Everyone knows the story of the Ansar (Helpers) and the Muhajirun (Emigrants). The Muhajirun were the exiles, the original companions of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ (peace be upon him) who risked life and limb to stand for truth and justice; who left homes, families, loved ones and the sacred city itself to avoid persecution at the hands of the enemies of Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He). These are individuals who broke ties of kinship in a society where kinship was all that mattered, and who chose Allah (swt) and His Messenger ﷺ over the material world.

And of course the Ansar were the ‘Helpers’, the country folk of Yathrib, many of whom accepted the Prophet of Allah ﷺ while not having yet seen him. They were the magnanimous hosts of the Prophet ﷺ and the Emigrants, giving away not just portions of their annual income, but swathes of farm land—sources of income—to their new brothers and sisters. They gave away the shirts on their backs, and displayed the genuine love that comes with true hospitality. They were the people of the City of the Prophet ﷺ, medinatun-nabi.

Praise for the Muhajirun and the Ansar is easy to come by, and so it is only natural for us to seek lessons from these beautiful people.

Who might today’s Muhajirun be? Obviously there is no hijra, or emigration, in the technical sense. However, there is a population among us who might resemble, to perhaps a lesser degree, the experience of ‘exile’ of those elect among the early Muslims. In our own cities, be it at university or the local masjid (mosque), we meet new reverts every day. We hear their stories of the spiritual struggle that comes with the pursuit of Islam, or ‘submission’. We hear of the family ties that may have been strained or severed, of the friends that were lost and of the Islamophobic insults that became their new reality. We shed a tear, laugh and cry with joy, hug them, welcome them and kiss them. We teach them how to pray, how to say Arabic phrases, and even how to make wudhu (ablution). We tell them that if they need anything, to “please let us know!” But after a while, a new convert is not so new anymore. They are forgotten, and often left to get by alone. We don’t see them at the (insert: Arab, Pakistani, Indian) ______ mosque anymore. “I wonder why? Must be down to weak iman (faith). Oh well.”

Compare this to the response of the Ansar.

These helpers welcomed in the truest sense of welcoming, for as the Ansar teach us, welcoming does not end after the ‘shahadah’ (declaration of faith) ceremony. Welcoming is not this initial easy part—anyone can teach a new Muslim how to make wudhu (we have a thing called the internet now!). Anyone can hound a new Muslimah with “hey, you’ve been Muslim for two months now – isn’t it time you put on a hijab?” Nay, this is the easy part. What is difficult, what is truly ‘Ansar-like’, is to open up our homes—nay, our hearts, to a new revert. Some people say, ‘Hey, they’re part of the community now. They’ll fit right in in no time!’ This tragic response doesn’t account for the hijra many new Muslims have just made. It doesn’t account for the breaking of long-established relationships with unaccepting family members, or the breaking of old habits. Our Muhajirun don’t need religious advice, they need human support and friendship for human problems and struggles. Next time a new Muslim enters Islam, don’t just hug them and usher them in, swallowing this newest justification for your wavering faith in Islam. Be a true Ansari by welcoming them into your life: invite them to your home, invite them to your gatherings, invite them into your circles.

Maybe we too can be among our spiritual forbearers!

“And the first forerunners [in the faith] among the Muhajireen and the Ansar and those who followed them with good conduct—Allah is pleased with them and they are pleased with Him, and He has prepared for them gardens beneath which rivers flow, wherein they will abide forever. That is the great attainment.” (Qur’an 9:100)

By Shakeel Syed

Over the last 30 years, I have worked on many different social justice issues as a central passion in my life. This call to work for social justice is deeply rooted in my faith as a Muslim, and it is this call I have tried to serve since 2005 as the executive director of the Shura Council of Southern California, which is an umbrella association of Mosques and Muslim organizations serving Muslims living in Southern California and society at large.

For more than a millennium, my faith has taught that “when you see a wrong, right it.”

This mandate is without an option for neutrality, let alone apathy.  The choices to right the wrong includes, “action,” “speech” or “empathy,” in that order. Action is considered to be the strongest demonstration of faith while empathy, though admirable is considered as the weakest expression of the faithful.  A central part of our history as Muslims is the migration of the Prophet Muhammad, where he was forced to leave his home and family to seek freedom, justice and peace for all. These teachings, urging me to right wrongs with action and to seek peace by leaving behind home and homeland give me incredible peace as a Muslim.

Central to this call to work for social justice has been my own journey as an immigrant to the United States. I came from India in 1985 and ever since, by watching the journeys of my friends and family members, and through my work in the interfaith community, I have seen the ways that our current immigration system tears families apart. This is especially true for the 11 million aspiring Americans living in this country whose status is uncertain –people of diverse national origin and religious backgrounds, who are often exploited by corporations and often the law with very little if any recourse. They are hardworking people who are forced to live in constant fear of being separated from their families.

For almost two decades, our nation’s indifference toward these undocumented Americans who are freely exploited from the valleys of California to the shores of Maine has left me agitated, unable to be at peace. During these last 20 years, the poor and those without legal status have become poorer and more powerless while the rich have become richer and more indifferent. I saw this wrong; I struggled with how to right it. Peace eluded me. Indeed I have also seen how the policies of this countries broken immigration system have also affected the Muslim community unfairly, as was recently revealed in an ACLU report which exposed the previously unknown national security program known as the “Controlled Application Review and Resolution Program,” where the government purposely and illegally excludes many applicants from Arab, Middle Eastern, Muslim and South Asian communities from these opportunities by delaying and denying their applications without authority.

My agitation as a naturalized United States citizen and as a person of faith, I believe now morally binds me to the more than 11 million mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons of myriad faiths and diverse traditions who are aspiring Americans and all those who suffer from unjust immigration policies. Following the legacy and example of the Prophet Muhammad, I decided that I too must become a Pilgrim for the sake of freedom I decided to join the Pilgrimage for a Pathway to Citizenship and walk 111 miles in solidarity with and dignity for the 11 million aspiring Americans yearning for full citizenship and enfranchisement in our great nation.

I walked with my fellow Pilgrims, learned their stories, and shared mine with them.  We are all immigrants, all Americans. Together, we walked, prayed and broke bread. We sang and sometimes, we wept. But for the 10 days on the Pilgrim for a Pathway to Citizenship, rain or shine, we walked as one—walking for respect and dignity, demanding equality and fair treatment.

Walking is prophetic. On this journey it was my prayer, that we walked in the tradition of Moses who walked out of Pharaoh’s land to free the oppressed. We will walk in the tradition of Jesus who walked to Jerusalem and protested oppressors. And, I will also walk in the tradition of Muhammad who walked from his birthplace to a city afar, for a better tomorrow of his people.