Caring, in Name of Community

Driving away from the UMMA free clinic brings an embarrassing sense of relief. Two years ago, the group of medical students who founded the University Muslim Medical Associates deliberately chose the building because it is a quick walk from the intersection of Florence and Normandie. When the riots of 1992 broke out at that corner, there wasn’t a free medical clinic for miles.

Six years later, the neighborhood still holds a dreaded potency.

As one leaves UMMA, every turn of the wheel supports the illusion of greater safety, until a stoplight turns red a few blocks away and the reality of life in the neighborhood puts a halt to fantasies:

Police cars cut across traffic, officers in the grass take aim at the burger shop on the corner, a baby in her mother’s arms comes into the range of fire, and the words written in Arabic above the UMMA clinic’s message board rush to mind.

“In the name of God, the most gracious, the most merciful.”

How often in a day could the nearby streets inspire such intercessions? It is not unrelated that a number of the clinic’s 36 volunteer doctors, two volunteer nurses and 30 medical school students stop to pray together each afternoon. They take their prayer rugs from the bottom shelf of the medical supply closet, unroll them in the parking lot, remove their shoes and recite from the Koran, the Muslim holy book.

A patient walks past on the way to her car, glances in their direction, walks on. Most people who come to the clinic for medical care don’t know very much about Islam and are not there to learn more. Sixty percent are Latino, likely baptized Roman Catholic. At least 30% are African American, and few of them are orthodox Muslim; Junior Adams, the clinic’s security guard, converted to Islam this year.

Some 2,300 people have received treatment since the clinic opened; the range of services includes pediatric care, ophthalmology, general medicine and emergency treatment. Those who ask about the faith ask the most basic questions. Among them is, why do the women wear scarves?

In the hallway, foot traffic blinks with the colors of hijabs, the scarves Islamic women wear to cover their hair for modesty.

“To the Latino patients, I might talk about the Virgin Mary, a very important woman for Roman Catholics who had a strong faith in God. As a woman of modesty and faith, she is a role model for Muslims,” says Dr. Nisha Abdul Cater, 30, a pediatrician who, with her doctor-husband, Rushdi, is one of the clinic’s founders.

“African American women relate more to the Nation of Islam. Their questions are a way of discussing the differences between that and orthodox Islam.”

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Raised by a Hindu father and a mother of Jewish and Christian background, Nisha Abdul Cater converted to Islam as a college student. All of the clinic’s founders--Drs. Altas Kazi and Mansour Khan with the Abdul Caters--are the children of at least one Asian-born parent, and all but Abdul Cater were raised Muslim.

Their clinic represents a departure from tradition. While many American Muslims offer social services through their mosque or center and ship relief services to Muslims in need around the world, these doctors are reaching into the broader community to offer their services in the name of their religious faith and make them available to anyone.

“It is important to keep the word ‘Muslim’ in the name of the clinic,” says Dr. Rushdi Abdul Cater, 29, a resident at UCLA Medical Center and Nisha’s husband. “Islam is looked on negatively in this country. When something happens in the world, we’re told that Muslims are terrorists. The clinic allows people to expand their understanding of Islam.

“But the basis of our work is health-care service to the indigent, along with medical education in the context of service.”

The Abdul Caters graduated from a program offered by Drew University in conjunction with UCLA School of Medicine that specializes in health care for the “underserved.” UMMA patients who qualify for treatment provide proof that they are indigent, lack adequate health insurance and live in the area.

There was another reason for opening the clinic.

“We work in the context of bringing people together to appreciate each other’s faiths and religious traditions,” says Rushdi Abdul Cater. Fewer than half of the clinic’s staff of volunteers are Muslim. Most are Jewish or Christian.

Funding comes not from any religious community but from a federal grant and occasional donations from grateful patients. Los Angeles donated the building.

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“The clinic is not a religious endeavor,” Abdul Cater says. “There’s a standard policy not to proselytize.”

The clinic’s doctors earn about $150 per hour at their paying jobs. Most are on staff at Harbor-UCLA Medical Center or Martin Luther King Jr. Hospital. On average, they give the clinic one day a month. Religious values seem to account for why doctors get involved.

“It is incumbent on Muslims to take care of the concerns of the poor,” Rushdi Abdul Cater says.

Charity is one of the five pillars, or fundamental responsibilities, of Islam. Following that teaching can cause side effects at UMMA.

“When Muslim medical-school students volunteer at the clinic and see Jewish doctors giving their time, their skills, making a financial commitment, how can they say anything against a Jewish person? What they see in the doctors who come here is so good. Working together heals riffs, softens the hearts of people from different religious communities,” Rushdi Abdul Cater says.

The work will continue for two years, the term of the grant; board members are applying for new ones. Even if some things change, the name will remain.

“In Arabic, umma means ‘community,’ ” Rushdi Abdul Cater says. “The word takes on an aspect of responsibility to the community.”

On the wall is a tapestry from Mecca. Golden Arabic letters quote the Koran: “God will not change the condition of the people until they change that which is in themselves.”