Personal Narrative: City Hall Meetings

“Islam began as something strange, and it will return to being strange, so glad tidings to the strangers.” “What? I’m not strange…” thought eight year old me sitting in my Saturday Islamic Studies class. I saw no difference between myself and my elementary school classmates. I did not view myself as a stranger, and my peers never pointed out anything of the sort to me. I was a merry little munchkin with not a care, nor a clue, in the world. But alas, as maturity set in, the ignorance of my childhood faded; it brought along disillusionment, acting as a lens with which I could begin to understand the world around me.
“Bayonne Muslims,” a name that has shown itself numerous times in New Jersey news. Two years ago we started fundraising for a community center; a long overdue upgrade since our current “mosque” is in the basement of a church. Even with slight opposition from local town members, we were able to collect enough to buy the new space. The only obstacle left was the zoning board meeting at city hall. With our dream in arms reach, rejoice resonated within our community. Little did we know our trials, and the opposition we faced, had only just begun.

The time kept ticking, and we stood outside of city hall in anticipation, shivering in our winter jackets, anxiety and tension worsening as each second dragged by. Then suddenly, flurries of people appeared. Protesters on one side, counter-protestors on the other. Signs reading “Muslim Lives Matter” and “Stop The Mosque” adorned the air above us. Not a single seat was left open in that meeting room. Hours passed by, and the questions kept coming; nearly six hours later and the meeting finally adjourned but instead of reaching an outcome, the whole event was set to continue at a later