Ping Chong + Company’s performance of Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity will be livestreamed from the Ann Arbor’s Power Center on Saturday, February 18, 2017 at 8 pm. Register to receive a reminder about the stream ahead of the performance:

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Archived stream from the performance on Saturday, February 18, 2017.

You can sign up for email updates about future streams (choose “Arts & Culture Adventures” list).

This interview-based theater production, part of Chong’s 25-year series entitled Undesirable Elements, explores the diverse experiences of young Muslim New Yorkers who came of age in post-9/11 New York City at a time of increasing Islamophobia. Participants come from a range of cultural and ethnic backgrounds and include young men and women who reflect a range of Muslim identities: those who converted to Islam, those who were raised Muslim but have since left the faith, those who identify as “secular” or “culturally” Muslim, and those who are observant on a daily basis. Beyond Sacred illuminates the daily lives of Muslim Americans in an effort to work toward greater communication and understanding between Muslim and non-Muslim communities.

The performance is American Sign Language interpreted.

Many other community events surround this performance, including a lecture with Ping Chong, a community forum “Investigating Islam,” and post-performance Q&A between the artists and audience.

Questions? Ask them in the comments below.

Editor’s note: This post is part of a series of reflections from students who are part of UMS’s 21st Century Student Internship program. As parts of this paid internship program, students spend several weeks with a company that’s part of UMS’s seasons. U-M Theater student Shenell McCrary was with Ping Chong + Company. The company brings Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity to Ann Arbor on February 18, 2016.

Left: Shenell McCrary at Snug Harbor steps. Right: SoHo. All photos by Shenell McRary.

I was standing on the steps of the University of Michigan’s Hatcher Undergraduate Library with a group of actors from my theater program when I received the call. Jim Leija, the Director of Education & Community Engagement at UMS had called to tell me that I had received the highly sought after 21^st Century Internship. I almost dropped my phone when I heard the news. Since I had applied the year before and didn’t get it, I was really hoping this year was my breakthrough. And it was. Finally.

Jim told me that I would be assigned to New York City with a theater company called Ping Chong + Company. Right away, I started to research them, going through websites, news articles, reviews, and YouTube videos. And right off the bat, I found their work to be very interesting, especially the Undesirable Elements series. And of course, I was also excited about the opportunity to travel to New York City. I had been to the city a few times, but never own my own or for as long as I would be during the internship. I honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend my summer.

Left: Harlem Brownstones. Right: Rooftop view.

As my plane descended, I began to feel those butterflies in my stomach. Would I like it here? Will I be ok? Will I get lost? Will I be alone? My shuttle took me from LaGuardia Airport to my new home in Harlem. I was staying in a spacious apartment that my theater professors allowed me to sublet. One of the many great things about Harlem for me was the liveliness of the neighborhoods. There is always something to do, and there is such a strong sense of community. What I loved most about the neighborhood is the lovely blend of culture and people of all ages. One of my favorite things to do was to sit on the stoop or at my window and watch the kids play. They opened up the fire hydrant on especially hot days, and let the water spray out into the street, splashing and playing to cool off.

One of the most challenging things for me was definitely learning my way around the city. I like to think of myself as someone with a pretty strong sense of direction. However, New York completely threw off my internal compass. Even looking at the map of the subways initially nauseated me. I had never been on a subway train without someone who absolutely knew what they were doing, so the thought of having to navigate the city on my own terrified me. I often imagined myself on the wrong train, ending up lost in the middle Brooklyn (which actually happened once). After many missed trains and rookie mistakes, I got the hang of it. With every week I knew more and more, and what initially terrified me became easy and familiar. Sometimes, I even offered transit advice to confused tourists.

Left: Night skyline. Right: Sunny day at the High Line.

Ping Chong + Company’s offices are in East Village in Manhattan. Because the company was not working on performances during the summer, the bulk of my work was assisting in the office with day-to-day tasks in preparation for the end of the fiscal year, as well as helping to prepare and plan for upcoming tours and institutes. I also had the opportunity to prepare for one of Ping Chong + Company’s performances-in-progress, Where The Sea Break It’s Back.  What I enjoyed most about my experience in the office is the opportunity to gain insight into exactly how a professional theater company runs. Because I aspire to some day become the artistic director of my own company, seeing just how much work goes into keeping things running was especially helpful.

Left: Ping Chong + Company office building. Right: Central Park.

Not all of my time was spent in the office, though. I took full advantage of my free time, exploring the massive city. Many of my adventures included sightseeing, going to Coney Island and Brighton Beach, visiting The Highline, popping into free art galleries around Manhattan, watching movies in the park, kayaking down the Hudson, taking yoga and spinning classes, and, of course, seeing shows.

Left: Coney Island sunset. Right: At the beach.

The Training Institute was probably one of my favorite weeks in New York. I was so excited to actually be on my feet and learning how the Company does what it does so well: creates interview-based theater works. I had so many questions about the process and about interviewing in general.

What I loved about this experience was working alongside artists of all ages from all over the world. Before the intensive, we filled out a questionnaire, answering questions about our history, environment, and culture. We used those packets as well as in-person interviews to form pieces of theater. The intensive culminated in an unforgettable and deeply moving showcase of our work. In documentary theater, the interviewee shares a part of his or her story, which is funneled into a script. The process takes trust and communication. It really opened my eyes to how everyone has a history and many stories. To be able to have someone share these stories, and to then be able to turn these words into something artful, is a great honor.

Left: Institute group, with Shenell in center. Right: Ping Chong.

The trip back to LaGuardia airport was bittersweet. I was sad to say goodbye to New York, but I couldn’t wait to go back to Ann Arbor and share and apply the cool things I learned. My time in New York was some of the most unforgettable in my life so far. The trip has taught me so much about myself, my craft, and the industry I plan to work in. I was so lucky to have the Ping Chong + Company family to take me under their wings for my six week stay. In such an enormous, dizzy city, I felt at home. I cannot thank UMS and Ping Chong and Company enough for the opportunity of a lifetime.

See Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity in Ann Arbor on February 18, 2016.

On February 18, Ping Chong+Company brings the interview-based theater work Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity to Ann Arbor.

This interview-based theater production, part of Chong’s 25-year series entitled Undesirable Elements, explores the diverse experiences of young Muslim New Yorkers who came of age in post-9/11 New York City at a time of increasing Islamophobia. Participants come from a range of cultural and ethnic backgrounds and include young men and women who reflect a range of Muslim identities: those who converted to Islam, those who were raised Muslim but have since left the faith, those who identify as “secular” or “culturally” Muslim, and those who are observant on a daily basis. Beyond Sacred illuminates the daily lives of Muslim Americans in an effort to work toward greater communication and understanding between Muslim and non-Muslim communities.

In this series of posts and interviews curated by Annick Odom, we explore Muslim identity on U-M campus.

In this essay, Abraham Ahmed Mustafa Achachi Matsui reflects on his identity.

My name is Abraham Ahmed Mustafa Achachi Matsui. It’s quite a mouthful. The Ahmed part of my middle name is the part my mom wanted to name me. My mom is from Lebanon and was born a Muslim. It’s traditional to give the name of her father to her son. My father is Japanese, so Achachi is my dad’s first name. And then my parents decided to give me a universal name used across the world — Abraham.

I was raised Muslim, and attended Sunday school, but my dad pushed me to attend Buddhist festivals and services. In a lot of ways I think my personality and reality are more aligned with being Japanese. I participated in Judo club in undergrad, and I’m a wrestler. I have what I consider a Japanese mindset; I take care of myself, remember to be proud but courteous, do the best in everything I can, and work to be logical.

Still, I’m kind of darker-skinned and look like almost any kind of race. Wherever I go in the country, I kind of get pre-set in people’s mind as whatever underclass that is. It’s a harsh word, but it is the reality of things. People see a race and are so conscious in thinking, “That’s the other.” In California, they think I’m Mexican. They approach me and say “¿Qué pasa?” In Detroit and Michigan, I’m often seen as African American. In other areas of the country, I know I’ve been identified as Samoan. I like to joke that I’m the most American you can get. I have grown up feeling Japanese, but people think I’m Mexican. I put down I’m half Caucasian on forms because that’s what Middle Easterners do. I should be the poster child for what an American actually is!

I did an MFA at UC Davis California, and while I was there I joined the Muslim Student Association. I’ve always been politically driven, so I ran for Davis City Council. This was the first time I was publicly attacked based on being a Muslim, because if you look at me, I don’t look like a “stereotypical” Muslim. People said that MSA was a terrorist group, and an article was published saying I had terrorist ties.

You hear people saying how that affects you. I didn’t want to do anything Muslim-related for a year or two afterwards. I didn’t go to a mosque. It was in the wake of all these terrorist activities. I kind of lost it, you know. It wasn’t until I got to law school when I met a couple of my friends who were pretty religious. I hung out because they were really cool people, not because they were Muslim. They revitalized the faith in me. I came into law school with no thought of being in the Muslim Law Student Association. In the end I actually became president!

This pushed me to start to think of the Muslim student experience as a whole. One of the largest challenges we were faced with at U-M was the “American Sniper” debate. Despite many complaints from Muslim students and student organizations on campus, it was still shown. When I first heard it was being shown, honestly, I thought, “You know what, it’s college. We saw way worse things in undergrad. There needs to be things that make people uncomfortable. A college campus should have free, open dialogue.” But then I talked to my members, and found that it made several of my members feel physically unsafe and unsafe in their opinions to glorify this sniper and have a public institution give him credence. After hearing their opinion, I agreed. It made us feel like we were alone, like we were alienated, like we were “the other,” and like we were outsiders.

The biggest thing I’ve learned is to tell my story so people see what it’s like. That’s the biggest step to understanding that Muslims aren’t weird, crazy people and to gaining acceptance. We’re your neighbors and friends. We’re logical people. Right now I’ve hit a nice medium about how I feel to be Muslim. I sometimes feel bitter but I also love my faith.

If you’re interested in joining the Muslim Student Association or attending some of their events, you can contact them on the MSA Maize Page or check out the MSA Facebook page.

See Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity in Ann Arbor on February 18, 2017.

On February 18, Ping Chong+Company brings the interview-based theater work Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity to Ann Arbor.

This interview-based theater production, part of Chong’s 25-year series entitled Undesirable Elements, explores the diverse experiences of young Muslim New Yorkers who came of age in post-9/11 New York City at a time of increasing Islamophobia. Participants come from a range of cultural and ethnic backgrounds and include young men and women who reflect a range of Muslim identities: those who converted to Islam, those who were raised Muslim but have since left the faith, those who identify as “secular” or “culturally” Muslim, and those who are observant on a daily basis. Beyond Sacred illuminates the daily lives of Muslim Americans in an effort to work toward greater communication and understanding between Muslim and non-Muslim communities.

In this series of posts and interviews curated by Annick Odom, we explore Muslim identity on U-M campus.

In this essay, Ann Soliman reflects on her identity.

My name is Ann Soliman. I was born in the United States to my Egyptian parents. I was the second of two kids, born after my parents had decided to stay in the U.S. for a while, so they decided to give me an American name—a stark contrast to my older brother, Ahmad. Our parents raised us in Houston, Texas, then Ann Arbor, Michigan, and aside from summer trips to visit my family in Egypt, I was never strongly a part of a “Muslim community” until I started college.

I dealt with the typical aspects of culture shock that many first-year students experience—sharing the bathroom with a couple dozen girls, compromising with a roommate over use of a 12’x19’ room, and feeling incredibly small as one of five hundred students in my chemistry class. Meanwhile, I relied on the support of friends from the Muslim Students Association (MSA). Through late-night mafia games in cramped apartments that could always swell to accommodate another person and regular religious talks from knowledgeable, compassionate scholars, I felt myself grow in ways that I hadn’t expected. The friends I made through the MSA continued to support me throughout my time in undergrad, even as I got involved in classes and activities that demanded most of my time. As a medical student, I am grateful that my support network has only swelled to include members of the Muslim Medical Students Association (MMSA).

It seems paradoxical to me that my Muslim identity has brought so much love and support into my life, when the very presence of Muslims in the U.S. is now a controversial topic. Despite the significant role that the MSA played in my growth during undergrad, I hesitated to include it in my applications for medical school, concerned that someone with a negative perception of Muslims would take away my opportunity before I had a chance to get my foot in the door.

My parents always taught me that the way to show people what Muslims are really like is to treat every person with kindness—indeed, my grade school teachers would talk about my smile at parent-teacher conferences, and many years later, this is still a point of pride for me. Some days, I wonder if this “one person at a time” approach is enough. But I remember the one person, my medical school classmate, who gave me a hug and started planning a “Love Lunch” for Muslim students one week this year when the anti-Muslim rhetoric was particularly fresh and stinging. I remember the one person, a peer in my college English class, who said that after reading some of my writing, she looked up different meanings of the hijab online for half an hour. And I remember the one person, my elementary school best friend, who sent me a message to say that knowing me as kids allowed her to have more understanding and respect for Muslims as an adult. And I know that, in many ways, one person can be enough.

See Beyond Sacred: Voices of Muslim Identity in Ann Arbor on February 18, 2017.