The Etownian >> Opinion
Reaching beyond TV screens
Thursday February 25 2010
Dear American Media,To you, my name will be “The Muslim Not In Your Television.” I’m not in your newspapers. I’m not of your fears, either, but you keep putting me there. We exist, you know. But you don’t care. You gave them martyrdom when you lumped us all together.
9/11 was harder on me than it was on you. I wore a burka. You didn’t. I wore a hijab. You didn’t. The people on the subway to Penn Station kept seeing bombs in my backpack, kept seeing triggers on my fingers, kept seeing a sword in the crescent moon. I stopped sitting down because people beside me would stand up. A thousand stares were a thousand planes flying into my center. You helped strip off all my culture.
Our mosque was graffitied, and on the back page in the lower left hand corner in print too small for respect, all you said was:
“QUEENS, NEW YORK — Yesterday, nearly two months after Islamic terrorists killed 2,973 Americans, the first mosque was defaced. Investigators have not discovered any suspects.”
You forgot to mention that they never found any and never did try hard. You never interviewed the imam. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what that is, or a minaret, a hadith, Sharia law — the greater jihad is the inner jihad. You let the Swiss get off easy, too.
They spray-painted my Prophet bending over a pig. And you cannot know how much that hurt, how many bottles of stain remover it took the whole congregation that Friday morning before prayer to remove it. You forgot that my son came home one afternoon to tell me that he didn’t want to be a Muslim because the children at school wouldn’t play with him anymore.
You married the word “Islamic” with the word “terrorist.” You let them elope without telling Her parents. The rings you put on their fingers have oppressed Her more than you think I have. “Is there anyone present who does not believe that this Woman and this Man should be together?” You never bothered to ask me that question. “Islamic terrorist” — so easy for you to say. I watch it stain your lips and your papers like cheap spilt wine.
All I want is for you to come int o my house in the morning and see me watch my husband shaving his beard before leaving for the airpot on business. I want you to see my son look at my naked hair and head like it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I just want to have you over for a Lebanese dinner and give you three cups of tea and watch the Super Bowl with you, and tell you how much I would love democracy if you’d only let me try.
Before you finish reading this, I’ll have finished reading the letter my mother sends me every month saying, among other things, that she misses me and that I should come home once Salaam is in college. I used to tell her that this is our home now.
Sincerely,
The Muslim Not In
Your Television
The Etownian >> Opinion