NewsSeptember 11, 2002
Fourteen months ago, Shafiq Malik and his wife and kids took a family vacation to Washington D.C. At the airport, there were no sidelong glances from other travelers, skittish at the mere sight of him. Not one accusatory stare struck him as he shuffled unnoticed through security...

Fourteen months ago, Shafiq Malik and his wife and kids took a family vacation to Washington D.C.

At the airport, there were no sidelong glances from other travelers, skittish at the mere sight of him.

Not one accusatory stare struck him as he shuffled unnoticed through security.

No one on the plane went out of their way to avoid sitting near Malik, a Cape Girardeau resident and a Muslim.

"I visited the White House," said Malik, who was born in Pakistan. "I never felt any less of a citizen than anyone else. I enjoyed it so much. I was so pleased and satisfied to be in my nation's capital. It really felt great that, as an American, I could do that."

But that was before.

Before a group of men who claim to share Malik's religious beliefs snuffed out thousands of lives with their acts of terror in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington. Before those actions blew a dark cloud over those of the Islamic faith, creating a climate of distrust and suspicion toward American Muslims.

Before others who share that faith began to suffer a vicious backlash that included harassment, discrimination, threats, hate mail and ethnic slurs.

Before Sept. 11.

"I'm hesitant to go places like that now," said Malik, who is administrator of a Cape Girardeau retirement home. "I fear that people might not look at me as favorably. I'm as American as everybody else. The attacks upset me like everybody else. They were ignorant acts by people who twisted what I believe. But still it affects me more."

Distrust and suspicion

In the 12 months since Sept. 11, many Muslims have struggled with similar feelings. While there were no reports of any violent incidents toward Muslims locally -- and the hate crimes have mostly tapered off nationally, too -- the distrust and suspicion remain.

"I don't travel because I'm fearful," said Dr. Khursheed Zia, a staff psychiatrist for the Community Counseling Center. "Because of my Muslim background, I would be stopped more at security, stopped for extra checking. Everybody would suspect me. I understand that's a normal reaction, I'm a psychiatrist. At the same time, it's frustrating and unfortunate. And I had never even heard of Osama bin Laden until Sept. 11."

Zia, who was born in Pakistan, said his wife was stopped twice by regular citizens -- once in a department store and again at a gas station.

"An ordinary citizen just walked up to her and asked her what her nationality was," said Zia, still angry at the memory. "The second time someone asked if she was a U.S. citizen or not. She was very upset."

Some are having trouble disconnecting themselves from the actions of the terrorists. Malik said, even though he knows he had nothing to do with the attacks and such thinking is irrational, he can't help but feel a bit responsible.

"They were using our religion to justify the attack," he said. "You can't help but feel guilty. They are using our faith, so you feel responsible for something like this, too. It makes me feel disconnected from the American spirit. It's a huge setback for our people."

Terrorists 'hijacked religion'

Some Muslims feel angry.

"They came and attacked our country, too," said Umar Aziz, a Muslim who works as a medical technologist at Southeast Missouri Hospital. "That was one shock. But they were attacking my religion, too. Those terrorists hijacked my religion from me."

Father J. Friedel is a Catholic priest who also teaches world religion courses at Southeast Missouri State University. He said Islam is a peaceful religion, even though Osama bin Laden convinced his followers otherwise.

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"What he is saying does not represent mainstream Islamic thought," he said. "Most Muslims abhor violence as much as anybody else."

Friedel said violent acts have also been done in the name of Christianity, pointing to the situation in northern Ireland.

While bin Laden called the attacks a "jihad" -- meaning Holy War -- Friedel said the Islamic concept of jihad actually means a systematic struggle against evil.

"The intention is that one has to start with one's self and follow those teachings in one's own life," he said. "It doesn't mean take up arms and go after someone else who is not following those teachings."

Friedel said he can understand if some Muslims are struggling with guilt.

"I feel guilty when Christians bomb abortion clinics," he said. "With all the scandal in the Catholic church, I'm not guilty, but corporately, those acts are attached to me somehow. I think it's human nature to feel bad when one of our own does something that's not in line with what we believe."

Remembering the day

Like other U.S. citizens, Muslim Americans have carried around the memory of Sept. 11 for the past year.

"I'll never forget that day the rest of my life," Aziz said. "I felt a big jolt. I was in a state of shock. The only thing going through my mind was, 'God, I hope it's not some Muslims or some terrorist group doing it for jihad.'"

Zia describes the day as "awful."

"My wife was crying for the whole day," he said. "We were upset and angry and frustrated."

Just as Christians flocked to churches to find strength in their faith, many Muslims gathered at the Islamic Center on West End Boulevard.

Now, area Muslims are hoping that time has provided some perspective and that people who don't already realize it will come to know that the acts of a few terrorist cannot indict an entire religion.

"I'm very proud of being a Muslim," said Malik. "It's a very peaceful, forgiving religion. I've never been ashamed of being a Muslim. But I am ashamed of what those people did."

smoyers@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 137

AT A GLANCE

Numbers: Estimates of the numbers of Muslims in the United States vary dramatically, from 2 million to 6 million.

Ethnicity: About 33 percent are South Asian, 30 percent U.S.-born blacks and 25 percent Arab. European immigrants, Africans, U.S.-born whites and others make up the rest.

Growth: The largest influx of Muslims began after 1965, when President Lyndon Johnson abolished an immigration quota system. Large Muslim communities have formed in Los Angeles, Detroit, Chicago and New York.

Mosques: Nearly all of the nation's estimated 1,200 mosques were founded in the last 30 years, many with money from governments of predominantly Muslim countries.

Source: The Associated Press

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