A Battle Over a Farm, a Mosque and the Moral High Ground

Butch Robinson is done. After dedicating most of his 77 years to growing sod, he just wants to sell his sprawl of green and ease his aching back into the lounge chair of a hard-earned retirement.

That is why Robinson and the two sons who run the family farm with him, both with nagging backs, were delighted when a developer put down a nonrefundable retainer for 156 of their acres on the fast-growing fringe of the Twin Cities exurb of Lino Lakes, Minnesota.

The builder’s ambitious plan called for a housing development for 434 homes. It would include shops, restaurants, tennis courts, soccer fields, a park with a pavilion — and a 40,000-square-foot mosque.

So began a conflagration over a small emerald swath of the American dream, fueled by colliding hopes and mutual distrust. At the dispute’s core: clashing interpretations of what inclusion looks like.

It culminated last month with a packed City Council hearing on a proposal to pause development in the precise corner of Lino Lakes that features the Robinson sod farm. Butch Robinson was present, his white hair tucked under a USA baseball cap. So was the developer. So was the local resident leading the opposition.

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Then, in February, another developer appeared at the farm. He said his name was Faraaz Yussuf, and he saw opportunity.

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IN RECENT YEARS, the vibrant Muslim communities of Minnesota have grown, with refugees finding the Twin Cities sanctuary from civil strife in Ethiopia, Sudan, Somalia and other countries. Like so many families before them, Muslims are moving up and out, often gravitating to the northern suburbs.

Yussuf, 36, is a case in point. He moved to Minneapolis-St. Paul from Chicago with his Indian immigrant parents when he was a toddler, attended local public schools and graduated from the University of Minnesota. Recently married, he and his wife, Sarah, live in Blaine, a city with a growing Muslim community that borders Lino Lakes.

Since joining the buildings trade a decade ago, Yussuf said, he has done remodeling, renovation and roofing. But he has never tackled anything as grand as the development of an entire neighborhood.

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Yussuf started by establishing a company, Zikar Holdings, with a man named Jameel Ahmed, self-described online as a “recognized leader in the Islamic financing mortgage and real estate industry.” Their search for an appropriate development site eventually led them to the Robinson sod farm.

The name of their project, Madinah Lakes, evokes an Islamic pilgrimage site in Saudi Arabia. The development, which Yussuf said would have about 1,500 residents, would include what he called the “full life-cycle of homeownership,” from starter homes to senior condominiums, laid out amid trees, lakes and gardens. There would be day-care and banquet facilities, restaurants and cafes, all anchored by a mosque with a 10-acre footprint.

Yussuf emphasized that the development would abide by fair-housing laws. It would be “Muslim-friendly,” he said, but not exclusively Muslim — “just like a hotel is family-friendly or LGBTQ-friendly.”

“Much of America was founded on communities built around religious organizations,” Yussuf said. “That’s how neighborhoods were built.”

In mid-March, Zikar Holdings created a website for Madinah Lakes that included a general concept for the development and a short video. The company, which had been in discussions with city officials but had yet to submit formal plans, also said it would be accepting refundable $10,000 deposits on lots.

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ONE DAY IN LATE MARCH, Luke Walter’s wife, pregnant with their third child, alerted him to a website for what appeared to be a Muslim-centric development proposed for land just a short drive from the home the couple bought in 2017. At first he thought the idea of a religion-specific neighborhood was a prank, or even a scam.

“Is that allowed?” he recalled thinking.

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But Walter summed up his biggest concern in one word: “Segregation.”

The Madinah Lakes proposal was clearly intended for Muslims, he said, and those not Muslim were unlikely to feel welcome. “So that is segregation by choice and segregation by design,” said Walter, who noted that he comes from a “multi-faith, multi-ethnic family” that includes a sister-in-law and brother-in-law who are Muslim.

On March 25, with the Madinah Lakes website the talk of Lino Lakes, a city council member, Michael Ruhland, filed an online request to add an item to the council’s next work-session agenda. Expressing concern about the city’s water supply, infrastructure and the “tons of developers” seeking to build houses, he called for a moratorium on residential development.

The request was filed just a few hours before a City Council meeting that Yussuf said the city’s community-development staff had suggested he attend to briefly introduce his plan.

Dozens packed the council meeting. Many came to oppose a housing plan that had not been formally proposed. City officials began by assuring everyone that any land-use application to develop the Robinson property would undergo standard rigorous review.

When the public was invited to speak, Yussuf, a dark-bearded man with a calm affect, introduced himself and said he was eager to dispel any misconceptions. “Our project aims to be one that is inclusive, open to everyone and promotes peace and harmony,” he said.

Then Walter, emerging as the opposition’s spokesperson, began by criticizing the developer for not being “particularly respectful to the community.” Wiry and energetic, he went on to question how others could feel welcome in a neighborhood that was clearly for one specific community. It would, he said, create “a divided city.”

Walter walked out of the room to applause. {snip}

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THE OPPOSITION quickly coalesced. Walter took charge, helping to create a “Love Lino Lakes” page on Facebook and leading an anti-development committee that held its organizational meeting in early April.

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Growing to more than 1,000 members, the group established several subcommittees, including one for “Slow the Grow” merchandise that would pay for lawn signs and legal advice. It also began building the case that Madinah Lakes would be separate, apart — a city within a city.

At one point, a teenager who opposed the project conducted an interview with Yussuf through the ruse of a supposed school project. According to Walter, the developer was recorded saying he envisioned successful Muslims coming home to see people who “look like them, talk like them and worship like they do.”

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The Love Lino Lakes organization was called a hate group by one of the Robinsons. And the state chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations, a Muslim civil rights organization also known as CAIR, asserted that the project had faced “significant opposition fueled by Islamophobic sentiment,” and was being treated differently from other proposals.

Jaylani Hussein, the chapter’s executive director, said Lino Lakes is “not the most diverse city” — it is 85% white — and described its position as, “You can have the mosque, but not the houses, or you can have the houses, but not the mosque.”

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