Today (October 5, 2009), I was in Scotland for the Launch of Shaykh Abdul Aziz Ahmed’s Book, Living with Blindness: Lessons from the Life of Imran Sabir, who passed away this past March after struggling his entire life with the devastating effects of LOGIC Syndrome, a rare genetic disease. I was honored to write the foreword to that book. That foreword is reproduced below. I encourage everyone who reads these words to order a copy of Shaykh Abdul Aziz’s moving volume.

Foreword
Living With Blindness: Lessons from the Life of Imran Sabir

At the past convention of the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA), July 2009, I was blessed to participate on a panel that focused on the struggles of disabled Muslims. The well-attended session was eye-opening for me in many different ways. Although I was present to help educate the attendees to the plight of our disabled brothers and sisters, I am confident that I learned far more than I was able to teach.

Among the things I learned was the definition of the word “disabled.” I learned that the word is not an indictment against the individual who is struggling with a particular physical or mental challenge. Rather, it is an indictment against the society that has disabled that individual through its failure to adequately accommodate him or her. As Muslims we have no excuse for our failures in this regard, because one of the salient features of our religion is accommodating those who may be lacking in a particular regard. Allah mentions in the Qur’an, concerning the responsibility of the wealthy towards those who lack material resources: …those in whose wealth there is a well-known right, established for those forced to request assistance and those deprived. (70:24-25)

Consistent with this meaning, Imran Sabir was not disabled. Although he was afflicted with a wide array of crushing physical challenges that would rob him of his mobility, his eyesight, his speech, his teeth, and nearly his very breath, as he spent most of his life breathing through a tracheosmy tube, he could not be denied the ability to make a rich contribution to society during his short lifetime. Imran was able to overcome the challenges he faced physically, as a result of his battle with LOGIC Syndrome, by developing himself spiritually and intellectually. By so doing, he was able to tap into a deep, pure river of humanity that brought forth the character, talents, and an indomitable love of life that so deeply touched all who knew him.

I cannot recall the first time I met Imran. It was probably around the year 2000, while I was studying in Syria, during one of my occasional visits to the United Kingdom. After a lecture in Glasgow, Scotland, I was approached by a young man in a motorized wheelchair. He had a number of penetrating questions related to the lecture I had given, although he had to ask them by means of a device he held against his throat.

I do not know what it was about Imran that attracted me to him. Perhaps it was the genuine inquisitiveness displayed in his questions; perhaps it was the purity of his soul, maybe it was the infectiousness of his smile, framed by a beaming face. Whatever it was, whenever I was in Glasgow from that day onwards, I would look forward to seeing him, and if he could not make it to a particular program, because it was being held in an inaccessible location, or because he was too drained by his struggles on a particular day, I would make sure that my hosts conveyed my greetings to him –if I was unable to arrange a visit to his house.

The plan of the Allah Almighty is truly amazing. As we look back over the course of our lives we can all bear witness to divine arrangements (al-tartib al-ilahi) that fill us with awe before our Lord, remind us of just how blessed we truly are, and emphasize how very deserving our Lord is of all the thanks and praise we sometimes so inadequately offer him. My last trip to Glasgow less than two years ago was one such occasion. I was slated to deliver the Friday sermon at a mosque in downtown Glasgow. My schedule was very tight, but I felt that I had to see Imran. Hence, arrangements were made for me to stop at his home for an early lunch and then to continue on to the mosque for the sermon.

Our car made its way through one of the poorer areas of the city, finally arriving at Imran’s building. The family’s flat was a humble affair. However, the love and warmth radiating within the confines of its walls was readily perceptible and priceless.

Imran proved a most gracious host. He proudly displayed his dexterity with the computer. Aided by a specially designed software program, which rapidly and audibly read anything appearing on the screen, Imran was able to maneuver between various files and internet sites more rapidly than I could ever hope to do.

We had a pleasant and rich conversation. As it deepened, I learned that Imran was a very capable writer and poet, and a scholar with a wide range of interests. He was also a philosopher who thought deeply about Allah, the meaning of life, self, and the nature of the human condition. As I read through his moving and provocative poems, I found one of them to be particularly powerful –Disabled Society. Rarely, with such power and passion, is a writer able to summarize his struggle with the forces that have shaped his life, both personal and societal with such clarity and focus. I was moved by that work and convinced that I had to do everything in my power share that poem with a wider audience. That conviction led to me posting the poem on my blog.

It is fitting that Abdul Aziz Ahmed has chosen to structure his moving account of Imran’s life and struggles around Disabled Society. However, despite the power, pain, and passion the poem articulates, it does not fully capture who Imran was. Imran was definitely a passionate advocate for the disabled, and the strength and indignation of an effective activist comes through in Disabled Society. However, Imran was much more than an activist.

As I sat with him in his humble flat, talking and enjoying the delicious food that had been prepared by his saintly mother, I realized that I was blessed to be in the company of a man who could smile despite his pain, who could love despite his tears. I realized that there was something inside of me that was being enabled by a man who despite his fierce struggle harbored no bitterness in his heart. I realized that before me was a man whose faith, dignity, and humanity would enable him to effectively play the hand he had been dealt in the game of life. He was playing his hand and he was playing it well. In the thirty-three brief years he spent on this earth he had earned a university degree, he had mastered the computer, he had started two organizations to assist people with disabilities, and most importantly, he had conquered his soul. Armed with those accomplishments he was going forth to rid his society of its disabling ability.

As I rose to move on to the mosque, I stopped to briefly chat with his loving and dedicated mother. The love that Imran expressed for her and his constant acknowledgment of the debt he owed to her and his siblings for their boundless sacrifices gripped my heart. Here was a woman who radiated a deep spirit, and whose commitment and dedication to her son embodies the best of our religion.

To return to the theme of Allah’s divine arrangement; I oftentimes reflect on how my own life has unfolded. I am the son of a woman who was relegated the ranks of America’s “welfare” underclass, herself the daughter of a de facto indentured servant in the cotton belt of Georgia. Despite those humble origins, I have been blessed to travel the world and to become part of so many people’s lives. Whatever the wisdom is behind that, I have been humbled and uplifted through meeting the likes of Imran and his mother. Humbled, because their struggles have bequeathed unto them a wealth of character that dwarfs my own, uplifted because their lives and examples help to reaffirm for me the immense goodness that is still to be found in the Community of Muhammad, peace upon him.

Little did I realize, as I bade farewell to Imran, this would be the last time I would see him in this world. However, the image of the beaming face of my gracious host lives on in my heart. It is my fervent prayer that Abdul Aziz Ahmed’s moving account of Imran’s life not only familiarizes Imran to the wider world, but that it helps to disable our society’s failure to fully accommodate and appreciate its members who are struggling with various physical and mental challenges.

…Surely, it is not the eyes that are blind. Rather, blind are the hearts within the breasts.
Al-Qur’an 22:46

Imam Zaid Shakir
7/17/09

To Order, Living With Blindness: Lessons from the Life of Imran Sabir, go to:
www.kitaba.org

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