Please be patient with this long post. There is no short, bullet-comment way to explain how I feel about the current controversy.
I grew up in Texas. Sometime in grade school or high school, I read about the crusades and I also read a version of "1,001 Arabian Nights." That was my only exposure to Islam and Muslims when I was young. It was so limited, I thought of Islam as sort of a fairy tale or relic of the past. I didn't really come into contact with Muslims until 1981 or 1982 (not sure of the year - sorry, I'm old). My first wife and I took a vacation with friends to Turkey and Greece. Our first stop was a US air base in Adana. It was just a short layover, but we had time to walk off base and get a quick look at this exotic new country. We walked into the town just after dawn, and the first thing we noticed was not the view but the smell - the aroma of fresh-baked unleavened bread was everywhere. We followed our noses to a very small bakery and saw that it wasn't open yet. We banged on the door, hoping the owner would be willing to sell some bread before opening hours, since we had to leave very quickly to catch our plane to Izmir. The owner came out, wiping his floured hands on his apron. In sign language and broken English, he explained that he would get into trouble if he sold anything before opening hours. We were disappointed, but we understood. We turned around and headed back to the base. We'd only gone a few steps when we heard shouting behind us. We stopped and turned - there was the bakery owner running after us, his hands full of hot, fresh, delicious bread. He gave each of us a large, round, flat piece of bread and explained that, while the law said he couldn't SELL it to us, nothing prevented him from GIVING it to us. He would accept nothing but our thanks in return. This was my first direct experience with a Muslim. I can still taste that bread!
At the time, I was young and strong and had dreams of becoming a professional photographer. The next couple of days, in Izmir, I found myself confronted with a great photo op. I put my bag of lenses and other equipment down, then took the picture. It turned out, the entire street became a series of pictures, and I was so focused on taking the shots, I was a full block away before I realized I'd left my camera bag sitting on the sidewalk. It contained over $1,000 of equipment and I rushed back, already convinced it would be gone. Instead, there was a young man standing guard over it, making sure no one would take it. I couldn't believe it! Why would he do such a nice thing? I thanked him and tried to give him some money. He was embarrassed that I was offering him money and assured me that wasn't necessary. I had one more memorable experience before we left Turkey. We were trudging through Istanbul, looking for a particular tourist attraction. We were frustrated because we were pretty sure we were close, but we simply could not find what we were looking for. There was a man carrying a heavy box who saw us looking at the map, so he came over to us and asked where we were trying to go. We pointed at the map and he said, "I take you." He put his package on the sidewalk, up against the wall, and motioned for us to follow him. It turned out that we were completely lost. He wound up being our guide, showing us points of interest along the way, and taking us nearly 5 miles from where he'd left his package. Again, no money - he seemed genuinely pleased to help us. For these reasons and more - food and history and museums and exotic sights and sounds - Turkey is still one of my all-time favorite vacation memories.
As a Russian linguist in the army, my primary focus was the Cold War and the Soviet Union. The only "contact" I had for many of those years was when I was monitoring the Soviet disaster in Afghanistan. Back then, the freedom fighters were heroes. I couldn't help admiring how fiercely they fought, even though they were outmanned and outgunned.
My next major experience with Muslims was in the Persian Gulf War. I still call it Desert Storm. I was a platoon sergeant for an interrogation platoon. Since we were out of Germany and our focus was the Soviet Union, I had German, Russian, Czech, and Polish linguists, but not a single speaker of Arabic. In order to accomplish our mission, we would need interpreters. They appeared in the form of 20 Kuwaitis, all fluent in English and Arabic, all volunteers who wanted to do their part to liberate their country from Saddam Hussein. At first, my company commander had discipline problems with them, and he eventually turned them over to me. "They're part of your platoon now. I want them to show up for formation on time and I want them in uniform." These were things he hadn't been able to get them to do. I went to their leader (This was an odd thing in itself - their leader was not the highest ranking guy; in fact, he wasn't even an officer. I'm not sure to this day how he was selected. I suspect they decided he was the leader because, well, he acted like the leader.). Anyway, I went to him, all business, ready to tell him and his men what to do. He listened for a while, then he said, "Come have tea." I was confused. It was as if I had said nothing to him. I turned to my assistant platoon sergeant, told him what needed to be done while I was gone, then followed the Kuwaiti to his tent. His "headquarters" was a US Army GP small tent. It's circular and usually sleeps a maximum of 8 personnel. He raised the flap and motioned me to go in. I stepped into a different world. There were beautiful Middle Eastern rugs on the ground, a circular table in the middle with a nice place setting, a water pipe to one side, and even tapestries hanging on the sides of the tent. I had to look up at the olive drab canvas ceiling to know that I was in the same GP small tent I'd seen on the outside. I was led to a large silk pillow next to the table. The leader and I sat down and the other Kuwaitis came in and out, serving us tea, fresh vegetables (where did they get those?), and various Middle Eastern dishes. I hadn't had a hot, home-cooked meal in over 30 days, so for a while I forgot that I was there on business, and just ate. The Kuwaiti talked about his family, about his men, a little about liberating Kuwait, and I just listened and chewed. Finally, he looked at me and said, "Mr. Sergeant, tell me what it is you need." I told him I needed his help, that my commander wanted his men to be in formation every morning, wearing proper uniforms. "I am honored that you have come to my table. My men and I will do as you have asked." And it was that simple. We never had a problem again. It turned out they would do nothing we told them to do, but anything we asked.
Since that time, I have been in two other Muslim countries for extended periods of time - Tajikistan and Egypt. My students in Tajikistan were from the National Guard, and after I'd been teaching them for a while, their commander decided it would be nice if I saw something outside the capital of Dushanbe. Two of his young officers were designated to be my guides and companions on a trip to an old Soviet-style resort in the mountains. We drove on barely passable roads in a decrepit Toyota sedan along the Varzob River and into the mountains. It was early summer, but the peaks surrounding the city are so high, they are snow-capped year round. Once we left the city, it was as if we'd taken a time machine. The primary means of transportation were donkeys or just plain old walking. The roads were dirt and the villages were clearly very poor. But there were children running and playing, sometimes working. I could have been on a National Geographic expedition. My two student/officer/guide friends had brought roast meat, spicy pickled vegetables, and fresh unleavened bread to eat on the way. Once at the resort, we got the full treatment, including a "water massage." This was an interesting bit of therapy. You basically strip naked, then hang on to a rail on the wall while a "masseuse" sprays you with a fire hose pumping radioactive water from the natural hot springs at the resort. I wasn't prepared for the force of the water, so I was knocked to the ground. I hurt my hand, but didn't find out until I got back to the States that I'd suffered a hairline fracture. After our treatments, we had a picnic in a covered pavilion, complete with roast chicken, fresh vegetables, and fresh fruit. Afterwards, we took a mandatory nap during the hottest part of the day (although it wasn't that hot because of the altitude). Then we went back to Dushanbe. It was all so friendly and interesting and fun, I didn't think much about why I needed two escorts for the trip. Well, in some ways, Tajikistan is like the old Wild West. There are bandits and few police once you leave the city. These young men were also my bodyguards. I have no doubt they would have given their lives without a thought if it became necessary. And in this mostly impoverished country, I was the rich American. I typically spent in a day more than most of them make in a month. But on this trip, I COULD SPEND NOTHING! They were nearly ashamed when I asked, or if I tried to pay for anything. It simply wasn't about money.
In Egypt, I was fortunate enough to be met by and spend time with men who had been my students in San Antonio. One of them escorted me to the Khan el Khalili Bazaar. If I'd gone by myself, I would have been accosted with every step by hawkers of everything from water pipes to knives to souvenirs. They would have swarmed like gnats, making me so miserable, I'm sure I would have left without buying anything. I watched several Western tourists suffer this fate. But my friend was a tall, imposing Egyptian officer. He ran the hawkers off with a few authoritative words or harsh looks, and we walked in peace through the bazaar. He guided me directly to the shops that specialized in those things I wanted to buy, then made sure we paid the Egyptian price and not the tourist price. There are several mosques in and near Khan el Khalili, so when the call to prayer sounded, he asked me to go with him into a truly ancient mosque. He took me to a bench and told me to sit there until the service was over, assuring me that it wouldn't take very long. As I watched, an imam led a service during which the men responded in unison in a very reverent service. I found myself admiring the way they bowed, not just at the waist, but going all the way to the ground and pressing their head to the floor in complete obeisance to God. It was a spiritual, reverent ceremony and I have no doubt God was there.
In Egypt, I had a chance to spend time with Mohammed and Samy, both former students and now English teachers. Mohammed invited us (my fellow teachers came, too) to his home. We met his brother, his sister, a female friend of his, and his parents. For one evening, we were not really guests - we were part of his family. His mother was constantly busy, instantly replacing every bite of food removed from our plates before we were finished chewing. There was lamb, beef, duck, chicken, and more fruits and vegetables than you could count or eat. It was a joyful occasion. We were all so happy and animated, the corners of my mouth were sore after dinner from smiling so much. It's one of the great dinner parties of my life and I will never forget it.
Samy (yes, I know you're out there, Samy, so don't get a big head over this) is just a funny guy. His English is superior, he's a polished teacher, but he greets the world with a joke and a smile. He and his friend loved to play tricks on the locals when they were in San Antonio, and now I had the pleasure of seeing him on his home turf. Still funny, still happy, but a capable and serious officer and educator when it was time to be. He grew in my eyes because now I saw Samy the professional and I can say I was impressed. Another highlight of my time in Egypt was when he invited us to his wedding. We went to one of the most spectacular mosques in Cairo and watched this momentous occasion unfold. This was not just a wedding of two people - this was the joining of two extended families and all their friends. The ceremony itself was short and solemn and when it was over there was this huge, joyful, chaotic mingling of all the guests. We were all so glad to have been there. Samy, I see you are still happily married to your wonderful wife, and I wish you continued joy.
I cannot talk about this topic without talking about Bahiq. He was my driver in Cairo. Our lives were literally in his hands every day. He guided us skillfully, safely, even intuitively, through the chaos that is traffic in Cairo. Our weekends were on Friday and Saturday, but mostly we tried to leave him a day for religious services and family on Friday. He became our great guide and friend. He was our defender at the pyramids and in Alexandria. But mostly, there was this great Bahiq smile, this truly honorable man, dedicated to his faith, his country, and his family. When I think of Gayle Sayer's book, "I Am Third," Bahiq is the person I see who lives up to that title. His life seems to be a great challenge, but he works hard all the time, doing whatever he can to make a good life for his family. He is one of the finest human beings I've ever met. Bahiq, I know you're on facebook, too, and I send my love to you and your family.
I am an educated person. I know that every major religion has leaders and followers who have preached messages of peace and love. And every one of those religions has had leaders and followers who took a path of hate and violence. I refuse to judge all Muslims by the hateful, evil acts of al Qaeda. I know that Samy, Mohammed, Bahiq, and all the other people I've mentioned had nothing to do with the attacks on September 11th. They would give anything to undo the damage done by those extremists. If these men somehow moved to New York City, or if they went there as tourists, I would want them to have a nice place to practice their faith.
I have written this with a heavy heart. I am sorry for the way Americans have responded to the building of the Islamic cultural center in Manhattan. They talk about the builders being insensitive, as if that's enough to justify their intolerance. Americans would do well to go meet good men and women of the Islamic faith. There are so many of them. It's an unfortunate sign of the times that the bad guys get all the attention. So to my fellow Christians, I ask you to go to church, or get on your knees at home, and pray about this. Think about Christ's message of love, understanding, and forgiveness. We can do this.
To my Muslim friends, I am sorry. Don't go by the media's focus on the anger and intolerance so many Americans are expressing. I truly believe it will pass. Please have faith and patience.
I grew up in Texas. Sometime in grade school or high school, I read about the crusades and I also read a version of "1,001 Arabian Nights." That was my only exposure to Islam and Muslims when I was young. It was so limited, I thought of Islam as sort of a fairy tale or relic of the past. I didn't really come into contact with Muslims until 1981 or 1982 (not sure of the year - sorry, I'm old). My first wife and I took a vacation with friends to Turkey and Greece. Our first stop was a US air base in Adana. It was just a short layover, but we had time to walk off base and get a quick look at this exotic new country. We walked into the town just after dawn, and the first thing we noticed was not the view but the smell - the aroma of fresh-baked unleavened bread was everywhere. We followed our noses to a very small bakery and saw that it wasn't open yet. We banged on the door, hoping the owner would be willing to sell some bread before opening hours, since we had to leave very quickly to catch our plane to Izmir. The owner came out, wiping his floured hands on his apron. In sign language and broken English, he explained that he would get into trouble if he sold anything before opening hours. We were disappointed, but we understood. We turned around and headed back to the base. We'd only gone a few steps when we heard shouting behind us. We stopped and turned - there was the bakery owner running after us, his hands full of hot, fresh, delicious bread. He gave each of us a large, round, flat piece of bread and explained that, while the law said he couldn't SELL it to us, nothing prevented him from GIVING it to us. He would accept nothing but our thanks in return. This was my first direct experience with a Muslim. I can still taste that bread!
At the time, I was young and strong and had dreams of becoming a professional photographer. The next couple of days, in Izmir, I found myself confronted with a great photo op. I put my bag of lenses and other equipment down, then took the picture. It turned out, the entire street became a series of pictures, and I was so focused on taking the shots, I was a full block away before I realized I'd left my camera bag sitting on the sidewalk. It contained over $1,000 of equipment and I rushed back, already convinced it would be gone. Instead, there was a young man standing guard over it, making sure no one would take it. I couldn't believe it! Why would he do such a nice thing? I thanked him and tried to give him some money. He was embarrassed that I was offering him money and assured me that wasn't necessary. I had one more memorable experience before we left Turkey. We were trudging through Istanbul, looking for a particular tourist attraction. We were frustrated because we were pretty sure we were close, but we simply could not find what we were looking for. There was a man carrying a heavy box who saw us looking at the map, so he came over to us and asked where we were trying to go. We pointed at the map and he said, "I take you." He put his package on the sidewalk, up against the wall, and motioned for us to follow him. It turned out that we were completely lost. He wound up being our guide, showing us points of interest along the way, and taking us nearly 5 miles from where he'd left his package. Again, no money - he seemed genuinely pleased to help us. For these reasons and more - food and history and museums and exotic sights and sounds - Turkey is still one of my all-time favorite vacation memories.
As a Russian linguist in the army, my primary focus was the Cold War and the Soviet Union. The only "contact" I had for many of those years was when I was monitoring the Soviet disaster in Afghanistan. Back then, the freedom fighters were heroes. I couldn't help admiring how fiercely they fought, even though they were outmanned and outgunned.
My next major experience with Muslims was in the Persian Gulf War. I still call it Desert Storm. I was a platoon sergeant for an interrogation platoon. Since we were out of Germany and our focus was the Soviet Union, I had German, Russian, Czech, and Polish linguists, but not a single speaker of Arabic. In order to accomplish our mission, we would need interpreters. They appeared in the form of 20 Kuwaitis, all fluent in English and Arabic, all volunteers who wanted to do their part to liberate their country from Saddam Hussein. At first, my company commander had discipline problems with them, and he eventually turned them over to me. "They're part of your platoon now. I want them to show up for formation on time and I want them in uniform." These were things he hadn't been able to get them to do. I went to their leader (This was an odd thing in itself - their leader was not the highest ranking guy; in fact, he wasn't even an officer. I'm not sure to this day how he was selected. I suspect they decided he was the leader because, well, he acted like the leader.). Anyway, I went to him, all business, ready to tell him and his men what to do. He listened for a while, then he said, "Come have tea." I was confused. It was as if I had said nothing to him. I turned to my assistant platoon sergeant, told him what needed to be done while I was gone, then followed the Kuwaiti to his tent. His "headquarters" was a US Army GP small tent. It's circular and usually sleeps a maximum of 8 personnel. He raised the flap and motioned me to go in. I stepped into a different world. There were beautiful Middle Eastern rugs on the ground, a circular table in the middle with a nice place setting, a water pipe to one side, and even tapestries hanging on the sides of the tent. I had to look up at the olive drab canvas ceiling to know that I was in the same GP small tent I'd seen on the outside. I was led to a large silk pillow next to the table. The leader and I sat down and the other Kuwaitis came in and out, serving us tea, fresh vegetables (where did they get those?), and various Middle Eastern dishes. I hadn't had a hot, home-cooked meal in over 30 days, so for a while I forgot that I was there on business, and just ate. The Kuwaiti talked about his family, about his men, a little about liberating Kuwait, and I just listened and chewed. Finally, he looked at me and said, "Mr. Sergeant, tell me what it is you need." I told him I needed his help, that my commander wanted his men to be in formation every morning, wearing proper uniforms. "I am honored that you have come to my table. My men and I will do as you have asked." And it was that simple. We never had a problem again. It turned out they would do nothing we told them to do, but anything we asked.
Since that time, I have been in two other Muslim countries for extended periods of time - Tajikistan and Egypt. My students in Tajikistan were from the National Guard, and after I'd been teaching them for a while, their commander decided it would be nice if I saw something outside the capital of Dushanbe. Two of his young officers were designated to be my guides and companions on a trip to an old Soviet-style resort in the mountains. We drove on barely passable roads in a decrepit Toyota sedan along the Varzob River and into the mountains. It was early summer, but the peaks surrounding the city are so high, they are snow-capped year round. Once we left the city, it was as if we'd taken a time machine. The primary means of transportation were donkeys or just plain old walking. The roads were dirt and the villages were clearly very poor. But there were children running and playing, sometimes working. I could have been on a National Geographic expedition. My two student/officer/guide friends had brought roast meat, spicy pickled vegetables, and fresh unleavened bread to eat on the way. Once at the resort, we got the full treatment, including a "water massage." This was an interesting bit of therapy. You basically strip naked, then hang on to a rail on the wall while a "masseuse" sprays you with a fire hose pumping radioactive water from the natural hot springs at the resort. I wasn't prepared for the force of the water, so I was knocked to the ground. I hurt my hand, but didn't find out until I got back to the States that I'd suffered a hairline fracture. After our treatments, we had a picnic in a covered pavilion, complete with roast chicken, fresh vegetables, and fresh fruit. Afterwards, we took a mandatory nap during the hottest part of the day (although it wasn't that hot because of the altitude). Then we went back to Dushanbe. It was all so friendly and interesting and fun, I didn't think much about why I needed two escorts for the trip. Well, in some ways, Tajikistan is like the old Wild West. There are bandits and few police once you leave the city. These young men were also my bodyguards. I have no doubt they would have given their lives without a thought if it became necessary. And in this mostly impoverished country, I was the rich American. I typically spent in a day more than most of them make in a month. But on this trip, I COULD SPEND NOTHING! They were nearly ashamed when I asked, or if I tried to pay for anything. It simply wasn't about money.
In Egypt, I was fortunate enough to be met by and spend time with men who had been my students in San Antonio. One of them escorted me to the Khan el Khalili Bazaar. If I'd gone by myself, I would have been accosted with every step by hawkers of everything from water pipes to knives to souvenirs. They would have swarmed like gnats, making me so miserable, I'm sure I would have left without buying anything. I watched several Western tourists suffer this fate. But my friend was a tall, imposing Egyptian officer. He ran the hawkers off with a few authoritative words or harsh looks, and we walked in peace through the bazaar. He guided me directly to the shops that specialized in those things I wanted to buy, then made sure we paid the Egyptian price and not the tourist price. There are several mosques in and near Khan el Khalili, so when the call to prayer sounded, he asked me to go with him into a truly ancient mosque. He took me to a bench and told me to sit there until the service was over, assuring me that it wouldn't take very long. As I watched, an imam led a service during which the men responded in unison in a very reverent service. I found myself admiring the way they bowed, not just at the waist, but going all the way to the ground and pressing their head to the floor in complete obeisance to God. It was a spiritual, reverent ceremony and I have no doubt God was there.
In Egypt, I had a chance to spend time with Mohammed and Samy, both former students and now English teachers. Mohammed invited us (my fellow teachers came, too) to his home. We met his brother, his sister, a female friend of his, and his parents. For one evening, we were not really guests - we were part of his family. His mother was constantly busy, instantly replacing every bite of food removed from our plates before we were finished chewing. There was lamb, beef, duck, chicken, and more fruits and vegetables than you could count or eat. It was a joyful occasion. We were all so happy and animated, the corners of my mouth were sore after dinner from smiling so much. It's one of the great dinner parties of my life and I will never forget it.
Samy (yes, I know you're out there, Samy, so don't get a big head over this) is just a funny guy. His English is superior, he's a polished teacher, but he greets the world with a joke and a smile. He and his friend loved to play tricks on the locals when they were in San Antonio, and now I had the pleasure of seeing him on his home turf. Still funny, still happy, but a capable and serious officer and educator when it was time to be. He grew in my eyes because now I saw Samy the professional and I can say I was impressed. Another highlight of my time in Egypt was when he invited us to his wedding. We went to one of the most spectacular mosques in Cairo and watched this momentous occasion unfold. This was not just a wedding of two people - this was the joining of two extended families and all their friends. The ceremony itself was short and solemn and when it was over there was this huge, joyful, chaotic mingling of all the guests. We were all so glad to have been there. Samy, I see you are still happily married to your wonderful wife, and I wish you continued joy.
I cannot talk about this topic without talking about Bahiq. He was my driver in Cairo. Our lives were literally in his hands every day. He guided us skillfully, safely, even intuitively, through the chaos that is traffic in Cairo. Our weekends were on Friday and Saturday, but mostly we tried to leave him a day for religious services and family on Friday. He became our great guide and friend. He was our defender at the pyramids and in Alexandria. But mostly, there was this great Bahiq smile, this truly honorable man, dedicated to his faith, his country, and his family. When I think of Gayle Sayer's book, "I Am Third," Bahiq is the person I see who lives up to that title. His life seems to be a great challenge, but he works hard all the time, doing whatever he can to make a good life for his family. He is one of the finest human beings I've ever met. Bahiq, I know you're on facebook, too, and I send my love to you and your family.
I am an educated person. I know that every major religion has leaders and followers who have preached messages of peace and love. And every one of those religions has had leaders and followers who took a path of hate and violence. I refuse to judge all Muslims by the hateful, evil acts of al Qaeda. I know that Samy, Mohammed, Bahiq, and all the other people I've mentioned had nothing to do with the attacks on September 11th. They would give anything to undo the damage done by those extremists. If these men somehow moved to New York City, or if they went there as tourists, I would want them to have a nice place to practice their faith.
I have written this with a heavy heart. I am sorry for the way Americans have responded to the building of the Islamic cultural center in Manhattan. They talk about the builders being insensitive, as if that's enough to justify their intolerance. Americans would do well to go meet good men and women of the Islamic faith. There are so many of them. It's an unfortunate sign of the times that the bad guys get all the attention. So to my fellow Christians, I ask you to go to church, or get on your knees at home, and pray about this. Think about Christ's message of love, understanding, and forgiveness. We can do this.
To my Muslim friends, I am sorry. Don't go by the media's focus on the anger and intolerance so many Americans are expressing. I truly believe it will pass. Please have faith and patience.
