Mosque vs. Town Hall: Is Religious Freedom Under Attack in Oyster Bay?

In Bethpage, Long Island, a small Islamic congregation gathers in a cramped mosque, their voices echoing off walls that can no longer hold their growing numbers. Muslims on Long Island, known as MOLI, have worshipped here since 1998, building a vibrant community rooted in faith and service. Now, their need for more space to pray, teach, and counsel has collided with the Town of Oyster Bay’s zoning rules, which seem to demand more from houses of worship than from theaters or libraries. The refusal to let MOLI expand their mosque feels like a slap in the face to a community already stretched thin.

This isn’t just about parking spaces or building codes. It’s about whether a town can quietly tilt the scales against a religious group without consequence. The Justice Department, stepping into the fray, argues that Oyster Bay’s actions violate a federal law designed to protect places of worship from discriminatory land use practices. For those who believe in fairness, this case is a stark reminder that equality under the law remains a fight, not a guarantee.

What stings most is the timing. MOLI’s request came as the town tightened its zoning code, adding hurdles for religious sites while leaving secular venues relatively untouched. The message seems clear: a mosque’s growth is less welcome than a museum’s. For a nation that prides itself on religious freedom, this kind of selective enforcement raises troubling questions about whose rights are truly valued.

At the heart of this dispute lies a federal law with a mouthful of a name: the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons Act. Passed in 2000, it was born from a recognition that zoning laws were too often wielded as weapons to exclude minority faiths or small congregations. The law insists that religious institutions be treated at least as well as secular ones, like theaters or community centers. When Oyster Bay demanded more parking spaces for MOLI’s mosque than it would for a library of similar size, it crossed a line the law was meant to guard.

The Justice Department’s intervention here is no small thing. It signals a commitment to rooting out practices that undermine religious freedom, particularly for communities that have historically faced suspicion or hostility. Data backs this up: between 2024 and early 2025, the Department opened over 155 investigations into potential violations of this law, many involving non-Christian groups. MOLI’s case fits a pattern where local governments impose rules that seem neutral but hit religious sites harder, especially those serving marginalized groups.

Some might argue that towns need flexibility to manage growth or traffic. Fair enough, but the law doesn’t bend for convenience. If a theater can operate with fewer parking spots, why can’t a mosque? The answer often lies in unspoken biases, where religious diversity feels like a threat to a town’s status quo. Courts have been clear: zoning rules must pass a tough test to justify unequal treatment, and Oyster Bay’s flimsy rationale doesn’t seem to cut it.

History offers context here. Early 20th-century zoning laws often kept certain groups, whether racial or religious minorities, out of ‘desirable’ areas. While overt segregation is largely gone, subtler barriers persist. The Supreme Court’s 1917 ruling against racial zoning didn’t erase the impulse to control who gets to belong. Today, when a town’s rules disproportionately burden a mosque, it echoes those older fights for a seat at the table.

MOLI’s struggle isn’t isolated. From California to Georgia, religious groups have faced similar roadblocks, like churches denied permits to house the homeless or temples stalled by endless red tape. Each case chips away at the idea that all faiths are welcome. The Justice Department’s push to enforce federal protections isn’t about special treatment; it’s about leveling a playing field that’s been uneven for far too long.

Oyster Bay’s defenders might claim they’re just protecting the community’s character, a common refrain in zoning disputes. But whose community are they protecting? A town isn’t a private club; it belongs to everyone who calls it home, including those praying in a cramped mosque. When rules single out religious sites for tougher scrutiny, they send a message that some residents’ needs matter less. That’s not just unfair, it’s un-American.

The real-world impact hits hard. Without space to grow, MOLI can’t fully serve its congregation. Prayer rooms overflow, religious classes get sidelined, and counseling sessions are squeezed into corners. This isn’t abstract policy, it’s people’s lives. Meanwhile, secular venues face fewer hoops, hosting events with less hassle. The contrast is glaring, and it’s why the law exists to demand fairness.

Some might push back, saying parking rules are about practicality, not prejudice. But practicality doesn’t explain why religious sites bear a heavier load. California’s recent law letting religious groups cut parking for affordable housing projects shows there’s wiggle room when the will is there. Oyster Bay could find solutions, like shared parking or waivers, but instead, it dug in. That choice speaks volumes.

The broader picture is grim. Zoning disputes often mask deeper resistance to change, whether it’s a mosque expanding or a church opening its doors to the needy. Across the country, minority faiths face delays, denials, or demands that secular groups sidestep. The Justice Department’s involvement in MOLI’s case is a signal that such tactics won’t go unchallenged, but it’s also a reminder that progress is uneven.

MOLI’s battle in Oyster Bay is more than a local zoning spat; it’s a test of whether fairness can triumph over inertia. The Justice Department’s backing gives hope, but the outcome isn’t certain. What’s clear is that every step forward, every challenge to unequal rules, builds a stronger case for justice. Religious freedom isn’t just a phrase, it’s a promise that demands action.

For those watching from the sidelines, this case is a call to pay attention. When a town’s rules stifle a community’s faith, it erodes the values we claim to hold dear. Supporting MOLI means standing up for a principle: no one’s worship should be second-class. That’s a fight worth having, and it’s one we can’t afford to lose.