Terrorism: The View of a Muslim

Her father wants military intervention in the Middle East. He wants the West to do more. His comments against terrorists are harsh. He’s in favor of strikes, he’s in favor of boots on the ground and thinks that the world seriously needs to get its act together and fight this menace.

Her father happens to be a Muslim. He prays 5 times a day, does not drink alcohol nor does he eat pork. He says Allahu Akbar and Wallai. He wasn’t born nor raised in the Middle East. He hails from West Africa but he lived for a few years in Saudi Arabia and couldn’t stand the place.

He’s a Muslim. But he is not a terrorist.

Nor is his wife, who does not and has never worn a Hijab and that doesn’t understand the use of the full face veil.

They both happen to be pro-West, and they did not grow up with the distinction of Shia and Sunni. In fact it makes no sense to them.

They call terrorists just that. Terrorists. They call them bastards, they call them infidels, not true followers of Islam. And they want them gone. They want them gone probably more than some do. They feel personally attacked by them every single day when people associate Islam with terrorists because of a limited number of terrorists who saw it fit to betray their countries, betray their conscience and bomb and kill people.

Their daughter doesn’t see herself as religious, but she was brought up in that faith and it pains her to see Islam tarnished because of a tiny minority. It pains her to see religious freedom violated when she hears of hate crimes against Muslims and many Muslims living now in fear. It pains her to hear about idiots like Donald Trump advocating neo-nazi policies, putting all Muslims in the same basket.

Because that’s the thing. Muslims are people, just like you and me and everyone else. Some of them are good and some of them are bad. Some of them like hip-hop, some of them like Beyoncé, Bastille and etc. Some of them wear a hijab, some don’t. Some of them like pasta and some like rice. Some of them hail from South Asia, some from Africa, some from the Middle East, from the United States, from Britain and from France. Some cry, laugh, spend time with their families.

They are like us…people. And I wish more people remembered that.


Photo: Urban Phoria

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