This woman says it all!

**Myra** · September 16th, 2001, 04:41 PM

I'm Not the Enemy

By Reshma Memon Yaqub

Thursday, September 13, 2001; Page A31

The horror is unspeakable. Like every American, I am
paralyzed by the carnage on the news, on our streets. My
head pounds, thinking of the grief engulfing thousands of
families whose loved ones were killed or injured Tuesday.
When I close my eyes, I see bodies tumbling from the windows
of skyscrapers.

As the attack unfolded, I panicked, racing through what
until this moment had felt like a safe, suburban
neighborhood to find my son and his babysitter, who were
playing, as usual, at a nearby park. I begged my husband,
who was at work in a prominent Washington building, to come
home. With the phone lines going in and out, I felt sure
that it just wasn't over.

Like every American, I am afraid. Wondering what this means
for us. Wondering whether it's over, or when and where the
next attack will take place. It's the first time I've felt
the kind of fear I imagine that people in other countries
feel when they are at war.

Like every American, I am outraged. And I want justice. But
perhaps unlike many other Americans, I'm feeling something
else too. A different kind of fear. I'm feeling what my 6
million fellow American Muslims are feeling -- the fear that
we too will be considered guilty in the eyes of America, if
it turns out that the madmen behind this terrorism were
Muslim.

I feel as though I've suddenly become the enemy of two
groups -- those who wish to hurt Americans, and those
Americans who wish to strike back. It's a frightening corner
to be in. In the past, when lone Muslims have committed acts
of terrorism -- or have been mistakenly assumed to be
guilty, as in Oklahoma City -- hate crimes have abounded
against American Muslims who look like they're from "that
part of the world," against American mosques, against
American children in Muslim schools who pray to the same
peace-loving God as Jews and Christians.

I am now not just afraid, as we all are, for our safety as
Americans. I am also afraid for the safety of my
sisters-in-law, who wear head scarves in public, and I
implore them not to walk alone in the streets of our
hometown. I am afraid for my brother, a civil rights lawyer
who defends Muslims in high-profile discrimination cases. I
am afraid to hear people openly state that Muslim blood is
worthless and deserves to be spilled, as I heard when I was
in college during the Persian Gulf War. I am afraid that my
son won't understand why strangers aren't smiling at him the
way they used to. I am afraid that we will be dehumanized
because of our skin color, or features, or clothing. My
heart aches each time a friend or relative calls, CNN
blaring in the background, and sadly reminds me, "It's over
for us now. Muslims are done for."

I was briefly heartened to hear author Tom Clancy,
interviewed on CNN, explaining that Islam is a peaceful
religion and that
we as Americans must not let go of our ideals of religious
tolerance, because it's the way our country behaves when
it's been
hurt that really reflects who we are.

Still, I'm afraid that Americans might view the televised
images of a few misguided and deeply wounded people overseas

celebrating the pain that America is now feeling, and will
assume that I too must share that anti-American sentiment,
that I, or
my family, or my community, or my religion, could be part of
the problem. In fact, every major American Muslim
organization
has decried this violence against us all. In fact, Islam
forbids such acts of violence. In fact, all the Muslims I
know cringe at the
idea of our faith being used, abused, in the name of
political agendas.

And though I, like other Americans, want the perpetrators
brought to justice, I shudder to think of the innocent lives
that may
be unnecessarily lost overseas in that pursuit. Children
like ours. Mothers like us.

Every time I hear of an act of terrorism, I have two
prayers. My first is for the victims and their families. My
second is, please
don't let it be a Muslim. Because unlike when an act of
terrorism is committed by a Christian or a Jew, when it is a
Muslim, it's
not considered an isolated act perpetrated by an isolated
group of madmen. The entire faith is characterized as
barbaric, as
inhuman. And, my fellow Americans, I stand before you, as
broken as you are, to tell you that it's not. That we are
not. That
we Muslims love our country as you do, and that we are
bleeding and grieving alongside you.

Reshma Memon Yaqub is a journalist who lives in Montgomery
County.

? 2001 The Washington Post
Company

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Hold fast to whats important and never let it go!