Lauren Booth: Tony Blair’s Sister-in-Law Converts to Islam

Lauren Booth: I’m now a Muslim. Why all the shock and horror?

News that Lauren Booth has converted to Islam provoked a storm of negative comments. Here she explains how it came about – and why it’s time to stop patronising Muslim women

It is five years since my first visit to Palestine. And when I arrived in the region, to work alongside charities in Gaza and the West Bank, I took with me the swagger of condescension that all white middle-class women (secretly or outwardly) hold towards poor Muslim women, women I presumed would be little more than black-robed blobs, silent in my peripheral vision. As a western woman with all my freedoms, I expected to deal professionally with men alone. After all, that’s what the Muslim world is all about, right?

This week’s screams of faux horror from fellow columnists on hearing of my conversion to Islam prove that this remains the stereotypical view regarding half a billion women currently practising Islam.

On my first trip to Ramallah, and many subsequent visits to Palestine, Egypt, Jordan and Lebanon, I did indeed deal with men in power. And, dear reader, one or two of them even had those scary beards we see on news bulletins from far-flung places we’ve bombed to smithereens. Surprisingly (for me) I also began to deal with a lot of women of all ages, in all manner of head coverings, who also held positions of power. Believe it or not, Muslim women can be educated, work the same deadly hours we do, and even boss their husbands about in front of his friends until he leaves the room in a huff to go and finish making the dinner.

Is this patronising enough for you? I do hope so, because my conversion to Islam has been an excuse for sarcastic commentators to heap such patronising points of view on to Muslim women everywhere. So much so, that on my way to a meeting on the subject of Islamophobia in the media this week, I seriously considered buying myself a hook and posing as Abu Hamza. After all, judging by the reaction of many women columnists, I am now to women’s rights what the hooked one is to knife and fork sales.

So let’s all just take a deep breath and I’ll give you a glimpse into the other world of Islam in the 21st century. Of course, we cannot discount the appalling way women are mistreated by men in many cities and cultures, both with and without an Islamic population. Women who are being abused by male relatives are being abused by men, not God. Much of the practices and laws in “Islamic” countries have deviated from (or are totally unrelated) to the origins of Islam. Instead practices are based on cultural or traditional (and yes, male-orientated) customs that have been injected into these societies. For example, in Saudi Arabia, women are not allowed to drive by law. This rule is an invention of the Saudi monarchy, our government’s close ally in the arms and oil trade. The fight for women’s rights must sadly adjust to our own government’s needs.

My own path to Islam began with an awakening to the gap between what had been drip-fed to me about all Muslim life – and the reality.

I began to wonder about the calmness exuded by so many of the “sisters” and “brothers”. Not all; these are human beings we’re talking about. But many. And on my visit to Iran this September, the washing, kneeling, chanting recitations of the prayers at the mosques I visited reminded me of the west’s view of an entirely different religion; one that is known for eschewing violence and embracing peace and love through quiet meditation. A religion trendy with movie stars such as Richard Gere, and one that would have been much easier to admit to following in public – Buddhism. Indeed, the bending, kneeling and submission of Muslim prayers resound with words of peace and contentment. Each one begins, “Bismillahir rahmaneer Raheem” – “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate” – and ends with the phrase “Assalamu Alaykhum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh” – Peace be upon you all and God’s mercy and blessing.

Almost unnoticed to me, when praying for the last year or so, I had been saying “Dear Allah” instead of “Dear God”. They both mean the same thing, of course, but for the convert to Islam the very alien nature of the language of the holy prayers and the holy book can be a stumbling block. I had skipped that hurdle without noticing. Then came the pull: a sort of emotional ebb and flow that responds to the company of other Muslims with a heightened feeling of openness and warmth. Well, that’s how it was for me, anyway.

How hard and callous non-Muslim friends and colleagues began to seem. Why can’t we cry in public, hug one another more, say “I love you” to a new friend, without facing suspicion or ridicule? I would watch emotions being shared in households along with trays of honeyed sweets and wondered, if Allah’s law is simply based on fear why did the friends I loved and respected not turn their backs on their practices and start to drink, to have real “fun” as we in the west do? And we do, don’t we? Don’t we?

Finally, I felt what Muslims feel when they are in true prayer: a bolt of sweet harmony, a shudder of joy in which I was grateful for everything I have (my children) and secure in the certainty that I need nothing more (along with prayer) to be utterly content. I prayed in the Mesumeh shrine in Iran after ritually cleansing my forearms, face, head and feet with water. And nothing could be the same again. It was as simple as that.

The sheikh who finally converted me at a mosque in London a few weeks ago told me: “Don’t hurry, Lauren. Just take it easy. Allah is waiting for you. Ignore those who tell you: you must do this, wear that, have your hair like this. Follow your instincts, follow the Holy Qur’an- and let Allah guide you.”

And so I now live in a reality that is not unlike that of Jim Carey’s character in the Truman Show. I have glimpsed the great lie that is the facade of our modern lives; that materialism, consumerism, sex and drugs will give us lasting happiness. But I have also peeked behind the screens and seen an enchanting, enriched existence of love, peace and hope. In the meantime, I carry on with daily life, cooking dinners, making TV programmes about Palestine and yes, praying for around half an hour a day.

Now, my morning starts with dawn prayers at around 6am, I pray again at 1.30pm, then finally at 10.30pm. My steady progress with the Qur’an has been mocked in some quarters (for the record, I’m now around 200 pages in). I’ve been seeking advice from Ayatollahs, imams and sheikhs, and every one has said that each individual’s journey to Islam is their own. Some do commit the entire text to memory before conversion; for me reading the holy book will be done slowly and at my own pace.

In the past my attempts to give up alcohol have come to nothing; since my conversion I can’t even imagine drinking again. I have no doubt that this is for life: there is so much in Islam to learn and enjoy and admire; I’m overcome with the wonder of it. In the last few days I’ve heard from other women converts, and they have told me that this is just the start, that they are still loving it 10 or 20 years on.

On a final note I’d like to offer a quick translation between Muslim culture and media culture that may help take the sting of shock out of my change of life for some of you.

When Muslims on the BBC News are shown shouting “Allahu Akhbar!” at some clear, Middle Eastern sky, we westerners have been trained to hear: “We hate you all in your British sitting rooms, and are on our way to blow ourselves up in Lidl when you are buying your weekly groceries.”

In fact, what we Muslims are saying is “God is Great!”, and we’re taking comfort in our grief after non-Muslim nations have attacked our villages. Normally, this phrase proclaims our wish to live in peace with our neighbours, our God, our fellow humans, both Muslim and non-Muslim. Or, failing that, in the current climate, just to be left to live in peace would be nice.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/nov/03/lauren-booth-conversion-to-islam/print

Lauren Booth interviews:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W57jH3awu-M&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIsYIst_5o4

After reading about her conversion and listening to her speak, all I can say is mashAllah.  It’s hard for me to listen to her speak without tears in my eyes, because I know exactly how she feels when she speaks of the peace, tranquility, simplicity, and wisdom of Islam.  After encountering Islam, one can never walk away unchanged and unaffected.

9/11: Muslims Lost Loved Ones Too

For Families of Muslim 9/11 Victims, a New Pain

USAToday

NEW YORK — After that cruel day nine Septembers ago, Talat Hamdani felt twice victimized: first by fellow Muslims who killed her son, then by fellow Americans who doubted that a Muslim like her Salman died a hero at the World Trade Center.

Now, Hamdani says that with anti-Muslim feeling aroused by plans for an Islamic community center and mosque two blocks from the Ground Zero site, she again feels like a double victim.

“It’s worse now than it was then,” says Hamdani, a retired middle school English teacher who supports the project. Despite feeling an anti-Muslim backlash in the weeks after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks, she says, “at least there was empathy then. I got tons of support. Now I’m getting hate mail.”

Hamdani is one of hundreds of American Muslims who lost loved ones on 9/11, yet found themselves tarred, because of their faith, by the attacks. As
9/11′s ninth anniversary approaches, some of these Muslims worry that the controversy over the mosque near Ground Zero is feeding a revival of the
Islamophobia of 2001.

FBI statistics show that hate crimes against Muslims remain relatively rare. But recent headlines reflect tension over Muslims’ place in America: A young
man is accused of stabbing a Muslim cab driver in New York City last month. A Florida preacher plans to mark Sept. 11 by publicly burning Qurans.
Across the nation, groups oppose plans to build mosques, including ones proposed by moderate congregations.

Yet 9/11 had more Muslim victims (about 60 of nearly 3,000 killed) than terrorist hijackers (19).

They included an assistant bank vice president and a cook, a commodities trader and a waiter, an insurance executive, a security guard and an IT guy.

They included immigrants from all over: Sarah Khan, a cafeteria manager from Guyana; Syed Abdul Fatha,a copy machine operator from India; Zuhtu Ibis, a computer technician from Turkey. There was Michael Baksh, a Pakistani immigrant on his first day of work at the insurance firm Marsh & McLennan, and Abdoul Karim Traore, who had risen at 3 a.m. that day to deliver USA TODAY before reporting to work as a cook at Windows on the World restaurant. Karamo Trerra, a computer tech, was ready to celebrate his fourth wedding anniversary on Sept. 12.

And there was Salman Hamdani, who apparently abandoned his commute to work that morning to offer his skills as an EMT and police cadet at the Trade Center.

That was where he eventually would be found, in 34 pieces.

“People of all faiths died that day,” including Muslims, says his mother, Talat. “It is not fair to hold us responsible.”

The Muslim 9/11 victims’ families are not a cohesive community. Few are in touch with one another. (Many relatives left the country, some because they
were not here legally.) They’ve experienced different levels of prejudice — some say they have faced none at all — and differ on issues such as the proposed Islamic community center.

Talat Hamdani says she supports the plan, because of its proponents’ constitutional rights; because it would promote religious tolerance, and because moderate American Muslims “have been scapegoated. We have had to carry this cross for nine years now.”

Neda Bolourchi, a legal mediator in Los Angeles, lost her mother, Touri, who was aboard the jet that crashed into the south tower. She opposes the mosque because she believes it would politicize the Ground Zero area and destroy it as a sacred place for reflection and remembrance.

“I have no grave site to visit,” she says. “All I have is Ground Zero.”

Three families

The families of Muslims killed on 9/11 are spread across the nation:

• Mehr Tariq’s husband Tariq Amanullah, an assistant vice president at Fiduciary Trust, died in the south tower. She is 49 and lives with her two
young adult children in California’s Silicon Valley, where they moved in 2005 to be near her brothers.

Her neighborhood is diverse — about one-third Muslim — and tolerant. She feels comfortable visiting a local mosque for Quran study. “I read about (anti-Muslim sentiment),” she says. “I don’t experience it here.”

In 2001, when she attended a counseling session in New York for 9/11 families, some non-Muslims in the group didn’t distinguish between extremist and moderate Muslims: “I felt so isolated, because the other people were so angry. They would blame just ‘Muslims.’ ” She stopped going.

The furor over the Islamic center in New York reminds her of 2001: “Nobody cares that Muslims were victims as well as non-Muslims.”

• Baraheen Ashrafi’s husband, Mohammed Chowdhury, died atop the north tower, where he was a waiter at Windows on the World. Ashrafi, 38, lives in Edmond, Okla., where she moved with her two children to be near her sister. A native of Bangladesh, she became a U.S. citizen in 2004.

Hers is the only Muslim family in the neighborhood. Despite some incidents over the years — remarks about her head scarf, soda cans thrown at her car,
an old woman in a wheelchair at Wal-Mart who refused her offer to help with something on the top shelf — she usually feels accepted.

She never tells acquaintances about her 9/11 connection; most people only know that she’s a widow. Nor has she told her son Farquad, born two days after 9/11, how his father died. She knows the day is coming when she must, and dreads it.

She worries about the safety of American Muslims, and was shaken by the August assault on the New York cabbie, whose accused attacker reportedly had expressed polite interest in Islam. It shows, she says, that “some people are looking good on the outside, but inside are full of hate.”

• Ysuff Salie’s daughter Rahma, who was seven months pregnant, and Rahma’s husband, Michael, were passengers aboard the jet that crashed into the north tower. Ysuff, 64, and his wife, Haleema, 58, live in Newton, Mass., and run two bakery-cafes.

After 9/11, several of their Muslim relatives were barred from international flights and almost missed the memorial service for Rahma and Micky. Haleema felt compelled to tell reporters: “We would like people to know that we are Muslims and my daughter and son-in-law were Muslims. They were
victims, too.”

Today, Ysuff says he hasn’t felt much prejudice — “and I operate in a very public place” and avoids controversy. “If I see a disturbance, I keep away. If someone asked me (about the Islamic center), I’d say, ‘No comment.’ I’m not a person to judge.”

Reinforcing a mother’s faith

Talat Hamdani has two stories about 9/11. One is about who it took from her, the other about what it did to her.

Both begin the morning of the attacks, when Salman, 23, left their home in the Bayside section of Queens in New York City heading to his job as a lab tech at
Rockefeller University on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. He had a Quran in his backpack and a date after work in Jersey with a young woman he had met online.

He was born in Pakistan — his two U.S.-born younger brothers would tease him about it — and moved to America with his parents in 1980, when he was 1. His father, Saleem, owned a convenience store, and the boy helped with odd jobs such as sorting the Sunday papers. He became a citizen in 1990.

He had graduated in June 2001 from Queens College, where he majored in chemistry, and he hoped to eventually go to medical school. He trained as an EMT and drove part-time for an ambulance service. He joined the Police
Department’s cadet program, a sort of ROTC for cops.

This, his mother infers, is what happened on 9/11: While heading toward the city on the elevated subway train, Salman saw the twin towers burning and wanted to help. He used his EMT and police cadet credentials to get downtown, where he was killed when the north tower collapsed.

When he did not come home that night, the family searched frantically. They visited hospitals, checked the morgue, posted “missing” fliers. (Some were
ripped down.) In early October, they flew to Mecca to pray for his return.

They even nurtured a perverse hope: that perhaps Salman was one of the many young Arab and Muslim men secretly detained for questioning.

Meanwhile, police were asking the family about Salman’s politics and his computer. Rumors spread.

Someone distributed amateurish fliers with Salman’s picture, saying he was wanted for questioning by the city-federal terrorism task force.

A New York Post story about Salman was headlined “Missing — or Hiding?”

Talat has never gotten over what she regards as the slander of her son. She says it helps explain her advocacy of the Islamic center: “This is a cause for
me. If there’d never been a shadow of suspicion cast on Salman, then there would be no reason for me to do this. My anger comes from his own country
casting suspicion on him.”

With no word on their son, his parents left the front door unlocked and slept on the living room floor — waiting, against all reason, for him to walk back in.
That’s where they were late one night in March 2002, when two policemen appeared at the door. Salman’s remains had been identified; his name was
clear.

The following month, at his funeral, the police commissioner called him a hero. “Most people would have gone in the other direction” during the aftermath of the attacks, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said. “He went in to help people.”

Two years later, Saleem Hamdani died. The medical cause was cancer, but his wife deemed him as much a casualty of 9/11 as his son.

Her attempt to clear Salman’s name made Talat an activist. She joined Cindy Sheehan at Iraq war protests near President George W. Bush’s vacation home in Texas, and she attended hearings of terrorism suspects at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base. She realized that 9/11, which had taken away so much, also had given her something. “It reinforced my faith,” she says. “It gave me more confidence. I found myself standing up for a faith as I never had before.”

When the Islamic center became an issue, she was the only Muslim 9/11 family member to step forward. In June she spoke at a community planning
board hearing, as opponents jeered.

“My legs were shaking,” she says. “But I had a mission: to honor the memory of my son, and to heal the wounds of 2001.”

After appearing on television, she got hate mail at home on Long Island. One letter said, “Go back where you came from.” Another said, “Not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslims.”

Talat has her own conclusions. She says the true martyrs of 9/11 were not the men who piloted planes into buildings, but their victims: “They gave their lives doing what they believed in.”

The martyrs were Salman, and all the others born in faraway places with unusual names. “They died for one reason,” she says. “Not because they were
Muslims or from Pakistan or anywhere else. They died because they were Americans.”

http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2010-09-03-1Amuslims911_CV_N.htm?csp=obinsite

The Long History of Arabs and Muslims in America

I recently came across a short documentary by Al Jazeera on the history of the largest Arab community in the US, located in Dearborn, Michigan:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ScLURRxuGI

The viewer gets a glimpse of what life was like for Arab immigrants during the Industrial Revolution, and what life is like now for present-day Arab Americans.  One thought that came to mind after watching the video was how odd it is that our media focuses so much attention on all the issues Europe is facing with Arab and Muslim immigrants while completely ignoring the large communities of immigrant Arabs and Muslims here in the US that have been living fully integrated and peacefully here alongside the rest of us for generations.  But of course, this huge oversight shouldn’t surprise anyone; after all, it’s only the shocking and horrific news that rakes in viewership and optimum profit.  And of course, good news about Muslims and Arabs certainly doesn’t fit the imperialistic agenda of our government’s foreign policy.

Muslims have also been in the US since the country’s inception.  An interesting journey undertaken by two Muslims during this Ramadhan (visiting mosques all across America) revealed the rich history of many of the mosques and Muslim communities all over the US.  Read their story here: http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/09/10/ramadan.roadtrip.folo/index.html?hpt=C2.

As the Muslim duo discovered, Muslim Americans are deeply rooted in their country and communities, and are proud, integral components of American society -  a society built by immigrants with big dreams and hopes for a better life and a better future.