Writing Sample 1: The following is from a piece published in the Stanford Journal Avicenna, in 2017. This essay was a "controversial" one, in that it challenged both the left and right post-election. 
(Link to full essay: avicenna-stanford-journal-winter-2017).

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YG’s “FDT” Got Me Through 2016, And For That He Deserved A Grammy

I’ve always wanted to be the kind of person who naturally fell into disciplined routines. My twin brother is that person. Every night, I watch him prep his lunch (turkey wrap), iron his shirt and pants (“it’s a vibe”), and get his gym bag together. He’s mastered the art of routine. I, on the other hand, seem strangely incapable of “getting it together,” so to speak. I’d much rather scroll through Twitter and Facebook one more time. Nevertheless, on January 19th, 2017, I became that person - the disciplined kind - for one glorious night…sans packed lunch (perfection doesn’t happen overnight). At 7:10pm, I half-jokingly tweeted:

“Obv wearing all black tomorrow in mourning. Minus my red nails and hijab, representing the blood of my fascist enemies. #Inauguration”.

Given that Donald Trump would become President of the Republic the following day, I needed a uniform to reflect my feelings.

The next morning, I got up earlier than usual and got dressed for work. Corny though it may be, I felt emboldened. Upon getting into the car, I quickly did my makeup in the car and decided to go heavy on the dark lip color. Once my winged liquid liner came to a perfect point, and my mascara was applied, I proceeded to open up Spotify and pulled up FDT [F*ck Donald Trump] by YG. YG is an American rapper from Compton, California, and an outspoken opponent of Donald Trump. By the time I pulled up to the Starbucks drive-thru, I was on my second replay of the song and could barely hear myself order. I pulled up to the window to retrieve my order with the volume nearly at max because I wanted everyone to know where I stood that day – the baristas, the patrons, everyone.

I had rearranged my schedule so that I could leave early on Friday, because I had made the decision to attend the women’s march, in spite of its controversy. In preparation for the march, I decided that I would carry a sign. I initially had planned on carrying a sign that read “FYI: I voted for Jill Not Hill” because I didn’t want to be lumped in with the masses of leftist politicians whose positions are in no way representative of me or my view of social justice. Despite the way it rolled off the tongue so easily, I knew it wasn’t the sign. So, I spent a few more days thinking about it. On my commute to and from work, and before going to sleep at night, I racked my brain to think of something clever, subversive, and not mainstream. Finally, two days before the inauguration, it came to me. My sign was going to read: “YG Got Robbed of a Grammy #FuckDonaldTrump”. An obvious reference to the name of the song, but also, a reflection of my innermost feelings towards the 45th President.

Here’s the thing: I’m not joking when I say FDT should’ve won a Grammy. That song was a saving grace for me in 2016 (and now 2017). For a year and a half, I had to endure not only 45’s racist vitriol, but I also had to cope with liberal politics which failed to create an inclusive or relevant campaign. It was astounding to me that he wasn’t shut out like the petulant child he behaved like, but rather, he was given a platform to keep at it. Meanwhile, seemingly to protect themselves from legal ramifications, the media refused to call him out for what he was, a racist white-supremacist. One of the great failures of this country, is the failure to teach people how to identify (and subsequently reject) racism and racist behavior. We remain so firmly rooted in white supremacy, and thus, fail generation after generation because we don’t teach people how to identify racist behavior. Are we too consumed with pretending it doesn’t exist? I think so. It was devastating to be in a position where I had to fight for my humanity every day against the gas-lighting efforts of those around me from both sides.

[On the other hand] I found myself engaging in tireless conversations with people on the Left who seemed prepared to accept Hillary without an critical engagement with her or her platform. Every time I posted about my frustration with Clinton or with the DNC on Facebook, swarms of well-meaning white people urged me to see the good intentions. When I called out both Bill and Hillary Clinton for their dehumanization of Muslim-Americans - effectively reducing our value as citizens to our efficacy in combating terrorism (in two separate speeches, on two separate days) - I was presented with more reasons why I should still support the party, despite clear evidence that the party did not represent my personal interests.

I was never asked by those calling themselves allies how they could help. Instead, they did what they thought was best, which unsurprisingly was not in line with what I needed. They may have said they rejected 45 and his policies, but, time after time they were prepared to “give him a chance” and “hear out his voters.” Just like when they ignored my concerns over Hillary, their engagement with “The Other Side” was another reminder that violations against my humanity, my faith, and other marginalized folks was not a deal-breaker for them. No, what they preferred was that we stayed quiet and docile, so they could discuss the state of America with the other white folks across the table.

In a world where respectability politics reign, the marginalized are expected to endure oppression while staying polite about it. We can’t call out our oppressors, because they might be nice people, who don’t know better, who are “trying”. While the rest of us are expected to live up to impossible standards of enduring and resisting oppression, the people for whose humanity is fully validate by existing power structures get free passes. The power dynamics at play go completely unaddressed.

Finally, on November 9th I broke down in the bathroom alone. My grief was not going to be shared with the people who for so long had attempted to silence my voice, and who had been complicit in creating the conditions that made a Trump presidency possible. Our grief was not the same. They cried because their faith in a democratic (capitalist, white supremacist) system had been shaken. I cried because I felt truly unsafe in the spaces I call home. What I needed on November 9th, and again on January 20th was not a call for “respectful dialogue” or to “hear the other side out.” I needed an unapologetic rejection of everything 45 had come to represent. I needed to hear “F*ck Donald Trump” over and over by someone who wasn’t me.

That’s what YG did, and continues to do, for me and others. Now, it is more important than ever to have voices who do no succumb to the arbitrary rules dictated by white capitalist respectability politics at the center. YG’s song speaks to me so strongly, because it makes me feel acknowledged and loved. It makes me feel like finally, there’s something in the public consciousness that fully rejects everything Trump stands for, and really stands up for the people. That track is a reminder that my humanity is recognized and validated, and that we can, and should, reject Trump with all the anger and passion we can muster, because otherwise, the cycle will continue to repeat itself. YG’s “FDT” is going to mean something important when this period of time is read about in the history books. Maybe then he’ll get the recognition he deserves.

(A follow-up story about my sign at the Women’s March was published by COMPLEX and can be found here: http://www.complex.com/music/2017/01/yg-robbed-grammy)

Writing Sample 2: The following is an excerpt from my senior thesis, which explored why the Libyan Revolution ultimately ended in chaos, and what steps would need to be taken in order to arrive at a place of stability.

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Libya: Towards a Fuller Humanity

“The revolution will not be televised...

The revolution will be live.”

-Gil Scott-Heron

I. Introduction

          The story of the ‘Arab Spring’ typically goes something like this: On 18 December 2010, a street vendor named Mohamed Bouazizi self immolated, leading to a wave of popular demonstrations spanning the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). The protests fueled by social media resulted in the ousting of leaders in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen, as well as reforms in Morocco and Jordan. Civil conflict persists today, notably in Syria and Bahrain.

          What this narrative fails to capture is the unique histories that individually fueled the uprisings in each respective state. This thesis aims to look at Libya from a different theoretical approach, emphasizing the role of its individual history in shaping its current state of affairs. By employing theories put forth by Paulo Freire and John Gaventa, I hope to contribute to the broader discourse on Libya by presenting a unique approach to understanding what spurred uprisings in Libya after four decades of relative quiescence. Additionally, I hope to contribute by proposing how Libyans should proceed if they hope to implement the stable form of governance (i.e. democracy) that they set out to achieve in 2011.

          In the first section, I summarize the two primary theories driving this thesis: the first being, Paulo Freire’s critical pedagogy, and the second being John Gaventa’s contextualization of the three-dimensional approach to power. Next, I employ both theorists to deconstruct Libya’s history and highlight specific factors pertinent to understanding how and why Libya set out to democratize when it did, and why that journey ultimately failed. This analysis divides Libyan history into three phases: the conquest/colonial phase from 630 BC-1951, the imperial phase from 1951-1969, and the dictatorial phase from 1969-2011. The latter portion of my thesis transitions into looking at what spurred the 17 February 2011 revolution, which was preceded by four decades of oppression, and examining why the revolution failed to yield the intended results. I conclude my thesis by putting forth my own examination on the state of affairs in Libya today and what I propose as the necessary steps moving forward.

“Without a sense of identity, there can be no struggle.”

 -Paulo Freire

“The dimensions of power say something not only about how quiescence is maintained, but also about the aspects of powerlessness which must be overcome in the development of a successful protest.”

-John Gaventa

II. Theoretical Approaches

Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy:

          Paulo Freire defines oppression as, “Any situation in which “A” objectively exploits “B” or hinders his and her pursuit of self-affirmation as a responsible person”. Freire saw education as the primary vehicle through which oppressed groups could embark on the path of liberation, and ultimately overcome their oppression. In discussing the practical implementation of this liberating education, Freire outlines two forms of education: systematic education and educational projects. He explains that systematic education requires political power in order to be implemented, and because the oppressed do not possess such political power, they must resort to educational projects. The process of overcoming oppression begins with the recognition of one’s humanity, and concludes with the acquisition of a complete consciousness, referred to as conscientization. Freire explains that this pedagogy of the oppressed has two stages. The first sees the oppressed unveiling the world of oppression, and through praxis, committing to its transformation. In the second stage, where the oppression has been transformed, the pedagogy becomes one for all people in the process of liberation. 

John Gaventa: The Three-Dimensional Approach

          In his book Power and Powerlessness: Quiescence and Rebellion in an Appalachian Valley, Gaventa employs Steven Lukes’ three-dimensional approach to power to answer a series of questions on domination and powerlessness. 

“Why, in a social relationship involving the domination of non-elite by elite, does challenge to that domination not occur? What is there in certain situations of social deprivation that prevents issues from arising, grievances from being voiced, or interests from being recognized? Why, in an oppressed community where one might intuitively expect upheaval, does one instead find, or appear to find, quiescence?” 

          Gaventa argues that quiescence is not an indication of tacit approval, but rather is a result of the power relations at play. In order to understand how he comes to this conclusion, it is necessary to understand what constitutes the three dimensions of power. The first dimension is the most straightforward of the three, and is constituted primarily of the observable resources that allow actors to prevail in the political arena.  The second dimension adds to the resources in the first dimension by adding a ‘mobilization of bias’ which alludes to a systematically normalized set of values and beliefs that benefit those in positions of power at the expense of the powerless. Finally, the third dimension which is the most difficult to distill, 

“…involves specifying the means through which power influences, shapes or determines conceptions of the necessities, possibilities, and strategies of challenge in situation of latent conflict….It may involve, in short, locating the power processes behind the social construction of meanings and patterns that serve to get B to act and believe in a manner in which B otherwise might not, to A’s benefit and B’s detriment”

          Thus, one concludes that the three-dimensional approach to power holds that power is not merely the capacity to dominate in the political arena the acquiring desired results, but rather that power also determines what issues are brought to the table, and indeed, whether or not those issues can even be identified by those affected by them. Throughout his analysis, Gaventa discusses specific circumstances (i.e. unconscious patterns of powerlessness) that will come into direct play when looking to Libya as our case study.

Writing Sample 3: I wrote the following blog post for the non-profit organization Invisible Children (IC), promoting one of the organizations that would be present at a summer conference hosted by IC called the Fourth Estate Summit. (Link to original post: http://bit.ly/1gne0jw)

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Common Good Exchange // 1Love

1Love’s mission is simple. One year, one million people, one million acts of kindness, raise one million dollars. So how does it work exactly? By joining the movement, you have the opportunity to document your act of kindness, whether it be smiling at a stranger or helping at a local animal shelter (#endlesspossibilities). For every act of kindness posted on their site, 1Love is asking the community (#you) to donate $1 in support of each act. The funds raised will be donated to a number of global projects and organizations.

The founders of 1Love were inspired to action by the legacy of their late father Bob Marley (#literalfather) who believed that a global community built on love and compassion could become a reality. The work that 1Love is doing not only raises important funds, but is the manifestation of that dream. Invisible Children is thrilled that 1Love will be joining us at the Fourth Estate Summit alongside 40 other organizations as part of the Common Good Exchange. The Common Good Exchange will give Fourth Estate Summit attendees the opportunity to connect and learn more about brands and organizations, like 1Love who are spearheading critical social change. You can learn more about the Summit via the links below.

MORE DETAILS | VIDEO TEASER

Writing Sample 4: I wrote the following blog post after attending a series of press events for the film CREED in Philadelphia. I was motivated to write about my experience as the only visible Muslim woman throughout the day, particularly because of the unspoken power dynamics I sensed around me.

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The Only Visible Muslim in the Room

Growing up in the Greater Philadelphia Area, Sylvester Stallone has always been a larger-than-life icon to me. Therefore, one can imagine my shock and awe when I quite literally ran into him at the Front Street Gym during a press event for the forthcoming film CREED. Earlier that day, I had the privilege of seeing Mr. Stallone speak atop the “Rocky” steps - truly a moment. I was fortunate enough to end the day by attending a cast & crew screening of the film, and meeting my #OTL (look it up) Michael B. Jordan. It was a day of restrained fan-girling, and good fun. Frankly, it felt like a fluke that I got to be there for any of it.

And yet, in the midst of the fun, I couldn’t shake my hyper-awareness at being the only visible Muslim in the room. I’ve struggled with impostor syndrome for as long as I can remember, therefore being amongst actors and producers at the top of the field was intimidating, to say the least. What made this experience different than other times I’ve occupied spaces as the only visible Muslim woman was the awareness that these were people with the power to influence narratives about Islam in popular culture through media — journalists, film directors, producers, actors and writers all occupied the room for the multiple press conferences throughout the day. It occurred to me that perhaps none of the many influencers in those rooms ever had an authentic conversation with, or shared space with a Muslim in personal or professional settings. 

I was constantly aware of my body, and couldn’t shake the feeling that I was out of place in the sectioned-off press area. When no one looks like you, the underlying sense is, “I don’t belong here”. I was keenly attune to a sense that I was apart from it all, despite standing right at the center.

Roxane Gay, aptly addresses the topic of representation in media in the acclaimed book Bad Feminist, writing:

“Women of color come of age and have the same experiences Dunham depicts in her shows [Girls], but we rarely see those stories because they don’t fit the popular imagination’s rendering of Other girlhood, which is generally nonexistent in popular culture…What about other women of color? For Hispanic and Latina women, Indian women, Middle Eastern women, Asian women, their absence in popular culture is even more pronounced, their need for relief just as palpable and desperate” (p. 60).

She’s right.

I often wonder if my presence in the many spaces I occupy as the only visible Muslim woman impacts people’s view of Muslim-Americans. At one point in time, I believed it was my responsibility to change the views of “every-day white Americans”, most of whom - according to studies - don’t know any Muslims. Given my multi-hyphenated identity (Muslim-Arab-American), I felt compelled to validate the “American” part of me through this form of social-taxation as a means to buy my right into mainstream acceptance. An acceptance which never came. I learned the hard way that the only person who was ever going to give me that permission was me. As a result, I don’t carry the burden of responsibility anymore, because it is not mine to carry. And frankly, the weight itself feels like less of a choice and more of an inevitability. I know that my presence alone will affect the dynamics of spaces I move through, so rather than carry it as a responsibility, I see it as a form of activism. I show up for myself and for other young Muslim women trying to find space for themselves when they were never included during the “planning phase”. Most institutions weren’t built with me in mind. The places of employment I seek out typically aren’t thinking of me as their ideal candidate, even when they employ the language of diversity and inclusion in job postings. 

In truth, I’m tired of explaining myself everywhere I go, yet I continue to make it a point to occupy a multitude of spaces, because people need to get used to the idea of Muslim women thriving in spaces typically reserved for…well, not us. Our existence shouldn’t be an act of resistance, it should be normalized. But it’s not, so we push on. It is hard work, but it is the kind of work - nay, radical resistance - that makes this world a better place; for all of us.

Writing Sample 5: The following is an excerpt from a college essay I wrote on the Syrian refugee crisis and the ethical implications of the crisis on a global scale. (This essay was written in 2014 and may not reflect more updated data sets regarding the crisis).

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Syrian Refugee Crisis

          For over three years, the revolution in Syria has blazed on resulting in a number of casualties and refugees. As of 2014, reports indicate that there are over 9 million refugees with 2.5 million fleeing to neighboring countries (Jordan, Turkey, Iraq, and Lebanon) and over 6.5 million remaining internally displaced. While most anyone would agree that the situation in Syria is ‘bad’, disagreements quickly erupt when moral obligation and action plans are called into question. This essay will look at how Peter Singer and Thomas Pogge would approach the Syrian refugee crisis through their respective frameworks.

          In Peter Singer’s, “Famine, Affluence, and Morality”, he uses the the Bengal emergency as a case study to explore what our moral obligation as human beings is. In it he states, “…there is nothing unique about this situation except its magnitude”. Similar things can be said about the Syrian refugee crisis. Currently, the Zaatari Refugee camp is the second largest in the world (second only to the Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya), and stands as the fourth largest city in Jordan, housing over 144,000 Syrian refugees. Despite the fact that the piece was written in 1971, many striking parallels can still be drawn between the two crises. Just as the situation in Bengal saw few people speaking up against the obvious injustice faced by Bengal refugees, such is the case regarding the plight of Syrians. “Generally speaking, people have not given large sums to relief funds; they have not written to their parliamentary representatives demanding increased government assistance; they have not demonstrated in the streets, held symbolic fasts, or done anything else directed toward providing the refugees with the means to satisfy their essential needs” (Singer 835). While some may be under the impression that conditions in refugee camps like Zaatari are “ok”, the fact remains that poor living conditions have been a source of violence and instability within the camp itself. Syrians have seemingly escaped from one injustice to another.

          Thus, one is left asking what should be done? According to Singer, “if it is in our power to prevent something very bad from happening, without thereby sacrificing anything morally significant, we out, morally, to do it” (Singer 837). He argues that distance does not affect one's moral obligation in any way. As long as nothing of comparable moral importance is being sacrificed, morally one ought to act. Whether a person is 10 feet away or 10,000 miles away, if it is within our power to help, we have an obligation to do so. Singer reinforces his argument by asserting that technological advancements render us more morally responsible because “instant communication” and “swift transportation” have changed the game.

          Globalization has changed our moral situation, though it often goes unrecognized. Seeing that it is now 2014, and the article was originally published in 1971, it would seem that we have not progressed much in the moral arena. Communication has become vastly more advanced, and the opportunity to give is much easier with the advent of credit cards, the internet, and numerous non-profits working directly on the ground to bring much needed aid to those affected by the conflict. Singer goes on to posit that just as distance does not reduce one’s moral obligation to help when they can, neither does the number of people being affected. Each individual is responsible for doing their part, regardless of whether others are acting or not. He uses the example of many people watching a child drown, and that ultimately one individual cannot be less obliged to take action simply because others around them are standing by idly. Finally, Singer addresses what has been termed “supererogatory”; an act that is good to do, but isn’t necessarily bad to abstain from. He disagrees with this completely writing, “On the contrary, we ought to give the money away, and it is wrong not to do so” (Singer 840). According to Singer, the way to address the Syrian refugee crisis would be for everyone to recognize their moral obligation, and then to act upon it swiftly. Charity is not just a good thing to do, it is a moral obligation and every individual is responsible.