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Why do we insist on Malcolm X

By Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

There is a strange inconsistency in how we speak about one of the most important Muslim figures in American history.

We honor Muhammad Ali by the name he chose after Islam. No one serious calls him Cassius Clay anymore. That name belongs to a chapter he closed.

We respect Kareem Abdul-Jabbar the same way. Lew Alcindor is history. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar is identity.

But when it comes to Malik el-Shabazz, the world hesitates.

Instead, it clings to “Malcolm X” as if that is where his story ended.

It didn’t.

A Man Who Refused to Stay the Same

Malcolm X was never meant to be frozen in time.

His life was a series of transformations, each one sharper than the last. From the streets of Boston and Harlem to the disciplined ranks of the Nation of Islam, he evolved quickly and publicly. But his most important transformation came after he walked away from everything that made him famous.

In 1964, he left the Nation of Islam.

That decision cost him influence, protection, and stability. But it gave him something far more valuable: the ability to search for truth without constraint.

That search led him to Makkah.

The Journey That Broke the Frame

What Malik el-Shabazz experienced during Hajj did not fit into the racial framework he had once preached.

He saw Muslims of every color, every background, every language, moving as one body. Men who, in America, would have been separated by law and custom were now praying shoulder to shoulder.

Blond-haired, blue-eyed men. Dark-skinned Africans. Arabs. Asians. Europeans.

No hierarchy. No segregation. No slogans needed.

Just Islam.

In his famous letter from Makkah, he described how this experience forced him to rethink everything. The rigid racial lines he once drew began to dissolve under the weight of what he witnessed.

This was not a public relations pivot.

It was a theological correction.

The Name He Chose at the End

After completing Hajj, he took on the name Malik El-Shabazz.

That name was not cosmetic. It marked the completion of a journey.

“X” had represented the unknown, a placeholder for a lost identity. But now, he was no longer searching in the same way. He had found direction in orthodox Islam, rooted in the Qur’an and the Sunnah.

And with that came a name that reflected who he had become.

We understand this instinctively with others.

We do not insist on calling Muhammad Ali by the name he rejected. We do not drag Kareem Abdul-Jabbar back into a past he moved beyond.

So why do we do it here?

History vs. Accuracy

The answer is simple: branding.

“Malcolm X” is what the world was introduced to. It is the name printed in textbooks, documentaries, and headlines. It is the version of him that America learned to debate, criticize, and eventually, cautiously admire.

But branding is not the same as truth.

If a man lives, grows, corrects himself, and ultimately dies upon a name and a belief, then accuracy demands we recognize that final state.

To continue calling him Malcolm X without context is to lock him into a phase he himself outgrew.

What He Actually Represented

Malik el-Shabazz’s final message was not one of racial separation. It was one of clarity.

He did not abandon the struggle against injustice. He refined it.

He moved from a framework centered on race to one centered on accountability before Allaah. From anger alone to principle. From reaction to guidance.

That shift matters.

Because it shows that Islam did not erase his passion, it disciplined it.

It gave it direction.

A Matter of Respect

Names are not small things in Islam.

They carry meaning, intention, and identity.

To call someone by the name they chose after embracing Islam is to acknowledge their agency, their growth, and their submission to Allaah.

To ignore that name, especially when we do not do so with others, raises a question:

Is it oversight, or is it selective memory?

Either way, it deserves correction.

Say His Name Properly

This is not about erasing “Malcolm X” from history.

That name represents a chapter, a powerful one. It speaks to a time of awakening, discipline, and courage.

But it is not the full story.

The full story ends with a man who traveled across the world, confronted his own limitations, embraced orthodox Islam, and stood ready to build bridges where he once built walls.

That man was Malik el-Shabazz.

And if we can say Muhammad Ali without hesitation,

if we can say Kareem Abdul-Jabbar without correction,

then we can say Malik el-Shabazz with the same clarity and respect.

Not because it is trendy.

By Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

Eight-year-old Malik had already packed his backpack before the sun came up.

His father had promised that this time would be different.

For nearly a year, it had been.

There was a steady job. Rent was paid on time. Friday evenings meant pizza at the kitchen table, and Saturday mornings meant shooting baskets together at the neighborhood park. For the first time in years, Malik stopped wondering whether his father would be there when school let out.

Then, on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, everything changed.

His grandmother answered the phone. She spoke quietly, thanked the caller, and sat silently at the kitchen table for several minutes before asking Malik to come into the room.

His father had been arrested.

Malik didn’t ask where.

He already knew.

For many Americans, conversations about recidivism focus on crime rates, prison populations, or public safety. Those are important discussions. Yet they often overlook someone who has committed no crime at all: the child waiting at home.

According to the National Institute of Justice, children of incarcerated parents are at greater risk of emotional distress, educational difficulties, financial hardship, and challenges that can follow them well into adulthood. These consequences rarely end when a parent is released. If that parent returns to prison, many children experience the loss all over again.

The Bureau of Justice Statistics estimates that hundreds of thousands of incarcerated individuals in state and federal prisons are parents of minor children. Behind those numbers are children whose lives are quietly shaped by decisions they never made.

For a child, incarceration is rarely understood through court proceedings or sentencing guidelines.

It is understood through absence.

A missed birthday.

An empty seat at a school concert.

A phone call that never comes.

A bedroom that suddenly feels much quieter.

Children often struggle to explain these experiences to classmates or teachers. Some withdraw. Others act out. Some carry a quiet fear that the people they love may disappear again without warning.

Researchers have found that children experiencing parental incarceration are more likely to encounter emotional and behavioral challenges, disruptions in school, and economic instability. These outcomes are influenced by many factors, including family support, caregiver stability, and access to community resources. While every family’s experience is different, repeated incarceration can make recovery significantly more difficult.

Housing is often one of the first casualties.

When a parent returns to prison, a family may lose income that helped pay rent or utilities. Some children move in with grandparents or other relatives. Others change schools after relocating to a different neighborhood. Familiar teachers become strangers. Friendships disappear almost overnight.

The Annie E. Casey Foundation has noted that parental incarceration frequently places additional financial and emotional strain on caregivers, making stability more difficult to maintain for children already coping with separation.

These disruptions matter because children thrive on consistency.

The same bedroom.

The same school.

The same adults showing up day after day.

Every unexpected upheaval asks a child to adapt before they have fully healed from the last one.

Reducing recidivism, therefore, is not only about helping returning citizens. It is also about protecting children from experiencing repeated loss.

This is where communities play an essential role.

Successful reentry is rarely accomplished through determination alone. Stable housing, meaningful employment, positive mentoring, transportation, counseling, faith communities, and family support all contribute to helping individuals remain in the community and avoid returning to prison. Decades of research on reentry consistently point toward these factors as important components of long-term success.

Organizations such as Hijrah House seek to strengthen those protective factors by providing transitional housing, mentorship, practical guidance, and a supportive community grounded in accountability and hope. The goal extends beyond helping one individual. Every successful reentry has the potential to preserve a family, strengthen a neighborhood, and spare a child another painful goodbye.

Recidivism statistics often measure prison admissions, conviction rates, or correctional costs.

Children measure something else entirely.

They measure whether a promise was kept.

Whether a parent attended the school play.

Whether someone was there to help with homework.

Whether another birthday passed with an empty chair at the table.

Every parent who successfully rebuilds a life after incarceration creates the possibility of restoring trust one ordinary day at a time. Every parent who returns to prison leaves behind more than an empty bed in a correctional facility. They leave another absence in the life of a child.

Reducing recidivism is not simply an investment in public safety.

It is an investment in childhood itself.

Sources and Further Reading

* Bureau of Justice Statistics. Parents in Prison and Their Minor Children (2016).

* National Institute of Justice. Hidden Consequences: The Impact of Incarceration on Dependent Children.

* Annie E. Casey Foundation. A Shared Sentence.

* Child Welfare Information Gateway. Child Welfare Practice with Families Affected by Parental Incarceration.

By Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

How does a Muslim pray when he cannot stand?

How does he find the Qiblah when he cannot see the sky?

How does he make wudu when there is no river, no well, and no clean water?

For thousands of Muslims carried across the Atlantic in chains, these were not theoretical questions. They became part of daily survival.

When we think about the transatlantic slave trade, we often picture iron shackles, crowded ships, and unimaginable cruelty. Those images are tragically accurate. Yet for thousands of enslaved Muslims taken from West Africa, there was another suffering that is discussed far less often, the struggle to remain a faithful servant of Allaah when nearly every outward act of worship had been stripped away.

Imagine an ordinary Muslim man from Senegambia during the 17th century.

He is not a famous scholar or a military commander. He is simply a believer. He has a wife, children, neighbors, and a small village where the rhythm of life revolves around the adhan, the masjid, and the remembrance of Allaah. He knows portions of the Qur’an by heart. He has learned the rulings of purification and prayer since childhood. His days begin with Fajr and end beneath a sky whose stars always point him towards the Qiblah.

Then war comes.

Captured by a rival tribe, he assumes his ordeal will end as others have before. Prisoners are often exchanged when fighting ceases or ransomed by their families. Difficult days lie ahead, but he expects to return home.

Instead, he is marched toward the shoreline.

There, he sees something he has never imagined. Men shout commands in a language he cannot understand. Those who hesitate are beaten without mercy. Iron shackles replace rope. Families are separated. Strange vessels larger than any canoe or trading boat he has ever seen wait upon the water.

His heart begins to race.

“Hasbunallaahu wa ni’mal wakeel.” Allaah is sufficient for us, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.

Once aboard the ship, every certainty disappears. Hundreds of strangers fill the darkness below deck. Some speak languages he recognizes from neighboring regions. Others come from places he has never heard of. There is scarcely enough room to move. The air is thick with sickness, vomit, sweat, and human waste. Privacy no longer exists. Day and night blend together until time itself loses meaning.

His greatest worry is not only whether he will survive, every soul must one day taste death. What troubles him more is whether he will still be able to fulfill the rights of his Lord and die as a Muslim.

He cannot walk to a river for wudu. One day, running his fingers across the rough wooden planks, he notices a thin layer of dust gathered where the boards have remained dry. He remembers the concessions Allaah has given His servants during hardship and wonders whether this dust may serve him for tayammum. Whether his understanding is correct or not, the thought itself comforts him. Allaah has never intended hardship for His servants.

He cannot determine the qiblah. The stars are hidden beneath the ship’s deck, and the sun is visible only during brief moments when the captives are brought above to be washed with buckets of salt water. He remembers the words of Allaah: “To Allaah belong the east and the west…” (Qur’an 2:115). The verse reminds him that his Lord knows what His servant cannot know.

His ankles are chained. Standing, bowing, and prostrating are impossible. Yet he also remembers what he once learned from his elders: fear Allaah as much as you are able. So he prays with his eyes, with slight movements of his head when space permits, and when even that is impossible, with his heart.

The gruel they are given troubles him. He cannot ask what it contains. He cannot know how it was prepared. Each meal begins with “Bismillaah,” while he remembers Allaah’s Mercy toward those compelled by necessity. He eats not because he has abandoned his principles, but because preserving life is itself part of the trust Allaah has placed upon him.

Weeks pass.

Perhaps Ramadan arrives.

Perhaps it ends.

He wonders whether today is Jumu’ah. He no longer knows.

He searches for the moon whenever he is briefly brought on deck, but clouds and exhaustion deny him certainty. He wonders whether his wife and children are fasting beneath the familiar skies of Senegambia while he drifts farther from them with every wave.

At times another captive softly recites verses of the Qur’an from memory. Someone else quietly repeats “La hawla wa la quwwata illa billaah.” Another whispers the supplication of Yunus عليه السلام: “La ilaha illa Anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimeen.” The darkness below deck becomes, in its own quiet way, a place where believers remind one another that Allaah has not forgotten them.

When land finally appears, relief quickly gives way to confusion.

For the first time in weeks, he feels fresh air without the smell of the ship surrounding him. He closes his eyes and silently thanks Allaah for allowing him to see another sunrise. He has no idea where he is, but he knows Who created the land before him.

The air smells different. The trees are unfamiliar. The birds sound unlike any he has ever heard. As he is led ashore in chains, men inspect his teeth, his arms, and his back as though he were an animal for sale. In that moment, a terrible realization settles over him.

No peace treaty is coming.

No ransom is being negotiated.

No elder from his village is searching for him.

He is not a prisoner awaiting release.

He has become merchandise.

Yet as he is marched away, another sound reaches him, not through his ears, but through memory. It is the familiar voice of the mu’adhdhin from his village, calling the believers to prayer as he had done every day for years.

“Allaahu Akbar, Allaahu Akbar…”

That sound echoes within his heart. Silently, he answers each phrase as tears gather in his eyes. There is no congregation to join. No masjid in sight. No familiar faces standing shoulder to shoulder, foot to foot beside him. He wonders whether the imam in his village has already noticed his absence in the prayer rows.

Everything outward has been taken.

But the most precious thing he possesses remains forever beyond the reach of chains.

His faith still belongs to Allaah.

We Recently Came Across This Documentary on YouTube, and We’d Like to Share Our Thoughts

By Hijrah House Staff

Every so often, we come across a video that sparks meaningful discussion about prison life, faith, and rehabilitation. Recently, we watched a short documentary on YouTube titled “Why American Prison Guards Love the Muslim Block.” The video focuses on a Muslim housing unit inside the Clayton County Jail in Georgia and explores how Islamic principles have shaped the culture within that particular dormitory.

As a faith-based organization serving incarcerated individuals and returning citizens throughout Virginia, we found many aspects of the documentary both encouraging and familiar.

While we cannot independently verify every statement made in the film or speak to the conditions within that specific facility, the broader themes presented are consistent with what we have witnessed through years of correctional ministry.

One of the first things highlighted in the documentary is the remarkable difference in atmosphere between the Muslim housing unit and other areas of the jail. Correctional officers describe the unit as calm, orderly, and noticeably cleaner than many other housing areas. The documentary attributes much of this environment to the inmates themselves, who voluntarily organize their lives around Islamic teachings rather than relying solely upon institutional enforcement.

The rules displayed inside the dorm immediately stood out to us.

There is no stealing.

There is no extortion.

There is no oppression.

Everyone is expected to maintain personal hygiene.

The housing unit is kept clean.

These expectations are not simply institutional rules, they reflect Islamic values rooted in accountability before Allaah.

Perhaps the most significant rule is the prohibition against oppression.

The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ taught that oppression is among the gravest of sins, regardless of who commits it. Inside correctional facilities, where stronger personalities can often intimidate weaker inmates, this principle becomes especially meaningful. According to the documentary, the Muslim brothers actively work to prevent exploitation within their housing unit rather than allowing it to become part of prison culture.

The documentary also introduces viewers to Justin, a deaf inmate who explains through an interpreter that being housed among the Muslim brothers has helped him feel protected. Every correctional institution includes individuals who are particularly vulnerable because of age, disability, or other circumstances. Seeing a housing unit intentionally create an environment where vulnerable individuals are treated with dignity is encouraging.

Another aspect we appreciated was the emphasis placed upon Salaat.

Five times each day, life within the housing unit pauses as the men prepare themselves through wudu before standing together in prayer.

For many people unfamiliar with Islam, prayer may appear to be merely a religious ritual.

In reality, Salaah creates discipline.

It establishes routine.

It reminds believers that every action is ultimately accountable to Allaah.

That rhythm naturally influences how individuals interact with one another throughout the day.

The documentary also suggests that many correctional officers appreciate working inside the Muslim housing unit because the environment requires fewer disciplinary interventions than other areas of the jail.

Although every correctional institution is different, this observation aligns with conversations we have had over the years with correctional staff in various facilities. Officers often appreciate housing units where inmates resolve minor conflicts appropriately, maintain cleanliness, and demonstrate mutual respect. Such environments contribute to institutional safety for both staff and incarcerated individuals alike.

At Muslim Chaplain Services of Virginia, we have long believed that genuine rehabilitation begins long before an individual is released from custody.

A person preparing to reenter society must first develop habits of responsibility.

He must learn self-control.

He must become accountable for his words and actions.

He must respect others.

He must understand that real strength is demonstrated through patience, honesty, and service, not intimidation.

These are qualities Islam seeks to cultivate.

That does not mean every Muslim incarcerated person lives perfectly according to these principles. Nor does it mean every Muslim housing unit operates identically. Like every community, correctional institutions consist of individuals with varying levels of knowledge, sincerity, and personal growth.

However, when Islamic teachings are sincerely practiced, they often create an environment built upon structure, discipline, and mutual accountability.

Those same qualities become essential after release.

The discipline that encourages someone to wake before dawn for Fajr can also prepare him to arrive at work on time.

The respect shown toward fellow inmates can become respect shown toward employers, neighbors, and family members.

The commitment to cleanliness and responsibility inside prison can become the foundation for maintaining stable housing and healthy relationships after incarceration.

For us, that is perhaps the documentary’s greatest takeaway.

Its value is not simply that one housing unit appears more orderly than another.

Its value is that it reminds us what sincere faith can accomplish in even the most difficult environments.

Concrete walls cannot imprison repentance.

Steel doors cannot prevent personal growth.

And a sentence of incarceration does not have to become a life sentence of hopelessness.

Through faith, accountability, education, and positive community, transformation remains possible.

That hope is at the heart of the work we strive to do every day through Muslim Chaplain Services of Virginia and Hijrah House as we walk alongside incarcerated individuals, returning citizens, and their families on the journey toward restoration.

“ Indeed, Allaah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves.”

(Surah Ar-Ra’d 13:11)

A Clean Slate Is Only the Beginning

What Virginia’s New Law Means for Returning Citizens and Why Hijrah House Matters

By: Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

On July 1, Virginia begins an important new chapter in criminal justice reform.

The Commonwealth’s Clean Slate law takes effect, expanding opportunities for many eligible Virginians to have qualifying criminal records sealed from public view. For thousands of men and women who have completed their sentences, paid their debts to society, and spent years trying to rebuild their lives, the law represents something they have not experienced in a long time: hope.

For organizations like Hijrah House, however, the law represents something even greater.

It represents opportunity.

For years, many returning citizens have encountered the same barriers long after leaving incarceration. They have walked into job interviews only to be dismissed after a background check. They have searched for housing only to have applications denied before anyone took the time to learn who they had become. Even educational opportunities and professional licensing have remained out of reach for many because of mistakes made years earlier.

Virginia’s Clean Slate law begins removing some of those barriers by allowing many qualifying criminal records to be sealed either automatically or through a court petition, depending upon the offense and other legal requirements. The law recognizes an important principle: rehabilitation should mean something. A person who has demonstrated years of lawful living should not necessarily be defined forever by a single chapter of his or her life.

That is welcomed news.

But legislation alone cannot rebuild a life.

At Hijrah House, we have always believed that successful reentry requires much more than removing obstacles. It requires replacing them with opportunity, structure, accountability, and hope. A sealed record may open the door to an interview, but it cannot teach punctuality. It may increase the chance of securing an apartment, but it cannot repair broken family relationships. It may remove one barrier, yet many others still remain.

That is where communities become indispensable.

Islam has always emphasized that people are capable of sincere repentance and meaningful change. Allaah accepts the repentance of those who sincerely return to Him, and believers are encouraged to help one another upon righteousness and good conduct. At the same time, Islam never separates mercy from responsibility. Forgiveness is not the absence of accountability. Rather, it is the opportunity to demonstrate through consistent actions that one’s character has genuinely changed.

Many brothers leaving incarceration genuinely desire that opportunity.

They want to earn an honest living. They want to support their families. They want to pray in the masjid without constantly being identified by their past mistakes. They want employers to see the dependable worker they have become rather than the offense listed on a background check from years ago.

Virginia’s Clean Slate law may give many of them that first opportunity.

What happens next is where organizations like Hijrah House and Muslim Chaplain Services of Virginia hope to make the greatest difference.

Imagine a brother whose qualifying record has finally been sealed. He receives a job interview that would have been impossible only months earlier. He sits across from the hiring manager with hope instead of discouragement.

The interview is only the beginning.

Can he communicate professionally? Can he maintain steady employment? Can he manage his finances responsibly? Can he resolve conflict without returning to old behaviors? Can he rebuild trust with family members who have every reason to be cautious?

Those are not questions that legislation can answer.

They are questions answered through mentorship, discipleship, community, and consistent support.

What Comes After a Clean Slate?

This is the space Hijrah House seeks to occupy.

A successful transition from incarceration requires more than temporary housing. It requires practical tools for everyday life. That includes employment readiness, résumé development, interview coaching, financial literacy, Islamic mentoring, accountability partnerships, family reunification support, and ongoing case management. It also means helping brothers reconnect with local masajid where they can continue growing spiritually while building healthy relationships with the wider Muslim community.

The goal is not merely helping someone leave prison.

The goal is helping them remain free.

Freedom is waking up with purpose each morning. It is earning an honest paycheck instead of searching for shortcuts. It is praying Fajr with the congregation. It is becoming a dependable father, husband, son, neighbor, employee, and member of the community.

That kind of freedom cannot be legislated.

It must be cultivated.

Virginia’s Clean Slate law provides an important legal framework for removing unnecessary barriers, but lasting transformation ultimately depends upon individuals, families, employers, faith communities, and organizations working together. When those pieces come together, returning citizens are no longer viewed only through the lens of their past. They become contributors to safer neighborhoods, stronger families, healthier workplaces, and more resilient communities.

For Hijrah House, that has always been the mission.

The measure of success is not simply how many people walk through the front door. It is how many never have to return to incarceration because they found stability, purpose, and hope on the outside.

As Virginia enters this new era of record sealing, communities have an opportunity to ask an important question.

If the Commonwealth is willing to recognize rehabilitation by removing certain legal barriers, are we willing to recognize rehabilitation by opening our own doors?

Because every employer willing to offer a second chance, every landlord willing to consider the individual instead of only the record, every masjid willing to welcome a returning brother, and every mentor willing to invest time into another person’s future becomes part of the solution.

A clean slate is a remarkable beginning.

But the story is written by what comes after.

Sidebar

What the Clean Slate Law Does - and Doesn’t Do

Virginia’s Clean Slate law expands access to record sealing for many eligible individuals beginning July 1, 2026.

Automatic Sealing: Certain qualifying misdemeanor convictions and many qualifying non-convictions are sealed automatically once all statutory requirements have been met. Implementation is phased in as courts and the Virginia State Police process eligible records.

Petition-Based Sealing: Other eligible offenses require an individual to file a petition with the appropriate circuit court. A judge determines whether the applicant satisfies Virginia’s eligibility requirements.

Not Every Record Qualifies: Many offenses, including numerous violent felonies, many sex offenses, certain firearm-related felonies, protective order violations, and other offenses specifically excluded by Virginia law, remain ineligible for sealing.

Sealed Is Not Erased: Record sealing generally limits public access to qualifying records, but certain courts, law enforcement agencies, and government entities may still have lawful access.

Need Help? Eligibility depends on the offense, the outcome of the case, the amount of time that has passed, and other statutory requirements. Individuals who believe they may qualify should consult a qualified Virginia attorney or legal aid organization familiar with Virginia’s record-sealing laws.

References

1. Virginia State Crime Commission. Sealing of Criminal Records (Clean Slate). https://vscc.virginia.gov/sealing.asp

2. Virginia Legislative Information System. Code of Virginia § 19.2-392.12:1 – Sealing of Criminal History Record Information. https://law.lis.virginia.gov/

3. Justice Forward Virginia Foundation. Expungement and Record Sealing Resources. https://www.justiceforwardvafoundation.org/expungementsealing-2

4. WAVY-TV 10. Virginia’s Clean Slate Law Goes Into Effect July 1. https://www.wavy.com/news/virginia/virginias-clean-slate-law-goes-into-effect-july-1st/

The Power of the Reviewer’s Comment

By: Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

Every community eventually decides what it wishes to preserve.

Some communities preserve their history through museums. Others preserve their traditions through schools, organizations, and institutions. In our modern age, however, a great deal of what survives is determined by visibility. The books that are discovered, the articles that are shared, the lectures that are recommended, and the creators who continue producing beneficial content are often those who receive support from their audiences.

Many Muslims express frustration that beneficial content appears to receive less attention than entertainment, controversy, celebrity gossip, or social media drama. A thoughtful article about Islamic history may struggle to gain traction while a heated argument gathers thousands of comments. A children’s book teaching good manners may receive less engagement than a sensational headline designed purely to provoke a reaction.

Yet before we blame algorithms alone, we should ask ourselves a difficult question.

How often do we actively support the content we claim to value?

A Muslim author may spend months or even years writing a book. A teacher may spend countless hours preparing lessons. A historian may dedicate weeks to researching an article. A nonprofit organization may work tirelessly to serve its community and then publish a report detailing its efforts. These projects are released with the hope that they will benefit others.

Many people read them.

Many people enjoy them.

Many people benefit from them.

And then they quietly move on.

No comment.

No review.

No share.

No recommendation.

No signal to indicate that the content mattered.

The reality is that modern platforms pay attention to engagement. They notice when people leave comments. They notice when people share links with friends. They notice when readers leave reviews. They notice when audiences spend time interacting with content rather than simply consuming it and moving on.

For niche communities, this reality becomes even more important.

A celebrity does not need our help to be discovered. A major corporation has advertising budgets and marketing teams. A blockbuster film arrives with millions of dollars dedicated to promotion. Independent Muslim authors, podcasters, educators, historians, and community organizations rarely possess those advantages.

Instead, they depend upon the communities they serve.

When a parent leaves a review for a Muslim children’s book, they are doing more than sharing an opinion. They are helping another family discover that book. When a reader shares an article on social media, they are helping useful information reach people who may never have encountered it otherwise. When someone leaves a thoughtful comment beneath a lecture, they increase the likelihood that others will see it as well.

These actions may seem small individually, but collectively they become powerful.

Imagine if every Muslim who benefited from an Islamic book left a review. Imagine if every reader who enjoyed an article shared it with three friends. Imagine if every listener who benefited from a podcast left a comment expressing what they learned. The cumulative effect would be enormous. Beneficial content would become easier to discover. New creators would feel encouraged to continue their work. Existing projects would reach audiences far beyond their current circles.

This is not merely about helping authors sell books.

It is about helping beneficial ideas travel farther.

The Islamic tradition has always emphasized supporting good works. In previous generations, that support often took the form of attending lessons, purchasing books, funding institutions, and recommending scholars. Today those forms of support still matter, but they have been joined by something new.

The review.

The comment.

The share.

The recommendation.

These are the modern equivalents of telling a friend, “I benefited from this and I think you will too.”

The next time you finish a book you enjoyed, consider leaving a review. The next time you read an article that teaches you something valuable, share it. The next time you encounter a creator producing beneficial content, take a moment to engage with their work.

A few words may not seem like much.

But sometimes a single review is the reason another reader discovers a book.

Sometimes a single share introduces someone to beneficial knowledge.

And sometimes a single comment helps ensure that worthwhile content is not lost beneath the noise of the internet.

The author writes the book.

The teacher delivers the lesson.

The creator produces the content.

Mental Health in Islam: What the Qur’an and Sunnah Actually Say

By Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

Mental health has become one of the most discussed topics in modern society. Conversations about depression, anxiety, trauma, stress, and emotional well-being now take place in schools, workplaces, homes, and places of worship. Yet for many Muslims, an important question remains: what does Islam actually say about mental health?

The answer begins with an important observation. The Qur’an and Sunnah do not use modern clinical terms such as depression, PTSD, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or anxiety disorders. However, they speak extensively about the heart, the soul, grief, fear, sadness, hope, stress, resilience, and the emotional struggles that accompany the human experience.

Far from ignoring emotional pain, the Qur’an openly acknowledges it. The story of Prophet Ya’qub عليه السلام provides perhaps one of the clearest examples. After the disappearance of his beloved son Yusuf, the Qur’an tells us that his eyes became white from grief. This was not a momentary sadness but a prolonged period of sorrow so intense that it manifested physically. Likewise, the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ experienced profound grief during what became known as the Year of Sorrow, when he lost both his beloved wife Khadijah رضي الله عنها and his uncle Abu Talib. Musa عليه السلام experienced fear when fleeing Egypt, while Maryam عليها السلام expressed overwhelming distress during childbirth, saying that she wished she had died before facing her ordeal. These accounts remind believers that powerful emotions are part of the human condition and not necessarily signs of weak faith.

The Qur’an repeatedly directs attention to the condition of the heart. Allaah says, “Verily, in the remembrance of Allaah do hearts find rest.” Throughout the Qur’an, hearts are described as tranquil, guided, hardened, diseased, sealed, and receptive. Classical Muslim scholars spent centuries examining the condition of the heart because they understood that spiritual and emotional well-being were deeply connected. Their discussions often centered on how belief, worship, gratitude, repentance, and remembrance of Allaah influence a person’s inner state.

The Qur’an also recognizes that life can become difficult and emotionally burdensome. Human beings experience hardship, loss, disappointment, uncertainty, and fear. Yet alongside these realities comes the divine promise: “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” This balance between acknowledging pain and maintaining hope is one of the defining features of the Islamic worldview. The believer is not instructed to deny suffering but to navigate it with patience, faith, and trust in Allaah.

Traditional Islamic approaches to emotional well-being have always included spiritual practices. The Qur’an describes itself as a healing and mercy for the believers. Muslims have historically turned to Qur’an recitation, du’aa, dhikr, prayer, charity, good companionship, and ruqyah as means of strengthening the soul and finding comfort during periods of hardship. These practices remain important components of Islamic life and continue to provide support for many believers facing emotional challenges.

At the same time, the Sunnah does not teach Muslims to ignore illness or avoid treatment. The Prophet ﷺ instructed people to seek cures and treatment, teaching that Allaah has not created a disease except that He has also created its remedy. While classical scholars did not possess modern psychiatric terminology, many contemporary scholars have applied this principle to mental and emotional illnesses as well. As a result, seeking counseling, therapy, psychiatric care, or medication when medically necessary is generally viewed as permissible and, in some cases, strongly encouraged.

Islam also recognizes that severe mental impairment can affect accountability. The Prophet ﷺ explained that the pen has been lifted from certain individuals, including the person who has lost their sanity until they regain it. This principle acknowledges that responsibility is connected to one’s ability to understand and control their actions, a concept that remains relevant in contemporary discussions of mental illness and capacity.

Another important distinction is that patience, or sabr, does not mean passive suffering. Too often people assume that a struggling person should simply endure hardship silently. The Qur’an and Sunnah present a different model. Believers are encouraged to make du’aa, seek advice, pursue treatment, consult knowledgeable people, and take practical steps while placing their trust in Allaah. Tawakkul was never intended to replace effort; rather, it complements it.

Many of the themes associated with emotional wellness today can already be found throughout Islamic teachings. Belief in Allaah, prayer, remembrance, gratitude, healthy family relationships, community support, repentance, hope, and positive companionship all contribute to a person’s overall well-being. Modern Muslim counselors and chaplains often describe these as protective factors that help individuals maintain resilience during difficult periods of life.

Classical scholars such as Ibn al-Qayyim, Imam al-Ghazali, Ibn Taymiyyah, and Ibn al-Jawzi wrote extensively about sadness, contentment, anxiety, spiritual diseases, and the purification of the heart. While they were not writing psychiatric textbooks in the modern sense, their observations continue to influence discussions about emotional and spiritual health in Muslim communities around the world.

Perhaps the most important conclusion to draw from this discussion is that the Muslim community needs more qualified counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and researchers. The Qur’an and Sunnah provide a rich framework for understanding the human condition, while contemporary mental health sciences continue to develop new methods for understanding and treating emotional suffering. These two sources of knowledge do not have to be viewed as competitors.

Instead, there is a tremendous opportunity for believing Muslims to enter the mental health professions and carefully extract, evaluate, and utilize everything beneficial that does not oppose the Qur’an and Sunnah. The goal should not be to reject modern research, nor to embrace every theory uncritically. Rather, Muslim professionals are uniquely positioned to combine sound scientific knowledge with the guidance of revelation.

For generations, Muslim scholars have written about the diseases of the heart. Today, the Ummah may benefit from a new generation of Muslims who are grounded in the Qur’an and Sunnah while also professionally trained in counseling, psychology, psychiatry, and social work. Such individuals can help families navigate depression, anxiety, trauma, addiction, grief, and emotional hardship while recognizing both the spiritual and psychological dimensions of the human being.

By Abu Hudhayfah Edwards

A Conversion Heard Across a “Party Line”

In an era before livestreams, before social media, before even conference calls as we know them today, one of the largest religious transformations in American history happened through a telephone.

They called it a party line.

It was a shared landline system where hundreds, even thousands, could listen in simultaneously. Families gathered around receivers. Former Nation of Islam Mosques amplified the sound through speakers. Entire communities leaned in.

And through that crackling line, many publicly embraced and articulated their shahada.

When Elijah Muhammad passed on February 25, 1975, leadership of the Nation of Islam shifted to his son, Warith Deen Mohammed.

What followed wasn’t just a change in leadership.

It was a mass declaration of faith.

The Words That Reshaped a Community

Across cities like Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia, and beyond, thousands repeated the same words:

Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allaah, wa ashhadu anna Muhammadur rasul Allaah.

Historians and community estimates often point to a figure approaching 200,000 individuals who transitioned into orthodox Sunni Islam during this phone transmission.

Unlike individual conversions, this was something rare:

A collective shahada.

Mosques didn’t empty. They transformed.

Communities didn’t scatter. They realigned.

From Doctrine to Revelation

Under Warith Deen Mohammed, long-held teachings of the Nation of Islam began to shift toward mainstream Islamic belief.

Among the most significant changes:

* The rejection of divinity attributed to Wallace Fard Muhammad

* Affirming Prophet Muhammad as the final messenger

* Establishing the Qur’an and authentic Sunnah as the foundation

* Implementing daily salaah, fasting the month ofRamadhan , and paying zakat

* Encouraging unity with the global Muslim ummah

For many, this meant relearning Islam from the ground up.

Arabic phrases replaced old terminology. Prayer rows were reformed. A global identity replaced a localized one.

A Necessary Reality Check

But telling this story responsibly requires more than numbers and milestones.

There’s a principle that must remain clear:

We do not know what was in the hearts of those individuals on that day.

While many saw this transition as movement toward a more correct ‘aqeedah, intention is not something history can measure.

That belongs to Allaah alone.

What we can say is that for many, this moment was part of a longer process of tarbiyyah: development, growth, and refinement.

Like any Muslim journey, it involved:

* Learning and unlearning

* Sincerity and struggle

* Seeking al-Haqq step by step

It wasn’t a finish line.

It was a beginning.

Not Everyone Took the Turn

The transition was significant, but not universal.

Louis Farrakhan would later reestablish the original Nation of Islam framework, creating a separate path that continues to this day.

This moment didn’t erase differences.

It clarified them.

The Next Phase: Maturation and Methodology

The years that followed were just as important as the initial shift.

As communities stabilized, a deeper pursuit of knowledge began to take root.

Many individuals and communities became connected with circles like the Qur’an and Sunnah Society of the 1980s, where emphasis was placed on:

* Authentic sources of Islam

* Structured learning

* Returning to early Islamic understanding

Over time, this maturation process led many toward adopting the methodology of the righteous predecessors, the salaf, in both belief and practice.

This wasn’t overnight.

It was layered.

A community that had just transitioned was now refining how it understood and lived Islam.

From America to the Ummah

One of the most visible outcomes of this transformation was global connection.

African American Muslims, many with no immigrant background, began:

* Traveling for Hajj in increasing numbers

* Studying with scholars from across the Muslim world

* Building institutions grounded in orthodox practice

What had once been a distinct, isolated movement became part of something much larger:

The global ummah.

Why This Moment Still Matters

Today, the effects of that transition are everywhere.

In Masajid across America.

In families that trace their roots back to that moment.

In communities that balance identity, history, and orthodoxy.

It also reframes a deeper narrative:

Many African Americans, descendants of enslaved people, some of whom were Muslim, did not encounter Islam as something foreign.

They encountered it as something recognizable.

Something that resonated with their Fitrah.

A Quiet Revolution

History often remembers loud events.

Marches. Speeches. Conflicts.

But in 1975 and the years that followed, something quieter, and in many ways more lasting, took place.

Through a telephone line.

Through mosques and living rooms.

Through sincerity and search.

Hundreds of thousands stood, repeated a testimony, and began a journey.

Final Reflection

We can document the numbers.

We can trace the leadership.

We can map the outcomes.

But the most important part of that day cannot be recorded:

The intentions.

The sincerity.

The private turning of hearts.

That remains with Allaah.

What remains with us is the legacy…

A community that moved, learned, and continues to grow.

And a moment in American history when faith didn’t just spread…

It shifted, together.