Fasting and Forgotten

It’s past 10 p.m. on a chilly March night, yet the Muslim world is wide awake. For instance, my grandparents are at our local masjid, joining an endless congregation to worship deep into the night. My brother is off at his Muslim Student Association’s (MSA) iftar dinner, and my father is downstairs, buried in his Quran and revising his Arabic. However, I am trapped in what feels like an endless void of assignments, a bombardment of back-to-back-to-back tests, and a perpetual exhaustion that never seems to fade. As I scroll through Google Classroom and remember the prayers I have yet to complete, I know my night will be a long one—just like every night this Ramadan.  

As a Muslim, these nights are the most important of my year. Ramadan is the ninth and holiest month on the Islamic calendar—it was the month the Quran was revealed in. As declared in one of the five pillars of Islam, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset each day, and good deeds are multiplied, while sins—backbiting, cursing, and more—are especially discouraged. Thus, every second is gold during Ramadan, especially at night; Muslims spend their Ramadan nights performing a lengthy extra prayer, Taraweeh. Connected by faith and self-reflection, the Muslim community flocks together throughout these 30 days, cultivating the best possible versions of themselves.

While Muslims across the globe center their lives and minds around religion, the rest of the world remains unchanged—including Stuyvesant. In my three years at Stuyvesant, balancing Ramadan and my increasingly dense workload has only become more challenging. This year was especially difficult, since Ramadan lasted the duration of March—a jam-packed month with no breaks or days off. My additional religious and familial obligations and my even more inconsistent sleep schedule and lack of energy, were irrelevant in the world of AP courses and SAT prep. My academic obligations held strong, and I had to balance them with my personal duties, which was no easy juggle; by the end of Ramadan, I was burnt out, sick, and feeling as though I squandered the month.    

 I certainly don’t expect the world to stop for my religious practices, but it is fair to expect some understanding or reprieve, especially considering the large population of Muslim students at Stuyvesant. According to The Spectator’s freshman surveys, 12.2 percent of the senior class, 11.7 percent of the junior class, nine percent of sophomores, and 12.2 percent of freshmen identify as Muslim. This sizable chunk of students deserves recognition—a feasible request that has been granted in other scenarios. For example, during SING! season, many of my teachers chose to delay tests or limit homework to help participating students survive their workloads. Although my fellow Muslim students and I weren’t staying at school until unholy hours, we too were spread thin. While I’m used to going through Ramadan days without food or water, since I’ve been fasting since middle school, it’s still draining—especially coupled with reduced sleep; it’s not as though I can go to Ferry’s and grab a coffee to wake myself up in the middle of the day.  

Yet, while all of my teachers at the very least acknowledged SING! exhaustion, only one of them acknowledged the beginning of Ramadan. I find it hard to believe that they—along with the rest of the Stuyvesant community—were unaware of Ramadan’s start; most calendars note the start of the month, and it was included in the Weekly Update. Rather, the lack of recognition Ramadan receives from non-Muslims tends to stem from perceived insignificance. To most people, the month isn’t anything out of the ordinary, reducing its impact; if it doesn’t affect you, why pay attention? Thus, within Stuyvesant, most teachers expect Muslim students to handle any changes the month might bring on their own. 

After all, many non-Muslims see Ramadan as the month Muslims can’t eat and just that. They’re unaware of the spiritual significance of the month—especially that of the final 10 nights. It’s believed that the Quran was first revealed on one of these nights, known as Laylatul Qadr, or “the night of power.” On this night, blessings are multiplied beyond comprehension; every prayer read, word of Arabic recited, and act of charity completed matter more this night than they do any other night. Although the exact night is unknown, it’s commonly accepted that Laylatul Qadr is one of the odd-numbered nights—most likely the 27th night. 

This year, the spring Open House fell on the 27th night of Ramadan. As a member of ARISTA and the Big Sib program, I was expected to remain at school until 8 p.m., yet, as a Muslim, I was expected to spend my night in prayer and spiritual reflection, putting me—and others like me—in a sticky situation. While I understand the importance of having enough tour guides during these events, ARISTA and the Big Sib program could have taken more initiative to help Muslim students. The recognition they did provide—juice and snacks to break fast—was not nearly enough; while thoughtful, these treats would do little to quell one’s exhaustion after a full day of fasting—especially if, after sunset, they have to conduct tiring tours for another hour. Furthermore, upon returning home much later than usual, students still had homework to address in addition to their extra religious obligations. Allowing Muslim students to leave the Open House earlier without reprimand would have proved beneficial. Instead, however, great emphasis was placed on the importance of staying for the duration of the event, forcing many Muslim students to “suck it up” and push through the draining night. Time and time again, indifference towards students’ religious practices make such scheduling conflicts and exhaustion issues students must bear on their own. 

In fact, such disregard persists beyond Ramadan. This year’s senior prom is scheduled on Eid al Adha—a major Islamic holiday. This oversight easily could have been avoided; the DOE released its 2024-2025 calendar, which includes the date of Eid al Adha, in May of 2024—over a year before senior prom. The administration could have recognized this and picked a different date, rather than make Muslim students choose between one of our only two major holidays (Muslims only celebrate two Eids) and prom—the epitome of the teenage high school experience. Besides, no one would schedule a major school event on Christmas or Easter, so such respect must be extended to all religions. 

Stuyvesant often perpetuates an environment where students must choose between their academic and personal lives; every freshman is warned about the “grades/social life/sleep” triangle. However, extending this expectation to our religious and cultural practices unjustly crosses a line. Religion and culture are crucial and fundamentally-defining aspects of many students’ identities. Such vital pieces of one’s life cannot simply disappear within the confines of Stuyvesant, yet they are constantly ignored here. If a holiday falls in the middle of the week, teachers are still able to give tests immediately upon return. I’ve also had teachers give extra homework over Lunar New Year and Diwali, commenting that it will be manageable since we “have extra time with the day off.” Even if a holiday is just a “day off” for the majority of students, we must recognize the students for whom it is much more—the students who wait all year for their one major holiday and deserve an undisturbed respite from school. 

Thus, Stuyvesant must take a more active role in treating all—even those that are lesser known—cultural and religious holidays with respect. Simply noting these holidays down in a monthly calendar isn’t enough. After all, we can’t claim to be an inclusive and respectful school if we solely recognize our diversity yet make no effort to understand it as well; empty acknowledgement means nothing if no viable actions are taken to ensure students’ comfort. 

To start, in the weeks leading up to Ramadan, the administration can work with our MSA to draft an email, notifying teachers that the month is approaching and explaining how it might affect Muslim students. Similar initiatives can be taken for other religious/cultural holidays, since Stuyvesant has no shortage of cultural and religious clubs. When possible, the administration might even consider making days after major religious holidays no testing days. At the very least, teachers need to be aware of such holidays and have more open, understanding communication with students; no one should feel uncomfortable reaching out for help. 

Stuyvesant draws much of its beauty from its diversity; our community is composed of cultures and religions that stretch the globe, which we must celebrate and encourage. As important as academics are, school is more than just tests and homework—our educational institutions should shape students into real, unique individuals ready to make their mark on the world. Four years at Stuyvesant should allow us to flourish as people, not just numbers on a transcript. Rather than asking students to pick and choose between crucial aspects of their lives, we must work to provide an environment where they can embrace all that truly matters.