Dear Listers,

I excuse you all in posting this article, which I hope you all,
everywhere,may find it worth reading and realizing the deep emotions it
carries with it.

Abdullah.

The Washington Post
"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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