By Anna Prushinskaya, University Musical Society

This winter, University Musical Society (UMS), an arts presenting organization based in southeastern Michigan, is presenting a 10-week, 10-event ‘Renegade’ series, focusing on thought-leaders and game-changers in the performing arts.  The series will be bookended by two highly prestigious events, both bringing national attention to the Detroit metropolitan area.

Einstein on the Beach, 1984 production. Courtesy of Pomegranate Arts.

The opera Einstein on the Beach opened the series.  Widely credited as one of the greatest artistic achievements of the 20th century, Einstein launched director Robert Wilson and composer Philip Glass to international success when it was first produced in Avignon, France in 1976. Check out the video below, featuring co-creators Glass and Wilson, and choreographer Lucinda Childs.

San Francisco Symphony’s American Mavericks Festival , which celebrates the creative pioneering spirit and the composers who created a new American musical voice for the 20th century and beyond, closes the series. In the following video, Michael Tilson Thomas, conductor of SFS, explains why the festival is coming to Ann Arbor.

The artists and crew for Einstein on the Beach were in residence for the month of January in Michigan, remounting the opera in the Power Center for the Performing Arts in Ann Arbor to prepare for an international tour.  In addition to three preview performances of Einstein at the Power Center on January 20, 21 and 22, UMS offered several related community engagement events to enrich the performance experience for the community, which are covered here. The members of the San Francisco Symphony will be in Michigan March 22-25 for a residency that will include four performances and numerous community engagement activities, with more details available here.

Local jazz ensemble Mike Monford & Detroit Effervescence performed last Friday in the Diego Rivera mural room at the Detroit Institute of Arts — a Knight Arts grantee — as part of the museum’s “Friday Night Live!” series, which offers free admission to Detroit residents, extended late hours, free drawing workshops and a truly impressive calendar of musicians. The performance featured soulful, highflying improvisations by Monford on saxophone, Dwight Adams on trumpet and Ian Fenkelstein on keyboard, all backed by the exquisitely in-sync percussion and bass combo of Djallo Djakate and Marion Hayden.

Mike Monford.

Ian Fenkelstein.

The concert was the kick-off event for Black History Month celebrations at the Detroit Institute of Arts, giving the night an additional gravity that was only compounded by the magnificent backdrop of the Rivera mural. When the group played “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” otherwise known as the Black National Anthem — a song first publicly performed in 1900 — I was viscerally reminded of the many struggles undertaken to get our society to its current point. I began to think also of the struggles to come, of how much further there is to go.

Dwight Adams on trumpet, Djallo Djakate on drums.

It is too easy to think of past struggles as finished, or even to think of struggle in general as something for antiquity. There is some strain in contemporary culture that believes — or would very much like to believe — we’ve reached a point where all is well, that all the variables have been properly accounted for, that everything is more or less in its proper place. This way of thinking undoubtedly runs through all time periods, not just our own, but I am not alone in worrying that an advanced apathy is settling in and, along with it, a widening gap between belief and positive action. It is a depressing thought.

Marion Hayden.

After the performance, however, as I wandered the halls of Detroit Institute of Arts, something else occurred to me: I wasn’t depressed at all; I was thrilled. I’d been able to visit the museum at no charge, which is a thrill that goes far beyond skipping out on the very reasonable admission price. It came from my realization that there still exist institutions, donors and citizens who care, who are so devoted to keeping alive great music and artwork — some of our culture’s highest achievements — that they’re willing to cover everyone’s admission costs in order to encourage as many people as possible to experience them.

This is a beautiful thing. Beyond that, though, it is also one part of the struggle for positive social change, because even if the struggle is fought in the streets, it begins and ends in the mind. To be clear, no work of art alone “does” anything. A painted canvas hung on a wall does not create social change. However, a work of art can challenge its viewer, encourage a richer imagination and engender an appreciation for subtlety that makes the mind less susceptible to the easy solutions provided by prejudice — racial prejudice, of course, but also political prejudice, or even a prejudice that the world as it exists today is as good as it gets, that the fight is over, that no greater reality is possible, which is ultimately a prejudice against hope and enthusiasm, a prejudice against the future.

All photos by Sarah Sharp.

Detroit Institute of Arts: 5200 Woodward Ave., 313-833-7900, dia.org

By Eric Woodhams, Detroit Symphony Orchestra

Hands-down, the best part of working at the Detroit Symphony Orchestra is hearing our amazing musicians perform in Orchestra Hall. The intimate connection between the stage and audience, the beauty and history of the building, and its acoustical warmth make every concert a joy to be a part of. As much as I love sitting in the Hall, nearly every week I happily and excitedly resort to what I consider the next-best seat in the building—the vintage Ikea armchair in my cubicle—to share our beloved DSO with the world during our Live from Orchestra Hall webcasts.

The Detroit Symphony Orchestra

My cube (or “the command center,” as I like to call it) features all the tools I need to oversee the live webcast experience and interact with our online audience: a 27-inch widescreen monitor full of open windows, an iPad chirping from incoming tweets, and my phone buzzing with texts from the control room downstairs. It’s an awesome setup, and I’m very fortunate to have it.

Our series of webcasts, viewable online or on the new ‘DSO to Go’ mobile app, are a thrill to work. Upstairs in my command center, I constantly flip back and forth between different computer screens, monitoring posts from our friends on Twitter and Facebook, and I keep a special eye out for tweets using the hashtag #DSOLive (for non-Twitter folks, a hashtag is a popular way for users to I.D. a certain topic, event, or place). I can then respond directly and relay their posts to an interactive box on our player page. Throughout performances, I also pose questions, post program notes, and display fun facts about composers and our soloists in real-time as the music is played. It’s a complex number of things to quickly juggle at once, but incredibly fun and rewarding at the same time.

The DSO has a rich history of innovations in broadcasting (it was the first orchestra to air on radio nearly 90 years ago, followed by numerous legendary recordings), and our Digital Media team takes much pride in helping continue its legacy using the latest trending technologies. At the start of each webcast, I ask our online audience my favorite, simple question: “Where are you tuning in from today?”. To hear instant responses from people across the U.S., as well as countries like Germany, Spain, Dominican Republic, and Japan (just to name a few), is truly remarkable.

So far this season, we’ve had over 20,000 viewers from more than forty countries worldwide, and over 1,800 downloads of our mobile app in thirty seven countries, all made possible by the generous support of Knight Foundation.

We hope you can join us for a future webcast. To learn more and RSVP to our next Live from Orchestra Hall performance, please visit www.dso.org/live.

To download DSO to Go for your mobile device, simply search for “Detroit Symphony” in your app store, or follow this link to learn more.

Selections from Live from Orchestra Hall performances can also be enjoyed on the DSO’s YouTube channel.

Enjoy reading some of my favorite posts from our live Twitter audience:

• “Loving listening to #DSOLive! Hearing these brilliant musicians gives me every reason I need to desire to play professionally.”
• “Bravo to everyone who worked so hard to make this a reality! Looking forward to years of live DSO broadcasts!”
• “I wish [our orchestra] could reach out like this!”
• “Watching the streaming webcast of the @DetroitSymphony webcast. Our symphony > yours”
• “Beethoven 5 from Detroit is about to begin and I’m watching live on my iPhone. WOW!!”

Detroit native Andrew Krieger was, until recently, a fulltime carpenter, but he returned to making art after a two-decade absence following a revelation of sorts — that his avoidance of art making was actually the symptom of something deeper, an evasion from some fearful element he’d been unwilling to confront. That sounds rather serious considering how truly fun and pleasurable much of Krieger’s work is, but that contradiction is actually the crux of his artwork.

"She Sings Sweetly."

Being an adult is serious business. Often we’re unable to even enjoy ourselves unless everything is on the line. This drives people to do insane things, like jump out of airplanes or mortgage their house to “invest” in a fleet of antique tractors. Or, in the case of artists, to gather friends and strangers in a gallery and invite them to stare at the idiosyncratic products of their obsession, an obsession that often carries with it the implied baggage of lost hours and lost wages and a loosening grip on the grimly dull requirements of practical adulthood. It is this kind of obsession that can make a grown man like Krieger quit his job and build an art workshop in his backyard. That Krieger’s workshop is essentially a fun factory doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

Andrew Krieger, standing before the playhouse he built for his kids, which features hinged doors and windows, electricity and a trap door.

Since Krieger’s return to the art world, he’s been making an impressive variety of multidimensional work, often featuring small figures affixed to painted landscapes, but he’s also making action figures and electronic toys, such as a “King Kong Panic Playset.” He brings obvious carpentry talent to bear on his pieces, and along with that comes his desire for functionality, as well as a collaborative imperative for the viewer. Physical collaboration — in the sense of moving pieces around, as well as moving oneself around the pieces— and also creative, abstract collaboration, in the sense that much of his work creates the framework for an unfolding narrative, but doesn’t determine it, leaving the viewer to create their own story.

"King Kong Panic Playset."

In “The Drink,” a series of dioramas display the same banal scene, that of a man sitting at a table, holding a cup and smoking a cigarette. But the perspective in each of the dioramas is drastically different — some are zoomed close in on the face, others are from the far side of the room — and the effect is that of an epic, tragic sweep. There is truly nothing more epic than the mundane, for the mundane is typically what’s happening just before the horror interrupts, and even sans horror it often masks a darker, inner tragedy. In “The Drink,” the subject could just be a guy taking a smoke break, but he could also be a relapsing alcoholic taking the first gulp of a destructive bender. It’s ultimately up to the viewer to decide.

Image of the "The Drink."

Another image from "The Drink."

The entirety of "The Drink" on display.

It’s impossible to write about Krieger without mentioning his admiration for Howard Finster, the evangelist turned folk artist, who started making artwork after receiving a revelation: a mandate from God that he use art to spread the Gospels. Despite the overt, macabre message of Finster’s work — that you will enter hell unless you repent before your inevitable death—each piece radiates a childlike enthusiasm, the pure joy of an unbridled imagination, an imagination powerful enough to contemplate the void with enough grim seriousness to feel viscerally relieved to have discovered a way out.

"Andy and Stacy."

In the great folk art tradition, for Krieger as well as for Finster, art must ultimately be functional, even when its main function is “just” to be enjoyed. It’s not made to be entombed in a museum beside a bewildering artist statement read by bewildered museumgoers. In fact, Krieger practically summed up his artistic philosophy by describing how he writes artist statements — as a way to explain the work to his grandmother. Which is not to say that artwork must appeal to real or metaphorical grandmothers — though I think that’s a fine place to start — but is more to say that artwork had better be at least pleasurable on its own, removed from the magic wand of the artist statement and the very serious pretensions of the art world — removed even, perhaps just momentarily, from the very serious pretensions of the practical world.

Current and upcoming shows include:

“Love for Sale,” currently up at Work.Detroit: 3663 Woodward Ave., 313-593-0940, Work.Detroit.

“Let’s talk about love, baby,” debuting Feb. 10 at MOCAD, a Knight Arts grantee: 313-832-6622, 4454 Woodward Ave. mocadetroit.org.

With considerable shame, I must confess my experience with “Middle Eastern music,” if such an enormous and diverse cultural heritage can be reduced to that designation, comes almost entirely from brief fragments heard through tinny radios in the back of specialty grocery stores or as ambience in the background of restaurants. This is why I jumped at the opportunity to see a performance by the Michigan Arab Orchestra. The group was initially founded in 2009 as a small chamber music group known as a takht, but it is now a full orchestra under the guidance of musical director Michael Ibrahim. The concert took place in the Community Arts Auditorium at Wayne State University this past Friday, Jan. 27.

Audience member finding a seat before the performance.

When I hear the word orchestra, I reflexively define it in Western terms, as classical in a specific, subdued sense. But this music was more jazz than classical, more Joe Henderson or Duke Ellington than Franz Schubert. The rhythm section kicked out beats that had the packed audience dancing and clapping, and the many instrumental improvisations inspired hollering and call-and-response reactions from the crowd. It was an exhilarating and pleasurable event, and the audience played a critical role as an active collaborator in the music. After the program, I learned the orchestra specializes in “tarab” music, a style of play that emphasizes both improvisation and audience participation.

The Michigan Arab Orchestra, performing at Wayne State.

The mission of the Michigan Arab Orchestra is to preserve and promote the classical and contemporary traditions of its cultural heritage. One of the speakers introducing the orchestra began her remarks with, “If you want to connect with a people, listen to their music.” This got me thinking about culture, which is essentially just what continues to exist — despite the passage of time, despite the pressures of commerce, despite the inevitable chaos that threatens to consume each and every generation. A fundamental culture is what remains, simply because its continued existence is so crucially important that people refuse to let it vanish. This is, perhaps, the bedrock of civilization.

Ali F. Beydoun, the charismatic founder and president of the Arab Student Union at Wayne State — the largest Arab student association in the country — spoke at length about the importance of the Michigan Arab Orchestra, not only in preserving a musical heritage, but in promoting understanding and integration of the Arab culture within the United States; a task, I can only imagine, that is besieged by difficulties and prejudice at every turn. And yet Beydoun seemed a veritable beacon of happiness and enthusiasm —brimming with optimism and self-assurance — which I’m sure had a great deal to do with the strength of the attending community, whose joy radiated irresistibly throughout the performance.

I’ve included a video from one of the orchestra’s recent performances, and there are many more on its YouTube page, but I can’t emphasize enough how terrific the live performance is, so please don’t let these recordings stand in for firsthand experience.

Michigan Arab Orchestra, 586-354-1576, info@michiganaraborchestra.org, michiganaraborchestra.org.

The Packard plant, at one point the most advanced automobile plant in the world, was shuttered and abandoned in 1958, and since then has become one of the more notorious ruins in the country. A vast and sprawling structure, it remains a definitive symbol of Detroit’s economic decline. It has been thoroughly explored and photographed, its blank walls painted by countless graffiti artists —including the world-renowned Banksy — and I personally know of at least one family that foraged the ruins for materials to use in their home’s reconstruction.

Still image from "plant (3D)."

The hyper-documentation of Detroit’s abandonment and economic contraction, which has even spawned a new, distasteful phrase — ruin porn — often brings with it an exhaustion and cynicism that borders on despair. It engenders the creation of artificial narratives, with crisp beginnings and endings, and a kind of amateur finger pointing in frantic search of the fall guy — be it capitalism or unions or globalism or auto-industry executives. It is with considerable relief, therefore, I can happily report that “plant (3D)” — a 15-minute film set in the Packard plant, comprised of 10,000 still images and ambient audio taken from within — doesn’t contribute to this worn-through argument, existing instead on its own unique axis, almost entirely disjointed from the many complex entanglements surrounding its subject matter.

Although the film is set in the Packard plant, it is not about the Packard plant. There is no narrative to the film, and no voice-over describing what function and importance these caverns once held for some not-so-ancient race of economic titans. There is no paternalistic elbow nudging, no knowing winks communicating the why of the ruins, no insultingly unrealistic ideas about how to “turn things around.” Instead, the film is “merely” a work of art on an immersive, three-dimensional canvas. Projected on two screens, separate images spin and rotate, coming in and out of focus, while speakers project the sound of cars gunning their engines past the plant, or birds singing, cheerful and unaware.

It is an impressionistic take on the Packard plant, and I’m tempted to say its setting at this particular plant, in this particular city, has no real bearing on the film, though that’s not precisely accurate. The film, however, is beautiful and haunting and disorienting and could almost be based on any building, in any city. It requires no real exegesis and zero understanding of Detroit’s economic history. All it really requires is for the viewer to sit quietly in a dark room and momentarily suppress the universal and natural desire for cold narrative and for simple, pat explanations — this suppression the pre-requisite, perhaps, for engaging with any serious work of art.

Paul Kaiser, one of the digital artists at The OpenEnded Group responsible for the film, will be giving a talk on the making of “plant (3D)” this Saturday, Jan. 28, at 4:30 p.m. in the Marvin and Betty Danto Lecture Hall at DIA, a Knight Arts grantee. The film is free with museum admission and plays continuously starting at 1 p.m. until an hour before the museum’s closing. It is showing through Feb. 5.

A 2D sample of the film is available here: openendedgroup.com.

Detroit Institute of Arts, 5200 Woodward Ave., Detroit, 313-833-7900, dia.org.

The Contemporary Art Institute of Detroit (CAID) sits as the sole remaining building on its block at Warren and Rosa Parks, in a seemingly abandoned neighborhood in a city that, until very recently, had been all but forgotten beyond its borders. A fitting venue for “The Apocalypse Show,” a wild assortment of media and performance-based work, including collage, paintings, sculptures, a confession booth, Malthusian evangelists, written word, spoken word and even more. Detroiters rejoice. This kind of show requires the spirited collaboration and participatory environment that a city like Detroit is uniquely capable of fostering.

Two sculptures from "The Apocalypse Show."

There are many macabre pieces on display, such as drawings depicting families in gas masks and an enormous wooden skeleton — hands outstretched as if imploring a higher power — but these darker pieces are balanced by enthusiastically lighthearted pieces. On the lighter side, for example, there is the Midland Michigan Malthusian Society, who administered a test of my “PQ” (Preparedness Quotient), a nice riff on Scientology “stress tests,” infused with militiaman fanaticism. At a table that held a TV flashing images warning of global conspiracies, I was told to grip a “sensor” in my hands (actually a phone receiver) while I was asked a series of questions in straight deadpan. Practical questions, such as, “Have you read the complete Federalist Papers?” followed by the comical, “Do you ever have fleeting thoughts? If yes, when and how often?” and then on to the practical and comical, “Do you season your beef?” I scored a “4” and was awarded four bottle caps (because, I was told, metals will be important after “the event”).

A PQ test in progress, as administered by the Midland Michigan Malthusian Society.

The collage work of Andrew Kemp.

Following my PQ test, I found myself staring at a wall of collages by Andrew Kemp. Featuring cut-up “National Geographic” images on found wood, the pieces were brilliantly colorful, strangely rustic and also a disorienting collision of worlds. In one piece, a golfer prepared a swing in the field of a working farm, and in others, indigenous peoples stood amidst whorls of cold western technologies, heightening the contrast between our world and “the other.” “Our” world, with its sterilized, white-coated scientists working in labs, and the “other” world of indigenous hunters, spears in hand, existing contentedly beyond the reach of our often-dehumanizing technology.

Four pieces by Dylan Strzynski.

Behind the gallery, Kinga Osz-Kemp kept a bonfire going for a piece called “What of Fire,” encouraging people to burn items of importance and tell stories of their own apocalypse. By the time I made it out there temperatures had dropped into the low teens, rousing a primal desire to be part of the group crowding near the fire’s warmth. One man shared a personal story of a fire that took his house, and how that seemed like the end, but was ultimately just an end, not the end. He was lucky, the firefighters told him, because everyone survived, which is not the usual house fire narrative. Later in the discussion, the Mayans came up, with the end of their calendar coming due later this year, and someone pointed out that, really, the Mayans in a sense already had their apocalypse, which arrived in the form of conquistadors.

Bonfire behind the gallery, for Kinga Osz-Kemp's piece, "What of Fire."

Which is to say the end never looks how you expect it to. It is something universally feared and also privately, idiosyncratically feared. But also, perhaps, so ridiculous that it becomes both funny and fearful, a kind of Lynchian nightmare comedy not unlike “Twin Peaks.” “The Apocalypse Show” does an excellent job of striking a difficult balance, and in this brief write-up I’ve hardly touched on the enormity of the presentation. So, go and see it, if you have time, while you still have time, before it’s too late.

All photos by Sarah Sharp.

The Contemporary Art Institute of Detroit (CAID): 5141 Rosa Parks Blvd., Detroit, info@thecaid.com. thecaid.org

Ben Bunk is a local working artist. Having grown up in New York, he left home at the age of 18, bouncing around the country before landing in Detroit a few years back. I caught up with Bunk at his home, which is also his studio. Over an afternoon of beer and coffee, our conversation covered a lot of ground. We discussed — among many other topics — the pressures on Detroit artists, the unique possibilities this city contains, speculations about where it might be headed and what it means to be an outsider here.

The cover of "Drawing Detroit," by Ben Bunk.

I first came across Bunk’s work at a Motor City Brewery show over the summer and was immediately taken with a series of drawings he did for a project called “Drawing Detroit.” Originally intended to be a coloring book — though in my opinion the images are good as is — the book contains a series of line drawings he did of the city, starting on his near-East block and illustrating every house and building as he made his way downtown. The images themselves are spare line drawings — which is what originally drew me to them — and, with their lack of right angles and straight lines, manage to capture the otherworldly feel of the city far better than a more precise representation would.

An image from "Drawing Detroit."

“Drawing Detroit” grew out of Bunk’s natural inclination to draw the houses in his neighborhood, along with the pressure he felt to do something to benefit and engage the community. The original piece was done on an unbroken 90-foot scroll of paper, which I asked him to take out of storage and partly roll out for me; sure enough, going down the middle of the scroll I saw house after house, beginning with his block and heading downtown. As he was unrolling it he pointed out one of the houses he used to live in and talked about what one of the buildings was once used for and what it’s used for now. It all seemed like a really excellent intersection of artistic inclination and community connection. Additionally, as an offshoot of the project, he had postcards made of several of the drawings — the idea being that people could send images of the city out into the world, to provide a different perspective of Detroit.

Ben Bunk in his studio, with the original 90-foot scroll used for "Drawing Detroit."

Although he’s currently earning a very modest living from the book, he expressed some concern about whether it was OK to earn money from a project so heavily based on Detroit, practically the definition of a hard-luck city, and one he’s not originally from. After all, it’s not his city. But isn’t it? We discussed at considerable length this question, the question of who Detroit belongs to, who can claim it as theirs. I should probably point out that I’ve only recently found my way to Detroit, having moved here this past summer, so I’m particularly curious about — and sensitive to — the subject.

Another image from "Drawing Detroit."

The topic of outsiders — some would call it the problem of outsiders — never seems too far from a conversation about what’s happening in Detroit, and the concerns that people have are certainly not without reason. No one wants their neighborhoods (or galleries or coffee shops) taken over by people who don’t understand, or simply don’t care to understand, the many events that led directly to the present state of affairs, be it good or bad or something else altogether. The problems of gentrification are real, and complicated, and like most things come with competing lists of benefits and drawbacks.

Wendell Berry, the Kentuckian, the great and radical farming intellectual, has a unique way of defining ownership. For Berry, the true owner of a parcel of land is whomever will farm it, care for it and make it productive — whomever is willing to dig into the dirt, plant the vegetables and see them through to harvest. I’m fond of the definition, however radical and even troubling it might be, and the analogue relates to Detroit — with its truly impressive citizen farmers — beyond abstraction, becoming almost plain description. The abstract definition remains important, however, and I’d like to use that idea — that sense of care for one’s surroundings, the desire to make them productive — as a working definition of who can claim Detroit as theirs.

At one point in our conversation, Bunk told me that he believed Detroit was a place of unlimited possibilities. It takes a keen sensibility and strong imagination to visualize potential, not just in Detroit, but in general. It’s not unlike a farmer in her field, reaching down to palm a clod of dirt, and envisioning eggplants or green beans or squash, where everyone else sees only dirt. Of course, vision is only the beginning. The next stage is the work.

One of our more exciting Detroit projects has been to fund Live From Orchestra Hall: The digital live simulcast of performances by the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. The energy is amazing and you feel like you are there. The next simulcast, French Masters: Franck, Saint-Saëns and Debussy, is Sunday, Jan 22 at 3pm EST- click here to register and enjoy.

Join the Detroit Symphony Orchestra for a live simulcast Sunday, January 22

Click here for additional information about the series and here to listen to archives.

By Matthew Jaber Stiffler, Arab American National Museum

In early December 2011, I spent two days meeting with Muslim American groups in Grand Rapids, Michigan. First, I met with the Muslim Students Association (MSA) at Grand Valley State University (GVSU) to learn about their programs and events. Every February they hold an Islam Awareness Week on campus, which includes lectures, performances and discussions. This year, nationally known comedian Ahmed Ahmed will be performing. In addition to this week-long event, the members of the MSA help to feed hungry and homeless people through Project Downtown and raise funds for humanitarian relief throughout the Muslim world. They all spoke highly about the supportive environment at GVSU, and were proud that hundreds of students (both Muslim and non-Muslim) attend their events. It was a pleasure to sit down with these dedicated students.

More than 100 Muslims and Christians gather for an Iftar dinner in Grand Rapids in August 2011

The next evening, I met with the Arab American membership at the Masjid At-Tawheed in Grand Rapids. Although the mosque has members from more than 80 countries, I met specifically with its more than 70 Arab American members. It was a fruitful discussion about the history of their mosque and their relationships with the surrounding community. Some of the most pressing issues facing the community involve the impact of stereotypes and anti-Muslim discrimination on schoolchildren. The mosque has dedicated activists to build bridges with the larger community, such as  Petra Alsoofy (who, fittingly, was also a driving force behind the Muslim Students Association at GVSU). Grand Rapids is an amazing environment for interfaith discussions and problem solving, and the members of the Masjid At-Tawheed are a big part of the conversation.

For example, in August 2011, I attended a community Iftar dinner at the mosque, which was co-sponsored by the Fountain  Street Church in Grand Rapids. An Iftar dinner celebrates the breaking of the fast during the Islamic holy month of Ramadan and is the perfect vehicle for friends and visitors to break bread together, so to speak. More than 100 people gathered at the mosque for a tour, a brief lesson on Islam, and feast of traditional Middle Eastern cuisine. During my meeting at the mosque last December, the community expressed their desire to continue this kind of outreach.

So, imagine my dismay when I returned to work in Dearborn only to read countless disparaging remarks about Islam and Muslim Americans generated by the firestorm over TLC’s All-American Muslim program.

On Dec. 10, 2011, Lowes home improvement stores pulled its advertising from TLC’s groundbreaking reality show All-American Muslim, caving in to pressure from a small anti-Muslim organization in Florida called the Florida Family Association (FFA). The FFA argued that the TLC program was doing a disservice to the American public by not portraying “real” Muslims, or “radical” Muslims.  Eventually other advertisers followed suit, including Internet-based travel site Kayak (which later apologized for its handling of the situation). The controversy was fodder for Facebook and Twitter posts, as well as numerous segments on cable TV news and a poignant piece on Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show.

The divisions over the reality show, which follows the lives of Arab American Muslim families in Dearborn,  Michigan,  created some extremely hateful rhetoric toward Muslims and Arabs. The Islamophobia machine (as detailed by the Center for American Progress’s eye-opening study Fear, Inc.) jumped into action and spewed its typical blend of hate and misinformation about Islam and Muslim Americans, directing much of it at the families depicted in the show. Luckily, many organizations, news outlets, and individuals, including music mogul Russell Simmons, defended not only the show but the civil rights of Muslim Americans. USA Today researched and wrote a wonderful piece about the show and the  controversy surrounding it.

Perhaps the current national conversation about Islam and Muslims is so volatile because the majority of Americans say they don’t personally know anyone who is Muslim (62% according to one Time poll). There is certainly no lack of “information” about Muslim Americans in the mainstream media. The difficult part is wading through the cacophony of pundits, bloggers and talking heads to find the real lived experiences of Muslims in the U.S.  I’m happy to report there  are many opportunities for people to  access accurate information. My most recent trip to Grand Rapids demonstrates that there are organizations trying to reach out and educate the general public.

There are national organizations that focus on education about the faith and its adherents, such as the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR). One of the best sites for accurate information is the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, which publishes scholarly but readable reports and surveys.  But the best education remains personal experience, and local mosques and Muslim student groups provide many venues for interaction.