Thanks to Mem of Somerville in an open thread yesterday, our attention was brought to the story of a
pig's head being thrown into a mosque during prayer. As I'm sure many of you know, this act isn't inflammatory simply because it occurred during prayer, but because the pig is considered an unclean animal in Islam.
Whenever I hear a report like this of hatred against Muslims in America, my mind always jumps back five years to when I was a sophomore in high school. I was fifteen when the September 11th attacks happened, and fortunate enough not to have anyone in my life personally affected by the attacks. Where my mind went immediately upon the news that the attacks were perpetuated by Muslims was to a favorite relative: my uncle Moe.
More below the cut.
I'm related to my uncle Mohammed through marriage, and he has always been a particular favorite of mine. I've always found his stories of growing up in Morocco to be fascinating and laughed when he insisted on bringing Moroccan delicacies (like lamb testicles) to family gatherings. Not a devout Muslim, he is only ever observant during the month of Ramadan, and my aunt remained Catholic and their children were raised in their mother's religion.
My most vivid memory of the blur of fear and worry that were the weeks after 9/11 is receiving a call from my aunt Renee. She was just calling to check in with my mother, and I was right beside her as I tended to be for those few weeks. I remember that, at the end of the conversation I worked up the nerve to get my mom to ask my aunt how my uncle Moe was doing. Was anyone harassing him? Were they being nice to him at his job? The thing I was most terrified of in those weeks was not being attacked by terrorists (because what terrorist would attack suburban Massachusetts?) but that fear and anger would drive someone to hurt my uncle.
Thankfully, those fears have been unrealized on a personal level, and largely on a national level as well. Besides the odd slur or hate crime, the national movement against Islam I envisioned never happened. Whenever incidents like the one in Maine occur, however, the old twinge of anxiety always starts in the pit of my stomach.
Now I attend a small Catholic college in New Hampshire where I can name most of the Jews and Protestants on campus and I'm friends with the five (out of 2200 students) Muslims who go there. They are wonderful people and we've been known to tease each other about the others religion, often getting into theological arguments over the contents of the Bible or the Qu'ran.
At my school, it's as if the 60's and 70's didn't happen but the 80's certainly did, where Reagan-worship is common, Bush is everyone's "homeboy" on Facebook, and the sexual revolution somehow stopped at the border of the well-manicured lawns of the campus. There are no condoms in the health center, the Organization for Life holds vigils outside the coffee shop year-round, and the small cadre of nuns who are leaving to return to Canada have literally left the monks wondering who is going to cook their food and do their laundry. Born in California and raised in Massachusetts, going to my school can sometimes feel like living in a time capsule of an era that never really existed.
Sometimes when I'm there I lose hope, especially when I hear stories like the one from Maine. Sometimes I forget that there are good, decent people in the world who don't care what religion, race, sexuality or sex you are, as long as you're a good person. So I wanted to thank Kos and everyone at DailyKos who reminds me everyday that those incidents are the exception, and someday our community will be the rule.
I've developed the habit of reading Warren Zevon's last poem, which is tacked up by my desk, as a sort of mantra to live by. Now I'm going to share it with you:
Don't let us get sick
Don't let us get old
Don't let us get stupid, all right?
Just make us be brave
And make us play nice
And let us be together tonight.