Being ordinary spells danger
I recently published the following piece in The Muslim News
The July 7th bombers were described as quite ordinary people, nothing that would make you particularly notice them. Does that mean that all ordinary Muslims are under suspicion as potential bombers?
On the morning of July 7th 2005 my then fiance (now husband) rang me in a temper from his local Piccadilly line station in north London. He was already running late when he arrived at the station, only to find that the Piccadilly line to central London was at a standstill. There was no information for the commuters who sweltered in the summer heat and no indication of when services would resume. What he didn't know until later was that had he arrived at the station at his usual time, it's very likely that he would have been dead, somewhere in the underground tunnel near Russell Square.
It was a shock to both of us, particularly as our marriage was fast approaching. I saw my fairytale wedding flash before my eyes in an explosion of blood, and felt the palpitations of an imminent widow. The bombings of July 7th felt very personal and as the days unfolded my human connections to the tragedies grew. They brought home to me that Muslims could be just as much the victims of these terrible attacks as anyone else.
I was an ordinary Londoner - no more, no less - when I stood with the huge crowds in Trafalgar Square last year at a one-week memorial of the bombings. The crowds were rallied by a wide range of speakers from across the community spectrum. The message that came through was that we would not be deterred, that we must stand together in shared humanity against those who were intent on bringing fear and destruction. I wondered at the time how many people turned to look at me with suspicion. My husband pointedly did not take a rucksack with him on the underground for months after, worried he would be stopped.
A close family friend was arrested by the police (and his whereabouts then hidden) because he was a Muslim at the wrong place at the wrong time. Many of my Muslim friends as well as other friends and colleagues frequented the stations and streets where the bombs exploded. They could easily have been part of the toll of 52 deaths. In fact, a friend of a friend wept continuously in his local mosque because his daughter had gone to work that day and never returned. Many, many days later her corpse was found from the wreckage and identified.
The loss and tragedy of ordinary individuals within the Muslim community has been overlooked not just in the 7th July bombings, but throughout the domestic and international violence and deaths in the wider 'war on terror'. It seems that Muslims are not permitted the pain and grief of being victims, but rather must bear a collective responsibility for what happened. Worse still, the very ordinariness of the Muslims who suffered on that particularly dreadful day - as well as all the targeting and prejudice subsequently - is counterpoised by the very ordinariness of the way the bombers are portrayed. Those who knew them have described how nice they were, how ordinary, how well-liked. They had no previous histories, in fact, nothing that could have put a red alert onto their activities, say the Police and the media.
These descriptions have been hijacked by political and social rhetoric within the public sphere and have painted ordinary Muslims as the root of the problem. As the bombers were seemingly ordinary Muslims, it seems that all other Muslims must also be not only complicit but also potential bombers. But ordinary Muslims loathe and despise what happened, and are suffering further as the victims of police enquiry, raids, social suspicion and as scapegoats.
During the Cold War, the enemy was caricatured, clearly known, them and us. During the IRA campaign, again the enemy was a black and white call. But the 'war on terror' is so unknown, so undefined, that the definition of the enemy is just as fluid. Even those who have pronounced the war can't describe the enemy. It could be that ordinary Muslim living next door to you, we're told. It could be those two nice boys who live in Forest Gate, a nice quiet Muslim community. One day it's the Muslims trained in Afghanistan, the next they are from Pakistan. Or, to tap your fears, they could be just like you, you or you. Don't rest easy in your beds Middle England, the Bogeyman (or woman) Muslim is coming to get you. And that means that all Muslims are continuously on trial all the time.
We should stop battle lines from being drawn on any side. Muslims cannot afford to isolate themselves despite the ill-treatment they are receiving. We all need the police, and we all have a civic duty to uphold social welfare and justice, which ordinary Muslims are sensibly continuing to do. Equally the Police, media and government cannot keep up this continual barrage of them-and-us which sits like a putrid fungus under the surface of what is said and done. The issue of the Cartoons was a case in point. Irrespective of anyone's opinion on the cartoons themselves, it was the fact that Europe closed ranks and said, it's our way or the highway, you have to play by our rules, that clearly showed that the liberal façade still hides a sense of we and you, them and us.
Much commentary will be written on the anniversary of these tragic events. There will be deep and deserved analysis of the last year, during which a nebulous and insidious 'war on terror' has dug its claws further into extremely worrying political rhetoric and action. What worries me most, are the subtle, unnoticeable shifts in the social climate. The foundations are already being laid that will allow ordinary Muslims to be continually targeted under the banner of fighting terror. We've already seen the start in Forest Gate.
The July 7th bombers were described as quite ordinary people, nothing that would make you particularly notice them. Does that mean that all ordinary Muslims are under suspicion as potential bombers?
On the morning of July 7th 2005 my then fiance (now husband) rang me in a temper from his local Piccadilly line station in north London. He was already running late when he arrived at the station, only to find that the Piccadilly line to central London was at a standstill. There was no information for the commuters who sweltered in the summer heat and no indication of when services would resume. What he didn't know until later was that had he arrived at the station at his usual time, it's very likely that he would have been dead, somewhere in the underground tunnel near Russell Square.
It was a shock to both of us, particularly as our marriage was fast approaching. I saw my fairytale wedding flash before my eyes in an explosion of blood, and felt the palpitations of an imminent widow. The bombings of July 7th felt very personal and as the days unfolded my human connections to the tragedies grew. They brought home to me that Muslims could be just as much the victims of these terrible attacks as anyone else.
I was an ordinary Londoner - no more, no less - when I stood with the huge crowds in Trafalgar Square last year at a one-week memorial of the bombings. The crowds were rallied by a wide range of speakers from across the community spectrum. The message that came through was that we would not be deterred, that we must stand together in shared humanity against those who were intent on bringing fear and destruction. I wondered at the time how many people turned to look at me with suspicion. My husband pointedly did not take a rucksack with him on the underground for months after, worried he would be stopped.
A close family friend was arrested by the police (and his whereabouts then hidden) because he was a Muslim at the wrong place at the wrong time. Many of my Muslim friends as well as other friends and colleagues frequented the stations and streets where the bombs exploded. They could easily have been part of the toll of 52 deaths. In fact, a friend of a friend wept continuously in his local mosque because his daughter had gone to work that day and never returned. Many, many days later her corpse was found from the wreckage and identified.
The loss and tragedy of ordinary individuals within the Muslim community has been overlooked not just in the 7th July bombings, but throughout the domestic and international violence and deaths in the wider 'war on terror'. It seems that Muslims are not permitted the pain and grief of being victims, but rather must bear a collective responsibility for what happened. Worse still, the very ordinariness of the Muslims who suffered on that particularly dreadful day - as well as all the targeting and prejudice subsequently - is counterpoised by the very ordinariness of the way the bombers are portrayed. Those who knew them have described how nice they were, how ordinary, how well-liked. They had no previous histories, in fact, nothing that could have put a red alert onto their activities, say the Police and the media.
These descriptions have been hijacked by political and social rhetoric within the public sphere and have painted ordinary Muslims as the root of the problem. As the bombers were seemingly ordinary Muslims, it seems that all other Muslims must also be not only complicit but also potential bombers. But ordinary Muslims loathe and despise what happened, and are suffering further as the victims of police enquiry, raids, social suspicion and as scapegoats.
During the Cold War, the enemy was caricatured, clearly known, them and us. During the IRA campaign, again the enemy was a black and white call. But the 'war on terror' is so unknown, so undefined, that the definition of the enemy is just as fluid. Even those who have pronounced the war can't describe the enemy. It could be that ordinary Muslim living next door to you, we're told. It could be those two nice boys who live in Forest Gate, a nice quiet Muslim community. One day it's the Muslims trained in Afghanistan, the next they are from Pakistan. Or, to tap your fears, they could be just like you, you or you. Don't rest easy in your beds Middle England, the Bogeyman (or woman) Muslim is coming to get you. And that means that all Muslims are continuously on trial all the time.
We should stop battle lines from being drawn on any side. Muslims cannot afford to isolate themselves despite the ill-treatment they are receiving. We all need the police, and we all have a civic duty to uphold social welfare and justice, which ordinary Muslims are sensibly continuing to do. Equally the Police, media and government cannot keep up this continual barrage of them-and-us which sits like a putrid fungus under the surface of what is said and done. The issue of the Cartoons was a case in point. Irrespective of anyone's opinion on the cartoons themselves, it was the fact that Europe closed ranks and said, it's our way or the highway, you have to play by our rules, that clearly showed that the liberal façade still hides a sense of we and you, them and us.
Much commentary will be written on the anniversary of these tragic events. There will be deep and deserved analysis of the last year, during which a nebulous and insidious 'war on terror' has dug its claws further into extremely worrying political rhetoric and action. What worries me most, are the subtle, unnoticeable shifts in the social climate. The foundations are already being laid that will allow ordinary Muslims to be continually targeted under the banner of fighting terror. We've already seen the start in Forest Gate.
posted by Shelina Zahra Janmohamed at 15:36
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