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The ‘M’ Word
I’m an Australian Muslim, of Pakistani ancestry, whose family ties with Australia stretch back to the time when both my grandfathers came here in the 1890s. This was before we, as a nation, celebrated our independence by introducing the White Australia policy in 1901 as our first experiment in border protection. We now count five generations in our family who are Australian.
A strong belief in my ‘Australianness’ has always given me the confidence (or the excuse) to be outspoken. In 2003 I wrote a book that emphasised the human face of Australia’s 300,000 Muslims. It subverted the stereotype that Muslims were frozen in perpetual prayer and spent their lives wandering from one ritual, or pillar of Islam, to the next. Not everyone was cut from the same cloth although this ‘secret’ was hidden by most orthodox Muslims and ignored by the media in their ongoing search for the representative Muslim
Where were the Muslims who mowed their lawns, went on diets, swapped jokes, worried about mortgages, fell in and out of love, and told their children bedtime stories? There seemed to be one ‘pop’ rendition in circulation that defined a Muslim identity and this was expressed solely in religious terms; Islamic religious leaders were comfortable with this version. Since September 11 and the July 7 London blasts, this depiction has hardened into a stereotype that only recently is being seriously challenged by Muslim organisations.
2001 was a defining moment in the lives of many Australians for after September 11, relations between Muslim and non-Muslim populations changed—indifference was replaced by fear. Western societies worry about their Muslim minorities—the ‘M’ word makes them nervous. Non-Muslims have reason to be worried—not because Muslims are terrorists in the making—but because, since September 11, Muslims find themselves under scrutiny as risks to national security and because this type of civic investigation breeds alienation.
‘Explain yourselves’, the media demanded. ‘Do you condemn these attacks?’ ‘Why do you hate Americans?’
Wherever Muslims were a minority, men and women did their best to ‘explain Islam’ to their frightened fellow citizens. They fell into the trap of defending Islam when the root cause was politics--- not religion. An ideology based on twisted interpretations of jihad, took centre stage and has become impossible to shift.
Muslim leaders in Europe and the USA still struggle to prove their communities’ loyalties, bent on demonstrating that Islam and terrorism do not walk hand in hand. One third of the world’s Muslims, who number 1.2 billion, now live as minority members of secular countries. As part of their daily lives they must contend with a prevailing narrative that prophesises a clash of civilisations: the medieval grand narrative of Islam versus Christendom is alive and well; just a few nips and tucks needed in the style of cosmetic history.
In a post September 11 world, typecasting has become an art form. Huntington’s clash of civilisations theory accommodates stereotyping and political agendas on both sides of the barricades: violent Islam and suicidal jihadists on one side confront the wicked, decadent West waiting to corrupt Islam’s sons and daughters.
The USA has always interpreted September 11 as an attack on Western civilisation; the European Union on the other hand, interprets it as a response to particular problems: Palestine, Afghanistan, Iraq. Muslims in Australia tried to explain this but after the Bali Blasts it sounded like a callous justification for murder, although it was nothing of the kind. Intense feelings of solidarity exist for fellow Muslims suffering in Palestine, Lebanon, Iraq and Guantanomo Bay; speaking out against injustice is a strong Islamic tenet for Muslims everywhere and extremists know how to use this to recruit a new generation of young terrorists.
It’s no use telling ‘moderate’ Muslim leaders to confront the extremists and reason with young Muslims; the young are not listening to the older first generation of Muslim leaders in Australia--- and as I have recently discovered--- neither are young British-born Pakistani Muslims listening to their elder statesmen.
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Currently I’m in London trying to understand why some young ‘home-grown’ British Muslims are attracted to extremism. I talk to young men from different backgrounds: some are Oxford graduates, some work in pizza parlours, most are British born although a few live here illegally. They all distrust the police and cultivate a victim mentality because of the debate around racial profiling and their own experiences of racism. Recent events in London make their pessimism, and the fears of other Londoners, all too easy to understand.
Riz Ahmed is an actor and rap-recording artist well known for his CD ‘The Post 9/11 Blues’ that reviewers call ‘an anti-terror spin anthem’. As a piece of urban poetry it’s intelligent, humorous and from a young Muslim point of view—spot on. ‘Let’s turn all our frustrated whispers into a loud shout---send a message that as a generation we are fed up,’ says a Riz fan in admiration.
Riz also starred in ‘The Road to Guantanamo’ the film, which won a Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival this year. It tells the story of ‘The Tipton Three’: the British-Pakistani lads who were imprisoned in Guantanamo Bay for two years before being released without charge. Riz found himself detained at Luton Airport on his return from the festival, and was at first denied access to legal advice: anyone with terror links must be questioned, he was told. He felt ‘angered, humiliated and intimidated.’
‘There are new eggshells that can’t be stepped on. Don’t you dare link anything to foreign policy,’ he tells me. He calls it ‘a highjacking of tragedies’ by the establishment. Riz is now in rehearsal for a new musical: ‘Gaddafi, The Opera’ staged by the English National Opera. Arias and duets are being replaced by Asian beats and rap. They tell me the lyrics are provocative—I can’t wait to see ‘Gaddafi, The Opera’. I wonder if Colonel Gaddafi will attend opening night?
(This was first published in The
Age, 2008)
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