Last year, when protests erupted in Temecula over a planned mosque there,
I wrote:
Are folks in Temecula a bit intolerant? Or are we now going to prohibit the construction of mosques whenever there's local opposition?
I didn't follow up so much, but the mosque was approved by the city council
in January and construction could begin
in February 2012. And while I could be missing some details of the local protests, I think it's good. Conservatives must affirm freedom of religion. What gets lost in the debate over New York's Ground Zero Mosque is that opponents never denied the developer's right to build. It's way beyond that, in fact. Clearly it's been
a sham development all along, with the purpose of bilking government and erecting a center for Islamist supremacy. There's never been concern among Imam Rauf and
Daisy Khan for the families of the fallen. The lies have been too blatant and unending. That mosque shouldn't be built. It's a question of what is right, not who has the right.
That said, I guess I'm still ambivalent, despite my commitment to constitutional principles. Americans aren't getting the whole story. And those who speak out are branded as vicious racists. For my part I want to be firm but fair. On the one hand, I want to place my trust in people like M. Zuhdi Jasser, who I met at the Horowitz retreat earlier this year. (Recall his essential article from September 2010, "
Questions for Imam Rauf From an American Muslim," and
here.) On the other hand is someone like
UCLA’s Hamzah Baig, the lead organizer for Students for Justice in Palestine. I interviewed him earlier this year. He might as well have been working for Hamas. So, I've personally been engaging and interacting with people from the both sides of the religion (the extreme side in the case of UCLA's quasi-terrorists). At home, in the Irvine community, the Muslims I bump into at my kids' schools or the playgrounds are mostly to themselves, even self-segregating rather than integrating. And honestly, on occasion I'll see Islamic women with the full burqa. I literally would not be able to talk to a woman in a burqa, because I read lips and I obviously need to see someone's face. So of course the burqa is physically intimidating, and it's a symbol of religious repression.
For all that, I appreciate the efforts of some Muslims to work in their communities to build ties and friendships. Yesterday's
Los Angeles Times had another feature in its 9/11 series, and it's worth a look, "
Thinking outside the 'Muslim bubble'":
Maria Khani was at her computer that September morning, working on an Arabic textbook. The small TV on the desk was turned to Al Jazeera. Suddenly, news came: A plane had struck the World Trade Center. Minutes later, she watched the screen as the second plane hit.
Khani sat frozen, questions racing through her mind: "Oh, my God, what do I do right now? Is everything that I built … gone?"
For five years, she had been planting the seeds of goodwill with Americans of other faiths. What if it was all for naught?
Unlike many Muslims who hunkered down after Sept. 11 and let national religious organizations defend their rights and make their case in the public square, Khani resolved not to retreat into the safety of silence, but to press on with her efforts over the years to become a part of her community, one neighbor at a time.
When Khani walked out of her house that day in a well-to-do Huntington Beach neighborhood, on a block of large houses and palm-shaded driveways, neighbors approached with no hint of rancor or suspicion. Their message: "We know who you are, we know about your faith, and we support you and we will take care of your kids."
This was not the experience of every Muslim American. Many recall the first months and years after Sept. 11 with dread: the detentions, the airport searches, the suspicious stares, racist epithets and worse. In response, some sought safety in a low profile.
The decade since the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon has seen a shift in the way many American Muslims negotiate their delicate position as a minority group associated, fairly or unfairly, with the perpetrators of the deadliest acts of terrorism in the nation's history.
As the years wore on and the hostility continued, even intensified, a number of American Muslims became disenchanted with the official campaigns for acceptance. They began to see that a voice — their voice — was missing from the conversation about Muslims' place in America.
They took matters into their own hands. Their efforts have been as idiosyncratic as the individuals involved. They have been as simple as inviting a non-Muslim neighbor to an iftar, the sunset meal that breaks the fast during the monthlong observance of Ramadan. They have been as life-changing as making a commitment to educate one's children in a religiously diverse public school instead of a Muslim private school.
Khani and others involved in such outreach attempts believe — and this is supported by opinion surveys — that Americans are less likely to harbor anti-Muslim feelings if they get to know even one Muslim.
When they do, they find that American Muslims, many of them immigrants or the children of immigrants, share with them many of the same values, including a rejection of extremist violence, appreciation of hard work and support for women taking an active role in society, according to polls.
RTWT.
I could quibble with a couple of the characterizations (President Bush went out of his way to remind Americans that we're not at war with Islam). But overall that sound about right to me, and I hope especially that we see more and more examples that Americans Muslims are indeed rejecting extremist violence. For example, at ABC News, "
Cousin of Fort Hood Shooter Speaks Out Against Violent Extremism." And at the
San Bernardino Sun, "
Poll: American Muslims reject extremism." That's good news.
I'll have more on this in upcoming posts.
