Once Were Radicals (17 page)

One thing that made Lebanese truly
jaahil
was that they all seemed to come from a place called Lakemba. At first I assumed Lakemba was the name of a city in Lebanon where they all originated from. Then one day Dad took us to Lakemba. Far from being an Arab city, Lakemba was a Sydney suburb only thirty minutes' drive from our house.

We arrived at a small house and were greeted by Imam Chami. There were families from all different ethnic backgrounds, including an uncle who lived near our house. I was always confused about this uncle. On the one hand he spoke fluent Urdu and his children all had names that sounded Pakistani. Plus he was a doctor, though he wasn't as outlandish in his spending as the other Pakistani uncles who drove flash cars. On the other hand he looked Chinese and had a Chinese-sounding name. And when we visited his house his wife would serve beautiful Chinese food. I addressed this uncle as Dr Wang.

This small house would eventually be knocked down and turned into a mosque. However, at this time the house was a makeshift community centre for Muslims who lived far away from Surry Hills. Imam Chami had gathered a group of families together so that we could learn about our religion. The group eventually became an organisation called Jama'at Da'awah Islamiyya (Association for Islamic Mission) and was led by Imam Chami along with an Indian uncle who became good friends with my dad.

This uncle I'll refer to as Dr QAA. He had a very large family, and lived a long way away from our house. Dinners at his house hosted the widest variety of Muslim migrants from different parts of the world. Like Dad, this uncle was a non-medical doctor.

Dr QAA would visit our house once every six months along with two other uncles. They and Dad would spend much of the night playing (and in Uncle QAA's case, cheating) at various card games such as gin rummy. One of the other uncles was an economics teacher we nicknamed ‘Aussie' or ‘the Oz'. My dad and Uncle Aussie would poke
fun at Uncle QAA's religiosity (especially when he was caught cheating), and Uncle QAA would laugh heartily.

Uncle QAA and Imam Chami were the first Muslim elders I met who enjoyed telling jokes about imams and religious people. They were good-natured men with a strong irreverent streak and who didn't take themselves terribly seriously. On one occasion, I even heard Uncle QAA making a joke involving a verse of the Koran. One of the first chapters of the Koran I had memorised (and which many Muslim children across the world memorise) was a prayer which began with the Arabic words ‘
Qul ho wallah
'. Uncle QAA was giving my father directions for how to get to his home in a southern Sydney suburb.

‘Okay, what you do is that after passing Stoney Creek Road and Forest Road, you will come to a hilly section over the railway bridge. Then there will be a steep hill. Watch out for
Qul ho wallah
.'

My dad was confused so Uncle QAA explained: ‘
Qul ho wallah
Street. Or as our Christian neighbours call it, Culwulla Street!'

At first I was shocked that a religious uncle could make a joke about both Christians and a Koranic prayer. Was this not sacrilege?

I hated my unusual name because it was so clearly foreign. I wanted a simple name like John or David. And Dad hated nothing more than when teachers misspelt my surname. Even more upsetting for him was when someone asked him what his Christian name was, though I later found out this also upset his Jewish friends and colleagues.

But if I ever suggested to Dad that I wanted to Anglicise my name, he'd be horrified. The notion that I was somehow embarrassed or ashamed of the names he had given me was too much for him to bear. I was so sick and tired of people mispronouncing, misspelling and poking fun at my name, though. Dad grew up in a community where his name was easy for people to say, where he never stood out from the crowd. In my case, I was growing up in a place where I already stood out like a sore thumb even before anyone tried saying my name properly.

Then one day a big English pop star announced he was coming to Australia. This fellow was used to having a strange name (as in ‘Cat'), but he now shared one of my names. When I first saw Yusuf Islam, I was amazed. Here was a man who looked like Molvi Sahib from my Karachi
madrassa
, with his long beard and a turban wrapped around his cap, but he spoke fluent English with an English accent and expressed religious ideas so clearly and convincingly. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him.

One of my sisters went to hear Yusuf Islam speak at university. She took a small cassette recorder and recorded his speech. She brought it home and we all listened intently to it. I learned a lot from Yusuf Islam's answers to the questions put to him.

Later, one of my Pakistani uncles, Uncle Asif, told Mum that he was going to a function being held in honour of Yusuf Islam. Mum lobbied Uncle Asif to take me along. The gathering was held at the headquarters of the Australian Federation of Islamic Councils in what used to be a fire station. I was so excited to see this humble man who used
to be such a huge star. It seemed Islam had turned Cat Stevens into less of a star and more of a human being.

However, I also noticed that Yusuf Islam wasn't terribly impressed with the behaviour of some of the Islamic uncles of various nationalities who were tripping over each other to get their photo taken or to big-note their pet projects. Yusuf Islam's trip was to popularise the idea of Islamic school education. He wanted Muslim minorities living in Western countries to follow the lead of Jewish and Christian denominations and establish day schools. But the sycophantic uncles were too busy asking him how they could get funding from overseas or what the halal meat market was like in the UK, wasting his time while addressing him as ‘Brother Yusuf' and even ‘Brother Cat'!

It was hard to get a chance to ask questions one-on-one, so Uncle Asif suggested I ask only two questions. It was good advice, as there was only a brief time at the end for me to ask something once all the other Islamic officials had finished showing off.

Uncle Asif introduced me to Yusuf Islam, who patiently listened to my first question. I wanted to know whether it was true that Muslim men were allowed to marry more than one wife. As soon as my question was over, one of the uncles expressed displeasure that Yusuf Islam's precious time was being wasted answering such basic questions. But Yusuf Islam expressed his own frustration. ‘This young boy has asked a question which is very commonly asked. How many of you can answer his question in a logical manner?'

The uncles were quiet. I was elated. His answer was simple and straightforward. He told me that few Muslim men ever married more than one wife. However, the Muslim
faith made an allowance for special circumstances such as war when many men in a community were killed and many women would miss out on getting married if men were limited to marrying one woman. Men were required to treat each wife equally. He gave me this example: if a man provides a two-storey house for one wife, he must provide a two-storey house of the same quality for his second wife. He wasn't allowed to treat his wives differently or favour one over the other.

‘So you can see, my young brother Irfan, that you need to be a rich man before you can afford to marry more than one wife.'

‘Sir, do you have more than one wife?'

Again, the uncles grumbled at my question. But Yusuf Islam smiled and said: ‘Even the richest of men find one wife too much to handle.
Insh'Allah
[God-willing], you will find this out when you get married.'

My next question was about punishments. Many Muslim countries had very harsh punishments like chopping hands and heads. I never imagined such extreme punishments could take place in a civilised country. Again, he gave a very simple and logical answer. He told me about how in the United States a person was murdered every few hours or so. He also quoted statistics about robberies and other crimes of violence and dishonesty.

‘My young brother, do you think anyone would dare murder another person if they knew their own life could be lost if they got caught? Would people steal if they knew they would lose a hand if they were caught?'

I agreed but still expressed some doubts. Of course, at my current age and with a law degree and a fair few years'
legal experience under my belt, this explanation wouldn't be satisfactory at all. But when I was in my early teens, Yusuf Islam's patient explanation and his show of respect to my questions made me feel more confident about my faith.

Yusuf Islam didn't just answer my questions. He showed how Islamic teachings could solve real-world problems. He could understand my objections and the difficulties I faced understanding complex issues of criminal justice, evidence and procedure. I can't quite recall how he completed his answer, but I was satisfied. Then, to my complete embarrassment, he addressed the people gathered there in these words:

‘My dear Muslim brothers. We need to start thinking about our children and their future. We need to establish mosques where imams speak in English. We also need schools where children like young brother Irfan can have their questions answered, so that in years to come he can answer the questions of others.'

Me? Answering people's questions about Islam? I could never imagine this.

I'm not sure if it was before or after Yusuf Islam left our shores, but a TV station showed a documentary about an Arabian Muslim princess who fell in love with an American or European man. They were accused of adultery and beheaded. The film was set in a fictitious country called Arabia, though many assumed this referred to the actual country of Saudi Arabia.

I watched the film and was shocked by the portrayal of Muslim society. There were many things I couldn't recognise
from my own experiences in Pakistan. The idea that women were somehow forced to cover and not even show their faces or hair in public was something my mother and many of her female friends and relatives were able to openly flout, whether in Pakistan, the United States or Australia.

However, as if to add insult to injury, the TV channel also had a question-and-answer session after the documentary ended, with a number of Muslim men appearing to give the other side of the story. Among them was Imam Chami, who was the only person who could keep calm and speak something resembling coherent English. The others spoke in what sounded to me like angry tones, with at least one of them using the word ‘racism'.

Dad was very upset about the Muslim men who spoke on the program. He thought that they were not chosen properly, that they were part of the corrupt Islamic industry and that they were trying to defend laws that were barbaric. He told us that what was shown in the film wasn't real Islam but just a cultural Arab form of Islam.

Yet to me it was inconceivable that people could have their heads chopped off just for falling in love. And to think this was happening in the country where the Prophet Muhammad was born and where he first taught Islam. I wondered whether the Prophet himself had ever chopped off people's limbs or heads for interacting with non-Muslims. My doubts about Islam stayed with me, and I again began gravitating back to the faith of my school.

By now, just about any religion other than the rather foreign and uncivilised Islam whose only defenders were men with thick accents would have sufficed my spiritual needs. Any religion that didn't chop people's body parts
or didn't have other draconian and brutish teachings which could only be explained by a famous ex-hippy singer would be just fine.

I started to pay more attention in Divinity classes at school, and would read more than just the verses assigned to us for homework. I was in Year 9, and I had been doing debating for at least three years. I was becoming more confident at marshalling arguments and recognising illogic. During one debate, I overcame my nervousness and spoke confidently and fluently. My debating master, Mr Cox, was most impressed, especially when I demolished the argument of the second speaker of the negative. The topic of our debate was ‘That men can never be perfect'. The speaker previous to me had used the example of Jesus. I stood up and made this self-assured declaration: ‘Mr Chair, this notion that Jesus was perfect may well be true. However, the argument does not support the case for the negative. And why is this?' Following a slightly pregnant pause, I nailed it. ‘Because as we all know, Jesus was not a man. Jesus was God!'