The Inconvenient Diversity of Muslims

A group of civil servants are holding a meeting in the gloomy depths of Whitehall. The lacklustre policy-makers have been tasked to find solutions for Muslims. They check the Daily Mail and The Sun to research the problems.

"Immigration," cries one of them. "National security!" barks another. "Parallel lives and integration," disagrees the third. "They won’t eat sausages." They pause and then chorus in horror: "What, no bangers and mash?" However, they do all agree on one thing: that Muslims are being problematic. If only they could organise themselves into one group, and present a unified document on their problems and the appropriate solutions, how handy that would be. They sigh wistfully at this utopia. Perhaps the Government could even elect someone to head this all up, an Archbishop, or a chief Rabbi.

"The Ottomans used to call the head honcho a 'mufti'," pipes up one of the new interns to the department. He rummages around in his briefcase and pulls out a recent report by an online pollster called YouGov. The intern is keen to impress. "42 per cent of Sunni Muslims believe that the UK should have a Sunni Muslim religious leader or mufti. 53 per cent of non-Muslims believe the same." He lifts his head and glances at his compatriots like a puppy looking for adulation. He can sense he has captured the attention of the senior civil servants. Suddenly, a loud burp makes them turn their heads to the chubby old codger at the back of the room. "It’ll never work," he hiccups. They all ignore him, infatuated by the statistics.

The consultant licks his lips. His contract is up for renewal and he urgently needs a new high profile project. "Let’s scope out a role for a mufti. We could do a reality TV show with a hundred thousand pound a year job at the end of it. We’d call it, 'The Mufti' and run a twelve week knock out competition. The tasks would include: condemnation of suicide bombers, alignment of all Muslims into one view and making sure all Muslim children speak only English from birth. Maybe one of the tasks could be a fashion show for Mufti clothes and beards from round the world."

They all turn back to look at the intern. "53 per cent of other Muslims think it’s a good idea too." "Does 'other Muslims' mean Shi'a Muslims?" asks the old codger. "Er, no, they are considered separately." The weary codger sighs: "I wonder why there are more 'other Muslims' than Shi'a Muslims in this poll, given the high percentage of Shi’a Muslims in the UK." The intern looks sheepish. He looks to the consultant for help, who in turn looks at the simple pie charts on the report: "63 per cent of Sunni Muslims believe that a Mufti would have a positive impact, and 54 per cent believe it would improve relations with non-Muslims." He looks up, smug. He can sense a meaty renewal to his contract. "Grass roots search is the way to go fellows, we'll by-pass any organisation and go straight to all those with no track records in community work. That way we don't have to worry about agreement, consensus and diversity."

The old codger leans over to look at the report and then snorts with the cynicism of age. "Mufti, shmufti." He glances disdainfully at the intern who recoils in fear. "Ignoring the fact that the sample is not representative of the British Muslim population, 27 per cent of those polled didn’t even know if the UK should have a mufti, and a further 31 per cent said no. Between them is more than those who said that the UK should have one. 52 per cent thought the impact of a mufti would be negative, neutral or simply didn't know. That's more than those who thought it was a good thing." He pauses. "It’s a complete nonsense." He yawns and slumps back in his chair.

The grey suits mutter discontentedly. "This is Britain. We can't be doing talking to people of different views from different groups. It's just inconvenient. The Muslims who keep telling us that they are a diverse community of different ethnic groups and that they have varying views about Islam, is just a red herring to distract us. They need to get it together, and if they don't, we'll do it for them." He turns to his assistant. "Get the idea over to the PM straight away. Tell him we need a mufti." The assistant scuttles out of the room.

"I'll write a document defining British Islam!" chips in the intern, trying to reclaim the glory for his idea. The room goes quiet and he's not sure if he has hit upon a winner or not. He tries his luck. "The policy will include who can be an Imam and what the Imam can say. It will specify what schools Muslims can go to and how they have to fit in and go to the school disco. Obviously, we need to define what kinds of coverings Muslim women can wear especially when expressing political opinions. We don't want just anyone participating in the political process willy-nilly. There could be a section on what languages Muslims are allowed to speak, especially at home, and of course we would define what opinions they can have. I could add an appendix on songs they need to learn to support the English football team, and how to behave in a pub."

"Old hat, dear boy, old hat. We've got the citizenship test which covers football and pubs, and we're sorting out legislation and guidelines on schooling and clothing. We're getting rid of any organisations that seem to represent the variety of Muslim views and we're already talking at grassroots level to people who have done little or no community service to get them more involved to brainwash the kids." The grey suit smiles darkly. He has been working on his oratory style so he sounds more like Jack Straw. "The Muslim community is not uniform. You can't just appoint an Archbishop of Muslims, or a Chief Islamic Rabbi." The old codger's voice hints at his exasperation with the lack of understanding and reality in the room.

The grey suit's assistant creeps back into the room. He leans over and whispers something into the ear of the suit. His face darkens, and then he fidgets in his chair. "Forget this low-level drivel you've been discussing. I've been summoned by Gordon to talk about British-ness, and how we make the very un-British habit of snitching on people and telling tales into a Union Jack stamped British value." He turns to the rest of the room and waves his hands around, as though consigning Blair's rhetoric to the past. He addresses them with a speech drawn from his goldfish memory. "These failed terrorists in London and Glasgow, they are criminals, and we all need to be working to get rid of them. I don't want to hear any more talk of Islamic terrorists or Islamofascists. You idiots got that? They are criminals and must be treated as such."

The old codger’s first instinct is cynicism: "A Scotsman defining Britishness? Criminals defined and persecuted because of the hideousness of their crimes? Faith not maligned because of the actions of the extremist few?" He feels a counter-surge of optimism. He secretly hopes that this change of language about Muslims and terrorists from Brown signals a ray of hope, a change in the lunacy of the last few years. He'll give Gordon some time to prove himself, but he’ll be watching…