The Weekly Journal #3: 'So, Does That Mean You're A Terrorist?'
So very comfortable is the life of a Muslim in the Britain. We have the freedom to speech, the freedom to practice whichever faith or sect of that faith we'd like, we have the freedom to criticise government, build Islamic institutions and evangelise whichever beliefs we want. Walk into any city in the UK and without doubt you'll find a masjid and an accompanying madrasah. Our kids can go to all Muslim schools, and a Muslim scouts clubs after. We have prayer rooms in nearly every hospital, government building and university; our interests are represented in school boards and local governments.
Looking beyond the inane whining of some of God's enemies, like Tommy Robinson and co, our life is tremendously comfortable and free from daily hazard. Equally an acknowledgement should be made for the times when members of our community are attacked and the media perpetuates biases and the government limits certain freedoms of speech; but these are truly few and far between.
Is life here in the west perfect? No. But's its pretty damn good.
On the backdrop of this, I want us to think about the state in which we may find ourselves as Muslims in the UK. We live in this impervious and iridescent bubble that shields us from any true pain and suffering. Our empathy towards our brutalised Palestinian brothers and sisters is somewhat virtual and distant, not once have we felt a single, exacting gradation of real horror. We are so desensitised to actual suffering here in the west that a small piercing of that bubble can feel like the whole world coming within an inch of its life.
This week I was the victim of nothing but a consequence of my own ummatic isolationism, weakness and self-inflicted disarmament. At work I was wearing a Palestinian flag badge, we can discuss the nature of flag-centric nationalism or the dangers of becoming overly attached with symbolic gestures another time and I would most likely make many concessions, but this is just one of those times where a flag serves a purpose that isn't just representing a piece of land but a landless people in a world that has allowed unto them nothing but great suffering and this little rectangular pin-badge voices them, gives them some presence and reminds the world we haven't forgotten about the people they're trying to erase.
Back to my run in with the zionist, I was wearing the badge all day, as always I had no problems until one man came in and after helping him around for some time he turned back to me and said "I have to say, it's disappointing to see you wear that flag", to which I found the only correct response in the work place to be a polite "is it?", and then came the disturbing "So, does that mean you support terrorism?" and I couldn't do anything but walk away, for if I had stayed and said what I wanted to, I would have been fired.
Look, this little story isn't that interesting and it was certainly no heinous attack on me, but my internal reaction, the pressure in my head, the sweat on my palms and the slight clench of my fists suggested I was angry and clearly offended. How could I be angry in the face of this ignoramus when my brothers in Gaza smile holding their dead children? What has this cushioned life done to me that I find a little friction intolerable and outrageous? I realised two things in this moment, the first being how in two years of genocide this is the first time I was questioned on my badge or views. Secondly, the detachment we have from the parts of our Ummah that are suffering, how distant we are emotionally, spiritually and mentally.
I don't really have a call to action for you today, just a simple point of privilege; don't underestimate the level of luxury you live in, it's easy to be a Muslim here in safety, it's easy to shelter a family and feed them, the convictions of your faith can be expressed here in the west and we should never take that for granted. What that man said was so infinitesimal in comparison to anything our brothers and sisters in Gaza or Sudan or China or Myanmar have to go through, that we must find something more to do here than to lament media bias. Not to do dismiss hatred or dispel true victimhood but we have the ability to make a real difference here in the UK without fear and we should maximise our output in these times of comfort.
After this week, I find myself a stronger believer in the reality that our global Ummah will be revived from nowhere but the UK; our safety, stability, education, wealth, influence and freedom can help save our Muslim brothers and sisters, so let's get to it.
Faithfully, Issa.
