Appalachia. One of the things that stuck with me from the conversation with ROAR was all the stories of how ordinary people rescued one another. People chose the hard, brave path of going back into the flood waters to rescue neighbors who were stranded on their rooftops, watching the waters rise, unsure whether anyone would come to save them. ROAR’s stories carried the incredible intimacy of those moments - the thoughts, the facial expressions, the words, shared amongst people in their moments of doom, watching the waters close in on them. The grit and resolve of people in the boats determined to save even one more life. And then all the emotions that flow when rescuer and rescued meet. These are moments that are so incredibly vulnerable and raw. These are moments filled with awe and wonder and near-death trauma and the overwhelming force of life.Now when I celebrate Eid Al-Adha, personally, I am celebrating the awful, wonderful intimacy of those moments when people respond to nightmare. From ancient stories to today, I am cherishing the beauty within people’s hearts that is revealed in the ugliest of times. I yearn to echo the words of Ibrahim’s son: “You will find me, God willing, among the people who are patient,” whatever nightmare may be lying in wait. I am fiercely proud of the incredible human beings whose dignity, grace, and bravery in the face of doom are beacons for all humanity. No matter their background and culture. And I am summoned by the story of Eid Al-Adha not to accept needless suffering justified by authority, but rather to consider what sacrifices I would be willing to make in the darkest hour. We pray for such times to pass us over, but when they find us, what is the state of our hearts?We are in troubling times. We need people like Imam Khalifah and Mrs. E and the perplexing smiles of children in Palestine and neighbors with a rowboat to show us the astounding capabilities of our own hearts. We must call one another to extraordinary feats of love, bravery that moves mountains, and peace that defies explanation. We need tools to respond to nightmare with unflinching beauty.This Eid Al-Adha, I wore the shawl that Mrs. E crocheted.—*In 2020 I presented at an Eid Al-Adha halaqa (study group) with Receiving Nur about this very breakthrough. You can listen to that presentation here. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lynrye.substack.com
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  • "please look."
    Watch the video version here.Gather around children, it’s story time. [Hi, Sweetpea (the cat).]Okay, story time. So I grew up in a small town in Indiana called Bloomington. And in 1968, I believe, there was a firebombing of a Black-owned bookstore. And after the firebombing, the original owners of the bookstore dedicated the lot where their store had been to become “People's Park.” And they worked with the city to designate the lot as a park that was for the people, by the people, of the people, and wrote it into the deed or agreement to ensure that the People's Park would be open to all people. So, fast forward to my childhood. I grew up during a period of time in Indiana where we were seeing waves of both the meth epidemic and the opioid epidemic. We were also seeing the economic downfall of so much of rural and small town America. We were also seeing nationwide and worldwide wealth inequality get worse. We were also seeing housing crises get worse. I mean, it was everything all at once. And so homelessness in the area skyrocketed. Not only that, but because Bloomington was a university town and hypothetically had more resources, more social organizations, things like that, small towns elsewhere in Indiana would buy people on the street bus tickets and send them to Bloomington. Rather than face their own people who are hurting and suffering within their own communities, they would to send them to Bloomington. But even the resources that we had in Bloomington got overwhelmed, because when the entire state sends people, it wasn't actually a solution. Anyway, unsurprisingly, because People's Park was open to everybody, there were lots of people who lived in People's Park. This wasn't the only place where homelessness was occurring, where there were tents, where there were people living, but People's Park became kind of a focus point. And it also became symbolic because around People's Park there was a bunch of gentrification happening in this university town. People's Park was very close by to the university. And so as we're seeing all of these compounding social crises and homelessness on the rise in Bloomington, People's Park became this area where the state (as in like the city government and the cops, just the government in general) really started to be aggressive about social cleansing. It was sort of like, “we can't have these two things so close to each other,” right? “We can't have this big push at gentrification happening right next to this really high concentration of people hurting in these particular ways.”This was all over town. Encampments started to get swept and the aggression and violence increased, which doesn't solve anything. But the more that people were pushed from place to place in town and kicked out of People's Park, people would get shunted into the woods. But this is where things really turned dark and violent. Because once people were invisibilized in the woods, that's where violence against homeless people really could kick off. And that people could get away with it. And there's been a series of homeless encampments deep in the woods being set on fire. My understanding is that there's a variety of people who have done this. Some off-duty cops and also just some right-wing vigilante types. [Bye, Sweet Pea (the cat).] Yeah, uh pouring accelerant on homeless encampments and setting them on fire in the woods. And as this started to happen, it meant that people understood: once the homeless encampments get successfully broken up in town, the alternative in the woods is so much worse. And so much darker. And people aren't gonna make it out alive. So people increased their defense of homeless encampments in town, resisting sweeps, resisting having the encampments dismantled.And there was a showdown at People's Park - I remember - in 2017, right before I moved away. Where again, people understood this was sort of like the last line of defense. And a prison guard plowed his car through the people who had gathered at People's Park to try to defend it from a sweep. Yeah. He plowed his car through the crowd. He missed me by about that much and took the person right next to me. Thankfully no one was killed.I have told these stories to people in my life in Chicago. People have kind of been surprised and shocked. Not about the whole story, because this happens in Chicago too. Encampments get broken up, homeless people get pushed around all the time. It’s the element of…once you push people into the woods, they become truly invisible. And that this is just a regular thing: that people get pushed into the woods and then set. on. fire. And also people have been really shocked, like, “why hasn't any news covered this? I’m shocked that i've never heard about this!” I’m not shocked. There's so much happening in rural America and small town America that no one is paying attention to. And I didn't even have proof. I didn't even have a news story to point to, to show people in my life in Chicago that this was a real thing, that i wasn't making this up. Until just now. There was a story that was published that was about yet another encampment set on fire on December 18th, 2024. And it had pictures. And I want you all to see this. Please look at this. I've never been able to show people pictures before. But this is what it is. Please just look. I don't know what else to say or to ask. I'm not sure there even is an ask, this is a much bigger thing than all of us. But please look. Because you can. Please look. And thank you for listening. Photo credits: Jeremy Hogan/The BloomingtonianRead the original news story here. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lynrye.substack.com
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  • A Little Mosque on the Prairie
    For those of you who are not familiar, the start date and end date of Ramadan changes from year to year. The Islamic calendar is a little bit different from the Gregorian calendar. In 2025, Ramadan is basically the entire month of March. But it used to be over the summer.Some of you may know I'm a musician. I have done quite a bit of touring. And so there was a period of years where I would frequently be touring during the summer - during Ramadan. And I've toured quite a number of rural areas. So I have found myself in situations where it's time to break my fast and I'm in the middle of…rural North Dakota.For those of you who don't know, usually the first thing that you do to break your fast in Ramadan is eat a date (the fruit) and water. There was this one time on tour where I found myself in the middle of rural North Dakota having to figure out how to break my fast just with what was available at a gas station. And I made the decision that the thing that was the closest to breaking my fast with a date and water was…Twizzlers! I mean, it's wrinkly, it's fruit-flavored (the legal definition of fruit here is a little squishy). So yeah, my North Dakota gas station iftar was Twizzlers and water.The most interesting thing, though, is that I later learned that the very first mosque built in the U.S.A. is in…rural North Dakota. That’s right. Ross, North Dakota, population 89, is home to the very first mosque in America, built in 1929.This claim comes with a little bit of an asterisk. Muslims have been in America for a long time, much longer than 1929. Most were people from West Africa brought to the U.S. as slaves or people from the territories of the Ottoman Empire who immigrated. However, these early Muslim communities generally did not have their own mosques. They congregated in buildings that also had other uses or prayed outside. Ross, North Dakota was definitely not the first place in the U.S. where Muslims congregated for Friday prayers. But the first building to be constructed new, with the express purpose of being a mosque, was indeed in Ross, North Dakota.How did this come about?The answer is: Syrian homesteaders. That’s right, at the turn of the 20th century, a community of Syrian immigrants began to settle in North Dakota, and they built a little mosque on the prairie. This community of people from Syria filed claims under the Homestead Act to receive farmland in North Dakota. Many people from Norway, Germany, Ukraine, and other parts of Europe had been doing the same since the end of the Civil War. However, due to the U.S. government’s institutional racism, Syrians only became eligible for U.S. citizenship in 1909, so Syrian homesteaders arrived to North Dakota later than their European counterparts.The land made available to settlers through the Homestead Act was the result of the mass displacement and death inflicted upon Indigenous peoples. Many people forget that as the U.S. was fighting the Civil War it was simultaneously fighting multiple other wars against Indigenous nations. As the U.S. government claimed victory over the Southern Confederacy it also claimed victory over vast territories of Indigenous land. The federal government passed the Homestead Act in 1862, the railroad companies moved in, and westward expansion accelerated.The Syrian community in North Dakota were a relatively late addition to this westward expansion and one that has largely been forgotten. Very few descendants of the original homesteaders are left in the area. The current Muslim population of North Dakota is estimated to be 540 people, or 0.1% of the state’s population. However, enough descendants retained a connection to Ross that, when the original building of the mosque was torn down in 1979, they raised funds to build a small memorial building in its place. This new building is rarely used for congregational prayer but serves as a museum and visitor’s center for the cemetery that is still maintained on the mosque grounds. Prayer rugs are still available for any visitors who choose to pray.In 2016, a journalist who was covering the fracking boom in North Dakota stumbled upon this mosque and its history and wrote a feature about it in The New Republic. The journalist, Cary Beckwith, remarked at how striking it was to find a forgotten piece of North Dakota’s history while writing about a new chapter in the state’s life, one that was bringing more immigrants than the state had seen in a long time. Beckwith noted that while covering the fracking boom they had heard Spanish, Amharic, Bulgarian, and French Creole - but no Arabic. North Dakota, at the time was one of the states who voiced support for Donald Trump’s proposed “Muslim ban” and the governor of North Dakota had sworn to refuse Syrian refugees in the state. Beckwith documented that some of the workers on the oilfields were unimpressed with the historic mosque nearby, with one worker saying, “Somebody should blow that f****r up.”As of 2025, the mosque is still standing. Google reviews from visitors are overwhelmingly positive, from Muslims and non-Muslims alike, who are touched and delighted to find such an unexpected landmark, learn about its history, and take some time for prayer or reflection. I hope it is still standing the next time I find myself in North Dakota during Ramadan. For me, it is a reminder of how disconnected most of us are from the history of the land where we live, and how much of that history is rural. To me, this little mosque in Ross, North Dakota is a reminder that rural America can be such a sign post, pointing to things past, things present, and things yet to come - for those who are willing to notice.SOURCES:https://newrepublic.com/article/128726/north-dakota-prairie-became-home-americas-first-mosquehttps://www.atlasobscura.com/places/oldest-mosque-in-the-united-stateshttps://news.prairiepublic.org/show/dakota-datebook-archive/2022-05-02/first-mosquehttps://worldpopulationreview.com/state-rankings/muslim-population-by-statehttps://worldpopulationreview.com/us-cities/north-dakota/ross This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lynrye.substack.com
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  • Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise: An Introduction
    As-salaamu alaykum and welcome to Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise. Just wanted to give a little introduction to what this is.I have been doing quite a bit of political writing recently, particularly in 2024, and been getting a lot of engagement and response to that writing. And so for 2025, I wanted to finally gather the threads of that political writing and create a home for it to continue. And I tend to do audio versions of the things that I write as well, so there's always a print form and an audio form.So it just kind of made sense to create a home for both of these. There's a Substack and podcast, which I'm calling Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise.But just to give you a little bit of background, I grew up in a small town in southern Indiana, and then about seven years ago I moved to Chicago. I've been living primarily on the west side of Chicago for the last seven years. And I am a musician, I'm a scientist, and I'm a community organizer. And some of the things that I've been involved with, as a musician and as an organizer, have been truth and reconciliation efforts.Now, what's “truth and reconciliation”? It's kind of jargon. But it's jargon that tends to be used for processes that happen after conflict, after war, after genocide. It's like a political framework for what happens after,and the day after,and the day after,and the day after.And so sometimes when people are doing intentional processes to try to tell the truth about what happened, and then somehow reconcile with what happened, as a nation, as an ethnic group, as a region of the world, whatever the case might be, sometimes that's called “truth and reconciliation.”So I've been part of some truth and reconciliation projects in the Balkans, in Colombia, and then also did some training with people in Northern Ireland. And one of the things that has occurred to me through those experiences is that…I think the United States really has never had a truth and reconciliation process. For all of the things that have happened here. From the outset of colonization. And so I couldn't ignore the blatant lack of truth and reconciliation in my own home country while I'm participating in some of these efforts elsewhere.The efforts that I was involved in Colombia, in the Balkans…the United States was involved in those conflicts. So there had to be U.S. people involved in truth & reconciliation after. And to me, at least, that just shone the light even more brightly …why not point that inwards as well, right? So anyway, I have an interest in truth and reconciliation processes, having seen what all can go into it, and just feeling that lack here.But then also I feel like I have had a pretty unique vantage point growing up in a small town in a Republican-led rural state, and then moving to an urban area. Not just any old urban area. The south and west sides of Chicago have a very particular history of marginalization, deprivation, segregation…and resistance, and survival, and resilience. It's all of it combined, right?And these are two extremely different snapshots of America. But both are communities in crisis, in their own way. I have been witnessing American communities in crisis my entire life. And the crises are very different, but they're all connected. And over the past seven years of being here in Chicago, bit-by-bit I've been trying to articulate, first and foremost to myself and then to other people in my life, what I've seen, what I've witnessed in both of these American contexts. And how we really know so little about each other.And our struggles are so connected, they really are, but we don't talk to each other, we don't have common ground with each other, particularly this urban-rural divide, which I think is really intense and not named very often. Not explored very often. And so a lot of the writing that I've been doing in this past year has been trying to, in some ways, explain the crisis that rural and small town America has been going through within my lifetime to an urban audience, my community and my connections here in Chicago.But I would like to be a bridge to have that dialogue be both ways. I would like to ask the question, what does truth telling look like in America? I think we need to speak truth to power, but also to each other. We have to let each other know, we have to tell each other what's going on in our communities. A lot more than we currently are. Because we really do need each other. We need each other so badly, given what's coming our way.So the writings that I've done over the last year have been focused on that, and I think will continue to be focused on that. Last year, I wrote this zine in response to JD Vance becoming the vice president and how he wrote Hillbilly Elegy. And basically, I kind of like wrote my own Hillbilly Elegy. To try to speak to, I think, all the ways that JD Vance is wrong. But to also try to translate some things about rural America to people in my life in Chicago. I got such a great response from that. People have been so responsive. To really see how our struggles are connected, and see how it all paints a picture of how everybody is being harmed by many of the same bad actors, by many of the same systems, by many of the same culprits, in a lot of ways. It all points back to many of the same common enemies.I also did a huge deep dive into the land that my mom's side of the family has been farming. My mom's side of the family is American and has been farming in the same place in Nebraska for six generations. And I did a deep dive into that land and the history of that land using a truth and reconciliation framework. And that research, inshallah, is getting published in the Nebraska Journal on Advancing Justice sometime in 2025. And I would like to do the work of translating that. What's getting published is very scholarly and not super digestible, but I would like to do the work of breaking it down. Not just in terms of what I found, but what that process was like, because I think the more we do that, the more we're going to learn. Not just about what came before, but what is still going on today to disenfranchise and divide us.I'm not entirely sure all of the places that this Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise Substack and podcast will go. We'll see. But that's the general aim of it: An exercise in American truth-telling. Because after all, truth comes before reconciliation. I'm very excited to keep going with it.Also, a little note about the name. There's a saying which I heard in southern Indiana, because southern Indiana is kind of like where the Midwest meets Appalachia. It's actually the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. So it's kind of a cultural combination of both. But anyway, Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise. It's a play on... “if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise,” which is a phrase in that region of the country. But being Muslim, inshallah means “God willing.” So it's kind of a play on “if the good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise.” Inshallah, which means “God willing” and “the creek don't rise.”And it's also a phrase that kind of captures what my vantage point is in all of this. Just to give you a little example, in 2016 when I went to Standing Rock to the protest camps that were against the DAPL pipeline, the Indigenous-led resistance to the DAPL pipeline in Standing Rock, there was a contingency of…basically like…radical rednecks that showed up to throw down for that. There was also a big contingence of Palestinian people who were there throwing down as well. And there was some moments when I was there of like, “oh, this person pulled up with the rednecks and is praying with the Palestinians??” And that's very much…that's me. And that's the phrase, “inshallah and the creek don't rise.” I'm the that. That's the me. And so I think it kind of captures a little bit about my vantage point in all of this.I'm not someone who's ever stayed on one side of the tracks. You know, there's the whole idea of being on “the wrong side of the tracks.” I've always been crossing the tracks my entire life, and I continue to do that. And I think we need a lot more of that. And I hope that this podcast serves as a way of telling stories from across the tracks. Inshallah, and the creek don't rise. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lynrye.substack.com
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  • Projecting 2025
    As we begin 2025, I see a lot of hand-ringing. “How bad is it going to get?” It’s a valid question. It was a valid question before the election and remains a valid question after Trump’s re-election. That being said, amongst liberals and progressives, especially those who live in urban bubbles or are college-educated/professional class, I am hearing a lot of sweeping fear and despair. This essay is addressed to that fear and despair. I’d like to share my analysis about bad outcomes that I believe are realistic, or perhaps more importantly, who will suffer most. I would also like to offer some perspective on strategy in the face of despair.Let’s begin with the question: Who has the most to fear? Especially right away? I believe the most vulnerable people within the United States in 2025 are the invisible and exploited migrant labor force that our economy relies on, incarcerated people, homeless people, and all people in poverty. In a country of roughly 340 million people, here’s the population breakdown of the groups I just mentioned:* It’s hard to know exactly how many undocumented people should be considered “invisible and exploited migrant labor” but the total population of undocumented people in the U.S. is estimated around 13 million, or 4% of the population (Homeland Security, 2024).* Incarcerated people - the population fluctuates some but is currently around 1.9 million (Prison Policy Initiative, 2024)* Homeless people - the official tally is 770,000 people in 2024 but official tallies of homelessness are almost always an undercount (USA Today, 2024). However, the official 2024 tally is still an 18% increase over the 2023 tally.* Poverty - roughly 38 million people (11.3% of the population) live at or below the official federal poverty line. However, the federal poverty line is a severely outdated tool, and it is estimated that 140 million people in America (43% of the population) cannot afford the basic necessities of life where they live (Fuhrer, 2024).I believe that the right-wing agenda will hurt these groups of people first and most. In fact, a variety of governmental and corporate powers have already been expanding the infrastructure to target these groups of most vulnerable people even further.The Trump campaign had pledged to deport all 13 million undocumented people. This is implausible if not impossible, with an estimated cost of $315 billion (Wall Street Journal, 2024). So, as JD Vance chipperly suggested, they’ll just “start with 1 million” (ABC News, 2024). But I don’t think most of them actually believe they are going to deport all undocumented people, I think that’s a circus performance for the voter base. I really do believe they are fine with the economy still relying on migrant labor so long as they feel like they are in control of it. I don’t think they mind illegal, exploitative labor practices whatsoever. I think they mind the idea that people (especially non-white people) could come here without papers and actually have a decent life. And then have children who become successful (non-white) American citizens.I think their deportation scheme is more about a show of power over an exploited labor base - “we control you, in case you forgot” - rather than a genuine attempt at getting rid of that workforce entirely. A landmark federal court case in 2001 attempted to prosecute managers at a Tyson plant for straight up asking human traffickers to supply them with 500 workers over four months. The court ended up siding with Tyson and essentially rubber-stamped the practice for corporations during the last two decades (Reding, 2010, pg. 153). Trafficking workers and paying illegally low wages to them is not the issue. The issue is that some of those undocumented worker’s kids are integrated into society and have permanently altered the demographics of the country. I think they are completely comfortable with illegal migration so long as those migrants remain tightly in the chains of exploitation that they control and profit from. What they can’t stand is the idea that undocumented people could come here and plant the seeds of generations to come who will be free.While they work on deporting one million people this year, probably making as much of a spectacle of it as possible, they are also quietly expanding other sources of exploitable labor:* Rolling back legislation against child labor (1A Podcast, 2023)* Making it easier for corporations to use prison labor (Marshall Project, 2024)* Criminalizing homelessness, like the June 2024 Supreme Court decision paving the way for more aggressive local laws…which may swell the prison population even more (Berg, 2024)Perhaps they have some ideas about how to replace the workers they may realistically be able to deport. And even though I don’t think they are going to deport and replace all 13 million undocumented people, I think it also suits them just fine to diversify the portfolio of the exploitable workforce, so to speak, with their increasing appetite for child labor, prison labor, and putting more homeless people in prison (labor). They are just paving the way for more widespread and entrenched exploitation in whatever direction they please. They are ensuring they get to do what they want to who they want.And it remains true that the people who suffer the most indignities with the most impunity are people in poverty. Defining socioeconomic status is hard. What is poverty? What is low-income? What is working class? But no matter the label, economic hardship causes people to be even more systematically vulnerable to everything, always, all at once. Poor people are always the most disposable. According to a study from the University of California that was published in 2023, poverty is the fourth leading cause of death in America, more deadly than gun violence, obesity, or diabetes (Brady, 2023).While defining precisely who lives in “poverty” is difficult, economic hardship is undeniably prevalent in the U.S. The official statistic of the federal government is that 11.3% of Americans live in poverty. In and of itself, this ranks the U.S. as the country with the highest rate of poverty in the Global North (Alston, 2018). However, there are some serious problems with how the federal government calculates its official poverty measure (OPM). The current OPM is an outdated metric that has not been updated since it was first developed in the 1960s to determine eligibility for anti-poverty programs. Back then, the federal government estimated that what a family needs to survive is roughly three times what they spend on food, a measure that was fairly accurate at the time (Barber, 2024). However, since the 1960s, food prices have risen fourfold, but median rent in the U.S. has risen more than sixteen-fold (Barber, 2024). Defining the poverty line by multiplying a family’s food budget by three will no longer predict whether a family is going to be homeless next month.Researchers have suggested an alternative OPM, although federal policy has not yet changed. This new proposed OPM asks the question: what is the budget required to cover basic necessities, broken down for every type of family structure (single adult, two parents with two children, etc.), and for every U.S. county (to account for huge variations in housing costs, in particular), and how many individuals and families are unable to afford basic necessities where they live? (Fuhrer, 2024). This massive and complex effort was spearheaded by the Economic Policy Institute and recently released its findings. Using this measure, 140 million Americans would qualify as poor or low-income, which is 43% of the population (Fuhrer, 2024).This is nothing new in 2025. As Reverend William J. Barber II, one of the organizers with The Poor People’s campaign, recently commented: “Our general lament was a cry against our nation’s addiction to unnecessary death. The heirs of genocide, displacement, enslavement, and lynching, we, as a people, had never repented of the violence that was laid out as a foundation of our shared life. Instead, we’d accustomed ourselves to an economy that functions by damning some people to die before their time” (Barber, 2024, pg. 169). Our nation’s addiction to unnecessary death is hardly new. But I believe that people who are economically struggling will be hardest hit by everything: by any and all further tears to our social safety nets, by climate change disasters, by increasing mass incarceration, by assaults to public schools, by neglect for public health, by police aggression, by worsening housing crises, by community violence, by lack of access to reproductive healthcare and early childhood supports, by eroding care for the disabled and elderly, and many other outcomes that may get worse under the Trump administration.That is my sincere prediction about who has the most to fear from 2025. I want to point something out, particularly to readers who may be living within certain liberal bubbles. The migrant labor force, incarcerated people, homeless people, the impoverished - this includes all skin colors, all gender identities, all sexual orientations, all religions, all ethnicities, all ages, all worldviews. It also includes so many children. This is easy to miss out on when we are so separated from one another. Who are the majority of child laborers? Kids from Central America (Dreier, 2023). Who is the single largest demographic of people living in poverty? White people (Fuhrer, 2024). Who is the most over-represented in mass incarceration? Black people (Prison Policy Initiative, 2024). The people at the bottom, “the voice from below,” includes everyone.The people at the top, the people in power, the people in the 1%, remain overwhelmingly white and male; they are not so diverse (Murray & Jenkins, 2024). But it turns out the people at the bottom truly are. There is no majority identity in the lowest castes, it is a plurality. It really is everyone.And while we sit with that complicated reality, The Powers That Be are diligently working on:* Criminalizing dissent and resistance (like RICO charges against Cop City protestors in Atlanta, increasing use of terrorism charges against climate change activists and men named Luigi, trying to classify certain non-profit activities as support for terrorism, increasing penalties for protest tactics like encampments or taking over streets)* Fighting labor organizing (like threatening to call the National Guard on the dock worker union strike earlier this year)* Consolidating power over public institutions and destabilizing “democracy” (such as the efforts to remove anyone from state office who was willing to certify Biden’s victory in 2020)* Denying climate change, barrelling ahead to control and exploit natural resources (like Trump probably cutting Biden’s climate adaptation program)* Paving the way for even more extreme wealth/resource hoarding (like further tax cuts to the rich)* All of the wickedness the U.S. government and corporations do in other countries (where to even begin)We are barreling off of the cliff of climate disaster with no way back.We are headed into an era of global destabilization.We are facing increasing wealth inequality that a U.N. representative recently called a “God-sized problem” (Barber, 2024).Now, a note about pointing fingers.The people in the lowest castes are not responsible for Trump. You cannot blame undocumented people, homeless people, incarcerated people, and poor people for Trump. And you can’t blame children whatsoever. Many liberals/progressives are understandably bitter about what appears to have been a strong rightward shift in the electorate. But the keyword here is the electorate - the people who actually showed up to vote. Only about 55% of the 18+ population ends up voting in federal elections on average anyway, and adults who vote are disproportionately wealthier, older, and more educated (Pew Research Center, 2020). In total, 156 million people voted in the 2024 election, with 77 million voting for Trump (Council on Foreign Relations, 2024).Remember, any statistics that you’re seeing about “such and such percentage of such and such demographic voted for Trump” - that’s only the percentage of the pool who actually voted. The 56% of white voters who supported Trump is 33% of the total white population. Meanwhile, 37% of the white population (66 million) can’t afford basic necessities. The 43% of Latino voters who supported Trump is 9% of the total Latino population. Meanwhile, 66% of the Latino population (42 million) can’t afford basic necessities. The 16% of Black voters who supported Trump is 5% of the total Black population. Meanwhile, 59% of the Black population (24 million) can’t afford basic necessities. (PBS, CFR, USA Facts, Furher). Don’t forget to listen to those whose voices are quieter. And the lowest castes of America either can’t or largely don’t vote.That doesn’t mean struggling people all have “good” politics. That’s not the point. The point is they really don’t have any power over you. They really don’t have any power over the system. And their lack of systemic power, rather than anything they may think or believe, is what makes them so vulnerable to be first in line for exploitation and doom. The man from El Salvador who slaughtered the chicken in your lunch while under the control of human traffickers is not your enemy. The white woman living out of her car in a Walmart parking lot with her two kids somewhere in a methed-out ghost town in rural Kentucky is not your enemy. No matter how mean, unpleasant, prejudiced, ignorant, abusive, or otherwise flawed they hypothetically could be as individuals.But also, it is true that some of the people who voted for Trump may end up suffering intensely under his administration. I would like to challenge the reader, here, to consider that ideological impurity and systemic power are two different things. Put bluntly - you can be wrong about a lot of things AND be pretty powerless.Centering the people who are truly most vulnerable and who truly have the least systemic power means centering the poor, the homeless, the incarcerated, the exploited migrant. Centering these people may mean discomfort. It may mean valuing the lives of people who don’t share all of your values or who may have done bad things. It might mean figuring out how to respond when people who have the least systemic power are still capable of interpersonal harm. Towards each other, towards you. It may mean grappling with the fact that there are no perfect victims, and the most severely victimized shouldn’t have to live up to sainthood for society to pay attention to their suffering. And it means grappling with the fact that some people who are severely victimized are genuinely unsafe to be around. Everything can be true at once and the need to survive continues the day after, and the day after, and the day after.I recently had a conversation with a friend who is a union organizer for Amazon workers in the Chicago area. As he reflected on his experiences with organizing, he said, “You have to be able to hold each other and fight each other at the same time.” We were discussing the fact that all of the ways that people are capable of hurting each other interpersonally still exist when you are fighting the billionaire class. People hurt each other racially, sexually, emotionally, physically, personally, humanly. That can’t be swept under the rug. We have to take ALL of that up, all of that harm that ordinary people can do to one another, when we organize ourselves against The Behemoth that is hurting everyone. Most people don’t have a lot of skill doing that. But if you want to learn from the people who are diving in and trying their damndest, look to labor organizing. Look to their successes and their mistakes. It is just one example, just one struggle, but in many ways could be a very wise example of what we are facing in the bigger picture. The people working for Amazon includes everyone.I would like to challenge the reader - if you are feeling fear and despair, what are you doing to mobilize with all the people who have less systemic power than you do? How are you showing up for the migrant, the prisoner, the unhoused, the truly broke? To quote Reverend Barber II of The Poor People’s campaign again, “Those who profit from preventing moral fusion movements do everything in their power to make division seem inevitable. In times like these, it’s critical to remember the movements that have enabled every stride toward freedom in our nation’s history. Poor and hurting people have been at the heart of every one of these movements” (Barber, 2024, pg. 106-107). Are you willing to look into the eyes of poverty and feel the humanity looking back? Are you capable of showing up for everyone “at the bottom?” The whole plurality of America that finds itself in the lowest of the low? If people like you can’t or won’t show up for the most vulnerable, what on earth do you suggest as the alternative? Who is coming to save any of us?When our collective survival depends on it, really take some time to consider who you are willing to dispose of, who you can actually survive without, and who your life actually depends on. Be careful who you write off as being beyond saving, beyond solidarity, beyond having value. Be careful who you dehumanize. Be careful of the excuses you make as to why YOU shouldn’t have to show up for the difficult work of solidarity, which inherently involves interacting with people you may fear, loathe, mistrust, or in any way view as “other.” Be careful of the struggles you think you should get to sit out. And be careful of nihilism. Particularly if you are a college-educated professional, a middle-class urbanite, or any other person who is not in the lowest castes of people who are first in the line of fire. Don’t voluntarily ignore (or worse, give up) the power you do have. You are so, so needed. We all are.There is a storm coming. Goddamnit, we need each other.“I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars,I am the red man driven from the land,I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek -And finding only the same old stupid planOf dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.”* Langston Hughes, “Let America be America Again,” 1936“God of grace and God of glory,On thy people pour thy power…Cure thy children’s warring madness,Bend our pride to thy control,Shame our wanton selfish gladness,Rich in things and poor in soul.Save us from weak resignationTo the evils we deplore…Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,For the facing of this hour,For the facing of this hour.”* Harry Emerson Fosdick, during the Great Depression“Which side are you on?Which side are you on?Don’t scab for the bossesDon’t listen to their liesUs poor folk haven’t got a chanceUnless we organizeWhich side are you on?Which side are you on?”* Florence Reece, labor organizer and coal miner’s wife, 1931 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lynrye.substack.com
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About Inshallah & The Creek Don't Rise

Exercises in American truth-telling. After all, truth comes before reconciliation. What could truth & reconciliation look like in America? There's a lot of stories that need to be told, stories that often come from "the wrong side of the tracks." Turns out a lot of communities are in crisis. Turns out a lot of our struggles are connected. Turns out, we need each other. A lot. Inshallah & the creek don't rise, we can actually do something about that. Audio & written versions available on Substack. Audio available on all podcast streaming platforms. Video versions are also available at https://www.youtube.com/@lyn_rye_music. lynrye.substack.com
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