Every once in a while, I let myself get frustrated. That’s a fairly natural human emotion, but I tend to feel guilty afterwards; life overall has been very kind to me, and the worries I struggle with seem so insignificant in retrospect. Monday was one of those days where I let impatience overcome me, forgetting all the good in my life for the sake of a few minor frustrations.

Vancouver is a beautiful city, but it holds a dark secret: there is more poverty here than almost anywhere else in Canada. The Downtown Eastside area, situated just a few blocks from beautiful waterfront condos and trendy boutiques, is home to what is considered to be the poorest area of Canada. The sad consequence is that the neighbourhood is rife with drugs, homelessness, and prostitution. The crime rate is reportedly one of the highest anywhere in North America, and the results of that trickle into the more mainstream areas of downtown.

I see more beggars on the street here than anywhere else in Canada. The impoverished come in all shapes and sizes; if you were to see some of them just walking down the street, you’d never expect that they would have to beg just to make ends meet. Many of them are young, with seemingly good heads on their shoulders; they could have so much potential were it not for the drug addictions. Others have lost their wits entirely, walking around aimlessly for days on end, yelling and screaming profanities at the wind and rain.

And that’s when I start feeling guilty about ever feeling frustrated. There was no choice these poor souls made that have brought them to where they are. None of these people simply decided that this was the life for them. They fell victim to circumstances mostly beyond their control, and now walk the streets with little hope of ever enjoying a comfortable life. They walk hungry, dirty, and incapable of even sorting out their own thoughts. Their beds line the sidewalks, and trashed coffee cups become their wallets. And my daily realities far exceed even the best of their dreams.

Neither my talents nor my hard work have saved me from such a life. There was no choice I made which protected me. Every breath I take, and the comforts I enjoy while taking them, have been gifts from my Creator. And perhaps the greatest gift I have is that I recognize this to be so; how many millions of people go through their lives with no belief at all? How many millions of people suffer from hardships without having the comfort of faith in their corner? It is a gift in itself to believe that there is Divinity listening to our thoughts and prayers; without this, we would all fall entirely to despair.

Ramadhan is fast approaching. Sometimes, I look at the beggars in the streets and try to justify my complacency by reminding myself that I will be fasting for an entire month in a few weeks. But that fasting, as valuable as it is, is still insufficient to truly show gratitude for all the favours I have been blessed with. Fasting in itself is a favour, because it is a sign that I have been given the gift of faith. So how do I show gratefulness for the ability to fast? What thanks do I give for the ability to perform prayers during the night and day? As one scholar said, “prayer alone is not a sufficient token of gratitude to Allah. In fact, the prayer is itself another blessing we must show gratitude for.”

Truly, no amount of action on our part will ever complete our obligation towards gratitude, but Allah remains the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful. We do what we can, and pray that our actions are accepted; please remember me in those prayers.

Update 9.16.2006: Please read this wonderful post at Reflective Dust for a practical response to this piece.

I’m approximately 33,000 feet above Alberta or Saskatchewan right now. I should be sleeping, since I have a busy day of working, driving, and partying tomorrow, but 20 minutes of sleep early in the flight has made it very difficult to keep my eyes closed since. Hopefully, writing a few irrelevant anecdotes should help put me back to sleep, so here goes.

Once a week, I’ll have dinner at an Indian restaurant situated between my office and hotel. It’s a fairly nice place in the heart of downtown Vancouver, but going there alone every week was always tiresome. Because of the surprising unavailability of halal food in downtown, Subway is my usual dinner destination, and I often prefer it mainly because of the lack of awkwardness of eating without any company. But in the absence of home cooking and real spice, I would always get drawn back to the Indian place, where I would sheepishly walk in requesting a table for one, and sit alone awaiting my order.

After a few weeks of pestering my Jewish colleague, he finally agreed to join me at the Indian place for dinner on Wednesday night. As I was somewhat of a regular there, it was very refreshing for both myself and the staff that I entered the restaurant requesting a table for two. I advised my colleague on the best options for him which would satisfy his kosher constraints. Finally, he settled on shahi paneer, which he had served with mattar chawal and roti.

I sincerely hoped that my colleague would enjoy his meal, as I didn’t want to continue coming to this restaurant alone. He didn’t like the papadum that is always served as an appetizer, so I was banking entirely on the paneer. When the food arrived and I instructed him on how to eat it, I waited anxiously for his verdict.

“This is really good!” I sighed with relief. “And it isn’t too spicy at all!” He requested the mild meal, while I was burning up with the extra-hot cholay. My meal, in spite of the overwhelming spiciness, was delicious as well. We both sat there enjoying our meals while discussing and comparing the concepts of sanad in hadith sciences and the laws governing rulings from the talmud.

At one point, he asked me, “This is the type of food your mom cooks every day?”

I nodded. “This is the stuff I grew up on.” Cholay has always been one of my favourites, and is staple Ramadhan food in our household. “My mother makes this stuff really well.”

He looked up, shook his head, and sighed.

‘Isn’t it sad that there aren’t any girls out there anymore like our mothers?’, he asked.

The question caught me off guard, but I agreed. My colleague, who is of Moroccan Jewish descent, understood the common lament of many young Muslim men like myself. I explained my personal situation to him, while acknowledging that I have three wonderful sister-in-laws that have helped keep my hopes up. “But they’re not from here, are they?”, he asked, sounding much like a mentor of mine who often seeks to convince me about the merits of importing. “Actually, only one of them was born in Canada… the other two are from back home.”

“There you go.” Though we heavily differed in background and religion, he clearly understood and shared concerns around the eroding principles of tradition. We discussed the issue further. I was surprised at how similar our feelings were on issues of marriage and family relationships. “Ce qui mari la fille, il se mari la famille,” he said. We both acknowledged that the ‘traditional’ system worked, and how important it was for the family to be involved heavily in the whole process.

Many close friends of mine have tried doing things outside of the usual process. While I admired them for looking past cultural barriers, I worried about conflicts between the respective families. Though they were very religious people in each case, they neglected the importance of respecting their parents wishes. They intended to prove that they knew better than their parents by leaving aside nationality and culture, focusing purely on the Islamic character of their prospective spouses. As noble as their intentions may have been, in each of those cases, the engagements (and marriage, in one case) failed, and all of them suffered greatly. Hearts were broken, parents became bitter, and some very close friends fell into despair and misery. I was usually the first person these friends reached out to when things were going awry. I did my best to comfort them; however, I could clearly identify where things had gone wrong, and was incapable of reversing it. And even after years have gone by, some of them still have not fully recovered from the frustrations of those days. I continue to pray for them, but consistently hear bad news every time I give them a call.

This is not to say that we must restrict ourselves by culture. However, I do believe that such decisions must be made only with the consent and full approval of parents. If a young man ignores the wishes of the parents who raised him, sacrificed for him, and who understand him like no one else, he is doing a great disservice to himself. He is shunning the advice of those who have the deepest understanding of his needs, while embarking on a path devoid of the necessary guidance. I assume the same applies for young women as well; many would be incapable of making wise decisions without assistance from her parents. I have seen intercultural marriages work, but the parents on both sides were heavily involved in the process.

My colleague and I split the bill, and proceeded to our respective destinations. As I walked back to my hotel, I thought about all the decisions I’ve made in my life, and how often I strayed from the guidance of my own parents. Thankfully, none of those decisions have caused me much grief, but I often look back and recognize the deeper wisdom of parental advice I neglected. Alhamdolillah, I am where I want to be right now because I listened and followed them to a satisfactory extent; I may have been further if I listened and followed even more.

Rabbirham huma kamaa rabbayaani sagheera.

For nearly a week, I had lost access to a number of entries and could not log in to the Blogger service. This just happened to co-incide with recent misgivings I’ve had about the very idea of publishing my thoughts to a worldwide audience, and I thought that perhaps, it was time to say goodbye. It wasn’t the Blogger technical issues that would have put me off; it’s against my nature to give up on something because of a technical issue. But I often wondered whether Irrelevant Opinions was making me a better person in any way. It succeeded in reviving my passion for writing after my many years of engineering studies, but having met that goal, I wondered if there was anything else I wanted from it. I couldn’t think of anything.

Strangely, however, I missed it during the brief absence. Even though I will often go over a week without writing anything, I felt like something was missing by the fact that I couldn’t write anything here even if I wanted to. In a certain way, this site and the handful of readers had become quite important to me. As someone who only sees his home for only a day or two per month, this site and the loyal readers provided a much needed permanency that my mobile lifestyle lacked.

This site was still collecting statistics during the downtime, and brought up some very interesting results. I typically get around 40-50 unique visitors per day, mostly in Canada, but there are some regular overseas readers as well. My referrers log showed that some of them were actually digging through my site using Google cache and the Wayback machine, salvaging posts that would otherwise have been lost. That dedication amazed me. In addition, I heard a great deal of protest at the idea of closing this down from family, friends, and strangers who find all this irrelevance somewhat relevant.

All that being said, I wouldn’t continue only because other people want me to; I would only continue if I want to myself. I haven’t fully decided.

I am satisfied with the content I’ve been able to put out thus far. A lot of other blogs are full of copy/paste work, teenage angst, and general nonsense. I’d like to think that IO is a little different.

Thanks to all my loyal readers thus far. We’ll see where things go from here.

The lineup through security at Vancouver airport was much longer than usual. I’m accustomed to passing through security in under five minutes, with a total entrance-to-gate time never exceeding ten minutes. Today, the lineup took at least fifteen minutes on it’s own. As usual, I passed through the metal detector without triggering any alarm, and so no additional search was done. Security quickly checked my laptop, then let me proceed on my way.

I got off much better than most. I saw security agents searching the bags of hundreds of passengers, grabbing any toothpaste and deodorant they could find, tossing the “suspicious” toiletry in a trash can. I was encouraged by the fact that no special attention seemed to be given to the visibly South Asian or Arab passengers. Everyone was inconvenienced equally.

All things considered, I’m satisfied that the worst fallout of the alleged attacks was long lineups and wasted toothpaste.

There was a Chinese man in front of me in the line, while a Caucasian man chatted on his cell phone next to me, informing someone that he expected to miss his flight. The Chinese man informed the Caucasian that there was a delay, so he need not worry. I asked him which flight was delayed.

“All of them,” he growled in his heavy Chinese accent. “They’re all late.”

I was a bit relieved, as I was cutting things short myself, and may have missed my flight if there were no delay. The Chinese man then turned to me, his voice dripping with anger.

“F**k the America,” he said. “If there were no American, there would be no problem.”

Touché. The thought crossed my mind that I should defend the average American against his hateful statement; something along the lines of, “there are still lots of good people in America. Don’t blame the average American for their corrupt government.” I opted instead to remain silent, and let the man believe whatever he wants. I recognized that anything I say could be misconstrued; the Chinese guy can say whatever he wants, but if those words were heard coming from my lips? I could very well be arrested.

It’s funny; the powers that be want us to believe that the “terrorists” hate the West, and seek to destroy the Western values of freedom and democracy. I wish people would wake up. Nobody “hates your freedom”. But many do hate your government. They hate the government that has lied to the world, killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people to get oil. They hate the government that pumps billions of dollars into the defense of a Zionist, fascist government while overlooking problems on it’s own soil. They hate the government that is run by inept, arrogant, and spoiled brats, pushed into power by wealth and greed.

“But we can’t forgot 9/11,” they say. “Remember what happened on 7/7?” This quickly becomes the catch-all justification for any military action, no matter how ineffective and atrocious. But on the other side of the fence, there are people who are asking themselves, remember 9/19? Remember 3/12? Remember 7/16? Remember 7/30? The list goes on and on, and that’s only within the last year. And people still wonder why such hatred exists.

And it’s not just “angry Moslems” who hate that government. It’s the Chinese guy at Vancouver airport. It’s the Canadian guy in the cubicle next to you. It’s the black man in the sewage water flooding New Orleans. And it’s the child who lost his parents, their lives destroyed under the artillery paid for by that government. Say all you want, that child doesn’t hate your freedom. He hates that bomb that you dropped on his home. And nothing you say will change his mind.

Things have been very busy in the last few weeks for me, leaving updates infrequent, untitled, and uninteresting. All the while, the war in Lebanon has been raging and many other conflicts continue unabated, leaving a Muslim world that is on the verge of collapse. My heart aches thinking about all the suffering people, while I go to bed every night with my greatest worry being getting up late. I float between gratitude and guilt for the luxuries I continue to enjoy, as I type away comfortably in an expensive hotel room in the heart of a thriving city.

There are people I know who typically have very restrained political views, but they have recently changed their tone considerably. Many are frustrated and ashamed of the decidedly arrogant position taken by the Canadian government. Never before would they share their feelings on the sordid political climate; now, they rejoice at Israeli and American military casualties, while grieving for the Lebanese, Palestinian and Iraqi civilian losses. With no end to the aggression on the horizon, I find myself feeling the same way.

I sit in a coffee shop trying to relax after the long hours of work, when I overhear a couple debating the issue. I await a meal at a nearby restaurant, when an argument breaks out over the terms of a ceasefire. I wait at the train station, while a man to my right curses as he reads of the news of the Middle East. On my left, a lady looks at me suspiciously. While the true victims are those who continue to suffer tragic losses for the political gains of others, the conflict is truly global. Everyone, be they in Beirut or my backyard, has taken a side.

I get frustrated writing about all this, so I will leave it to others to express their views much better than I ever could.

World War III? | Manila Standard Today
An interesting article detailing how we may already be in the midst of a global conflict approaching the scale of the first two World Wars. The individual conflicts began somewhat isolated, but are now merging and are quickly forcing the rest of the world to take action. May Allah Subhana wa ta’Ala protect us all.

The Galloway Interview | Sky News
This interview has become quite popular; take a look if you haven’t seen it already. It was refreshing to see someone so frustrated with media ignorance get a chance to unleash himself on national television, and in front of a worldwide audience thanks to the internet. If I were stupider, I’d say the poor anchorwoman got “owned”, but thankfully, I’m not.

The most critical point he makes, I think, is acknowledging that the conflict did not begin with the capture of the Israeli soldiers. “It’s really very simple, except if you think only in a clock that goes back four weeks.”

Qana Massacre | Riverbend
When someone living in Baghdad, where every day is a nightmare, can still be horrified by the terror unleashed upon the Lebanese people, it forces us to forget all of our petty inconveniences and acknowledge how lucky we truly are for whatever peace and comforts we enjoy.

“Hail Haifa” … and all things Israel or you’re dead! | Ethereal Melodies
A comprehensive piece outlining the hypocrisy of the Zionist establishment in a biting, satirical tone.

Frontline blogs | CBC News
CBC News has listed a number of Lebanese and Israeli blogs for the first-hand account of the crisis. I haven’t read through most of these, but some of them appear to be interesting.

Mideast Dispatches | CBC News
The excellent Adrienne Arsenault is documenting her experience in the crisis region. Of course, I don’t always agree with her, but she has generally been among the better foreign correspondents working in the region. The reader comments are an interesting reflection of the Canadian populace. Increasingly, there are “if you don’t like it, go back to your home country”-type remarks which are quite frightening.

* * *
May Allah Subhana wa ta’Ala grant comfort to the grieving families, and grant victory to those fighting oppression wherever they may be.

After strenuous weeks of tight deadlines followed by long, uncomfortable flights, it is getting increasingly frustrating to return to an empty home more uninviting and devoid of life than any of the foreign hotel rooms.

“O ye who believe! Seek help in steadfastness and prayer. Lo! Allah is with the steadfast. And call not those who are slain in the way of Allah “dead.” Nay, they are living, only ye perceive not. And surely We shall try you with something of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and lives and crops; but give glad tidings to the steadfast, who say, when a misfortune striketh them: ‘Lo! we are Allah’s and lo! unto Him we are returning.’ Such are they on whom are blessings from their Lord, and mercy. Such are the rightly guided.” (2.153 - 2.157)

5 dead in Dempster Highway accident | CBC News

I knew some of them. May Allah grant them the highest ranks in Paradise, and grant comfort and peace to their grieving families.

Update 7.28.2006: Yukon crash ends faith mission | Toronto Star

Nobody knows exactly what happened.

There are a few questions that nobody has really asked yet. Since when has playing paintball been a terrorist activity? In the months following the March 2004 anti-terrorism arrest in Ottawa, much was said about the local youth going out for jihad training at nearby paintball sites. Nobody raised the point that paintball is a fairly innocuous activity, enjoyed by thousands of people who haven’t the slightest desire to harm anyone.

If paintball was the incriminating factor, then why not shut down the paintball sites? After all, they breed terrorists. It’s a ridiculous claim, but one that has not been questioned at all during these last few weeks. It is a sad reality that such paranoia exists only as it applies to Muslims. While Al, John, and Joe can play paintball with no repercussions, suspicion will always follow Ali, Yahya and Yusuf if they engage in such activities.

Did Mubin Shaikh really encourage the suspects? Were they really “time bomb[s] waiting to go off,” as Mubin stated, or were they pushed towards that direction by Mubin himself? Or were they not inclined towards that direction at all, and have been incarcerated unjustly? At this point, no one really knows.

The reaction to this story has been predictably polarizing. Mainstream reaction amongst Canadians to his work has been particularly effusive, with readers of CBC.ca calling him a hero, and deserving of the Order of Canada. He has been called a “a wonderful example of a true believer in Islam”, and one wrote that “[his] hope is that your story will shed some light on the fact that most Muslim people are peace loving.” Another wrote, “[we] as Canadians are very fortunate indeed to have the true spirit of Islam come forward in Mubin Shaikh.” This is easily the best press Islam has gotten in the Canadian media that I can remember.

On the other hand, many Muslims, frustrated by our perpetual misrepresentation in the media, have attacked him. While eager to defeat stereotypical representations of Muslims as violent zealots, the verbal assault laid upon Mubin Shaikh has been frightening. The milder ones have called him a munafiq, or hypocrite, a very harsh term in terms of Islamic jurisprudence. Others have called him a “kafir”, and desired that he be “tortured in this life and his next life, and that he [be] ripped from his family so that his daughter would be fatherless.” Many wish that he be thrown into hell, something the Prophet Muhammad (saw) did not desire even for his worst enemies. And to label someone a “kafir”, or infidel, in Islam is perhaps one of the riskiest allegations one can make. If you label someone a “kafir”, it is said, the kafir is either him or you. That is, if you incorrectly assert that someone else is a disbeliever, it is akin to disbelief in itself.

Clearly, emotion has suffocated the rationality of many Muslims, as it often has. The ironic part is that the criticism is coming from both the secular camps as well as the religious ones. The secular side falls victim to the ad hominem fallacy; they attack Mubin because of his earlier support for Shariah. That is, they are attacking the person, not the idea he presented. The religious side tends to get lost in what is apparently known as the straw man fallacy. They have set up Mubin as someone who encouraged the youth to terrorist leanings, and then had them arrested. That is a position easy to refute, but it is most likely a misrepresentation of Mubin’s actual position. In either case, there are significant gaps in logic with the way Muslims are reacting to all this.

The most common criticism of Mubin was his role as a CSIS spy. Many argue that it would have been more appropriate that he report the individuals to the local mosque, or that he himself try to discourage the youth from hateful tendencies. This is all fine and good, but perhaps it would not have been enough. If the alleged plot was indeed true, then discouragement alone wouldn’t have changed the minds of those people. I have dealt with such people personally, and they do not answer to reason in most cases. And then perhaps instead of writing about this “foiled terrorist attempt” right now, I would be writing about the destruction of the Peace Tower in the Centre Block of Parliament Hill. Or perhaps I would have been amongst the rubble, as Parliament is only a couple blocks away from my office. And that would have decimated all hope any of us might have for a relatively peaceful future in this country.

It is perhaps more likely that the suspects were simply angry in talk only, and were unlikely to actually do anything. Often, it is difficult to distinguish violent tendencies from occasional violent thoughts. Everyone, at some point or another, has said something like, “man, I wanna kill that guy.” This does not mean, of course, that one actually intends on murder. In the same way, perhaps someone did mutter, “man, I wanna cut that damn Harper’s head off.” But is that enough to prosecute a person? And if so, was Mubin responsible for this critical misunderstanding? At least one of the suspects has been released on bail, so it is likely that the jury is beginning to realize that these youth did not have the capacity for such evil acts. Details will hopefully begin to emerge as to how feasible the entire operation was, and how far from action the suspects actually were.

Ultimately, justice will be served by Allah. My opinions on the matter truly are irrelevant, as are the opinions I’ve been reading. Personally, I am not prepared to take any position, nor do I see a need to. I am responsible for my actions, you are responsible for yours. None of us have enough information to pass judgement on anyone else, and the most crucial information will always lay within the hearts of those involved. We don’t have access to that, nor do even the Angels. Protect yourself from hatred, and pray for justice. Do not let your emotions cloud your better judgement and bring you to vilify others. Vilification will only worsen the situation, and shatter whatever efforts we have made towards unity.

Pray for me.

When I was in France earlier this year, talk had already begun about the World Cup. It was still over a month away, but the passion the French had for the game far exceeded even the passion Canadians have for their hockey. And the millions of immigrants in France beamed with pride that their national hero was of Algerian descent.

For the disenfranchised North Africans in France, Zinedine Zidane was not just a soccer football star; he represented so much more. He was a fighter who got past the prevailing French nationalism, and excelled in his field against seemingly all odds. He grew up in Marseilles, but not the romantic, wine-country Marseilles we might read about. He grew up in the squalid Marseilles slums, among thousands of other second-generation immigrants of North African descent. If the slums in Lyon were any indication (and I’m told that they are), these were not friendly places. From what I saw in Lyon, these housing projects were rife with drugdealers and other shady personalities. The religious ones among them were doing an excellent job to counter the efforts of the social underworld, but they were too few to reach out to everyone.

Unemployment is extremely high in these housing projects. In Lyon, I met hundreds of young people of about my age struggling tremendously just to make ends meet. Their fathers, who had entire families to provide for, were perpetually depressed. Often, they would look at me cynically, knowing I came from a country where it was not considered uncommon to have a complete university education. I stopped introducing myself as a computer engineer or computer analyst early on when I realized that doing so might be considered arrogant.

Those who refused to pacify themselves with drugs resorted to the soccer field. And when the soccer fields were all occupied, as they often were, then the parking lots and basketball courts were good enough. I don’t think I ever saw people actually playing basketball on the courts; it was always soccer.

I’d be lying if I said I cared about the World Cup. I only watched one match during the entire tournament, and that was only in a waiting room while I was getting work done on my car. That one match was a somewhat entertaining affair - Portugal vs. The Netherlands - but I didn’t know any of the players on either side, and always found soccer to be boring on TV to begin with. But in spite of my apathy, I made it public early on that I was rooting for France, if only because their star was Algerian when I had personally observed the struggles of minorities there.

And France performed admirably, losing only in the World Cup final against Italy in a game I still didn’t care enough about to watch.

But the real story, of course, is the headbutt.

The word is that the Zizou headbutt was in response to racist comments. There has been lots of speculation and lip-reading done; while there isn’t a definite agreement, it’s clear that it was something very nasty. During my time in France, much was said about Zidane’s character off the field, that he was calm and humble. The headbutt is perhaps one of the most primitive (and hilarious) forms of attacking someone else, far removed from the persona of someone known for his humbleness.

I’m sure writers and the irrelevantly opinionated will try to derive some deep philosophical parallels from this incident. I’ve read someone trying to link the incident to European history in World War II. Sports analysts will condemn the man for thinking of his own revenge before the good of the team. Others will applaud him for standing up for a country that has frequently been ridiculed for being weak. And I’ve already read others ignorantly hanging off the “France sucks” bandwagon, labelling the incident as yet another demonstration of perpetual French failure.

Ultimately, it’s about a man, his head, and another man’s chest. And when the Italian fell, whatever racist or hateful rhetoric he spewed he said fell with him. And to me, that’s worth celebrating.

Update 7.28.2006: A Much Needed Head-Butt | Islamica Magazine

This is a much better article on the non-athletic connotations of the Zidane headbutt. It’s actually remarkably similar to what I wrote above, but is clearly written by someone with more interest in the game and the players than myself.

I read another article today about how Muslims need to do more to root out extremism. This time it was Tony Blair who said that there is only so much his government can do; it is up to Muslims themselves to identify the fringe elements in their community, and work against them.

This rhetoric is common, and I essentially agree with it; we have a lot of work to do amongst ourselves. But I will not apologize for the actions of others, especially if requested to do so by hypocrites who are running an illegal war. In fact, calling it a war is perhaps even too generous; it is an invasion, and should be recorded as one of the greatest disgraces of modern history.

The rape of a young Iraqi girl, and the subsequent murder of herself and her family, has surfaced. The girl was fifteen fourteen; her parents and little sister (no more than seven years old) were the other victims. Is there anyone who really believes that this is the only such case? This one happened to surface publicly; there must be hundreds of such incidents that remain hidden. Considering the humiliations that surfaced at Abu Ghraib against Iraqi men, it would be foolish to assume that Iraqi women were not abused as well. The list of atrocities keeps getting longer; were such a list ever published, future generations would categorize this army - and the government that controls them - along with the most oppressive forces of the twentieth century.

I suspect that the government is less worried about the rape/murder itself, and more worried about how it leaked.

No one is asking for the Americans to apologize for the acts of their soldiers. No one is asking the Americans to “root out” the extremist elements within their ranks. We refrain from this because we believe that the actions of a few does not reflect the entire organization. Unfortunately, that logic is applied selectively: don’t blame America for the action of its citizens, but blame the Muslims for the actions of its adherents. That no one questions this hypocrisy is frightening. And anyone bearing a bumper sticker requesting that we “Support Our Troops” is asking us to support an organization that has caused more violence, death, and instability than any other group existing today. And yet, such behaviour is applauded, while speaking out against these criminals is considered to be a challenge against liberty, democracy, and justice.

We live in strange times, when the ones dropping bombs from fighter planes to kill individual men are considered to be the ones fighting terrorism. Things are completely backwards when you are considered to be a threat to national security when you don’t support the invading army in an illegal conflict. But that’s the world of today, and we all must live within our circumstances.

I will do for my community what I must do as a Muslim, but I will not apologize for them. Unless the average American takes responsibility for the atrocities committed by their fellow citizens, I see no need to take responsibility for those atrocities committed in the name of Islam.