My study buddy, Molly, has lost motivation. She either sleeps all day, or plays with a shiny ball. When she decides I’m done studying for the night, she comes and sits on my laptop or on my notes.

And I usually stop then. Who can resist that face?

Meanwhile…..

Fatimah made me this “Graduation Kunafa” because she thought it would be better than Graduation cake. I agree.

And here are some gratuitous Molly pictures….

because she’s so cute.

Many of you, dear Readers, have been asking why my blog has not been updated for a ridiculously long time. “Exam Week” came early this year and has rather turned into “Exam Two Months.” When one of your classes is a law clinic, where you have real life clients and conferences outside of the law school, things get hectic at random times of the year. I can only say that, though I’m overworked and rather stressed, I love the work I’m doing and am privileged to be a part of these projects. Alhamdulillah. I just pray for the strength to get it all done well in time! I’m counting down to Graduation on May 9, InshAllah!

The blog will return soon, InshAllah (God willing!). Thanks for your patience and dedication.

And no, Bagpipe Man has nothing to do with this post. I just liked the expression on his face. It’s about how I feel when I think about writing my Trusts and Estates outline.

I walked in there having decided two things: first, that I’d smile at every inmate I made eye contact with; second, that I’d say “Wa alaikum assalam” to any of the Muslim inmates who called out to greet me (if there were any). I also was a bit apprehensive because…well….it’s a prison.

I had done some research for work about women’s correctional facilities, but I still wasn’t really sure what to expect. TV skews your perceptions of things – and indeed, the first thing the Deputy Warden, the two caseworkers, and the officer who walked us around said was – “This is nothing like what you see on TV.”

The Dep. Warden told us that it was more like a college campus, and that prison didn’t necessarily mean jail cells and handcuffs, but not being able to do what you wanted to do at any particular time. I couldn’t believe it was like a college campus, but then when we walked into the yard – it was true. It really was like a quad, with women walking around pretty freely, some reading, listening to music, talking. They were wearing different color uniforms according to the length of their sentence, but they were not chained or confined in any way. This was surprising and heartening. The facility is mixed, all the way from really minor crimes to four women on death row. I guess I expected armed guards walking around and really severe restrictions on anything that could be used as a weapon – but one woman had some crutches, many had headphones. I was happy that these women weren’t living in a violent environment where a fight could break out any second (I’ll write another reflection about the men’s prison next month when we tour there……)

I met two Muslim women while I was there. As we were walking around to the classrooms, vocational areas, and living facilities, a lady called out “Salam Alaikum.” I turned and saw a lady waving at me from one of the buildings, so I smiled and said “Wa Alaikum as-Salam” and waved back. Later, we visited the Tourism center and mail center (apparently, when you call NC Tourism for ideas on where to go, an inmate picks up and helps you! They’re really nice), there was a Muslim lady stuffing brochures into envelopes. She was wearing a nice hijab, and as our group came in she just kept her back turned to us and kept working. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Later, as our group was leaving the room, I asked the case managers if I could go speak to her. They called to her and I walked over to her. Her face split into a big smile and her eyes brightened up. We hugged, and she told me her name. We didn’t really talk about anything, but it was really nice to meet her. I asked the case managers later, and they said that as long as they know of an inmate’s religion beforehand, they accommodate as much as possible. She didn’t have to ask to wear her hijab, there is Jummah prayer at the facility, and they adjust her meal schedule during Ramadan. I was impressed and happy that it was relatively easy for her to practice her religion – they could’ve made it much harder for her.

The whole experience is really depressing, though, despite some of the uplifting things I described above. The pregnant inmates go offsite to deliver, get one day with their babies, and then go back to jail. Phone calls are collect only, and the family might not be able to pay to receive them.

The saddest thing of the whole experience was talking to an 18-year old inmate who was in for second degree murder. She was with her boyfriend when he murdered his grandmother. She said that she had a good family growing up, caring parents, well off, but that she just wanted to rebel – so she started sneaking out and hanging out with her older boyfriend. She was really peppy, bubbly, and said that even though it was hard, she was happy to be there because it was a learning experience for her. She’ll get out when she’s 27. “I have no friends here, but it’s better that way,” she said. It was kind of sad that she was happy with her situation…..but I guess you have to make the best of what you have. She told us that when she gets out, she wants to help youth not make the same mistakes she did.

My biggest hope for these women is that they get out of jail and stay out – that they get jobs and reconnect with their families in a meaningful way. The warden (plus my own research) explained that most of them have drug addictions – so I hope that their time in jail helps them overcome it. Most of all, I hope I don’t forget the women I met, because they deserve to be remembered.

As a law student-going-on-lawyer, I’ve realized that so much of being a perceived as a good attorney rides on your appearance. Well-tailored suits are an absolute must for both men and women. A lawyer does not look like a lawyer unless he or she is, as we say in Pakistan, “suited booted.” Business casual is rare, especially in government jobs, and even then is expected to be respectable enough to receive a client or colleague.

In some way, I win here. I recently read an article about male judges’ reflections on what female lawyers wear in the court room, and the “old boys” (and “old girls”) lawyers I’ve met through the Susie Sharp Inn of Court seem to echo the same sentiment – “You’re in court, not at a party. I don’t need to see that much leg or that much cleavage.”

Sweet – no problem on either front for me. Indeed, I agree with the sentiment itself, too. Showing that much skin is not only disrespectful to the court and the institution of the law, but also to yourself. It gets you stared at for the wrong reasons (yes, it does, even if you don’t ask for it, it does. Eyes wander, that’s what they’re meant to do – look) and diminishes you in the credibility and respect you deserve. Fine, Lady Lawyers, I’ll give you an okay on below the knee skirts and short sleeve shirts (maybe even sleeveless if it’s tactful), but no cleavage, please. Not acceptable.

But in other ways, I lose. Buying my definition of halal suits is not an easy task. Choices are limited to (at most) mid-calf skirts (more usually knee length or shorter). Jackets come up to right at or above the waist, and combined with a fitted pant or skirt, the butt is completely bare and distinguishable. Not okay for me. Blouses and shirts are either spandexy (too tight) or low cut or too short (again, see the butt problem). You can get suit jackets that are longer (mid thigh or knee), but they’re expensive and hard to come by (and often cut for an older fashion sense).

Alhamdulillah, I’m lucky that when I find one of these longer, well cut suits, my mom or dad will get me multiples stitched in different colors from Pakistan. That helps very immensely, so I’ve got a whole set of well cut, well covered suits. I shake it up with a pretty colored shirt and hijab (and apparently people notice), so there is an element of fun to it – but moreso once I’m comfortable with who I’m with and where I am. I stick to blues, grays, whites for first days and big meetings.

Here’s where the real issue is for me: my headcover.

I’ve worn hijab for 11 years now, Alhamdulillah. In that time, I’ve gone from tentative uncertainty to gradual comfort to unabashed self-confidence.

I believe that wearing hijab is good for me on many levels: it fulfills a religious requirement and provides spiritual and moral benefit, it allows me to express a carefully tailored Islamic identity, it makes me a walking (and hopefully, counter-stereotypical) symbol of Islam and gives me the opportunity to teach others the truth about my faith, and it earns me the respect of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends and colleagues.

I’m very proud of my hijab and my choice to wear it, and Alhamdulillah, I’ve never doubted my decision.

But in the past year, I’ve come to be uncomfortable and nervous in situations that would never have affected me before law school. It’s always been nerve wracking to be a muhajjibah when you’re going to a small Southern town, where the stereotypes in your head are activated and you find yourself thinking, “That man looks like he might shoot me if I make one wrong move.” But as long as you smile, stay polite, things usually turn out okay in those situations. (Note that sometimes, part of the art of wearing hijab also means gracefully ignoring prejudicial comments from the peanut gallery).

Wearing hijab as a law student, soon to be lawyer is nervewracking on a different level. For the first time ever, when I attended my first professional/social event, I found myself nervous when I walked into the hall full of attorneys and judges – butterflies-in-my-stomach, a stomach-twinging kind of nervous.

I couldn’t help thinking, “What will they think of me?” For some of them, especially the older men “old boys” types, maybe this would be their first encounter with a Muslimah, a brown and hijab-ed one at that. Would they doubt my abilities as a lawyer? Would they think I’m a little “too diverse” for their tastes? Would they let me fit in to their profession?

I hate feeling like that. I hate that, when I walked into my first job interview with Justice Timmons-Goodson at the NC Supreme Court, I thought “what if I won’t belong here?”

I had left those feelings behind on the first day of high school, when I started wearing hijab and emerging from my middle school chrysalis. What were those emotions doing back here, in my throat and stomach, when I was about to meet a state Supreme Court Justice?

I was nervous, shaky, and agitated – but thankfully (and this is a testament to her greatness), the Justice took me into her office, spoke to me kindly and with an obviously real interest in my opinions, and finally gave me the job. I still look to her, a beautiful African American woman (the first on the NC SC) who worked hard and proudly stands for what she believes in, as an example of who I want to be. Her clerks were also like her – Saad, a Muslim clerk of Pakistani origin whose intelligence blew me away from the start, and Jenny, a mother of four whose absolute skill in excelling in both work and family life inspired me and let me dream of having a life like that, too. And of course, there was the unforgettable Ms. Elaine – an open minded, loving woman with great hair who has deep and hilarious conversations with you no matter who you are.

I was ashamed of how nervous I was – not because I did not have confidence in my skills, but because of what I thought others would see when they saw my hijab.

Imagine my annoyance, then, when the same feelings sprang back up when I walked in for an interview with the NC Attorney General’s office for my current summer internship. Justice Timmons-Goodson had come with high praise from some of my most respected advisors, and I had a feeling that, being a minority herself, she would not be as weirded out by a muhajjibah. But I felt twice as apprehensive while waiting for my two interviewers at the AG’s office. I’d never seen these women before and had only spoken to them on the phone. They’d been attentive, engaging, and friendly on the phone – but what if they’d just been expecting a normal brown girl, not a muhajjibah?

They didn’t flinch when they both walked into the lobby, where I stood anxiously looking at pictures of former NC Attorneys General. They were everything kind, polite, engaging, and fair (and have continued to be so as I’ve started working here). I was simultaneously at ease, and exasperated and embarassed for my suspicions. Hadn’t I done just to them just what I was afraid they’d do to me?

Stereotyping is contagious.

Still, I can’t help feeling the nerves.

I still feel that when I speak in class or express an opinion (especially one having to do with war, national security, or civil rights), I’m often speaking as a symbol of Islam (this is part of what kept me relatively quiet in my National Security Law class, and if it was not for the absolute kindness and open mindedness of Professor Scott Silliman, I would never have opened my mouth. My classmates are the people I will be working with for the rest of my life, so I didn’t want to be branded as ‘That crazy liberal Muslim girl from law school.’).

I still feel that, to some degree, I will be judged by what I wear on a different level than a woman who wears a revealing shirt or skirt – because my kind of clothing marks me as distinctly different and possibly foreign (and to some, dangerous), instead of just a little too liberal in fashion sense. Maybe I’m just imagining the looks from the “old boys,” the lawyers who’ve been working for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe not.

But really, in the end, most of them will not treat me differently, at least not in the public interest law field that I’m working towards. I’ve still got the unabashed confidence for 99% of the time. In the end, overwhelmingly, I feel respected, not rejected.

And the most important thing is that I know what I am doing is right for me (both wearing hijab and being a lawyer), and it makes me happy to do it.

But it’ll always be in the back of…or, I guess, on top of…my head.

The last day of my internship at the NC Supreme Court, Jenny took me aside and told me how proud she was of me for wearing a scarf. She told me that there would always be people who would treat me differently because I wore a scarf, but that I wouldn’t want to work for those kinds of lawyers and law firms anyway.

Thanks, Jenny. You’re right.

Glossary:
Hijab: the Muslim woman’s (Muslimah) religiously mandated style of dress and behavior that is meant to embody and encourage modesty, spirituality, and ethical goodness. The term “hijab” means more than just a particular item of clothing, but it is commonly used to refer to the scarf that covers the head and neck. A Muslimah who wears hijab is called a muhajjibah.

Halal: (an extremely simplified definition) what is allowed by Islamic law.

Alhamdulillah: “Praise be to God.” Used to express thanks.

Last semester (yes, that is my turnaround time), I went to DC with my Constitutional Adjudication class. The highlight of the visit was sitting in on a Supreme Court oral argument. The Nine sat on the bench, regally robed, in the perfect stereotype of what I imagined them to be. Ruth B. Ginsberg focused the whole time, asking pointed questions. Scalia asked weird hypotheticals and kept beating the dead horse. Thomas sat back the whole time and looked like he was asleep. Stephens was just old – but you could tell his mind was as sharp as any of the rest. The clerk of court wore tails (tails!!!), and so did the lawyer from the Solicitors General – who was by far the most incredibly skilled appellate attorney I’ve ever seen. It was an incredible experience for a young law student to have.

Professor Muller, whose research focuses on Japanese American draft resisters and the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, took us on a little walk to an unknown memorial, The National Japanese Memorial to Patriotism, rather hidden between downtown office buildings. In fact, I almost kept walking, thinking it was just a little courtyard. It is built with dark grays and blacks, highlighted by a large waterfall in the center. All around, etched into the marble, are verses from Japanese American poets reflecting on what was a terrible time for their people. The verse by Ehrlich above touched me the most.

Professor Muller told us that this memorial caused quite a bit of controversy in the Japanese American community. There were two main opinions on the struggles of internment, curfews, and other racial persecution. As reflected in the memorial, a large group of Japanese Americans felt that, terrible as this burden was, it was their duty to patiently succumb to the American government’s rulings. America was their home now, and they had to make this ultimate sacrifice so that, one day, their children might be able to live a more comfortable life here. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

The other group, who took issue with this perspective, felt that it was instead the Japanese American’s duty to fight back against the American government’s oppression. The oppression should not be allowed to continue, and as Japanese and Americans, they should not allow themselves to be subjected to such. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

Now, I don’t presume to know much about Japanese culture, but from what I understand, it involves intense honor and respect towards elders and leaders, even if they are in error. Maybe the perspective of sacrifice is one that came from the Japanese immigrants, the parents who grew up in that culture – while the “fight back” perspective is from the American-Japanese children. I can understand both perspectives, because there is a similar concept in Islam about the respect towards a ruler, even if he or she makes a mistaken ruling. The Quraan constantly encourages Muslims to be patient through adversity and to have faith in God’s ultimate reckoning. But, there are also verses that one should aid a brother who is an oppressor by helping him to stop oppressing.

But, if I put myself in their shoes (which, I accept that I never truly can) – or, indeed, in the shoes of any people who are being oppressed by their so-called leaders – what would I do? Would I keep quiet, such that my children might be saved? Or would I fight back against the cage, risking my life and perhaps damning my children to a life of reproach for their parent’s actions?

I can’t honestly say. I begin as a pacifist, in all things. I dislike war and conflict, even to the point of avoiding confrontation with people I disagree with. I have a notorious weak spot for upholding rules and deferring to authority. My first impulse is always to defend the decisions and decrees of leaders, and only speak out against them after much deliberation. But I think I would agree with the younger group – the ones who would say “No, this is not America, and my honor is in refusing to go quietly.”

But that is hypothetical. The reality is that these people went through intense turmoil, and they should be honored for it. Their patience was of Quranic proportions. Their sacrifice was presented with pure hearts, with a desire to protect their families and their culture, and with an intense honor to which American youth of all ethnicities should aspire. Their stories are a lesson to every child of immigrants that grew up so blessed in America. May they be rewarded.

Resources for more info about and pictures of the internment:
War Relocation Authority Camps in Arizona
Exploring Japanese American Internment
Effects of the camps – life after internment
Children of the camps
Ansel Adams’ Photography of the camps
Large list of relevant sources

Also see Professor Muller’s Essay: Arab American Internment?

Slow Cooker Chili with Sweet Corn Rice and Cheddar Jalapeno Cornbread

I’ve got papers to write, exams to study for. On hiatus.

Also, as my friend Sophia mentions, this cultural and educational movement takes on a similar form in today’s Muslim students going into medicine: “While our parents encouraged science careers or medicine for the monetary stability and gain, their children who are pursuing such a career might not be doing it for those reasons– and while the shift the kids are making isn’t in careers to another field, it is an ideological shift as to why they are pursuing such a career– i.e. medicine as a means of empowerment, being a poor doctor by passing up lucrative specialties for something like family medicine, and then using that career in ways to help the community that hasn’t been done before. again, this kind of shift also requires the stability that comes with being a second generation . . . so hopefully in the future this shift that is occurring towards non-science careers will be accompanied by a paradigm shift in what a science career can be used for. i think the key is for people to realize that the possibilities are endless. we have to get past a “survival” mindset and think bigger.”

A particular moment comes to mind when I think about why I came to law school. Once, I was at the masjid after I had started my first year of law school. An older brother who was active in the Muslim political action sphere stopped to talk to me. He is a Palestinian who had to leave his homeland. He said Salaam and asked me how I was doing, what I was up to. I told him I was in law school. We were both walking away, but he stopped and smiled brightly. “You make us so proud, Sister Taiyyaba,” he said, “we are so proud of you.” That’s when I realized that going to law school isn’t just about doing it for me….it’s about doing it for them – for our parents who sacrificed for us, for our community who gave us a home. Inshallah, all of us youth who are working in any field now have to keep ourselves grounded in our roots and remember who we are.

And we don’t just have to work for “Muslim” issues to be true to ourselves. Being who we are makes us uniquely situated to empathize and sympathize with other communities who are finding themselves victim to the same discrimination and struggles. Being empowered by our careers makes us able to do something about it for all of us. We have to be fighters for justice for all.

O ye who believe! Stand out firmly For justice, as witnesses To Allah, even as against Yourselves, or your parents, Or your kin, and whether It be (against) rich or poor: For Allah can best protect both. Follow not the lusts (Of your hearts), lest ye Swerve, and if ye Distort (justice) or decline To do justice, verily Allah is well-acquainted With all that ye do. (The Noble Quran, 4:135)

Shout out to Natasha, Saja, Yasmin Amer, Shahid, and all the other Muslim liberal arts students who were interviewed in the article! Thanks also to Nigel Edwards, whose picture is in the article in the center of the section; he was also part of our group of four Muslim law students from UNC who interviewed for this article.

Students on course for empowerment
More young Muslims gravitate toward careers in law, journalism, acting and filmmaking
By Yonat Shimron, Staff Writer
http://www.newsobserver.com/105/story/1274326.html

Growing up in Cary, Taiyyaba Qureshi spent her summer vacations in research labs “filling petri dishes” for her immunologist father and microbiologist mother.
Her parents, natives of Pakistan, expected her to become a scientist, just like them.

But by the time she took an advanced placement physics class, Qureshi had other notions. Active in her mosque and always willing to represent Islam at churches and schools, she dreamed of a larger public role.

Her venue? Law school.

“Our parents were focused on economic stability,” said Qureshi, a second-year law student at UNC-Chapel Hill.

“Our needs are not economic stability but social and political empowerment.” [Our needs are not *now* economic stability, because our parents and support structures have allowed us to go beyond that.]

Qureshi is one of a growing number of educated, middle-class Muslims who are venturing into law, journalism, filmmaking and acting. They have seen firsthand the difficulties of being a Muslim post-9/11, and they want to ensure that America’s values of equality, freedom and opportunity are extended to all.

Whether it was the roundups of U.S. Muslims after the 2001 terrorist strikes, the perceived racial profiling at airports or the employment discrimination experienced by some women wearing the veil, these young Muslims think America needs more vocal representation from their ranks.

“We’re trying to make sure every American is entitled to civil rights guarantees in the Constitution,” said Abbas Ravjani, president of the National Muslim Law Students Association and a student at Yale Law School. The organization was formed six years ago and now has 300 students on its electronic mailing list.

In some ways, it’s the typical immigrant story. Members of the first generation spend their lives making a living and providing a safety net for their families. Members of the second generation want a greater hand in helping shape the society of the future. They are more willing to engage in political causes and fight for social justice.

Often, though, these young Muslims must confront parents who devoted their lives to science, engineering or computer programming — professions that travel well from one country to another.

Natasha El-Sergany’s Egyptian-born father expected her to become a doctor like him. When she was 10, he gave her a stethoscope. He expected her to take the Medical College Admission Test while she was in college. So when El-Sergany finally mustered the courage to tell her father she wanted to go to law school, she braced for a struggle.

“The way I ended up convincing my dad is that I told him J.D. [the law degree] stands for ‘juris doctor,’ ” said El-Sergany, 22, a law student at UNC-Chapel Hill. “He came around.”

Why pursue a law degree?

To be sure, not every Muslim entering law school wants to change the world. [Not so sure I agree with this statement - I'm sure Kamil and Shahid want to change the world in their own way.]

Kamil Chaudhary, a Duke Law School student, expects to work as a corporate lawyer at a venture capital firm when he graduates in spring. Shahid Khan, a first-year law school student at UNC-CH, is interested in patent or business law.

But there’s no denying that the number of Muslims entering law school is rising. Although there are no reliable figures because many schools don’t ask students about their religion, law schools are finding a few Muslim students where they once had none.

Farhana Khera, president and executive director of the Washington-based National Association of Muslim Lawyers, said the organization started 12 years ago with only a dozen lawyers exchanging e-mail. It now has a membership of 500.

Media majors appeal, too

Young Muslims are also studying journalism.

Yasmin Amer said she was tired of seeing Muslims misrepresented in the media. On Tuesday, Amer, a third-year journalism and Arabic double major at UNC-CH, organized a panel discussion of an inflammatory DVD called “Obsession: Radical Islam’s War Against the West.”

When she graduates, Amer imagines herself working in the U.S. or in her native Egypt reporting on social and gender issues for radio or TV.

N.C. State University’s student newspaper, Technician, has its first Muslim editor, Kuwaiti-born, American-raised Saja Hindi. The 20-year-old English and political science major was also editor of the student newspaper at Athens Drive High School in Raleigh.

“A lot of people were hesitant to go into [journalism] because they were afraid of a backlash or of not being accepted,” she said. “Now it’s becoming more of an option for people.”

But the greater numbers are in law schools.

Joel Mahmud Bhuiyan became interested in the denial of legal guarantees for prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

After graduating from Wesleyan University in Connecticut two years ago, he interned at the Center for Constitutional Rights. The New York-based nonprofit represented Guantanamo detainees before the Supreme Court.

Now Bhuiyan, 24, the son of Bangladeshi immigrants, is cramming for the Law School Admission Test and plans to apply to Duke Law School.

For Bhuiyan, it was international issues, including the imprisonments at Guantanamo or the torture inflicted by U.S. soldiers at Abu Ghraib prison, that led him to consider law.

“We need more Muslims to go into international human rights work,” Bhuiyan said. “That’s one field where we need more of a presence.”

Bhuiyan’s idealism is similar to Qureshi’s. She is not just interested in law.

“For me,” Qureshi said, “it’s as much about community empowerment as litigation. If I don’t like the result, I want to fight to change the law.”

One year ago: Jalaibi

I’m usually pretty good at standing up for myself with respect to making my personal religious boundaries known to those around me. It’s a deliberate action I think every Muslim in a majority non-Muslim society has to decide to do (or not, I guess, if that’s how you feel). Non-Mahram contact issues are especially predominant: Do I shake hands with someone of the opposite gender? Do I accept hugs from someone of the opposite gender (and how do I escape surprise hugs?) Then there’s the wudu and prayer time issues (getting caught with your foot in the sink).

Lawyers like to network. Networking means contacts, and contacts means jobs and referrals. But in the legal career, networking happens in places that I’m not to happy to be.

The newest thing I’m facing in law school is debating whether or not to attend social or professional events that significantly involve drinking. In college, I’d avoid having to make this choice by not involving myself with social groups that drank. Lawyers “network” by going to bars, cocktail parties, or hanging around the cash bar that inevitably operates at every legal event.

Case on point: UNC Law School organizations have “Bar Review” every Thursday night. Ten points for guessing what that means.

Clue: it’s not a study party.

Needless to say, the legal profession has a disproportionately high level of alcoholism.

They ask you (O Muhammad SAW) concerning alcoholic drink and gambling. Say: “In them is a great sin, and (some) benefit for men, but the sin of them is greater than their benefit.” And they ask you what they ought to spend [in charity]. Say: “That which is beyond your needs.” Thus Allâh makes clear to you His Laws in order that you may give thought.” Surat Al-Baqarah, v. 219

A recent decision I had to make was when the legal journal I work for, the North Carolina Journal for International Law and Commercial Regulation was planning an alcoholic social event after the first day of orientation. The plan was that the staff would interact off-campus to build collegiality before all the work started.

Naturally, I was uncomfortable with this. For me, it doesn’t cut it to just hang around the bar and not drink, to go just for the socialization. That’s not okay. I emailed the managing editor with my concern, telling her that I wouldn’t be attending this event because of my religious beliefs. (I wanted them to know that the reason I wasn’t attending was because of my faith, not because I’m antisocial).

I was surprised, quite surprised, when she and the staff responded by completely changing the location to a popsicle shop. I told them that they didn’t have to change the location just for my sake, on such short notice, but they assured me that it was fine. I was impressed.

I know that I’ll have to face this choice more often than I’d like. I don’t know what kind of effect it will have on my “legal network.” Part of me thinks that I wouldn’t want to be working with lawyers who spend so much time around alcohol anyway, and that most of this is “big firm” life, which I am not particularly interested in. Another part tells me that I should not judge people’s alcohol consumption (and their corresponding legal skills) by my own Muslim standards.

O you who believe! Intoxicants (all kinds of alcoholic drinks), gambling, Al-Ansab, and Al-Azlam (arrows for seeking luck or decision) are an abomination of Satan’s handiwork. So avoid (strictly all) that (abomination) in order that you may be successful. Satan wants only to excite enmity and hatred between you with intoxicants and gambling, and hinder you from the remembrance of Allah and from prayer. So, will you not then abstain? Surat al-Maidah, v. 90-91

But the loudest voice in my head is telling me that even though I will not always be able to avoid these situations, I’d rather carve out a kind of personal life and legal career for myself that does not depend on success at a cash bar networking event. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth compromising my faith or personal convictions. I want to have the kind of personal control over my career where I can make people remember me not by how we socialized at a cash bar but the kind of work I do. It may be against the grain, but hey, that’s what law is about – fighting for and enforcing your legitimate point of view for a good reason.

Alhamdulillahi Rabbil Alameen. Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds.

Imagine this: You live in a small, close-knit community in rural North Carolina, outside the limits of the neighboring city or town. Your family has been on this land for generations as it has passed down from parent to child. You don’t have much money, but you make do, and taxes aren’t much. You live a happy life.

Now imagine this: One day, someone knocks on your door and tells you that yesterday, the General Assembly decided to annex your neighborhood into the town next-door. No one asked your permission or advice, or heck, even told you in advance that now, you’re part of that city. On top of it all, you have to start paying city taxes in addition to the county, state, and federal taxes you already pay.

Okay, not so bad? Wait, there’s more: Because the NC legislature gave your neighborhood to the city (who’d long been after that area to send some developers in), the city doesn’t have to follow the usual rules about providing you municipal services. You’re paying taxes, but the city isn’t giving you running water, sewer systems, trash collection, paved roads, or street lights. And there is no law forcing the city to every do so.

Pissed? Yeah. So are the residents of newly legislatively-annexed communities all over North Carolina, such as the people of the Brandy Creek neighborhood, who are the new residents of Roanoke Rapids.

Cities are creatures of the legislature, and the General Assembly delegates authority to them to do the things they do. Cities have a great amount of flexibility in determining their own borders and can make city ordinances to annex areas into their municipal boundaries. This process is called “involuntary annexation.” It’s allowed by statute (N.C. Gen. Stat. § 160A-36) and it has certain requirements regarding the annexed area’s borders and population density. Before annexing land this way, the town has to enact a Resolution of Intent, hold public meetings to discuss the issue and inform affected citizens, and create a detailed plan of how it plans to extend water, sewer, fire, police, and other services into the area to bring the newly annexed area up to the same level of service as the rest of the town.

Sounds okay, right? Sure. North Carolina courts have described this as a kind of equitable balancing – in return for paying taxes to the city, the residents of the newly annexed area should receive all these services. Parkwood Ass’n v. City of Durham, 124 N.C. App. 603 (1989). Fair enough.

But what happens too often to be coincidence, cities who want to annex areas that do not fit the requirements for involuntary annexation opt for a the second of five ways that a territory can be added into a city’s corporate limits – Legislative Annexation. Translation? Cities use an Act of the General Assembly to annex land, including residential areas, into their boundaries….without making any plans or having any obligation to provide those residents with municipal services. The sneaks.

I’m not saying that legislative annexation is all bad. It’s an efficient way to annex tracts of land to a city without going through the hassle of involuntary annexation (with all of its stringent requirements) or voluntary annexation (which requires the approval of 100% of the landowners).

But legislative annexation isn’t meant to be used to annex residential areas because it does not afford them the protection that they deserve. That’s why the involuntary annexation procedure has so many service requirements – because that’s the procedure cities are supposed to use for residential areas. But the service requirements that apply to involuntary annexation apply only to involuntary annexation – not to legislatively or voluntarily annexed areas. Piedmont Ford Truck Sales, Inc. v. City of Greensboro, 324 N.C. 499 (1989)

It’s sneaky, as I’ve no doubt mentioned, and it’s immoral. Fine, it may make financial sense – sewer and water lines don’t come cheap – but just because it’s justifiable “good business” doesn’t make it right. (same with municipal underbounding - but that’s a blog-rant for another day).

And, of course, there is a race and class element to this as well. Rural areas that face these problems are often low-income or minority populated. Because the areas are rural and outside the city boundaries, they are underdeveloped…so obviously, it would cost more to extend sewer lines to those areas. But it just leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth and plays the same tape of de facto historic exclusion.

Who’s at fault? I place the blame on two primary parties: (1) the cities and towns who request the NC General Assembly to legislatively annex these areas, without themselves providing a service plan to the residents, and (2) the General Assembly legislators who let cities and towns get away with this and who draft bills that ignore the residents who live in the area.

Possible solution? Firstly, the General Assembly shouldn’t let itself be led blindly into action by a request from a city or town. In Piedmont, the GA legislatively annexed a residential area (that didn’t meet the involuntary annexation requirements) but wrote into the bill specific requirements and methods by which the town had to provide municipal services to the area. This should be the norm for every bill which annexes residential areas into a town.

The GA seems to have recognized that there is a problem enough to establish North Carolina’s first Joint Legislative Study Commission on Municipal Annexation. (H2431 (2007)) The key to coming to any good conclusions is that all voices are heard at this table – not just those from city councilmen and developers, but also from non-profits and community organizations who fight against unfairly applied annexation. (Last year’s House Study Commission, now expired, proposed a one-year moratorium on annexations, but it’s recommendations were not accepted).

Secondly, the towns/cities who try to get away with this should wisen up and realize that it’s in their own best interest to treat all their residents fairly and equally. They may not have a legal obligation, and it may make financial sense to do it this way, but that doesn’t make it right.

Life isn’t about money and litigation. (Yes, I’m still a lawyer) Matters that affect people’s daily lives – their health, safety, and welfare – shouldn’t be measured by statutes and pocketbooks.

See also: N.C. Annexation Law lets cities do whatever they want and Ten Myths of the Annexation Process