I do believe in religious tolerance and finding the commonality between all of us. I think that’s how we’re all going to come together.
~Dennis Quaid
“Alright, everybody, how are we doing?” I shouted, trying to heighten the energy in the room. I glanced around, recognizing my normal participants: an Egyptian woman, the women who worked in the office upstairs, a Peruvian, other Americans practicing Islam, and my aunt and mother.
My class looked toward me with big smiles. Some of them had already removed their headscarves because in this women-only space they could be comfortable. I pressed Play on the stereo and started the warm-up, noticing my participants already relaxing, even though some of them were a little shy about shaking and grooving to the Latin rhythms of the Zumba routines.
At first, my friends and relatives didn’t really understand why I was doing it.
“If you’re not Muslim, why are you going to work at the Muslim community center?” they asked, confused.
I hadn’t really thought of it like that. I was just finishing my first year of college studying Arabic language and culture. A summer internship at the Muslim community center seemed like the perfect place to put my theoretical skills to practical use. The center helped new immigrants settle into the Indianapolis area, it helped the refugees with legal matters, and it had a space for Muslims to join together to celebrate holidays or hear a lecture about religion or history. These were all things I was curious to learn more about. Plus, once the center learned I taught Zumba, they quickly arranged for twice-weekly classes for women — not just Muslim women, but any women who wished to join. I was only one of two non-Muslims working there, but I was accepted just the same.
That summer, I met refugees from Eritrea, Ethiopia, Burma, and Iraq. I participated in an intercultural, interreligious community night where I made spring rolls with a Vietnamese-American co-worker and ate too much baklava. I went to a lecture about the Syrian civil war, which had then just erupted. The Zumba classes weren’t only chances to get fit and have fun; they provided a space where my participants forged unlikely friendships.
People are busy in their daily lives. They normally go from home to work to home again, scrambling to make dinner, helping their kids with homework, and taking care of the house at the same time. It’s not surprising that many people never branch out of their immediate social circles, which usually include people similar to them.
But at this special Zumba class, to which I had invited everyone from different areas of my life to join, there was a range of people as diverse as the city itself.
One of my most loyal participants was my supportive aunt, who lived nearby. She, like all of us, has a big heart. She always remembers birthdays and gets excited about all of my achievements.
What I hadn’t realized when I started to invite her to the Muslim community center Zumba classes was that she never really had an opportunity to spend time with people different from her. I watched her in the class, dutifully following my instructions, and leaving with a big smile and drenched shirt.
She came to almost every class, but I didn’t think it was a big deal — she always supports me. Then, the summer ended, and so did my internship and Zumba classes. I went back to school. But a few months later, when I got together with my aunt, she confessed something to me.
“You know, Allie, I was kind of scared of Muslim people before the class,” she said, lovingly. “But then I got to know them at Zumba and realized they are normal just like everyone else.”
When I heard her say that, I felt a wave of gratitude and achievement. I was so grateful for the Muslim community center for providing a space — not just for Muslims, but for people like my aunt and me. Because of their openness, there was the opportunity for an encounter that might not have happened. My aunt could have continued to be hesitant to trust a woman in a headscarf or afraid of a man with a long beard. But it was because of this shared space that maybe we did something to better our country.
And that’s what makes America so wonderful. It is a willingness of different people — on all sides of the spectrum — to share and create together. We are inherently tolerant. We just need a chance to express it.
~Allison Yates
