It's one of those things that happens somewhere else. Unfortunately, Montreal is somewhere else to the rest of the world.
A man, reportedly in his mid-20s, walked into Dawson College in Montreal with an automatic weapon, opened fire against a mass contingent of students in the cafeteria, and eventually either turned the gun against himself, or was shot by police. There have been conflicting reports throughout the course of the day; some say there were up to three shooters, others give different descriptions. What has been confirmed is that two are dead (including the shooter) and at least nineteen have been injured (several seriously). No motive has been established.
Dawson College is part of the CEGEP network, the brief post-high school/pre-university phase we all go through in Québec. Many of my high school friends studied there, while I went through John Abbott College. I can't think of anyone right now, but I'm certain that I know current students of Dawson; there are only a handful of options for English-speaking students, and Dawson is definitely the most central one.
I was only 8 years old when a gunman entered École Polytechnique in Montreal, killing fourteen young women before killing himself. I didn't quite realize the ramifications of the event at the time. I was probably in Grade Three at the time; I remember writing about it for the "Current Events" journal we needed to keep back then.
It's incredibly frightening that such people exist in our own backyards. What are their motivations? How can someone foster that much hate, that they would be willing to just start killing people randomly? This is not Iraq or Palestine where people are growing up in the midst of violence, where everyday is a nightmare. This is Montreal, the home of hockey and smoked meat sandwiches; where does such hatred come from?
There is currently a murderer on the loose in downtown Vancouver, accused of killing a number of homeless people in the last few weeks. The murders have been occuring on the streets I walk everyday, yet no one knows exactly who is responsible, or what their motivation may be. The sad reality is that some people need no motivation; they have simply lost any trace of humanity they once had.
The motivation for the Dawson shootings remain unclear; perhaps, we'll never know. Media reports stated that there was no clear link to terrorism, but whatever happened clearly was an effort to terrorize innocent people. I imagine that for some twisted individuals, the posthumous glory is enough of a motivation; after all, there were several incidents of "copycats" in the wake of the Columbine massacre. The children responsible for that atrocity have left something of a legacy, however morbid. Whatever the motivation, there can be no justification. The students will never be the same, nor will the school itself.
For the average person like me, it hurts to feel so helpless. Being helpless against aggression and hatred overseas doesn't worry me as much as it should, because the physical distance is a legitimate barrier. But when you see and hear of these sorts of atrocities from your own city, it's another story altogether. Like many of us felt eleven years ago after the Toope murders, we are forced to ask ourselves, is there anything we could have done?
It's a bit of a conundrum; we'd like to think we can do something to prevent such senseless acts, but at the same time, we don't want to hold ourselves responsible. No matter what anyone does, no matter what efforts are in place to prevent such incidents, there will always be people who fall through the cracks.
Hopefully, we'll see the details unfold over the next few days as the investigation begins. Unfortunately, none of those details will change anything, nor make this any less of a crime against humanity, nor will it alleviate the suffering of any of the victims. Investigators will investigate, reporters will report, and bloggers will blog, but that will not stop haters from hating or murderers from murdering.
May we all be protected from hatred, injustice, and aggression. Ameen.
September 13, 2006
September 11, 2006
Monday, September 10th, 2001:
Of all places, I happened to be in Moscow.
"So, what's the story?", my friend asked.
"You're not going to believe this. The flight has been delayed seventeen hours," I replied. We had already been waiting for a few hours. I had just returned after running around the dismal Moscow airport for hours trying to figure out what the heck was going on; there were no indications as to where we were to gather for the final leg of my journey, to return home.
"Seventeen hours?!"
"Yep, seventeen hours. The flight is at 3am. We should be home around 8:30am Eastern on September 11th."
* * *
Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 - Montreal:
We were tired, hungry, but relieved. We were finally home. I walked towards the exit where I caught a glimpse of my family, awaiting my arrival after an entire summer overseas. A security guard pulled us aside, and sat us down in a room outside Customs.
I didn't know why. There must have been at least a hundred people on the plane, but only three of us - myself and my two friends - were pulled aside. Quickly, we discovered that something was greatly amiss - security started running about, barking into their radios.
"Do you know what just happened?", one guard angrily asked me.
"No idea," I replied.
"Two airplanes just hit each other on top of the World Trade Center in New York." There was no clear consensus as to what actually happened in those initial moments, but what they did know was that all air traffic controllers in the United States were being urged to ground all flights. I didn't know what was going on, but somehow I was being singled out for some reason.
And then they instructed me to open up all my suitcases. I complied, as did my travelling companions. They searched everything, digging through my books and notepads, finally stumbling upon a bag of jewellry my aunt had put away in my suitcase without my knowledge. I was slapped with a big fine for misrepresenting the goods I was bringing into the country. During their search, they also inquired about the purpose of my visit to Pakistan, my earlier visit to Saudi Arabia still listed on my passport, and why I wasn't aware of the contents of my own suitcase.
Finally, I was let go, over an hour after everyone else on the same flight had already left.
I finally met with my family. My greatest worry at the time was the week of school I had already missed. That worry didn't last very long.
* * *
Friday, December 14th, 2001 - Ottawa:
It was just before Jumah prayer. I was living at the University residence, descending to the lobby in my usual gray thobe.
On the elevator, an older, caucasian man looks me up and down, and asked me, "So... did you see the tape?"
He was referring to the Bin Laden "confession" tape that was revealed the day before.
"Oh yeah... that tape. Yeah, I saw it. I wasn't convinced, to be honest."
"You know what I think?" I had gotten fairly used to hate speech by that point, so I was mentally prepared to respond; fortunately, I never had to.
"You know, as soon as it happened, I was sure it was Bin Laden," he said. "But after seeing that tape, and how it was so obviously a fake, now I'm starting to think otherwise. That they would go to such lengths... it's clear that it's fake."
* * *
Friday, September 8th, 2006 - Vancouver:
I watched Loose Change for the first time. Nearly five years had passed, but my mind was never settled on the whole issue. Earlier, I had a discussion with a colleague regarding my misgivings around the whole "official story".
"So, you don't believe that it was done by terrorists?"
"No - that's not what I said," I replied. "It was done by terrorists. By definition, it had to be done by terrorists - it was an evil, murderous act to promote some twisted ideology. I just have this radical notion that terrorists don't have to be Arab or Muslim."
* * *
I don't know what to believe about what happened, except that it was horrible, inexcusable, and the guilty will one day pay a horrible price. At the same time, I don't consider it to be any more an act of terrorism than bombs being dropped from fighter planes in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Lebanon. And for those, there's no doubt as to who is guilty.
Loose Change, and similar media efforts, raise some fundamental questions. The typical responses, minus the profanities, are as follows:
1) "Yes, and Elvis was escorting the plane while riding a unicorn."
2) "Yeah right, you stupid liberals. Go back to killing babies and raping men."
3) "What, you want me to believe some crappy low-budget film made by some stupid kid? What's more likely, that the government would go to such lengths to kill it's own people, or that some stupid kid just wants to get attention and make a whole lot of money?"
4) "Shut up you stupid moslem, we're going to blow up your countries and send you back to the stoneage you damn towelhead."
A whole lot of ad hominem, unfortunately. The actual arguments are rarely challenged, primarily because no one wants to believe that the allegations can be true. If they were, it would challenge every idea of freedom, democracy, and justice the Western world has ever thought existed. Thus, anyone who dare question the official story is dubbed to be a fanatic, a nutcase, or a terrorist.
I have read a few actual counterarguments, but none that can stand up to even basic scrutiny. At best, they'll explain how the collapses of the North and South towers could have happened, but none of them dare try to explain the absent wreckage at the Pentagon, or the collapse of Tower 7. They won't even start on the suspicious trading and insurance claims that preceded the terrible events.
* * *
Whatever one believes, one must never lose sight of the fact that this was not the beginning; this was merely one of many atrocities which have been committed not for religion, not for democracy, but for wealth and power.
I'm struggling to find a conclusion, probably because there has been no conclusion to the events that I've written about here. I'll leave the politics to other blogs; I've written far more about politics than I am comfortable with already. While I search for my conclusion, I hope everyone else has success in coming to conclusions of their own.
Of all places, I happened to be in Moscow.
"So, what's the story?", my friend asked.
"You're not going to believe this. The flight has been delayed seventeen hours," I replied. We had already been waiting for a few hours. I had just returned after running around the dismal Moscow airport for hours trying to figure out what the heck was going on; there were no indications as to where we were to gather for the final leg of my journey, to return home.
"Seventeen hours?!"
"Yep, seventeen hours. The flight is at 3am. We should be home around 8:30am Eastern on September 11th."
Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 - Montreal:
We were tired, hungry, but relieved. We were finally home. I walked towards the exit where I caught a glimpse of my family, awaiting my arrival after an entire summer overseas. A security guard pulled us aside, and sat us down in a room outside Customs.
I didn't know why. There must have been at least a hundred people on the plane, but only three of us - myself and my two friends - were pulled aside. Quickly, we discovered that something was greatly amiss - security started running about, barking into their radios.
"Do you know what just happened?", one guard angrily asked me.
"No idea," I replied.
"Two airplanes just hit each other on top of the World Trade Center in New York." There was no clear consensus as to what actually happened in those initial moments, but what they did know was that all air traffic controllers in the United States were being urged to ground all flights. I didn't know what was going on, but somehow I was being singled out for some reason.
And then they instructed me to open up all my suitcases. I complied, as did my travelling companions. They searched everything, digging through my books and notepads, finally stumbling upon a bag of jewellry my aunt had put away in my suitcase without my knowledge. I was slapped with a big fine for misrepresenting the goods I was bringing into the country. During their search, they also inquired about the purpose of my visit to Pakistan, my earlier visit to Saudi Arabia still listed on my passport, and why I wasn't aware of the contents of my own suitcase.
Finally, I was let go, over an hour after everyone else on the same flight had already left.
I finally met with my family. My greatest worry at the time was the week of school I had already missed. That worry didn't last very long.
Friday, December 14th, 2001 - Ottawa:
It was just before Jumah prayer. I was living at the University residence, descending to the lobby in my usual gray thobe.
On the elevator, an older, caucasian man looks me up and down, and asked me, "So... did you see the tape?"
He was referring to the Bin Laden "confession" tape that was revealed the day before.
"Oh yeah... that tape. Yeah, I saw it. I wasn't convinced, to be honest."
"You know what I think?" I had gotten fairly used to hate speech by that point, so I was mentally prepared to respond; fortunately, I never had to.
"You know, as soon as it happened, I was sure it was Bin Laden," he said. "But after seeing that tape, and how it was so obviously a fake, now I'm starting to think otherwise. That they would go to such lengths... it's clear that it's fake."
Friday, September 8th, 2006 - Vancouver:
I watched Loose Change for the first time. Nearly five years had passed, but my mind was never settled on the whole issue. Earlier, I had a discussion with a colleague regarding my misgivings around the whole "official story".
"So, you don't believe that it was done by terrorists?"
"No - that's not what I said," I replied. "It was done by terrorists. By definition, it had to be done by terrorists - it was an evil, murderous act to promote some twisted ideology. I just have this radical notion that terrorists don't have to be Arab or Muslim."
I don't know what to believe about what happened, except that it was horrible, inexcusable, and the guilty will one day pay a horrible price. At the same time, I don't consider it to be any more an act of terrorism than bombs being dropped from fighter planes in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Lebanon. And for those, there's no doubt as to who is guilty.
Loose Change, and similar media efforts, raise some fundamental questions. The typical responses, minus the profanities, are as follows:
1) "Yes, and Elvis was escorting the plane while riding a unicorn."
2) "Yeah right, you stupid liberals. Go back to killing babies and raping men."
3) "What, you want me to believe some crappy low-budget film made by some stupid kid? What's more likely, that the government would go to such lengths to kill it's own people, or that some stupid kid just wants to get attention and make a whole lot of money?"
4) "Shut up you stupid moslem, we're going to blow up your countries and send you back to the stoneage you damn towelhead."
A whole lot of ad hominem, unfortunately. The actual arguments are rarely challenged, primarily because no one wants to believe that the allegations can be true. If they were, it would challenge every idea of freedom, democracy, and justice the Western world has ever thought existed. Thus, anyone who dare question the official story is dubbed to be a fanatic, a nutcase, or a terrorist.
I have read a few actual counterarguments, but none that can stand up to even basic scrutiny. At best, they'll explain how the collapses of the North and South towers could have happened, but none of them dare try to explain the absent wreckage at the Pentagon, or the collapse of Tower 7. They won't even start on the suspicious trading and insurance claims that preceded the terrible events.
Whatever one believes, one must never lose sight of the fact that this was not the beginning; this was merely one of many atrocities which have been committed not for religion, not for democracy, but for wealth and power.
I'm struggling to find a conclusion, probably because there has been no conclusion to the events that I've written about here. I'll leave the politics to other blogs; I've written far more about politics than I am comfortable with already. While I search for my conclusion, I hope everyone else has success in coming to conclusions of their own.
September 07, 2006
Sidewalk Afterthoughts
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.
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.
September 03, 2006
Random observations on airline safety
It's amazing people still fly anywhere.
* * *
Awaiting my flight at the Ottawa International Airport, I passed by a drink stand and asked for a bottle of orange juice.
"Sure," said the cashier. "But because of the new restrictions, I'll have to pour it out of the bottle and into this cup before I can give it to you."
"Um, okay." I replied.
The cashier pulled the bottle off the shelf and began pouring the contents into a plastic cup. She looked up and smiled.
"Don't worry, we're fighting terrorism."
* * *
I can't bring deodorant on a plane, but I can bring a Dell laptop that may explode.
* * *
An Iraqi American was refused entry onto a flight because of Arabic writing on his t-shirt.
The story: Arabic T-Shirt Sparks Airport Row | BBC News
The personal account: Back from the Mideast | Raed in the Middle
* * *
Panic erupts on a flight bound for Ottawa because of a flushed iPod.
The story: iPod prompts airport scare in Ottawa | Ottawa Citizen
The reaction: Flying the Paranoid Skies | Ottawa Citizen
The personal account: I played a game, I became a terrorist | World of Warcraft Forums
* * *
A pilot flying from Ottawa to Winnipeg locks himself in the toilet in the middle of a flight.
The story: Canada pilot in toilet trip drama
* * *
There were six well-publicized crashes in August 2005, making it one of the worst months in commercial flight history:
August 2006 began with the uncovering of an alleged plot to blow up a number of commercial aircraft at Heathrow Airport. There were two major commercial airline crashes in August 2006, followed by another on the first of September.
And yesterday, a British Royal Air Force plane crashed, killing all twelve soldiers on board.
* * *
Well, at least we won't be subjected to the threat of an Arabic t-shirt on a flight.
Update 9.06.2006: Another amusing story out of Ottawa:
Speeding Driver blames lack of goats | Reuters
Not related to this post or worthy of it's own blog entry, but I just had to put it somewhere.
Awaiting my flight at the Ottawa International Airport, I passed by a drink stand and asked for a bottle of orange juice.
"Sure," said the cashier. "But because of the new restrictions, I'll have to pour it out of the bottle and into this cup before I can give it to you."
"Um, okay." I replied.
The cashier pulled the bottle off the shelf and began pouring the contents into a plastic cup. She looked up and smiled.
"Don't worry, we're fighting terrorism."
I can't bring deodorant on a plane, but I can bring a Dell laptop that may explode.
An Iraqi American was refused entry onto a flight because of Arabic writing on his t-shirt.
The story: Arabic T-Shirt Sparks Airport Row | BBC News
The personal account: Back from the Mideast | Raed in the Middle
Panic erupts on a flight bound for Ottawa because of a flushed iPod.
The story: iPod prompts airport scare in Ottawa | Ottawa Citizen
The reaction: Flying the Paranoid Skies | Ottawa Citizen
The personal account: I played a game, I became a terrorist | World of Warcraft Forums
A pilot flying from Ottawa to Winnipeg locks himself in the toilet in the middle of a flight.
The story: Canada pilot in toilet trip drama
There were six well-publicized crashes in August 2005, making it one of the worst months in commercial flight history:
- Air France Flight 358
- Tuninter ATR-72
- Helicopter Crash near Talinn
- Helios Airways Flight 522
- West Caribbean Airways Flight 708
- TANS Peru Flight 204
August 2006 began with the uncovering of an alleged plot to blow up a number of commercial aircraft at Heathrow Airport. There were two major commercial airline crashes in August 2006, followed by another on the first of September.
And yesterday, a British Royal Air Force plane crashed, killing all twelve soldiers on board.
Well, at least we won't be subjected to the threat of an Arabic t-shirt on a flight.
Update 9.06.2006: Another amusing story out of Ottawa:
Speeding Driver blames lack of goats | Reuters
Not related to this post or worthy of it's own blog entry, but I just had to put it somewhere.
August 25, 2006
A Discussion over Chick Peas
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.
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.
August 22, 2006
Maybe I won't
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.
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.
August 16, 2006
Technical Difficulties
Obviously, something is seriously wrong, since I've lost the last six months of posts and comments.
Update 8.22.2006: The good people at Blogger, responding quite promptly to my support e-mails, have rescued all my irrelevant opinions thus far.
Update 8.22.2006: The good people at Blogger, responding quite promptly to my support e-mails, have rescued all my irrelevant opinions thus far.
August 15, 2006
Muhammad, the Last Prophet: Animated Film
| I saw this film when it played at the Canadian Museum of Civilization last year. If you have 90 minutes to spare for a simplified version of the seerah, (Prophetic history), this is very educational viewing, particularly for those completely unfamiliar with the history of Islam. It cautiously steers clear of any contentious issues to present an easily approachable rendition of one of the greatest stories of world history. For those who wish to learn more, there are many books which describe the life and mission far better than any film can. That being said, it is unfortunate that we still have to refer to books to describe the life of the Prophet sallalho'alayhi wa salam. Each of the companions of the Prophet was usually example enough to pay tribute to the honour and nobility of the beloved Prophet Muhammad. | |
August 12, 2006
Musings in transit
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.
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.
August 09, 2006
Silently helpless, at my keyboard
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.
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.
July 29, 2006
July 26, 2006
“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
July 24, 2006
The Struggle
With all the difficulties going on in the world today, I thought it was time to be a bit nostalgic.
In October 2001, with tensions still high after the attacks in New York and Washington a month earlier, I was riding on Bus 97 towards Bayshore with one of my closest friends. We were both wearing Saudi "thobes" on the bus, and were likely under suspicion already. Regardless, I was in a good mood, and things were soon to become brighter.
While still in downtown, a familiar face walked on to the bus. At first, I didn't recognize him, but then I recalled him as one of my close friends in my CEGEP days; I hadn't seen him in at least two years, and seeing him in Ottawa after knowing him only in Montreal was quite a strange coincidence. His name was Jihad, he was of Lebanese origin. Jihad is a common name meaning "struggle", but is often misinterpreted as an evil word in the traditional Western lexicon.
So when I realized who it was, I burst with enthusiasm, jumped out of my seat, and yelled out on the crowded bus, “JIHAD!!!”
It wasn't until the next day that I realized that I must have freaked out dozens of terrified passengers with an open declaration of holy war.
In October 2001, with tensions still high after the attacks in New York and Washington a month earlier, I was riding on Bus 97 towards Bayshore with one of my closest friends. We were both wearing Saudi "thobes" on the bus, and were likely under suspicion already. Regardless, I was in a good mood, and things were soon to become brighter.
While still in downtown, a familiar face walked on to the bus. At first, I didn't recognize him, but then I recalled him as one of my close friends in my CEGEP days; I hadn't seen him in at least two years, and seeing him in Ottawa after knowing him only in Montreal was quite a strange coincidence. His name was Jihad, he was of Lebanese origin. Jihad is a common name meaning "struggle", but is often misinterpreted as an evil word in the traditional Western lexicon.
So when I realized who it was, I burst with enthusiasm, jumped out of my seat, and yelled out on the crowded bus, “JIHAD!!!”
It wasn't until the next day that I realized that I must have freaked out dozens of terrified passengers with an open declaration of holy war.
July 17, 2006
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.
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.
July 15, 2006
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!
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!
July 14, 2006
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.
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.
July 13, 2006
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.
Update 7.15.2006: Prison steels Amara's faith, letters show
This is all so very confusing.
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.
July 11, 2006
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 asoccer 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.
For the disenfranchised North Africans in France, Zinedine Zidane was not just a
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.
July 10, 2006
July 06, 2006
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.
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.
July 04, 2006
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 wasfifteen 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.
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
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.
June 25, 2006
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?"
"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?"
June 12, 2006
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.
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.
June 09, 2006
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:
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.
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.
June 07, 2006
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.
June 05, 2006
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.
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.
May 26, 2006
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.
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.
May 25, 2006
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.
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.
April 15, 2006
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
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
April 11, 2006
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.
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.
April 09, 2006
Cryptic Voicemail
I received this voicemail today; not sure who it is or what they're talking about, but it's quite funny.
April 03, 2006
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.
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.
April 02, 2006
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.
"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.
April 01, 2006
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)
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)
March 24, 2006
March 08, 2006
March 05, 2006
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.
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.
February 28, 2006
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?
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?
February 26, 2006
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.
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.
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