“Corner stores are the pillars of every community”
This piece is a combination of our interview with Zuhdi Masri (a non-Black Palestinian store-owner of Yeatman Market in St. Louis, MO) and Nahid Soltanzadeh’s (Digital Organizer at MPower Change) reflections on the interview. Zuhdi tells us about how his store came to be a peace corner in the neighborhood, how they bring the community members and religious leaders together to work for the neighborhood’s prosperity, and how all of this is based on a reciprocal relationship of love and respect between him and the Black community that welcomed him as a non-Black Muslim immigrant decades ago.
“When you first get in, we have a small cafe, a mini cafe on your right hand side. It takes about ten, fifteen people maximum. We have WiFi, coffee, drinks —not alcoholic, of course. We don't have alcohol. We have a small kitchen, you know, for snacks, or small cooking. We're not doing it now because of COVID-19. We got like, right now we have 3 customers in the coffee selection. No more than 4 is allowed. And outside of the store, there's another sit out, a patio for the summer time. That's about it.”
That’s how Zuhdi Masri describes Yeatman market. There’s a sweet sense of pride and belonging in his voice and his face that warms my heart even through the zoom video call, my unstable internet connection, and all the technical issues that came up in recording our conversation.
When he tells me about the history of this cafe, I feel the pride and belonging too.
“We built this cafe seven years ago because the closest cafe with WiFi was a few miles away in an area called Central West End. And some of the people in the neighborhood here don't have cars to go over there and chill out, as they say, or have fun. So also as African Americans in the Central West End, which is a predominantly white neighborhood, they weren’t welcome.
Now we got our own cafe. We copied whatever was in the Central West End and we brought it to the neighborhood. We made it. So if people want, they just walk from their house or the block and sit down and drink coffee or bring their own coffee or food.
At Yeatman Market we’ve had mentoring, tutoring, babysitting. Sometimes we have events, members of the community bring some music…the customers are happy with it, the city is happy with it. And it brought peace and prosperity to the neighborhood. We have transferred the corner and it just feels safer for the community. And it’s not just myself. We’ve had help from the community, from mosques, Imams, Rabbis, Bishops. It was interfaith.”
As an immigrant in the U.S.—perpetually missing the small stores in my neighborhood in Tehran where everyone knew everyone and I could just jump in any store and ask for help if something happened to me— I’m already in love with this space. I knew, as I had heard him talk about it before, that folks at Yeatman market do not call the police in any circumstances. Out of curiosity, I asked him: when was the last time you called the police?
“I don’t remember. Maybe 10, 15 years ago. We never call the police. “
As an abolitionist organizer who has never run a business, I thought of it as an act of principle and conviction. I was excited to talk to Zuhdi about how the police don't keep us safe and aren't there to protect us. So I asked him why, and how, they run their business without the police.
'“I'm gonna bring it to you from the beginning:
In the 80s and early 90s, police would not even step in this neighborhood. It was dangerous for them. A lot of stuff happened. And then we came up in the mid 90s: sit-ins, protests, to save those young lives, African American lives from, anything really.
We used to have a lot of politicians come in here, to try to make our neighborhood safe and bring us prosperity. But it didn't work out. Until the early 2000s, maybe 2003.
I called all the gang members. We have a school across the street, Yeatman School. We all sat together with State Representative Jamilia Nasheed, the bishop, the rabbi, the mentors…and we made a truce.
You know, I knew all those gang members since birth probably, so I sat them in a chair and I said no more shooting and killing.
Alhamdulillah, thank God, It worked out well. there's no more shooting after that. We cut the violence in the neighborhood by maybe 80 percent. We cut the murder numbers in this community to zero. Nobody got killed. Which is a blessing. Nobody got injured. No more shootouts between the gang members because they signed a truce. And it still stands. There's some personal problems. And this is a city, you know, people have problems. But there are no gang activities.
At the same time, we asked the police not to interfere. So police will not enter our neighborhood and we don't call police.”
Now that I look at the transcripts of my interview with him, I notice how every time I asked Zuhdi something about the police, he answered by talking about the community: I asked him how they feel safe without the police, he told me about how he sat down the young men—some of whom he had babysat— and made a truce between them.
Everything that I heard from Zuhdi was about the deep work of relationship-building and community care that they have been doing in their neighborhood for decades. And when it comes to dealing with harm, their way of responding to violence in the neighborhood is a humbling reminder of how abolition is already being practiced in some of our communities:
“Basically, whatever happens, those young men in charge, are the ones who solve the problem between any two members from the community. When violent activities happen we sit them down and ask them what they need. if they need money or jobs or help with school. We find them resources. And we have a lot of resources. M-SlICE, Better Family organization, so many community groups and organizations help us.
The school across the street has a gym. We talked to them and now they let young men use their gym a couple hours in the afternoon after school. They go there and work out and use their energy there.
Basically we try to get young men off the streets.”
As Zuhdi keeps reminding us that all of this is the work of decades and so many people and institutions in the community, I think about how this corner store, this “pillar of the community” as Zuhdi always says, has brought together community members and religious leaders and elected officials, and more. How they utilize the resources that they already have in their community, to create a better life for each other and make sure that everyone’s needs are met.
But because I’m still a baby organizer and too obsessed with the police (their absence, yes, not their presence, but still), I say, enthusiastically, “I’m so impressed with how you have divested from the police and how your community is finding ways to meet everyone’s needs.” This is where Zuhdi gets a little bit frustrated with me. He says:
“Sister, it’s not divesting from the police or anything like that. We don’t need the police.”
I pause, and I let this sink in. I let his story take me away from my obsession with the police, and bring me back to what matters—community, care, and love. Always love.
“You ask how did we get here? It’s love. People want to live and survive. You know, you have to show love to your customers. It’s a two way relationship based on love and respect.”
Zuhdi talks to me about community relationships based on mutual respect and reciprocity:
“The African American community is the most accepting community for us as immigrants. You couldn’t open your business in any other community. I am returning the favors of my customers and helping the community get better. Don't forget that me, as a Palestinian, as a Muslim, you know, we're supposed to care about our community, or wherever we work at, we're supposed to make it better.”
There’s so much about how Yeatman Market interacts with the community that we can learn from. There are dos and don’ts and daily practices and there are also big projects like Operation Unity. What follows is just a few examples of what Zuhdi shared with me in our interview:
[On Operation Unity] Right after we had the truce, me and some other young men and women from the neighborhood we created an organization for us. We call it ‘Operation Unity.’ We started with cleaning up the neighborhoods. So we just started cleaning the blocks every Saturday. We bought lawn mowers, rakes, weed whackers, garbage bags, everything. Just to clean the environment. It wasn't that bad, don't get me wrong. We just just cut the grass for people, old people, helped them out. It's by all means a community work.
So we find resources for the community. like I said, we connect them to jobs. We of course hire from the community. You have to hire from the community.
I don’t sell what I wouldn’t take home to my family. We sell fresh fruits and vegetables, I don’t sell alcohol.
Corner stores are pillars of every community. It's a meeting place. People get their mail here sometimes, they sit down and chat, talk and drink coffee. When they’re in need, they come to us. We collect donations for weddings and funerals in the community.
And the community protects the store. Nothing has ever happened to Yeatman Market. It’s been like this for many years. And we never had a problem.
You ask how did we get here? It’s love. People want to live and survive. You know, you have to show love to your customers. It’s a two way relationship based on love and respect.
It’s a week after our interview. I’ve been working on the Policing is Haram project nonstop, and I’m still sitting with what Zuhdi told me. Still reminding myself that at its root, abolition is not about the absence of the police. it’s about the presence of us and our families and friends and neighbors and organizations. Our communities, all communities, deserve much more than just to be “safe.” It’s not just about avoiding murder and death. It’s about affirming life and joy and abundance. And how easy it is to forget that sometimes.
About Zuhdi Masri
Zuhdi is the store-owner of Yeatman Market in St. Louis and father of Palestinian-American Black Lives Matter activist and shaheed (martyr) Basem Masri. He was born in Jerusalem, migrated in 1977 to England and then in 1982 to St. Louise, MO where he opened the corner store with his brother in law. Yeatman market has been the center of many community-based projects and services: a cafe with free wifi, a free after-school childcare space for working parents, a halal meat market, an initiative to keep the neighborhood clean, and many other resources that have supported the life of the community for thirty eight years.