 Hello, my name is Iman Tai Ahmed, and I'm a member of the Muslim Community Center of the East Bay and the Muslim Public Affairs Council. Today, I wanted to join with all of you in standing against hate, united against hate. Because hate is a destructive force that ruins lives, not just the lives of those people that are hurt or attacked by it, but by those lives are ruined whose hearts are afflicted by it. It's our job, all of us, to strive against destroying that force in our heart, so that we can see the beauty in the world and strive for peace and beauty and justice for everyone. In our tradition, we do this by not giving into our selfish desires, struggling to be our better selves, and to step up and stand up against all the injustices in the world and uniting against forces like hate. Based on this tradition, I've written a story in the form of a poem that I'd like to share with all of you. It's called My Angels, Gin, and I. It's about that struggle to overcome those forces inside of you that want you to the desires to do all those selfish things and to really look to be your better self, look to those people that have inspired us throughout history and myth to be better and to stand up and to create beauty in the world and create peace and justice and stand up against hate. Thank you. When I wake up in the morning and raise my hands up to the sky, I see not one or two, but three, in unison we cry, calling for deliverance on this road less traveled by as we walk this elusive land, My Angels, Gin, and I. Born with four angels and a gin here by my side, I hear them in the caverns of my thoughts as we decide, had to tell the lecherous from the generous and kind and which of these desires we should ride into the night. You see, I've never really had what they'd call peace of mind. My Angels had opinions and my gin was always right. She would see illusions and every aspiration and she was in collusion with every temptation and when of daily frustrations to the angels I spoke, she'd laugh so hard her fire turned from flame to smoke. You see, she'd meet some handsome devil who'd simply caught her eye, then turned to me with impishness daring me to try. When all the angels would see were demons and tuxedos on red carpets full of lies, for whom the world won big casino and the chips just fall in line. And so the debate would rage deep inside, needling my thoughts, while the imp and me and gin would take a soaring leap and fly on our latest turbulent impulse up into the sky of the elusive land, My Angels, Gin, and I. Till one day, when we met a martyr on the corner of telegraph and haste, the angels had led me to him by divine decree and grace. In the primordial mist, I knew I'd met his soul before. It felt so familiar, the essence of this more. His skin was dark as ebony and shone like Gala had, who went on Arthur's quest to save all he had and now my gin looked stunned and silent and the angels serenely preen. She looked distinctly sullen and slightly ill at ease, yet to me he felt like stillness on a sea of restless aches. Drawn like the hilt of honey with flowers in their wake, I stepped closer to listen to his whispers on the breeze, time my pulse to their rhythm and hear their eerie beats. He spoke of lives before that vibrate in his veins. He spoke of memories only that the conscious can regain. And as he spoke, I trembled because his words were so deep ingrained, so profoundly in my spirit that they made me feel insane. Beginning with Odysseus coming home to save his land and going back to Gilgamesh, who held it in his hand as he searched for immortality, learning from above, the struggle for humanity is to give it all up like Rabia with her torch and pale and Habiba in the night, standing on her rooftop amongst the northern lights and Maria in her cell block, searching for peace and protection from the rocket on the rock. These tales of their lives gurgled deep inside my bones. Their struggles to survive seemed so much like my own that as the martyr turned and spoke directly to my ashen face, he said, in your soul, I see it the latent hidden trace of warriors like Asada, who lived amongst the race of humankind and struggled to find their fateful place. And like QE and Stokely, whose lives burned quick and true, yours will be the struggle to live and carry through. No rapid successes or valiant gains, yours will be the evolution of revolutionary pains. With each word, my bones were ringing with awareness, resonating their approval, calling out for recognition of my long carousel with the chorus of souls who'd led me to this place where my fate and my freedom came together in time and space. Now my gin was strangely silent and walked slowly to my side. She swore her allegiance as the old man sighed and the angels softly sang words I'd always known, telling this story to all the world in a poem. You see, I've never really known what they'd call peace of mind. First, there was a cacophony raging deep inside. Then there was my angels and my gin rising slowly to my side. I too woke and stood amongst their rank and file. All the souls that came before me, my angels, gin and I, I stood amongst them and raised my hands up to the sky. I hear not one or two, but three and many and unison we cry, calling for deliverance on this road less traveled by. As we walk this elusive land, searching for peace, my angels, gin and a chorus of souls we finally meet.