Culture Review: Nation of Islam Parking Lot
Taste of the fruit
It’s not every day a Wikipedia binge turns into an encounter with a militia , but that’s where my life is going. In an effort to continue my Culture Review series, where I sample the religious offerings of the Midwest, I found out that the headquarters of the Nation of Islam are located here in the Windy City. Founded in 1930 by Wallace Fard Muhammad, the Nation of Islam, as very distinct from orthodox teachings of Islam, teaches that Allah takes the form of a Black man, reincarnated once every 300-400 years, like the Avatar. Louis Farrakhan looks great for a 91 year old man, so maybe they’re onto something. It’s also their official belief that a rogue Black scientist named Yakub created white people out of spite, and that his creations lack spiritual animus. Watching one of their previous webcasts, they use a lot of actual bible quotes, which leads me to believe that the more esoteric stuff is toned down in public. In an interesting connection to my previous spiritual rendezvous , they somehow have a positive relationship with Scientology, holding Dianetics classes and teaching that some Scientologists will be taken aboard Allah’s spaceship while earth burns, basically an eschatological “you alright, white boy”.
However, the more science fiction beliefs seem scrubbed from the website, so I’m interested to see how they trickle down to the rank and file believers. It’s a peril when “debunking” groups like the NOI to cherry-pick their kookiest beliefs and declare them defeated on the basis of facts and logic, without addressing the emotional core of why people become disenchanted with everyday life. Another connection between Scientology and the NOI is the veneration of basic community and personal stability, a kind of “hypernormality”, reflected in dress codes, prohibitions against alcohol and drugs, and advocating for a healthy diet. When mainstream society lacks any guiderails towards the pillars of a healthy life, people will go outside the fold to find them. Berating members to go “back to society” doesn’t compute with them because the group might be the most stable thing in their lives. Something I learned too late is that there is a fundamental difference between winning an argument and winning someone’s mind.
Their temporal headquarters are located in the South Side of Chicago on 74th Street and Stony Island Avenue, across the street from a laundromat and Chicago Hoagie House. I asked a local Discord if they heard of anyone trying to go in, and someone said that their friend’s dad went to a wedding there, and was advised “not to bring his white wife”. For the first time in my life, I worried about being racially profiled. If the entire religion were some kind of role-reversal based performance art, it’s doing a good job. However, in the recording of one of their services, I’m pretty sure I saw a blonde white lady (in dreads obviously), so I should be in the clear. I figured my odds of getting in were best if there was an actual event going on, where they would be less selective. Going off their Facebook page, they seem to have in-person services every Sunday at 10 AM. Many of the leaders are extremely well-dressed, so I’ll convey respect by going in my Sunday best. Any further attempt to blend in visually would be extremely ill-advised. For one, I don’t even own a bowtie.
On Friday night, I was at Talia’s family’s house in Evanston for Shabbat dinner, little cousins, nieces and nephews buzzing around my knees as fresh challah wafted through the air. It was a good reminder that there are also normal people who do normal things on the weekend. What a life. Sunday morning, I drove off to the South side after getting kicked out of my OWN bathroom for spending too long on my hair, but not before a hug and a “good luck at your cult meeting”. It’s for a SCENE REPORT, and I can’t show up looking like a YAKUBIAN TROLL, okay?? Some people will never understand the rigors of investigative journalism. The drive was uneventful by Chicago standards, only passed one accident on the way there. Sorry walkable urbanists, but it was either this or a 1hr 38 minute public transit odyssey, I’ve got people to meet.
I park a ways away from the building so as to minimize interactions with their security. Walking through the neighborhood, I see a few stone churches on the way, and a beautiful plump cat.
I come across the headquarters peeking out from behind a public park. It’s an expansive building, a former Orthodox church converted with a minaret pasted on top. The creeds change, but the bones remain the same. No time like the present, I guess. I go through the gates and make it as far as the sidewalk before I hear “SIR” from behind me. Turning to greet the voice, I see a man wearing a peacoat, bowtie, and cap with F.O.I stitched on top.
This is the Fruit of Islam, the private security of the NOI I’ve heard so much about. I am heavily biased against cops who aren’t actually cops, in large part due to an annoying interaction with a bounty hunter outside of a gas station in Iowa1. There’s something suspicious if your dream in life is to wear your little hall monitor badge and flex your authority as Guardian of the Strip Mall. But I am here to make friends, so I give him my best wide-eyed smile. The exchange went like this, to the best of my memory:
FOI:“What are you doing here”
“I’m here for the 10 o’ clock service”
“The 9 o’ clock?”
“The 10.”
“Who invited you?”
“No one, I just thought I’d show up”
“Right now, to my knowledge, there are no Caucasians allowed on the property”, he says, shifting his belt, his dominion over this parking lot weighing heavily on his shoulders.
“Okay. Will they be anytime soon?”
I think I hear him chuckle lightly. “Not that I know of”, he says. I appreciate the epistemic humility.
“Alright, have a good one.”
“Yeah, have a good one man.”
And that was the end of that. Maybe it was my clothes, I should have worn a bowtie. But the good news is you can be invited… hold that thought. Maybe it’s a frat party kind of situation, where you need to name 3 brothers. I circled around back to the public park bordering the property. There are some chicken coops by the fence. They look well fed with space to roam.
With my attempted scene report dead in the water, I start walking back to my parking spot by the lake. I look out to the water. Until the mothership comes back and abandons me to hellfire, there’s a lot of Earth to go around, it would be a shame not to share it. I drive back to my place, and me and Talia check out a noodle place nearby. I had the steamed chili peanut noodle, it was excellent. In the end, I abided by one teaching of the Nation of Islam. I did, in fact, have a good one.
FINAL SCORE: 6/10 While my visit was cut short, I appreciated their forthrightness and commitment to principle. Animal ethicists will appreciate the chicken welfare, and the architecture is pretty good, if inherited. They didn’t try to take my money or waste my time like Scientology, and their uniforms are better.
I was waiting for my friend to come out from the convenience store when a short bald man walks up to me with a vest announcing himself to be a “BAIL ENFORCEMENT OFFICER”, asking if I’m a person with a name I’ve never heard of. I say no, and he tells me to give him ID. I ask if he’s a real cop, which he deflects by saying “no, but I just need to see your ID”. For all I know this guy is just the world’s worst, most leathery strippergram, so I tell him to fuck off. He says there’s no need to give him an attitude, which is a hell of a thing to say when you’re the one demanding my driver’s license with less legal authority than the Kum N Go clerk. My friend gets back and starts asking what’s going on, whereupon Fakin’ Bacon makes a tactical ascertainment of the situation and tactically withdraws. Pussy. I wasn’t even shaken by it or anything, but I wasn’t even aware that bounty hunters still existed in the year of our lord 2022, and I’m still mad that I didn’t have a witty comeback, like holding a card way over his head and telling him to come get it. Oh well.
If you're willing to travel I suggest a visit to the Temple of ECK in Chanhassen, MN for the next review https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eckankar
Vic Mackey has fallen on even harder times, it seems.