O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another. Indeed, the noblest of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you. Indeed, Allah is Knowing and Acquainted. (Quran 49:13)

So, we marched – My name is Cjala Surratt, I am a Black American, Muslim Woman. I am not of the faith-tradition of this beautiful house of worship, the destination of this Women’s March, this gathering, far removed from communities most directly affected by the systems of oppression for which you crafted signs and chants. Though not a congregant, I will admit to a small du'a (prayer), possibly silly in its petition but earnest in its intent –“Would those posters held by marchers in the winter winds become reflective surfaces to help unmask conditional allies and All Lives Matter devotees. Help prevent ‘solidarity’ harms and trauma inflicted when programs, policies, and events are instituted ‘for us’ but without us present, asked, or even really considered. Ameen.”And so we marched, and I reflected on sanctuary, not only the physical place in which we sit now but the promised places of sanctuary, solace, peace – spaces devoid of idealistic chants and colorful banners, where sanctuary isn’t only extended to tokenized individuals who stay within the confines of respectable and comfortable. #diversityquotamet To speak within these walls and not invoke the name the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. feels disrespectful. Inevitably, our social media in the coming days will be flooded with inspirational quotes that call for us to entwine our inclusive, intersectional souls on the mountain top. I would like to see the view from that equity peak, but if I am being honest, I'm not sure I trust my trekking partners. Too often an ally’s unpacking of power is abandoned for a feel-good kumbaya melody from the hymnal of complacency and white privilege.Like congregation services I have been privileged to observe, from this solidarity pulpit, swaddled in the vestments of peacemaking, divined by the organizers of the Syracuse Women’s March, I enjoin you, ask you, implore you to consider your proximity to power and systems that call upon black and brown bodies to show up, to educate, to wipe white fragility tears, and to applaud savior policies that adversely affect our communities – legacy harms that will take generations to unravel.How can we travel this path together, when lived experiences, humiliations, and trauma are diminished and swept away on a tide of weaponized excuses. “I’m colorblind. I don’t see color. I love your culture, music, food. hair ... but not enough to love you out of poisoned housing, police brutality, displacement, gentrification, gerrymandering, generational poverty, inadequate schools, violation of tenants’ rights, or food deserts, or enough to sit down and pass the microphone. Next year will we march ...