COVER STORY

HOLD ON A SECOND! THIS IS MY CANADA, TOO!

Image credit: RAAMIN KA on Unsplash.

By SHAGORIIKA EASWAR

Hamilton police chief Frank Bergen condemned the “blatant act of hatred” that saw death threats and racial slurs hurled at a Muslim mother and daughter on July 12, and thanked those who intervened in the attack. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau described it as “violent, hateful, and abhorrent behaviour” that has no place in our country or any of our communities.

It happens every time. After every brutal, senseless attack, after each hate crime, each tragic loss of life.  It happened after a 20-year-old drove a van into a Muslim family out for a walk in London, Ontario, in which four members were killed and a little boy left orphaned.

It happened when a few days after that, the Baitul Hadi Mosque in Edmonton was vandalized. 

And when some months before that, a man was attacked outside a mosque in Etobicoke.

A few years before that, a gunman attacked worshippers at a mosque in Quebec City.

These were not isolated attacks, separated by months, years, of harmony. There were others, many others.

After each, there was a national outpouring of grief, a rallying around the individuals or community. And then, sooner or later, we went back to our lives. Unaware that the deadly divide had only deepened.

Ausma Zehanat Khan’s novel, A Deadly Divide, was about a community reeling from a devastating shooting at a mosque in Quebec. The book began with a quote from Alexandre Bissonnette, the shooter in the 2017 Quebec mosque shooting. Though a work of fiction, the link was obvious. And Zehanat Khan quoted from studies and chat rooms that incite violence.

It was topical when it was published in 2019. It is topical today.

*    *    *

   Out on a hike in mid-June with his wife, Muhsin Kermalli found himself reaching for her hand when the trail through the forest led to a short stretch across a road.

He held her hand, keeping her safe, until a vehicle that was approaching had passed.

“Normally, I pay no attention to passing vehicles, this was pure instinct,” he says. “And I thought, wow, that’s me suffering from heightened anxiety.”

The interim executive director of Naseeha, a mental health helpline for Muslims, was referring to the horrific attack on the family in London, Ontario. After the attack, they received many calls from what he describes as “the area of crisis”.

“Every time an incident happens, we get the calls. We’re still small, everyone may not know of us, but as we grow, we try to ensure that our lines are open, that we’re there for anyone who reaches out for help.”

 One of the biggest challenges – for any helpline – is not being able to respond to every call, says Kermalli.

“This incident was a catalyst. We were on the CBC, on national radio, and we received calls even from Nunavut where there’s a small Muslim community, saying people are hurting, they need support.”

The callers are frightened, worried about the safety of loved ones. They are angry at the senseless attacks. They all convey that heightened sense of anxiety that he himself experienced on the trail. Parents want to know how to respond to a five-year-old who asks if they are safe. A young girl asks, “Are they going to kill us?”

A non-Muslim girl called. “I’m not Muslim but could be mistaken for one. I’m scared. What do I do?’

What next? Who is next?

Those are the questions on our minds.

“Can you believe that those of us apparently privileged to live in this fair and free society are now living in fear?” questions Kermalli. “We hear of communities being targeted in countries we come from, in India, China, Afghanistan, but a lot of the times we are separated from that conversation because its happening elsewhere. But when it happens here, on our soil, many of us are starting to ask questions. I’m here now, is this what lies ahead?”

One has to be careful, but one also has to live life, says Kermalli.

He makes an interesting observation.

We want to be viewed as the “ideal community” and our response to crises is rooted in our DNA. There’s fear in getting authorities involved. Fear of losing a child or a parent if they make a complaint.

“There’s a lot of that ‘don’t make a noise’ thinking. The simple notion that if I make a noise, I may lose my passport. Maybe it stems from our colonial past, but many people seem to believe that they left their homelands for a better life for their children and the way to achieve that is to lie low.

“Keep your head down, beta, keep it down.”

 But those like Kermalli, who was born in Toronto, have a very different response.

“Our understanding of our country is very different from our parents’ understanding. We stand up, we say, ‘Hold on a second, this is my country’. Of course, all along, mom-dad-grandparents are still urging us to lie low.”

Why is the community targeted like this? There are no easy answers, but as Kermalli says, 9/11 completely changed the roadmap for Muslims.

“And we have to look at that, to address it. We can’t just wish it away. Take the 20-year-old who drove the van into the family in London. He was born the year of the attack or soon after. He grew up listening to the ‘Muslim terrorist’ narrative. We’re learning that he was a loner, spent long hours online, gaming. Pour that kind of hate-filled rhetoric in an isolated person’s ears and you get this. Online gaming is a very lucrative business and people don’t want to link it to terror attacks but I’ve heard of people getting together with strangers from another corner of the world, and teaming up to ‘kill Muslim terrorists’. People are living in bubbles of non-reality and that’s a very scary place. We have become desensitized. I hate to say this, but remember the man who was stabbed outside a mosque in Etobicoke less than a year ago? There was such a big commotion, but now if you mention it, you might hear, ‘That happened?’ But now my hope is that things are changing, that humanity is learning to stand up for humanity.”

Muhsin Kermalli at a community event.

While their focus group is the 18-35 age group and over 70 per cent of callers are females, the calls come from men and women, young and old.

That’s the standard across help lines, Kermalli says, women tend to be more open to asking for help.

“It’s a cultural thing, not just common in the Muslim community. We tend to tell males to ‘man-up’ or not to ‘cry like a girl’. Asking for help is seen as a sign of weakness. But it takes courage to do so and we’re seeing results from our outreach among men. There’s been an increase in male callers and also more males coming into the industry as counsellors.”

This year, Naseeha also launched free web therapy. This is particularly helpful for those coming from different cultural backgrounds who might find it hard to navigate the mainstream on-ground services that are available and also for those who can’t afford to pay for therapy.

They’ve conducted over a 100 sessions a month and are now at capacity with a waiting list of those wishing to join the sessions.

“We pull from experts in the field to provide guidance and tips on various topics,” Kermalli says. “If you are dealing with X, try A, B, or C.”

There are two levels of response to a community crisis. The first, in which one supports those who are hurting and dealing with abuse and injustice, and the broader response that aims to possibly prevent such attacks.

“One of our biggest goals is to reach the day when Naseeha is not needed,” reiterates Kermalli. “And one of the ways to get there is to prevent these attacks.”

In 2015, Naseeha set up an outreach program to help break the stigma around mental health.

“We’re in a crisis situation,” says Kermalli. “Youth are killing themselves or harming others and parents are oblivious to what’s leading up to this. Either they don’t recognize the signs or there’s community pressure to brush it under the carpet. We’re working to raise awareness around mental health issues, through workshops at mosques, and at the Peel, Toronto and York Region district school boards. We also conduct workshops for parents on signs to watch out for and things they can do to change their approach to better help their children.”

Immediately following the attack in London, the Naseeha team was there, collaborating with local experts to identify what was needed and the best ways to achieve it.

Issues they provide counselling and help with include divorce, pornography, bullying, addictions and mental health. 

While looking different might make some a target for bullying and the cultural baggage some of us come with might up the chances of domestic abuse in some homes, one might think that the other issues would be equally well-addressed by other helplines.

Asked why all of these might require community and culturally-specific help, Kermalli says with guidance from what Islam says about these issues, the counsellors deal differently with them than someone who doesn’t have that understanding of faith, of the cultural markers.

In her memoir We Have Always Been Here Samra Habib describes her life as a schoolgirl in Canada. She faced bullies, racism, the threat of poverty and an arranged marriage. The men in her life wanted to police her, the women showed pious obedience by example.

Unable to find the answers she was seeking and sinking deeper into despair, suicide began to seem like the only way out.

Faith and belonging should not be mutually contradictory. Image credit: ALLEF VINICIUS on Unsplash.

After seeing an ad on a cereal box, I called a youth hotline from a telephone booth. It was as if the counsellor at the other end had never encountered my specific situation – a teenage Muslim girl trapped in an unhappy arranged marriage – and when she suggested I tell my parents how I felt, I hung up on her.

The heart-rending passage in her book is also a cautionary tale. One of the biggest barriers is not knowing where a caller is coming from, not ‘getting’ the cultural nuances, as Kermalli says.

“They may try to understand, but if they don’t get the subtext, right there is the barrier. Callers might feel guilt talking about issues that are seen as taboo. They may not be able to talk to their parents, who would be shocked or horrified, community members might look down upon them. Our counsellors are not judgemental, we understand.”

He speaks from personal experience. Born in Toronto in the 80s, he lost his mother when he was just six. Blessed with what he describes as a wonderful support system of family, community and school, and surrounded by many loving female figures, he still struggled to find answers.

“I was loved, I felt like a child of the community, but I still had a lot of anger in me, a lot of darkness. I had suicidal thoughts. I would let loose to God, telling him I was angry with him. That was my 1-866 number. ”

He came from a business family and with an entrepreneurial bent of mind and a business background, owning his own business was a natural fit. He was also into coaching and mentoring youth from a young age and when he first heard about Naseeha, he recalls thinking what a fantastic idea it was.

That was in 2017. He talked to Yaseen Poonah, the founder, and was hooked by his vision.

It was, at the time, a $100,000 volunteer-run organization that Kermalli believed he could help grow.

“We have an amazing team and amazing volunteers. Beating the streets, tracking down barriers, with God helping us and angels pushing us along, we are able to connect with a wider group of people. We are having that conversation about Islamophobia. I’ve seen both the good and the ugly, but I have learnt that there’s so much positivity that can be pulled from each experience. If you focus on the light at the end of the tunnel, the tunnel gets illuminated.”

Muhsin Kermalli spoke to Desi News a few days after getting his second shot, and was still feeling “spacey”.

“It could be the effect of the vaccine itself, but I think it’s more to do with all that we’re dealing with. It takes a toll, it’s heavy work. We’re dealing with calls like the one from the 17-year-old girl who says she’s thinking of taking her life.

“My mantra – for myself and our team – is to have something you are passionate about, something that can relieve your stress and tension. I have a loving wife, great friends, a great board of directors that’s always checking in on us to make sure we’re doing okay. Overall, by the grace of God, I’m okay. We have to go on. Until the day Naseeha is not needed. That day, the world would be a much better place.”

For his future children, he hopes and prays for what a lot of parents hope and pray for, an ideal, Utopian society.

“My wish is that we have more love around us. Love can come in so many different ways as I experienced as a child.

“We should all ask ourselves, what can I do to love more, to love better, to share it with every creature around me. And we need positive social interaction. We need each other.

“If we can engage in loving ways, if we could all do that, we’d have the society we wish for our children.”

Connect. Naseeha’s helpline can be reached at 1-866-627-3342 or info@naseeha.org.

CULTURALLY-SENSITIVE HELP WHEN YOU NEED IT

Image credit: RODANE PRODUCTIONS on Pexels.

Yousef is 16 years old and has an unstable home life. He started hanging out with older teenagers and going to parties where there was alcohol and drugs. Feeling the pressure to fit in and being curious about what the hype was all about, he started drinking and smoking marijuana. After a while, it felt normal to participate in these hang-outs and he found getting high would help him forget his problems at home.

The more he got involved, the more he began to feel empty inside. Not being high would stress him out and he kept looking for ways to numb the pain and ignore the issues in his life.

Thirty-two-year old Aysha has been married for over five years and has two kids and lives with her husband and in-laws. Ever since she began living with them she has always felt like they treated like a servant. Her mother-in-law runs the house and puts her down constantly. Her husband always takes his mother’s side and makes Aysha feel like she has no support. He puts her down, insults her and doesn’t show her any love or affection. He’s also begun becoming physically abusive and she’s worried about her children.

This has left her feeling isolated and depressed. Although she has her children as a source of happiness, she feels trapped in a marriage because divorce is taboo and she would not be able to take care of her children on her own.

Cultural practices and social stigma surrounding divorce can be devastating to many marriages. Many women may feel like they have no options and endure years of abuse to maintain appearances. Knowing that they have someone to turn to and can reach out for help can be empowering and change not only their lives but the lives of their children and future generations.  

These two case profiles are from Naseeha’s social media platforms.

Naseeha, from the Arabic word naseehat, meaning advice, was born out of an initiative launched by a few young men to raise funds for people displaced and affected by a natural disaster in 2006.

After successfully raising funds for the humanitarian crisis, the group thought they should do something to address all these issues they had domestically.

Yaseen Poonah, then in his 20s, founded Naseeha by creating a toll-free helpline that was available three hours a day.

It has now grown to seven days a week with calls from around the world from Muslim and non-Muslims. It provides a safe zone for people to talk and get the help they need, workshops for youth across North America, web therapy sessions, and offers texting mental health support.

Callers receive immediate, anonymous, and confidential support over the phone from 12:00 noon to 12:00 midnight, seven days a week in English, Urdu, Arabic and French. Recognizing that there are some calls that might require intervention from medical professionals or from the police – in a mental health crisis where someone might be feeling suicidal or a case of domestic violence, for instance – a crisis protocol is in place. Depending on the situation, authorities might need to be notified. Statistical data shows that three per cent of those who call helplines might harm themselves or might be in harm’s way, says Muhsin Kermalli, Naseeha’s interim executive director.

“We ensure confidentiality and if a caller needs more help or other assistance, we refer them to the appropriate resources. Most of the time, callers are just looking for a safe space to share what they are feeling or going through, but our counsellors are trained to recognize crisis situations and respond accordingly.”

Naseeha is a registered not-for-profit charity in Canada and the US and 90 per cent of their support comes from private donors, with 10 per cent coming from private institutional funding.

Last year, they received funding through the United Way for COVID relief and are lobbying for federal funding.

To learn more, or to donate, visit https://naseeha.org.