Why I Moved to Kuwait
Black Migration and the Destruction of Empire
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I saw the news about George Floyd’s lynching when I woke up this morning for the dawn prayer. My initial reaction to lynchings has generally followed the same pattern. Shock. Numbness. Anger. Despair. Prayer. Resolve. More anger. More despair. An impossible hope. Hearing about lynchings from abroad, however, has changed how I process and respond to news of Black death. I imagine it to be somewhat similar to how immigrants respond when they hear about violence and corruption in their home countries. They grieve for and with their people. They do whatever they can to help ease their suffering like sending money back home. Donating to charitable organizations. Calling to check on their family members. Sending up prayers. Maybe even planning a visit to see and look after the elders and the children. They do everything short of returning home. I mean, why go back to a place that, for some reason, is determined to destroy your body and devour your soul?
There are many obvious differences between being a Black american ex-pat and an immigrant to the U.S. from so-called third world countries. For one, the american empire is responsible — directly or indirectly — for much of the corruption, suffering, and death in immigrants’ homeland. Despite the relative security and upward mobility immigrants newly experienced in the U.S., their overall health outcomes actually decline over time. The effects of living under the mundane, interpersonal, and structural violence of empire gradually erode both mind and body of successive generations. The opposite is true for ex-pats like me living in places like the Middle East.
Like many immigrants to the U.S., I left for Kuwait because I saw a future for myself in the Middle East that I couldn’t see in my home country. I left California because of push factors like the high cost of living, housing insecurity & gentrification, an inequitable healthcare system with poor health outcomes for black people, political corruption, and state-sanctioned racial discrimination. and violence. Coming to Kuwait meant an opportunity to earn a living wage. It meant free housing. It meant being able to walk by the police station on my way to work without fear and trepidation. It meant going to the doctor and having my body wisdom and knowledge respected. It meant being able to breathe for the first time. Living in a country whose institutions do not have a sordid history of exploitation and violence against my people relieves an immense psychic burden I didn’t realize I carried. Whenever I have video calls with friends and family back home, they always remark on how much more relaxed, calm, and at peace we look.
Since moving to Kuwait I have tried to avoid overexposure to news of what’s happening stateside. This is not out of apathy, but rather from a desire to be present — mind and body. These boundaries help me to stay healthy emotionally and are part of how I intend to heal from decades living in america. Having said that, I am neither willing nor able to ignore what is happening to my people back home. When I see stories about lynchings now, I still experience the same range of emotions. But I feel something else too. Relief. I don’t live in a country that hates me anymore. I don’t wake up with an acute awareness that my body can become violently contorted into a hashtag at a whim. It is difficult for me and my wife, Aïdah, to be away from our families, to be absent while our community grieves another casualty in this centuries-old liberation struggle. Being away, though, does not equal abandonment of the struggle. This was a strategic retreat, a voluntary exile from empire to a Muslim land for the sake of our physical and emotional well being.
There is a long history of Black migration within and from the U.S. From the antebellum exodus to free states in the North to postbellum repatriation movements, Black folks have always been on the move towards freedom. It is a major part of not only how we have survived, but how we have been able to continue our assault against empire. Migration is also an essential component of Islamic history. In the 7th century, Muslims were brutally persecuted in Arabia by the Quraysh, the ruling tribe of Mecca. At a certain point during their struggle, Muslims began to migrate to Medina to build a new, independent community. Old superstitions and oppressive customs were abandoned and a constitution was adopted enshrining new rights and responsibilities of the people. The Quraysh began launching offensives against the nascent community fearing a strong, independent, allied Muslim state. Many Muslims were still living in Mecca at the time, experiencing continued economic hardship and violent oppression. Rather than leave and give up all they had to build something new they chose to stay. It was in this context that Allah revealed the following verse from the Qur’an, which reads in part:
Verily! As for those whom the angels take (in death) while they are unjust to themselves, the (angels) will say (to them): “In what circumstances were you in?” They will reply: “We were weak and oppressed in the land.” The (angels) will say: “Was not Allah’s earth spacious enough for you to emigrate therein to live in peace?”
- Noble Qur’an, 4:97
Hijra began as a voluntary migration, but at this juncture, in the struggle, it had become obligatory for the well-being of the community and individual Muslims. Failure to do so was considered by God to be zalimi anfusihim — oppression against their own souls. To be clear, this wasn’t a command to abandon elders, the physically handicapped, or those too weak to migrate. Exemptions were given for them and those who stayed behind to provide protection and care. Rather, this was a call for a mass exodus of everyone able to do so. The hijra made it possible for the Muslims to regroup, build their defenses, create strategic alliances, and prepare for the eventual victorious return after routing the opposition.
Our liberation struggle in america must continue to include various forms of hijra, as it has in the past. Not everyone will be able to leave, but those who can must do so. They must leave to help build community outside of the borders of empire. It is time now to build international alliances with Palestinians, Kashmiris, Tibetans, our people across the Continent — all those resisting settler colonialism, imperialism, and state violence. It is not strategic for us to continue to exhaust our capacity and resources in reform efforts. Empire cannot be reformed. And while its collapse is inevitable, we must aid in its destruction and lay the foundations for what we want to build upon its ruins.
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