I am a Muslim. I know that saying that invites all kinds of preconceived notions for non-Muslims... I can accept that. In my lifetime, Muslims have generally made a negative impression on non-Muslims, and its to be expected that they would be wary of me. The same as if someone comes up to me and says, "I am a Christian" Its not that I have anything against Christians, but if someone comes out and says it, you wonder why... what is the territory they are trying to own... pro-life? born-again? clean living? and is their point to be expository or exclusionary?

So I can imagine non-muslims going thru the same thought process, but the difficult part of this process is that I don't fit into any of their preconceived notions. I am not foreign, I was born and brought up in the United States, and consider myself American. I am not socially conservative, or anti-semitic, or anti-western. So, then, why describe myself as Muslim? what does it mean to me to be muslim?

Well, first and foremost, I believe it. That's right, as incongruous and unlikely as it may seem, I really truly believe that there is a God, and that he is the God described, as Allah, in the Quran. And before we get into the whole proof of God argument, let me just say, I don't rationally believe it, I have faith in it. And my faith is so strong, and so much a part of me, that it is pretty much unshakeable, come what may.

But that's not why I tell non-Muslims that I am a Muslim. In this country no one really cares what you deeply believe, only how you act upon it. And to all external views, i am no different than any other person of my generation. I don't drink, and I don't eat pork, but that's not so unusual either in this day and age.

For me, I like to tell people I am a Muslim simply to counteract their preconceived notions. To say, "you look at me and make certain assumptions, but you don't guess that I am a Muslim"

Now, an even more tricky situation is telling other Muslims that I am a Muslim.

How much longer are we going to be expected to put up with the Patriotism police? Now that pretty much everyone with a brain has realized how complicit, if not downright guilty, the government is for 9/11, can't we all agree that there are many ways to show ones' love for our country. Some of us think the love must be blind, some of us think greed is patriotic, some of us think that its our responsibility to make sure our country is a force for good in the world.

The following is a poem I wrote in 1984, soon after returning from a long train trip to Kerala in India.

I went for a clackety-clack-click rumble train trip,
tripping, rolling, clackety-click-clack
swaying,
Going my way, north, to Delhi, from Kovalam.
I met some
foreigners, four, fast, familiar, friends.
They had to Kovalam
come clackety-click-clack to fun,
and run,
in the sun,
to get undone,
under the clackety-click, high sun in the Kerala sky,
their clickety-clack lives melting, bleaching,
as they go beaching,
always reaching
for the clickety-clack secrets of the Indian villages,
stopping just short of pillages,

(they leave those clackety-clack to their brother tourist
who seeks the pitiful poorest
of the poor.
to cure their first world clickety-clack blues.
Blackened, blended, they fuse and use the peaked power
pulsing-- ping! zing! through the wires clackety-clack
But call them hypocrites or call them liars,
you'll clackety-click see their fires,
"Our wealth and waste are ours alone,
if they want some, they can get their own!")

Clackety-click
clickety-clack
And so we bitch as we roll back,
to Delhi
to home and all that Coke,
It's such a joke,
a jest, a jive,
for us to assume such a live,
living for just some day, and not too long,
in this way, as they do,
as they clackety-click pass away
behind the train, into the night,
and we clickety-clack, move off, in light,
illuminated and luminesced,
all hardships are clackety-click, recessed
beyond our beds, our berths, beyond.

They lie there sick
clickety-click
they eat their rice and onions
with lots of spice
and pick from their hair
the tiny lice
that crawl and creep
and scritch and scratch.
clackety-click
clickety-clack
But we go back.
Home.

Being a Muslim in the United States is such a complex experience. I think its similar to
how person's of Japanese origin must have felt during WWII, when they were considered
to be the enemy, merely because of national origin. However, for Muslims, there are not really
any recognizable ethnic traits, so the reaction is delayed.

For those of you who have not yet experienced it, the reaction can range from benign curiosity,
to slight discomfort, to outright abuse. I've been fortunate that most of my friends, acquaintances and colleagues
are open minded and tolerant, so there are only the usual misunderstandings that I have to deal with.
However, I have had people tell me to F**k off back to Iran. I had a client who sent an anonymous letter to
the FBI about me. My wife, who immigrated here from Europe, but looks more eastern than I, gets all sorts of
odd and unfriendly reactions.

What is most disturbing though, are not the one-on-one interactions, but the weirdly surreptitious
anti-Muslim sentiment that is becoming institutionalized, particularly in the Federal Government. I would
recommend everyone to find and watch the documentary, "whose children are these?" about hardworking immigrants
who come to this country, make a home, raise a family, contribute to society and government and then
are treated like criminals simply because of their religious beliefs or national origin.
http://www.nycmaharanifilms.com/whose.htm