It’s Ramadan—a time of fasting, reflection, and spiritual renewal. Like many Muslims, I find myself turning to the Quran with fresh eyes, revisiting verses I’ve read countless times but that, in different moments of my life, reveal new meanings. One that resonates with me now is:
“O mankind, We have created you from male and female and made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another.” (49:13)
Ramadan is often described as a month of discipline and devotion, but at its core, it is also a month of self-inquiry. It is a time to question our habits, our intentions, and the depth of our faith. This year, that questioning has extended beyond myself. I’ve been thinking about how we engage with differing perspectives—not just religiously, but politically and socially. What does it mean to truly know one another? What does it mean to have convictions strong enough to withstand challenge?
Growing up in New York, a city that thrives on the intersection of countless cultures and religions, I was never forced to believe in Islam. Combined with a family upbringing that encouraged questioning rather than passive inheritance of faith, I was taught to examine my beliefs rather than accept them blindly. I recognize that my experience is not universal. Many religious communities discourage questioning, treating doubt as a threat rather than a tool for deeper understanding. Discussions about belief are often reserved for scholars and religious authorities, while individuals are expected to accept doctrine without scrutiny.
For me however, there was never compulsion—only choice. And choice demands scrutiny. One question stayed with me into adulthood, constantly reshaping my understanding of faith: If I chose Islam, was it truly my choice, or was I merely inheriting it?
During my travels through the Middle East and North Africa as a Watson fellow and Ibrahim fellow these past two years, I observed how faith can exist in two forms: cultural and convictional. In predominantly Muslim countries, Islam is embedded in daily life—woven into greetings, work schedules, and social customs. It is a communal experience, often inherited rather than questioned. In contrast, being Muslim in the U.S. means standing apart. It requires active engagement, deliberate practice, and a heightened awareness of what it means to believe.
This contrast underscores a paradox: where faith is the cultural default, it can sometimes be passively accepted. Where faith is a minority position, it is often more deeply examined. Both experiences are valid, but only one demands the rigor of personal choice.
Faith, like any deeply held belief, does not weaken under scrutiny—it strengthens. When challenged, it either evolves or reaffirms itself. This is not just true for religion but for all convictions—social, political, and personal.
Many of us inherit political identities the way others inherit religion—absorbing our views from family, community, or media without ever subjecting them to real scrutiny. When we exist in echo chambers, we risk becoming passive believers in our own ideology, mistaking comfort for certainty.
In a moment where ideological polarization dominates public discourse, we often see disagreement as a threat rather than an opportunity. But how do we know what we believe—really believe—if we never test it?
Pluralism forces us to do just that. It requires us to listen, question, defend and sometimes even revise our perspectives. A strong belief system, whether religious or ideological, does not crumble under challenge—it sharpens. Those who discourage inquiry are often afraid they'll reveal cracks in their belief. True conviction isn’t about avoiding disagreement; it’s about engaging with it and coming away with a clearer understanding of what we believe and why.
Ramadan teaches us that true conviction requires effort. We reflect, we fast, we turn inward—not out of habit, but out of a need to strengthen our relationship with our faith. But what if that process didn’t end with Ramadan?
What if we all spent more time interrogating our assumptions? What if we encouraged one another to engage with differing perspectives, not out of obligation, but because our beliefs—whether religious, political, or personal—are only as strong as our willingness to question them?
Pluralism is not just about coexisting—it is about engaging. And in a world that often feels like it’s splitting into factions, we need that engagement more than ever.
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