Thoughts

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.


 

Whistler while you work

I was thinking of writing about the train bombings last week, or the Lebanon war, but things are just getting way too depressing. I'm getting frustrated just thinking about all this, so I'll leave all that aside.

I spent the day in Whistler, British Columbia: future site of many events of the 2010 Olympic Winter Games, and one of North America's most popular ski destinations. I always expected that the natural beauty of Canada would likely exceed anything else I had seen during my world travels, and here's the confirmation:







I just bought this digital camera a few days ago; I'm not too happy with it, unfortunately. More photos here.

Update 7.20.2006: I was able to return the camera, even after taking over a hundred pictures and exhausting the included batteries. Yay for free rentals!

 

First suspect granted bail

Teenage Canada terror suspect granted bail - lawyer | Reuters

He won't be the last. Some of the suspects, I'm sure, were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's interesting that this happened so soon after this "mole" stuff became public.

On a somewhat related note, the Canadian media must really find some new Muslims to interview. I'm really tired of reading what Tarek Fatah has to say on every single issue. Perhaps it's only our own silence that allows people like him to have a forum to express such opinions; the wiser opinions, meanwhile, remain relegated to the depths of the vast wasteland that is the internet. Irrelevant opinions, indeed.

Of Mole and Men

'Devout Muslim' informer helped in Toronto terrorism-related arrests | CBC News

Mounties had mole in alleged terror cell | Toronto Star

Not sure what to think about this just yet. It's not my job to judge the intentions of others, nor is it yours.

Update 7.14.2006: This ayah kept popping up in my head.

O you who believe! avoid most of suspicion, for surely suspicion in some cases is a sin, and do not spy nor let some of you backbite others. Does one of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? But you abhor it; and be careful of (your duty to) Allah, surely Allah is Oft-returning (to mercy), Merciful. (49:12)

Update 7.15.2006: Prison steels Amara's faith, letters show
This is all so very confusing.

On heroes and headbutts

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.

Wise words from Seeker's Digest

"Beware of knocking out your soul with a backbite (or a head-butt)."

More here.

Dahyer sichuayshun

Several months ago, I wrote how technology is corrupting the English language.

Things are getting worse: Push for simpler spelling persists.

Update 8.2.2006: And apparently, technology isn't a problem after all.
Texting helps teens' grammar | Toronto Star

The ironic part is the "verbing" of the word "text" in the title of the article. Either way, I'm not convinced by the results of the study.

Fly away

So I'm in Vancouver these days.

It turns out that the hotel I'm staying in was the site of a mutant research facility in X-Men 3. So if I come back a little weird, you'll know why.

I won't apologize

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.

From whose bourn, no traveller returns

There was a limo service awaiting my arrival at O'Hare International Airport. The driver was a Muslim, and greeted me with salaam; a welcome introduction given my tainted images of the United States. As large a city as Chicago is, he knew some of the people I knew, and we had a friendly discussion the whole way. I was extremely tired, and somewhat frustrated by the delays caused by my cancelled flight, but I tried my best to be an active participant in the conversation. As we pulled up to the conference centre and I was stepping out of the vehicle, he requested a favour of me.

"You're travelling right now. Please pray for my child, he's quite sick."

I didn't pay enough attention to what he said, presumably because I was exhausted and also because I never quite expected to see him again. I paid him, and walked towards the conference centre.

I spent two weeks there, among an international contingent of colleagues. I was amazed at just how American the Americans were; they all seemed to live lives inspired by television shows, from the goofy but lovable class clown to the young and melodramatic "southern gal". I eventually got used to it, but it still bothered me how ignorant they were of the rest of the world. Even the Muslims among them were no different. One thought Ottawa was in Idaho; when I told him that there was a world outside the United States, he assumed I lived in Alaska. Another brother asked me this beautifully ignorant question:

"Why don't you just live in United States instead?"

I enjoyed answering this question, drawing on all the things that I love about Canada: the relaxed lifestyle, the polite people, the functional and tolerant multiculturalism, free healthcare, among other things. I also mentioned how I would feel guilty for paying taxes to such an incredibly inept, violent, and dangerous government. That was a moot point, he argued, as the majority of Americans don't support them. If the majority don't support them, I replied, then how can it be called democracy? He changed the subject.

On a quiet and rainy Sunday afternoon, I happened to take a stroll outside despite my lack of appropriate clothing to handle the rain. Waiting in front of the Welcome Center was the driver who brought me there a week earlier; he had come to drop off someone else. He greeted me with salaam, and asked how things were going. He reminded me about the ijtema that was taking place in Chicago that weekend; unfortunately, I had already missed most of it, as did he.

"I wasn't able to go myself," he said. "I've spent most of the weekend in the hospital. My child just passed away this morning."

I was stunned, having completely forgotten about his request a week earlier. Innalillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon, I muttered. From Allah we came, and to Him we will return. The child, an infant boy no more than three months old, was gone, and I had irresponsibly forgotten both him and his father in my prayers. I told the driver that I would pray for him, for his patience, and for Allah to compensate him greatly for his loss.

The news left a cloud over my travels for a while; the driver had become a friend, and I was saddened by his loss. He was a young man himself, only a year older than I, and had been married for just a little over a year. What struck me most about it was that in spite of his situation, he could not get any break from his job. Just a few hours after such a tragic loss, he was back in the car driving people from place to place. I'm certain that his passengers would often be rude and impatient, completely negligent of the fact that the driver was also a husband, a father, and a mourner.

Such is the nature of life, though. The demands don't stop for anything, and there is rarely a moment of respite for those who struggle to make ends meet. Such incidents remind me of how thankful I must be for all the blessings I have in life. I live a very easy life, and have seen little of adversity in my quarter century of experience.

"And then which of the favours of thy Lord will you deny?"

Off the mark

So here I am, writing in the middle of the night when I would much rather be sleeping. Unfortunately, a scheduled flight to Chicago yesterday was cancelled, and thus I am now awaiting an early-morning flight which will just kill my sleeping schedule, and reduce my chances of staying awake at a Monday 8:00am meeting to zilch. I need to be at the airport at 4am, to arrive in Chicago by 7:15am.

Prior to the official cancellation of the flight, I waited patiently in the airport after a fairly lengthy security process. It's frustrating that I'll probably need to do this all over again because of the cancellation.

This will be my first time flying into the United States since 1999; much has changed since then. American Security had a field day going through my passport. I was asked many questions about my time in Saudi Arabia (lots of Arabic Hajj-related stickers in my passport); and when I affirmed that I had been to Pakistan within the last five years, the furrowed brow of the security lady was a sight to behold. I turned over all the papers I had that confirmed my business in United States, and finally the lady was satisfied.

Last week, I was the emcee at the annual graduation dinner for all the Muslim students in colleges and universities in the Capital Region. The keynote speaker was Maher Arar, whose story continues to worry me. With no evidence or charge against him, the man lost more than a year of his life to excrutiating torture, and his future will always be tainted by the nightmarish memories. His mistake was only being in the wrong place at the wrong time; a victim of wayward fire. The shots fired in the name of security have often missed their mark, targetting people with nothing but irrelevance to share; I always fear that another may be caught in the crossfire.

Notable pieces about the recent arrest

There have been lots of notable bits and pieces about the recent Toronto arrests. As Muslim Link is currently defunct, unfortunately, I'll be writing and posting here more often than usual.

CBC News | Teacher witnessed transformation of some bomb-plot suspects
I found this news item interesting because of the following passage:

“Amiruddin said many mainstream Muslim organizations in Canada are really part of the problem, standing by as extremist propaganda spreads in the mosques. He cites the Al-Rahman centre in Mississauga, Ont., which he links to the Al-Maghrib Institute, which runs a popular educational website. It's nominally run out of Ottawa, but Amiruddin says it's really a Saudi operation.”

While it is true that alMaghrib tends to follow Saudi teachings on certain issues of jurisprudence which I disagree with, it's disturbing that some would consider them to be a vehicle of hate. The founder of the alMaghrib Institute is a very classy and sincere person who truly loves this country; he can not be blamed for promoting violence or extremism. Some of the students tend to get a bit over-enthusiastic about their classes (omg are you ready for TPA???!!!!), but their hearts and minds are definitely in the right place.

SafSpace | T.O.'s Homegrown Terrorists
The brilliant sister Safiyyah has come out of her extended break to analyze the issue in depth, in her candid, objective style that is so refreshing in these emotional times. This is probably the best place to start for anyone wishing to understand the background, allegations, and possible motivations of the suspects, as well as the current and desired response of the Muslim community.

The Globe and Mail | We must root out the fringe elements in the Muslim community
This was sent out to a mailing list I am a part of. I disagreed with a lot of this article, and wrote a lengthy response which I may post later. Still, it is an interesting read, and presents what is probably the more mainstream view of the situation among Muslims.

The Toronto Star | So Many Possibilities ... for courts
Another calm and reserved voice, this time in the mainstream media. The writer urges the public to avoid jumping to conclusions, and to let the issue work it's way through the courts. This is also a good read for anyone wishing to get past the sensational headlines that have been dominating the papers in the last few days.

The Ottawa Citizen | The greater threat is ignorance
Deepak Chopra offers some practical responses to ignorance.

The bogeymen are coming!

As I walked through downtown Ottawa, I passed by a row of newspaper boxes, featuring the Ottawa Citizen, the Ottawa Sun, and Metro News. Each front page yelled the same message, accentuated by one word: BEHEAD. "There's an allegation my client indicated he wanted to behead the Prime Minister of Canada." "Plans to behead PM." "Plot to storm Parliament Hill and ... BEHEAD THE PM."


This is just getting juvenile; the fear tactics are reprehensible. All the papers say the same thing: that one of the suspects is "alleged" to have wanted to behead the prime minister. Where these allegations come from, nobody will say. It's not very different than if I were to say that you, the reader, are being accused of plotting to destroy the Alexandra Bridge. You would say, "what kind of allegation is that? No one would accuse me of that!" And I would say, yes, someone would accuse you of that: I just did.



But above all, the objective is to reduce the suspects to caricatures - evil, insane, Saturday morning supervillains, with sociopathic tendencies and no regard for human life or dignity. Once you've got the word "beheading" in the vocabulary, the lunatic must be guilty! He's a crazy nutcase! How could someone even think of something so awful? And whether the allegations are proven or not is irrelevant; the image of the suspect has been tainted, and that alone is sufficient to destroy his future.

It's very easy to paint a dirty picture of someone. Below are two descriptions that one might expect to hear in the media:

Case One

He was always a good and dependable student, and was highly regarded at the office where he worked. He was known for his charity and social work, and often spoke on behalf of the voiceless minority in the face of discrimination. He had a dry but unique sense of humour, probably inspired by his love of the daily comics. Most of his colleagues considered him a pleasure to work with, and respected his work ethic and dependability.

Case Two

He always appeared distant and reserved, even at a young age. Sources say he once accidentally stabbed a friend with a compass as a child, and that he frequently played violent video games such as Doom or Wolfenstein, where he would kill Nazis. He has spent a significant amount of time overseas, in places such as Saudi Arabia, and was in Pakistan shortly before the attacks on September 11th. On the morning of the attacks, he may have been flying towards North America from a formerly Communist state. He has publicly supported a charitable organization that briefly had it's assets frozen due to suspicions of funding terrorism."

At first glance, the first case appears to represent a model citizen; the poor soul who often ends up being the victim of tragedy. The second case appears to describe a much more disturbed individual, capable of some pretty nasty stuff.

Unfortunately, the two cases describe the same person. The statements may all have been true, but media spin is a dangerous beast. Get spun the wrong way, and you are now a heartless and insane bomber.

And for the record, Human Concern International has gotten past the completely baseless allegations that came against it several years ago, and continues to work tirelessly to alleviate human suffering around the world. Their overhead costs are remarkably less than most other charitable organizations, and their hard work deserves our support.

Again, my hope is for a transparent process, where the suspects will rise or fall based only on the proof brought against them. Let justice prevail, and let the bogeymen disappear along with the lies that created them.

The cartoon villain given above, "Evil Midnight Bomber what Bombs at Midnight!", belongs to Ben Edlund and the good folks who produced the Tick cartoons.

Toronto Muslims held in alleged terrorism plot

17 people detained.

I don't know what to say about this, really. All I can hope for is a transparent process, though I expect that this is unlikely. We still know very little about the circumstances around the last arrest, even though it hit closer to home. And their "leads", if you can call them that, are so far out of the picture that it shows ineptitude on the part of the security officials.

If they can prove the guilt of the accused, then I commend their efforts. Canada is my home, and any threat to the country is a threat to me personally. I can see the Peace Tower out my apartment window; I look upon it with respect every day.

On the other hand, if nothing conclusive can be brought forward, then I can only pray that sanity prevails.

Lampshopping

My return to Canada also brought about another significant change in my life: I now live alone. My roommate left for India while I was in France, leaving the apartment all to myself. This is a significant departure for me, as it officially ends my student years. Though I've been out of university for a while now, I've still lived like a student, and would even occasionally spend weekends at the university labs helping my roommate with his project. Now the place is all my own, and I can do with it as I like.

My first course of action was to buy some lamps to brighten my bedroom. An old lady living by the university happened to be selling some lamps that met my needs, so I dropped by her place to take a look.

When I arrived there, I was greeted warmly by the old lady, who appeared to be in her 70's but was actually only in her late 50's. She spoke with a heavy British accent, having grown up there after her parents fled Poland during the second World War. I expected to just take a look at the lamps, perhaps buy them, and then be on my way. Little did I know that I would be there for well over an hour.

The house itself was over 100 years old, the kind of place you might expect to find a kind old grandmother. There were old books stacked up everywhere, dusty and untouched for decades perhaps. The hallways were narrow, dimly lit, and had a 19th century feel to them. And yet, between the creaking floorboards and the peeling wallpaper, there was something distinctly warm and uplifting about the place.

I had only intended to buy the lamps and leave, but she insisted that she introduce herself and tell me about her life, the house, and other stories. She lived in the house with her husband and a number of students who rented the rooms. The couple spent quite a bit of money on renovating the place to accomodate the students, whom she treated like her children. She cooked and cleaned for them, and did her best to accomodate their hectic student lives. She lamented about her own children, one of whom she felt she could not care for the way a mother should. I reassured her that she must have done a great job, and that eventually her children will realize it.

Having introduced herself, it was only proper that I introduce myself. I described my work, and told her I graduated from the university at the end of 2004. She mentioned her son graduated at the same time. "It's a big university," I said. "I probably don't know him."

"No, he was in engineering too! His name was.." She mentioned the name of a fellow classmate, among the top students in the program. It turns out I knew the son, though not very well. He was one of those students that lesser students tend to be jealous of: smart, witty, popular, and annoyingly sappy. I personally didn't know him well enough to have any real opinion.

"I wasn't the mother I needed to be for him," the old lady whimpered. I couldn't understand what mistake she could have made, seeing as how the son seemingly turned out fine. "He's married now, you know. To some Canadian girl."

And there it was. He didn't marry a girl of Polish descent, and that didn't sit well with her. She later went on to explain how her husband was invited to the wedding, but she herself wasn't invited. I couldn't understand that at all; how can someone possibly not invite his own mother to his wedding? The same mother who endured the pains of labour, cleaned up after him for years, fed him with the best foods, took care of him when he was down, and never asked for anything in return? Even if there was a disagreement, the mother is just too important to ignore.

It couldn't possibly be a case of a negligent mother; she treated me with so much kindness that I couldn't imagine that she would treat her own son any other way. She kept complimenting me for being so polite and courteous; I don't believe for a second that she could come off as anything less but a proud, supportive mother for her own children.

Unfortunately for her, the son responded to her shows of affection with disdain and contempt. According to the old lady, the son did not want to be "mothered" any longer, and moved out fairly early on. The only other child went off to another city for studies, leaving her with no one to share her motherly love with. And thus, she had to rent out the rooms to students, which I believe she did subconsciously to fill in the void left by her ungrateful children. The students, however, treat her as no more than a landlord.

I told her about the value of the mother in Islam. Heaven is under the feet of the mother, as the tradition goes.

"Your mother must be very proud of you," she said, holding back tears. She was breaking up, but she did not want to let me leave. She seemed so happy getting the chance to talk to a young man who cared. Unfortunately, I don't come anywhere near fulfilling the rights of my own mother, but I suppose I do better than a lot of people from other cultures.

After an hour or so, I purchased the lamps. She walked out to my car with me, offering a few more bits of advice regarding family life, my beard, housing, and where to buy glasses. I noticed she waited until I had turned off her street before she went back inside; I could see her waving in my rearview mirror. A few minutes later, she would go back to being lonely, with my visit only being a temporary relief.

The most basic structure of any society is the family; if all the families run well, the society as a whole has a chance to run well. But if the family structure has broken down, any social hierarchy built atop these broken families will inevitably break down.

The North American family can only last a couple more generations at it's current rate of decay. When it has collapsed completely, the floodwaters will pour in, and society will be washed away. Only at the feet of the mother, one can stay afloat.

Back in the Saddle

On Sunday, May 21st, 2006, I returned to Canada after a five-week excursion to France. It was an eye-opening experience, and I was fortunate to have shared it with some highly charismatic Parisians. I learned a lot from them, but learned more from the disenfranchised youth that make up the most visible portion of the large Muslim population. Most are unemployed or working menial jobs, and were in awe that I, as a Muslim, was an engineer.

Unfortunately, the first escape for most of these angry youth has been drugs. At the very least, many of these youth - largely of Moroccan and Algerian descent - regularly smoke joints and occasionally heavier stuff. The one image that summed up my entire trip was that of a stoned Moroccan in his late 20's, rolling a joint with three four-foot baguettes on his lap.

Which brings us to the baguettes. There are baguettes everywhere. I literally could not walk for more than five minutes, at any time of the day or night, without seeing someone carrying at least one baguette. But they're fantastic - always fresh, buttery, and just plain delicious. I have no idea why the benchmark of all goodness is sliced bread - I'd prefer an unsliced baguette any day. To make things even more tempting, Nutella is cheap and socially acceptable for both kids and adults in France.

During the five weeks, we helped reconnect a son with his estranged father, bridged a decade-old gap between two communities, and spoke with several hundreds of angry youth, among other things. Hopefully, we've at least planted some seeds that will produce some fruit in the long run. From a personal standpoint, I learned a great deal about dealing with specific types of people, a lot about leadership and integrity, and vastly improved my French.

I didn't expect to get a chance to do much sightseeing, but I did spend a day hiking through the mountains neighbouring Switzerland. Prior to this trip, the most naturally beautiful place I had ever been to was the mountains in Northern Pakistan. No longer; the natural beauty around the Cascades du Herisson in the Jura region of France tops it. Rolling mountains as far as the eye can see, with flowing streams dropping into majestic waterfalls... it was absolutely incredible, a true sign of the power of Allah. The same hiking trail also included a brief trek through a cave, which looked just like Faramir's hideout towards the end of "The Two Towers".

I'm back safely, and back to the usual routine now. I'll write more about the trip later; there are thousands of stories to tell.

Hiatus

I won't be replying to e-mails or checking my voicemail for the next five weeks, so if you don't hear from me, it's nothing personal.

Needless to say, there won't be anything new at Irrelevant Opinions either until sometime at the end of May or June perhaps.

The Calvin and Hobbes comic at the bottom of the page will continue to be updated daily, though!

Have a great summer, everyone!

Wa salam,
Faraz

3:00am

I was awoken just before 3:00am by the phone ringing. The caller was apparently from England, and had discovered my resumé on-line and was interested in meeting me for an interview. I rudely informed the caller that my only job at 3:00am was to sleep, and that's what I was going to do. I hung up.

A minute later, the Englishman called back, claiming that there was some confusion. He listed my particular business qualifications they were interested in learning more about. Something was very fishy, and finally I realized in my half-awake state that I was the victim of yet another prank call. Llama and Polar Bear again, still smoking too much shisha in an Arab coffee shop in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep after that. I was up from 3:00am until the time I had to leave for work. This itself didn't bother me that much; what bothered me was the fact that I had to go to a meeting at my downtown office in a very sleepy state. I hadn't fallen asleep in a meeting for about 5 months, though I had developed a somewhat notorious reputation for falling asleep in meetings when I worked downtown.

But I couldn't keep awake, and those same people who saw me sleeping in 3:00pm conference calls back in October and November saw me dozing off again. They must suspect that I can never stay awake in meetings, which isn't the case anymore. I've all but overcome the meeting-sleepiness problems, but the prank callers caught me on the worst day for sending me to work on three-hours sleep.

I know who they are. I know their phone numbers. I know where they live. I know their parents' phone numbers back home in Toronto. Thus, I request my loyal readers to offer suggestions as to how I can get back at this devious duo.

Cryptic Voicemail

I received this voicemail today; not sure who it is or what they're talking about, but it's quite funny.

Was better alone

It has been exactly eleven years since one of the most haunting incidents of my young life. I meant to write about this last year after ten years had passed, but I didn't want to put a damper on my good mood at the time. I had just returned to Canada after three months overseas, and I was far too happy to dwell on the incident.

I was 13 years old, in the eighth grade, and struggling academically. I wasn't bothered by the poor grades; my popularity seemed to be inversely proportional to my academic performance. When I was the top student in the school, I was also desperately lonely and unhappy. When my grades took a plunge in my second year of high school, I found myself gravitating towards a new crowd of friends. Some of them shared many of the same interests I did; in particular, the classic videogame Doom - state-of-the-art at the time. And primarily for that one reason, I fit in. At 13, popularity was the most important thing, and if it meant discussing violent video games with unstable teenagers, then so be it.

I can't remember why, but I took the city bus home from school on April 3rd, 1995. And I can't remember why I was waiting for the bus somewhere in between my school and home, but there I was, across the street from the scene of a crime. There must have been at least 15 police cars lined up, and police tape sealing off most of the houses on that side of the street. This was highly unusual for this part of town; I lived in a very peaceful neighbourhood, and for many, police cars simply meant a free ride home.

I asked a few people waiting at the bus stop with me as to what was going on, but no one knew at the time.

I got home, somewhat confused but eager to think about something else. I went downstairs, turned on my computer, and started playing Doom. I was interrupted shortly afterwards, as a friend had called and told me the news.

"Did you hear about the murders?" my friend asked.

"On St. Charles? I saw a bunch of police cars just a little while ago."

"Yeah, it was ..." He mentioned the name of a friend, which I can't mention today by law. At first, I thought he was telling me that this friend was murdered, which would have been shocking enough. I was horrified to learn that the friend was, in fact, the murderer.

All the details came quickly. Three kids from my high school, between the ages of 13 and 15, had broken into the house of a retired priest and his wife. The victims were aged 75 and 70 years old, and were highly respected in the community. In fact, the priest was such a popular figure that he had a street named after him even before his death.

As the classmates, we were privy to lots of inside information. There were others at the house, who also got high on LSD and drunk on margueritas before the attack. We knew of others who were probably involved, but were never implicated in the investigation. We knew from before that the particular house was selected for robbery because one of the murderers never received tips from the owners as their newspaper delivery boy.

But the most gruesome details came when the autopsy revealed how the elderly couple was actually murdered. After the children broke into their house, they beat them to death with baseball bats and broken beer bottles. The former priest was believed to have been defending himself, given the tremendous bruising on his forearms. But he was an old man, and his wife an old woman. There was nothing they could do against the drug-induced rage of the children.

As all this unfolded, I recalled statements from some of my other friends, about the shady personalities I had begun associating with. One mentioned one of them intending to rob a house. Another alluded to the drug use. One of them clearly recalled the eldest of the three expressing a desire to kill someone.

This was all before Columbine, but I couldn't help but feel nervous because of the Doom association. At the time, video game violence wasn't in the media much; in fact, video games were still the domain of the socially awkward. The thoughts lingered on for years that, maybe, perhaps the influence of a video game pushed these kids over the edge.

In the aftermath of the murders, I realigned myself to my academically strong but socially unpopular roots. And to my joy, I found my place, simply by being myself. I didn't need to put on an act to fit in with a certain crowd, a crowd that could have taken me down a dreadful path had the murders not woken me up. For the most part, I put the incident past me, but some images still come back from time to time.

There is so much insanity in the world. I don't claim to understand any of it, but I do hold that there are lessons that must be learned from the chaos.

It's not terrorism unless...

I was hoping I'd be able to leave aside the Tim Hortons stories for a while, but then this happened.

"Police have ruled out terrorism as the cause of an explosion that ripped through a Tim Hortons doughnut shop in the trendy Yorkville area of downtown Toronto Sunday, killing one man."

"Police have not confirmed reports the man was seen entering the washroom with wires or possibly explosives strapped to his body."

Suppose they did confirm that this guy was strapped with explosives. Would it only be considered terrorism if the bomber was Arab or Muslim? If the guy is blowing himself up in a coffee shop, I'm sure his motivations go beyond the recent price increase for ice caps. Of course, Tim Hortons' makes quite a bit of business from it's Muslim customers. If it were Starbucks, this would be another story altogether.

omg lollzz!!!

aswrwb!!!

sowwy i havent posted in so long!! but i'm vrey happy now as you can see!!!!

omg googel finally reelased google romance!! i am like so happy ad now giggly lolzz!!1111one

and scicents are making dragonz!!!!!!! that is so coool??? yay???

OMG!!!! im so happy rofll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111

ws!!

"Cause it was happy and I was sad, and it made me miss you oh so bad..."
- Jewel (You Were Meant for Me)

When is he going to post something meaningful?

Not today.

I only promised the irrelevant. And I won't even deliver that anymore.

Tim at War

I think we need another Tim Hortons' story for today.

Tim, the Rim, and Several Angry Adults

Winning Tim Hortons cup sparks bitter row

Hope Restored

I started writing this entry shortly after the conference from March 4th-5th, but took an extended break to offer only irrelevant stories about Tim Hortons... so here it is finally, posted much later.

I am not a big fan of large Islamic conferences. I went to the Reviving the Islamic Spirit conference once, but it didn't strike me as something I felt necessary to attend annually. I fully support the brothers and sisters who are taking the time and effort to organize these, but recognized that I personally benefit more from smaller, less glamorous efforts. So when a group of students at my alma mater decided to hold an Islamic conference in Ottawa, I was skeptical but slightly intrigued.

First, a little background. Throughout the course of my university studies, there was a major decline in the involvement of the Muslims on campus. When I first started, the students were recovering from a spiritual lull that was apparently going on for years. My personal introduction to the MSA was not particularly graceful; I accidentally dropped a plate of curry on the MSA president's head. That forgettable incident aside, I quickly found my place, and our tight circle of friends began to expand. Within my first couple of semesters, things started moving quickly; people were involved, happy, and things were happening. Above all, the core of the MSA was united, dedicated, and fully committed to the community and one another.

Things started declining in late 2002 and early 2003. Perhaps it began in Ramadhan 2002, when allegations began about possible extortion of MSA Ramadhan funds. While the issue was resolved, the whole issue left a sour taste; people began having misgivings about the direction things were heading. When some of the key members started suffering academically, it only made it easier to doubt the efforts of the MSA. Something was amiss.

Rumours began to spread about some of the core members, and the tight community that was UOMSA started disintegrating. While activities continued to happen, the people running them were themselves losing any inclination towards being involved in the community. Rumours continued to surface, and many comments were misinterpreted as a result. After weeks of festering, all the lies, rumours, and miscommunication resulted in a complete breakdown of the once tight community; internally, we still refer to this period as The Fitnah.

And that core that I was so proud of during my early years fell apart. One graduated. Another went through a devastating quarter-life crisis. One vanished from the public sphere, while another fought hard to disappear himself. Most of the active members became disillusioned with the shura of the MSA, the loosely connected group of alumni and elders who selected the MSA executive each year. While amends were made eventually, everyone passed through The Fitnah changed and disaffected.

For over a year, things languished. Few cared anymore, and those who did care did not have the respect of the others. The system had broken down, and it remained that way until I graduated.

Over the course of the next year, I'm told, things remained stagnant, and there weren't any promising signs that things would change anytime soon.

Given the plight of the community, I was not the only one slightly skeptical about the prospect of a large-scale conference hosted by our MSA. At the same time, I had a faint hope that perhaps this would precisely be the mechanism by which the community can be woken up again.

And thus it was. The conference was an incredible success, and the volunteers were second to none. It was among the best organized events I had attended since I came to Ottawa, and will hopefully set a new standard. Even with last-minute cancellations and awkward circumstances, the event worked. What was most amazing was the fresh new set of faces behind the scenes; finally, perhaps, some of the older faces can move on.

I just hope it lasts.

Rambo is my mailman

Today, I was quickly perusing over the daily news headlines on my Google Personalized homepage, when I misread two adjacent headlines and thought I saw something about a bombing in Madrid killing 41 people. I did a doubletake, worried that Spain had been targetted again. I then realized it was Iraq, and went back to going about my business.

A minute later, I realized how indicative my behaviour was of the typical, indifferent Westerner. Hearing about bombings and deaths have become so commonplace in Iraq that it hardly catches our attention anymore. Each of those victims must have a family; for each of those families, they will always remember that day when a loved one - perhaps a father, perhaps a daughter, maybe a sister - left this world forever. They will cry uncontrollably, while others will try to comfort them to no avail. While these events may hardly catch our attention now, they are changing the lives - nay, destroying the lives of thousands. The losses can never be recovered.

Had it happened in Europe or Canada, it would dominate headlines for weeks and months. The date would become synonymous with the event, as if everything else on that day stood still watching tragedy unfold in our world. Talk shows and newspaper columnists would keep putting the same question forth, how could this happen to us?

Instead, the question must be raised, that how have we become so indifferent?

Uninspired

It's strange how easily I can write for this blog, even when I am at a complete loss for words for any other writing I need to do. Last week, I stared blankly at my word processor for over 10 hours across four days, trying to come up with something meaningful for the March issue of Muslim Link. I couldn't. I wrote a few lines here and there, but nothing that stood out as something I was willing to have published.

Muslim Link prints over 10,000 copies per month and is distributed in three cities, so anything I write there has a fairly sizable audience. Normally, I don't worry about audiences, but somehow I could not do it this time. The weight of my writers block was too much, and thus, I scrapped everything I had written and gave up.

The title "Irrelevant Opinions" works because it reminds me that I'm writing for myself. Whether I have an audience or not is irrelevant. Occasionally, I will write something that no one will understand, or at least, only a few will be able to interpret the meaning. And as far as I'm concerned, that's perfectly fine. A friend once suggested an 80/20 split on the generality of writing: 80% should be easily understood by everyone, while 20% could be reserved for a "niche" audience. Often, I will go for the opposite, that 80% of my meaning will be for myself and a handful of others who might understand the background, while just 20% can be understood at face value. And I will continue doing this, lest I start worrying about the lowest common denominator.

Bill Watterson, the author of Calvin and Hobbes, refused to license his characters or his work for fear that it would become impersonal. Even though he had an audience of over 2,400 newspapers worldwide, he always insisted that he was writing the comics only for himself and his wife. That kept the characters honest and entertaining, as the comics kept a strong personal voice until the very last strip was published. He put everything he had into it, rather than sell out and run a massive media empire as Jim Davis has done with Garfield. And we all know how funny Garfield has been for the last 15 years.

Perhaps this is why the short film "More" meant so much to me. Last week, I came across this six-minute animated short that was nominated for an Academy Award. The movie is available on-line for anyone interested; Quicktime is required to view it. I've developed a number of different interpretations of this, and am interested to see how others view it.

Legacy

I didn't want to write about the whole cartoon "crisis". I really didn't. But something that has been lost in this whole issue has been the Prophet himself, peace be upon him. Not enough people know about this amazing personality, though there is probably no one in history whose life has been recorded as extensively. There is no shortage of material on the life of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, but there is definitely a shortage of Muslims willing to deliver those materials.

Since at least one person has questioned my imaan altogether because of my lack of outrage, I felt compelled to write on this topic. Others have told me that the worldwide reaction was justified, as defence of the Prophet should be our number one priority as Muslims. Some are outraged that Canada hasn't done enough to make Europe apologize. All this just doesn't make sense to me, even though I did find the pictures offensive and insulting. Personally, I feel that even if every single European nation decided to apologize, there is no way that such an apology would be sincere.

"We're sorry a bunch of cartoonists accused your Prophet of being a terrorist. And thanks to your violent protests, your burning of our embassies, the dozens of deaths which have been caused by your riots, and the death threats we've received, we can now say that we were wrong, and we regret the error."

That seems highly unlikely. I'm not saying that no apology is necessary, but this is not what we need right now; an apology at this point would only be a political gesture that would do nothing in addressing the root problem. It amazes me that this is what it took to finally unite the Muslim world on a common cause, even after we remained silent on much larger issues.

Regardless, I wanted to write about the Prophet himself and leave the politics aside. Regarding provocations and ignorant talk addressed to Muslims, the Quran states:

"You shall certainly be tried respecting your wealth and your souls, and you shall certainly hear from those who have been given the Book before you and from those who are polytheists much annoying talk; and if you are patient and guard (against evil), surely this is one of the affairs (which should be) determined upon." (3:186)

"And the servants of the Most Gracious (Allah) are those who walk on the earth in humility, and when the ignorant address them, they say, 'Peace!'" (25:63)

Regarding the Prophet, peace be upon him, the Quran says:
"And most surely you conform (yourself) to sublime morality." (68:4)

"And We sent thee not, except as a Mercy for all the creatures." (21:107)

"You have indeed in the Messenger of Allah an excellent exemplar for him who hopes in Allah and the Final Day and who remember Allah much." (33:21)

"Say (O Prophet): 'If you do love Allah, follow me; Allah will love you and forgive you your sins, for Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful." (3:31)

There are many more verses which illustrate how highly a Muslim must regard the Prophet, and how Muslims must follow him in all aspects of life. There is no doubt that reverence of the Prophet is fundamental, and thus any insult to him is something every Muslim will take personally.

Regarding the Prophets love for his followers:
"Now hath come unto you a Messenger from amongst yourselves: it grieves him that you should suffer, ardently anxious is he over you; to the Believers is he most kind and merciful." (9:128)

The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, was known as a "Mercy to Mankind", but he underwent years and years of suffering in order to guide people to the Truth. Prior to Islam during the early sixth century, the Arabian peninsula was mired in the heights of depravity and ignorance. Outside the Arabian peninsula, the rest of the world was also at a moral and intellectual low. The Sasanid and Byzantine Empires, the dominant world forces at the time, were worn out and weary, as noted by H. G. Wells in A Short History of the World:

"Science and Political Philosophy seemed dead now in both these warring and decaying Empires. [...] In both Persia and Byzantium, it was an age of intolerance. Both Empires were religious empires in a new way, in a way that greatly hampered the free activities of the human mind."

Ancient India, relatively free from the traditional Imperialism of the age, was doing fairly well in scientific fields. Morality was dead, however, and the social conditions were even worse. Women were dealt out and traded in games of chance, the caste system had rendered most of the people into slaves, and lawlessness was rampant. Europe fared no better, caught in their Dark Ages during which men were barbarians, women had no rights, and the religious elite had no morals.

Effectively, the entire world was in the most squalid and humiliating conditions, and there was no reason to believe things would change anytime soon.

Enter Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. An entire biography of his life is well beyond the scope of this post, and there are numerous books which can do a much better job than I ever could. However, it should be sufficient to state that within a matter of 23 years, a worldwide revolution had begun that we are still benefitting from today. In brief, Islam conquered the tribalism that sunk Arabia to barbarism, and propelled the land to the heights of enlightenment and progress. The people united, women were honoured, the poor benefitted from generous social programs, and the entire population enjoyed the benefits of a well-governed society which brought them both spiritual and worldly advancement.

Within a century, more than one third of the known world was benefitting from the revolution brought forth by Islam, and the rest of the world started waking up in awe of the massive changes which had taken place.

And it all began with that one man, Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, whose mission was only to call people towards their Creator, teach them the Quran, and serve as an example for them. The root was Islam; the fruits were the advancements and innovations brought forth by the rising Islamic world. The Muslim world excelled in math and science; the Prophet was neither a mathematician nor a scientist. The Muslim world excelled in art and literature, though the Prophet himself was unable to read or write. The Muslim world pioneered some of the most important social programs we know today, including welfare and the protection of minority rights. The Prophet Muhammad brought forth all of this change not because he was an expert in these specific fields, but because he brought people towards obedience to their Creator. And the system of the Creator will always benefit the creation; the manufacturer of any product knows best how to operate and maintain their works, and humanity is no different.

One cannot judge the Prophet in the context of the Muslim world of today. It is embarassing to see how so much of the Muslim world is in shambles, but one cannot attribute that to Islam. If anything, it is the lack of Islam, and the lack of respect for the teachings of Prophet Muhammad that has caused the ruination of the Muslim world today.

Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, did not effect this change without facing adversity. He suffered much at the hands of his own extended family, and at the hands of the rulers of Makkah during the early years of Prophethood. He was insulted, cursed, and pelted with stones by children at Taif. He was conspired against, slandered, and opposed by people who claimed to be his friends.

He took it all in stride, knowing that he was suffering for a greater good. Instead, he prayed for the forgiveness of those who persecuted him. And as his followers were being tortured, he still pushed on with his mission, and his followers continued to support him. He urged his companions to remain discrete about their Islam so that they would not suffer. But those same companions refused to remain silent about their new way of life, also understanding that their suffering was for a greater good, and that such a valuable gift should never be kept hidden.

When that gift was exposed to the world, the world as a whole benefitted from it.

In the famous book "The 100: A Ranking of the Most Influential Persons in History" by Michael Hart, Prophet Muhammad ranked #1 for turning the world around when it was approaching complete failure. George Bernard Shaw wrote about Muhammad, "I believe that if a man like him were to assume the dictatorship of the modern world, he would succeed in solving its problems in a way that would bring it the much needed peace and happiness."

This is the personality we're talking about, about whom all this debate surrounds. Ignorant insults to him do not lower his stature and legacy in any way, and we will always be benefitting from that legacy whether we know it or not. Learning more about his life is left as an exercise for the reader.

* * *
Regarding the cartoons themselves, Imam Zaid Shakir has written one of the clearest and most reasonable responses to the issue I have read thus far:

Clash of the Uncivilized: Insights on the Cartoon Controversy

Regarding media responsibility on the issue, CBC editor-in-chief Tony Burman seems to have gotten this one right:
Why CBC News Drew the Line

Morning

I woke up this morning and looked out the window as I always do. This time, I was met with pitch darkness. I looked over at the clock - nothing. My computer, typically on for weeks at a time, was off. The power was gone.

I headed to the washroom, and flicked the light switch. Nothing. I turned the taps, and a few drops came trickling down the faucet. Finally, the water started spurting out, and I used whatever little remained in the pipes to perform wudhu. Finally, the water supply exhausted, and I was left with only a little lota water. The toilet would not flush either.

After prayer, I stepped outside my 18th floor apartment. There were no lights in the halls, and no power to work the elevators. I could not see anything in the darkness. I went back into the apartment, searching for a flashlight. I knew I didn't have one, but hopelessly searched regardless. Perhaps something was left behind by the previous tenants when I moved in over a year ago. I found nothing, and gave up my futile search after some time.

It was now 7:25am. I picked up the phone to call my supervisor that I might be late this morning. But there was no dialtone - I'm a subscriber of VoIP technology, and thus internet or power outages mean I am also without phone service.

It would have been a difficult trek to navigate my way down 20 floors to the parking garage to get to my car. At this point, I thought to myself, WWBD. "What would Batman do?"

And so I threw a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and some clothes into my bag. I pulled my laptop out of its bag, and powered it up. The LCD monitor provided enough light for me to navigate my way down the dark and dirty stairwell. Finally, I reached the second basement, where the laptop monitor continued to be the only light in the pitch black garage.

I reached my car, and turned on the radio. I heard no sign that this power outage affected anything outside my street, so I decided to head out to work.

Alas, on driving up to the first level of the parking garage, I saw a number of other cars waiting by the exit to leave the parking garage. The garage door was electronically controlled, and we could not open it manually during the power outage. I waited and waited in the parking garage, until finally, building security initiated a manual override of the parking garage controls, allowing the door to open. The garage became flooded with natural light from the outside world, and we all broke free.

I was still in pajamas, however, with an unshowered body housing unbrushed teeth. I could have gone down to my company's main office, but downtown traffic would suck me in. Fortunately, I still had the access card for an old client site I worked at, and recalled that there was a shower there. So I drove down to the old client site, snuck in through the side door closest to the shower room, and got ready. I brushed my teeth, showered, got dressed, and was soon inconspicuously on my way to the office; no one caught me during my brief intrusion.

I drove back down to my current clients office, and reported in for another fun day of consulting. In the end, I arrived only ten minutes later than usual.

Education Failing

I'd like to think I'm not that old. I don't feel very far removed from high school, CEGEP and University, but I already find myself sounding antiquated, waxing nostalgic about "back in my day..." I often find myself discussing how children today have no idea about anything, just as my parents probably thought of me and my world. I fear for the coming generation, raised on Google and TiVo, where anything less than instant gratification is not enough. I worry about the overwhelming stupidity which accompanies the high school culture that students are growing up in. I worry about the few options available for Muslim children to be protected from all the nonsense in school.

So when I was asked to help some struggling Muslim middle-school students with English and Math, I accepted without hesitation. The children I am tutoring right now are fairly recent immigrants, and their parents have absolutely no idea about the world their kids are living in. Thus, I take my responsibility as a tutor very seriously; not just as one who can teach grammar and geometry, but as one who made it through that challenge of trying to hold on to some religious values while somehow fitting in.

But even leaving aside all the Islamic/Western culture issues, there is still so much wrong with the way children are being educated today - particularly in Ontario. I recall elementary school evenings when our assigned homework would include answering 50-100 math problems. For us, it wasn't enough to simply understand the concepts - we needed to be extremely efficient in taking numbers and deriving results from them. Multiplication tables were drilled into us. In the end, the students - even the weaker ones - were computational machines with minds that were capable of processing a lot of data. It wasn't fun, and we all hated it at the time.

Today, a typical math textbook is a colourful scrapbook full of pictures of multicultural, trendy teenagers saying things like "Math is cool!" or "I can use geometry to design a ramp for my skateboard!" As I teach my students, I study their textbooks closely; looking through them, I realize that their brains are not processing anything. I had to help one of my students with a problem which involved putting together a ramp for a circus trick; underneath the ramp, there had to be room for a performer to hide. Without giving any numbers except for the cost of materials - 16.50$/m² - students were asked to "discuss" how the performers should design the ramp. In the end, there are rarely actual answers - just "discussions". While it may sound like a good idea to have students discuss applications of what they study, no students actually discuss these things; in the end, they don't actually do anything except draw a few pointless diagrams. Unfortunately, this is usually enough to give them the marks they need. As Calvin correctly observed, all students are learning is how to manipulate the system.

I had the fortune of having some excellent English teachers throughout high school and CEGEP. When I entered high school, I was admitted into the advanced program. As a grade seven student, highly experienced at the age of 13, I was insulted when our Advanced English teacher told us she was going to teach us grammar. My classmates and I thought to ourselves, "what do we need grammar for? We're the smart students!" Little did we know how much we had to learn. And while students of the regular English classes laughed at us for learning grammar, I knew that I was learning something valuable. Ultimately, I learned more in that one year than many of my friends learned throughout all of high school.

During CEGEP, I participated in the John Abbott College Writing Tutors programme, a special English course reserved for the better writers in the college. Our professor did not teach us classical literature or essay writing; she taught us how to teach. Our reading material was a combination of timeless essays about writing itself, and a collection of poorly written student essays. Our job was to understand where other students struggle, and how to rectify their situation. She taught me that critical thinking was something that can be taught, and that it is the foundation of all writing skills. She used to rail against the education system for assuming that Anglophone students will know how to write English, and for failing to teach grammar and critical thinking from the outset.

The students I teach, in grades 7 and 8, have never learned grammar. When I told them that I was going to teach them as I had been taught, they thought I would be wasting their time as it appeared to be unrelated to what they were actually doing. (What one was actually doing was making a bristol board presentation about the top ten events in his life during 2005 - the sort of mindless busy work that my Writing Tutors professor cringed at.) I quickly discovered, however, how important it was - they could not determine which words were nouns, adjectives, or verbs in a sentence. Seemingly, they had never been taught these terms, though they had been educated in British Columbia for 4 years prior to coming to Ontario in 2004. Today, I feel a sense of pride when my students can pick out not just basic word types, but can also identify different types of phrases, understand how appositives are used, and identify subjects and predicates in any sentence. My next lesson is on dependant and independant clauses.

The main objective of all of this is to eventually bring the students to a point where they can critically think about an issue, and articulate their feelings about these issues. I once had a discussion with a friend about the importance of teaching Critical Thinking from a young age. This friend grew up in Saudi Arabia, where Critical Thinking was never taught - in any language. I have spoken with many other immigrants who all attest to the fact that they were never expected to objectively analyze opinions or literature; they were only expected to write gramatically correct sentences. None of them ever understood logical fallacies until learning about them in University, nor did they learn how to structure arguments, or how to maintain a cohesive thesis. These things simply were not taught. Somehow, this eerily reminded me of Orwell's 1984, where the vocabulary itself prevented citizens of Oceania from formulating critical opinions about their society.

I have no real background in Education, nor have I ever been at the front of a classroom teaching 30-40 students simultaneously, so perhaps my lofty ideals on education are not practical on a large scale. I still feel, however, that there is so much more that can be done. Children should not be using calculators in the second grade. Children should not be relying on computer spellchecks and grammar checks from such a young age. Children need to learn that there is more to research than Google and Wikipedia. Something must be done to challenge these young minds to prevent the stagnation that will likely occur otherwise.

I may continue along this theme with a later post, as I haven't even started on the social aspects of high school education. That's where things really get messy.

Morning

I woke up this morning and looked out the window as I always do. I looked upon the Canadian Parliament buildings, the famous Peace Tower rising above downtown office buildings. The flag perched above the tower blew in the wind, much like it has every other day.

Much has changed beneath that tower and flag, but the structure remains the same. The surroundings remain the same. The country looks the same. For the most part, the people have not changed. The government may have changed, but many things remain constant. My neighbours still smiled in the hallways. Strangers still chatted merrily on the bus. The Ottawa Senators beat the Maple Leafs again. Unfortunately, the Habs kept losing.

I stepped outside; the weather was warm, only a few degrees below zero. I slept well the night before; I was ready to put in a good days work.

The election may not have gone as I hoped, but things aren't so bad after all.

Jamarah Plans

I'm thankful that last years Hajj was incident-free. Though pushing through the floods on the last day was exhausting, we did not encounter any major difficulties. I have a lot of family and friends attending Hajj this year, and pray that everyone is safe after the deadly stampedes yesterday. May Allah grant Paradise to all those who lost their lives during this journey.

Several months ago, I received some pictures of the proposed redesign to the Jamarah area. These plans have been approved, and insha-Allah should be in place for next years Hajj. I have also heard people suggesting a monorail system to connect all the major sites of Hajj. If it can be designed well, this should help alleviate the insane traffic around Muzdalifah, Arafah, and the surrounding areas.

Top View of the redesigned Jamarah area.


Another top view.



A model of the current setup.


In the end though, somehow I feel that there will always be some tragedies associated with Hajj. Just one hundred years ago, getting to Makkah and Madinah from anywhere outside the Arabian peninsula must have taken weeks or months; now, you can be there from anywhere in the world in less than two days. But the Hajj is not meant to be a holiday; it is all about sacrifice and undergoing hardships for the sake of Allah. Somehow, there will always be some difficulties.

Havelli

The Child circled around the empty rink a number of times, dragging his feet along to the cries of the Coach.

"Be like Lemieux!", the Coach cried. "Be Jagr! Be Spezza!"

The Child found some determination hearing the names of his modern heroes, kicked his skates back, and rushed towards the puck. He pushed forward and handled the puck with his stick and then focused squarely on the empty net. Pushing the puck from side to side, the Child reached the slot, and fired a shot towards the net with all the force and aggression he could muster.

He missed completely. The puck bounced off the corner, and settled in the snow along the boards.

"Go after it!" cried the coach.

The Child grabbed the puck from the corner, circled around, and fired another shot at a sharp angle. He missed completely.

The Child looked back at the Coach while skating towards the puck on the other side. With his eyes focused squarely on the Coach, he fired another shot. Again, the puck went nowhere near the net.

Dejected, the Child skated back towards the bench. The Coach frowned, but was not ready to give up hope.

"If you take a thousand shots, eventually one will hit. Just keep shooting," the Coach instructed. "You will score."

"What about the nearly thousand times I miss though? Someone else will grab it, I might hurt someone, the other team can pick it up, people will laugh at me..." The Child wasn't too keen on this strategy. Nevertheless, it had worked for the Coach before.

"Never mind about that; come, we'll take a break. Let's grab some food." The Child skated off the rink, pulled off his skates, and put on a pair of sneakers. The two walked towards the lobby, and spotted a café therein.

The Coach was also the Scout, looking for the final member of the local Womens team. The Child took a seat with the Coach in the arena café, buying a hot chocolate while the Coach ordered a sandwich.

The Child could not wipe the frown from his face, thinking back to all the shots he missed. To have been practicing this long, and not hit the net even once was something that did not sit well with him. A year earlier, he had hit a post. He still thinks back to that with mixed feelings of optimism and regret. Optimism, because it was the closest he had ever come, but the regret overpowered the optimism. He had never come any closer. The Child sat there, moping about the lost opportunities and failed attempts he was becoming accustomed to.

A young woman, a pair of skates tied over her shoulders, came to the café and sat down at the table behind the Coach and the Child. The Coach nudged the Child out of his moping, and pointed towards the young woman seated behind him. "She might be the one," the Coach whispered, gazing at the woman seated behind the Child. "She might be the right one," the Coach repeated. "I'm going to ask her."

Already, the Coach had it figured out. As a Scout, the Coach had enough experience in assembling the rest of the team, and could identify the characteristics that were needed to fill in that last gap. Yes, this woman might be the one, streaking down the left side, taking a crisp pass from the centre, pulling a tricky move around the defenceman, and putting the puck home past the goaltender. The Coach could already see it; where she would play, how she would fit in. Should she be made the captain? She's probably too young for that. But she'll be good. Maybe someday. She's probably had a very good history. It looks like she's played with some other great players; there were others who had walked into the café with her that also looked good. She definitely has the potential to be the star. She's got it all; talent, charisma, and charm. She will be front and centre on the team picture, the Coach thought.

"You can't just ask her," the Child whimpered. "What do we know about her? Nothing!"

"There's nothing wrong in asking," the Coach told the Child. "If you take a thousand shots, eventually one will hit." The Child thought back to the first several shots he had taken; statistically speaking, things did not look good.

With that, the Coach stood up from the table, and approached the woman.

"I couldn't help but notice your skates. I'm assembling a hockey team and think you might be the one I was looking for to complete it." the Coach asked.

The young woman was startled. "Oh, hockey?" she asked. "Oh, gee, that's nice of you to offer, but I don't really think I would help. I haven't played hockey before, I'm here for figure skating."

Figure skating. "Oh, I see. Well, good luck with that," said the Coach .

The Coach, slightly embarassed, apologized, and sat back down. The Child looked on, somewhat disappointed, but feeling a little smug; he refrained from saying "I told you so", but perhaps his restrained smile gave it away.

The Child later returned to the ice, with the Coach following after. The Child put on his gear, stepped on the ice, and charged towards the lone puck sitting idly at centre ice.

The Coach, rather perplexed by the episode that had just transpired, could not think of any legendary players to inspire the Child as he rushed towards the net with the puck. Inadvertently, the Coach called out to the Child, "Be Chara!"

The Child, puzzled by the reference to the Ottawa defenceman, fired the puck waywards, again failing to come anywhere near the net. He looked back at the Coach, who sat head down, muttering something incoherently.

"Be Chara, child. Be Chara."

A tribute to the bugs in my cereal

Part of what inspired me to write that previous post was my frustration with people who pretend to be things they're not. I see lots of these people particularly in Toronto, though this happens everywhere else. In particular, I was tired of seeing people posing as thugged-out gangsters living in ghettos when they actually live in posh, expensive neighbourhoods in suburban Mississauga.

So in tribute to those posers, I present "Bugs in mah Cereal", the thugged-out version, courtesy of the Dialectizer.

Click on the "Dialectize" button for thugged-out fun!

Bugs in my cereal

It's been a while since I wrote anything here. It was not for lack of content; recently, there have been many amusing stories in my life that some of my readers already know about. All I will say on that is that there are some search problems even Google can't solve. That's probably a good thing. When searching for your other half, the bumps and bruises along the way usually provide valuable lessons that can last a lifetime. If the results were instant, we'd miss out on one of life's most amusing adventures.

People have assumed that I have been unhappy of late. This is not necessarily true, but I won't deny that my behaviour and actions perhaps reflected an aura of unhappiness. Alhamdolillah, I'm very content these days, but somehow I haven't been able to show that. During my recent Toronto trip, I struggled to show much enthusiasm, which everyone seemed to notice. I'm not sure why; I've never been able to put a finger on it. But thanks to a blog post courtesy of Izzy Mo, I discovered that this feeling has a name; they call it quarter-life crisis.

It is a bit of a misnomer; we can never know what fraction of life has passed, but my understanding is that it represents that little transitionary period in the late teens and early 20s when so many of lifes major decisions come at once. Where is my life going? Am I directing it the right way? Incidentally, it's also the period in which people tend to start blogs, where they ask these same questions to whoever is listening.

Our generation must have invented this term, as we seem to have an obsession with depression. What should be considered as an exciting transitional period has been called a "crisis". Outwardly, we have little reason to be depressed. And inwardly, we don't have any valid reasons for depression either. But when we grow up hearing stupid song lyrics like "I'm not okay!! I'm not okay!" and "Life's not fair!", it is no surprise that when the slightest misdirection creeps into life, we fall into extended bouts of melancholy. Sure, we may live in nice homes in quiet neighbourhoods; we may have home-cooked food waiting for us every day; we may have university educations and challenging careers ahead of us, even. But we still play the victim, secretly seeking sympathy but publicly showing disdain for the world. As soon as conditions appear to be against our favour, we lash out at society for marginalizing us and disregarding our woes. Only in retrospect do we realize how irrelevant our "woes" actually were. We have never seen real adversity, but still believe it's us against the world.

This is partly why the Goth subculture has always fascinated and disgusted me. I've always wondered how so many people can get duped into a culture which unifies only on a colour and a sound; they stand up for so little, yet they attract so many followers. I was mistaken though; it's not the colour or the music which is the unifying force between them; it is the disdain of society, and the attraction towards depression and marginalization. These are often people who really are living privileged lives; I see them on the bus all the time, and I can tell where they live by the bus they take. Many live in half-million dollar homes, their parents are probably engineers, and they have incredibly nice schools and shopping centres all around them.

Still, our generation has created a culture that values being rejected. The Goth culture has responded by reflecting their anger at society by dressing like the Addams family. Another contingent has chosen the path of living the fake thug life. Again, people with all the privileges in the world choose to create this image where they are scorned by society and need to fight back. It's all so artificial, but reality has been losing a lot of battles these days.

The most ironic part of it all is that this disdain for society has been commercialized. Goths chose to express their individuality by dressing against social norms; now, most young people in Ottawa appear to dress that way. There are Goth megastores where you can buy these funky shirts with all the patches and slogans sewed on already. That crazy makeup that makes them all look so pale? Only 3,99$! They bought into the culture to show they were different; in the end, they've been sucked into a commercial jackpot like everyone else. Anti-commercialism itself has been commercialized.

This culture of angst fails because it unifies on something so meaningless. In the end, it will blow away like every other passing phase, and all these people will wonder what they were doing with their lives. They'll realize that this whole venture was a farce, and terms like quarter-life crisis will also disappear. Eventually, economic conditions will become much worse in North America, and we'll be reminded what used to be meant by "Depression". Hopefully, we'll learn to deal with the adversity rather than just mope about it.

Islam thrived because people were uniting on something meaningful; something which not only changed them, but changed society. I once did some research about the Goth perspective on Islam. I came across a messageboard where someone argued that "being Goth transcends all religion; you can be a buddhist, a jew, a muslim, or an atheist, and still be Goth." He added later that as long as the image was right, the ideology didn't matter. The image. That's all it is.

Everyone else is uniting on just an image, though some of them may claim otherwise. (You don't understand man, you gotta feel the music.) As Muslims, we must unite on the values Islam taught us. Those values will reflect on our image as well; indeed, they should. I listened to a talk recently by an amazing local Muslim scholar, who argued against the common refrain of "I've got Islam in my heart; that's all I need." He argued that the Islam in our heart must reflect on our actions, our character, and our appearance. He quoted an ayaah of Quran, where Allah compares the Imaan of a person to a tree, which has strong roots in the ground, outside of view, and branches and fruits springing forth out of the trunk. The branches and the fruits are the a'maal - the righteous actions, the sunnah of Rasulullah SAWS - that are outwardly reflected by those deep roots. Sure, a tree might have deep roots, but if it's not providing fruit, it's no good to anyone.

The challenge then is to decorate the belief in our hearts with the actions required by that belief. It is not enough just to hold the image; that won't last on it's own, just as all of these other cultures based on image won't last. And claiming that our roots are firm while failing to produce the fruits of Islam is also not enough. In the early stages, this tree needs constant care in order to eventually produce those fruits. And once it does, others will benefit from it too.