The Blasphemer (23 page)

Here are a few examples.

Abraham Khan himself is inspired by writer and activist
Taslima Nasrin
. Born in Bangladesh, she rose to prominence in 1993 when she published a novel called
Shame
. Harrowing and raw, it depicted a communal riot between Hindus and Muslims. Taslima’s sharp critique of religious fundamentalism provoked immediate outrage, and thousands of radicals gathered in the capital, Dhaka, calling for her death. She was forced to seek asylum abroad; moving from country to country to stay one step ahead of her pursuers. What’s remarkable about Taslima Nasrin is her indomitable will. Despite the threats on her life, she continues to speak out and promote her own fiery brand of feminism.

Tough Talk
may be a fictional radio programme, but the characters interviewed are based on real personalities. Reverend Jonah Vosen is a composite of politician
Winston Peters
and preacher
Brian Tamaki
. Likewise, Dr Samantha LeRoux is a composite of
Dr Paul Buchanan
, an American security analyst based in Auckland, and
Dr Robert Patman
, a British academic based in Dunedin. In the same vein, Lyn Walker is a composite of former New Zealand prime ministers
Jenny Shipley
and
Helen Clark
.

The Blasphemer
is set in New Zealand and reflects the country’s long history of standing up for collective conscience. Nowhere is this clearer than when the South African rugby union team arrived in 1981 for a
nationwide tour
. This was a contentious time in the country’s history, and many Kiwis were ardently opposed to the South African apartheid system, which segregated blacks from whites. Passions eventually reached boiling point and led to clashes between protestors and police up and down the country. For the first time, politics and sport collided, and the controversy would have far-reaching consequences—New Zealand would have no further contact with South Africa until the early ‘90s, when apartheid was abolished.

The central moral conflict in
The Blasphemer
is inspired by two pivotal events: the
Salman Rushdie affair
in 1988 and the more recent
Muhammad cartoon crisis
in 2005. In each case, the turmoil was framed as a clash between East and West; between the sacred and the secular. Ultimately, though, a core principle prevailed: no one deserves to be harmed simply because he or she has expressed an unpopular opinion.

Khat
plays a climatic role in
The Blasphemer
. It is a real drug, and the trafficking and consumption of it is prominent within the East African community in New Zealand. Its devastating effects were documented in a
TVNZ expose
in 2010.

Finally,
The Blasphemer
was originally meant to take place in a world where fundamentalists and liberals alike were scrambling to fill the ideological void left behind by Osama bin Laden’s death. Unfortunately, real-world events have overtaken my idea, and I was forced to jettison much of what I wrote. There’s a sharp difference between the kidney-related death I depicted and the more
violent end
that bin Laden ultimately suffered in real life.

I have every intention of exploring the consequences further in a sequel.

Maya and Adam will be back.

Stay tuned.

ESSAY:  A Cultural Genocide

Author’s Note: Malaysia has often been hailed as a moderate and progressive nation. A beacon of Islamic democracy. A steadfast ally in the War on Terror. But strip away the diplomatic accolades and what you’ll find is an uglier picture. In this non-fiction article, I research and delve into a covert war that’s been raging in the country’s back alleys and ghettos. So covert, in fact, that most Malaysians aren’t even aware that it’s happening.

***

Among the oppressed in Malaysia, there is a single group more marginalised than most. They have been forgotten. Blanked out. Victimised by collective indifference. They are the Shiite Muslims, and they face suppression bordering on cultural genocide. They are regularly raided. Imprisoned. Denied the freedom to worship. Denied the freedom to participate in public life. Left only one choice: convert to Sunni Islam or remain
persona non grata
.

Nazri (not his real name) provides a rare inside glimpse into this hidden world. I first encountered him while producing a television programme on the lives of immigrants in New Zealand. Nazri reveals that he was once Sunni, but grew disaffected when the
hadith
failed to provide him with answers to personal spiritual questions. His search led him to the Shia denomination, and he eventually converted. Almost immediately, he and several others were subjected to a swift and brutal crackdown. Enforcement officers raided his home, arresting him and seizing personal religious material. He was detained for weeks in cramped and filthy conditions without being formally charged of any crime. When he was eventually released, he found himself blacklisted; denied employment as well as the opportunity to further his studies. Still, he believes he is fortunate compared to other believers. He has anecdotal accounts of Shiites being whipped and beaten and denied medical treatment as a way of pressuring them to renounce their faith.

The schism between Sunni and Shia dates back to the seventh century. Following the death of Prophet Muhammad, the issue of who would succeed him as leader of the
ummah
polarised the community. Sunnis, by way of popular vote, chose Abu Bakr to be the first
caliph
. Shiites, by contrast, preferred Ali, whom they believed the Prophet had chosen by way of divine mandate. This has given rise to two separate interpretations of Islam, with the Sunni tradition holding sway over eighty percent of Muslims in the world today. This often comes at the expense of the Shiite minority, who are labelled as heretics.

The plight of the Shiites has been making rounds on the international circuit, but has gained little political traction within Malaysia itself. The response from opposition parties such as DAP and Keadilan has so far been muted. They are perhaps wary of alienating their Islamist ally, PAS, whose Sunni
hadith
differs from the government only in the degree of application. The current constitution is also a minefield—article eleven is vague and offers authorities the right to regulate Islam as they see fit. This leaves the door wide open for persecution against ‘sects’ and ‘deviants’ that may challenge the general Sunni understanding of Islam.

Whichever way the political landscape shifts, one thing is for certain—Malaysia will continue to be an uncomfortable place to be Shiite. Believers will either be driven further underground or will have to leave the country.

Buckling under the weight of surveillance, Nazri has chosen to seek asylum in the West, where he is free to worship and practise his faith. But even emigration has not offered him complete relief—while he enjoys freedom from persecution, he fears for the well-being of the friends and family he has been forced to leave behind.

ESSAY: Arab Spring

Author’s Note: The surge of revolutionary democracy in the Middle East and North Africa has served to dilute al-Qaeda’s influence, at least in the short-term. But for the West and Israel, it also brings about a thorny situation that encapsulates everything that’s wrong about power relations in the Arab world. In this non-fiction article, I explore the origins of the revolution and what it means for the future.

***

When Muhammad Bouazizi set himself on fire, he wasn’t looking to inspire a revolution. He was twenty-six, had never graduated high school and barely eked out a living as a street vendor. Like most Tunisians of his generation, he was buckling under the weight of a flatlining economy, an autocratic government and pervasive corruption. Things were bleak and had been for some time.

Bouazizi had no real interest in politics. No real hope for change. His life had settled into a painful but familiar pattern. The daily cost of restocking his fruits and vegetables. Managing the razor-thin profit margins. Pacifying the police officers who often raided him. And saving enough, just enough, to support his six younger sisters.

On the morning of December 17
^th
2010, however, Bouazizi’s balancing act came undone. Stern-faced officers swooped into his marketplace. Spat on him and slapped him. Demanding money that he didn’t have. Bouazizi dropped to his knees, pleading for more time. But the officers sneered and took away his wheelbarrow and produce. Distraught, he staggered into the local governor’s office to seek help, only to be rebuffed. The governor’s message was, ‘No money, no talk.’

Devastated, Bouazizi suffered a meltdown. He left the governor’s office and returned with a can of gasoline. Sobbing, shaking, he doused himself, struck a match and went up in flames. His last words were, ‘How do you expect me to make a living?’

In a region more known for submission than reaction, Bouazizi’s tragedy struck an emotional chord. In death, he became much more than he had been in life. A
shahid
.  A martyr. And in him, millions saw their own destitution and oppression reflected and magnified. Via Facebook, Twitter and weblogs, their sentiments rippled and snowballed, triggering a spike of collective anger.

It was a watershed event. Unprecedented in its scope. Unexpected in its ferocity. In Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Syria and elsewhere, governments took a battering as citizens organised and rallied, defying death squads and tanks, demanding change.

Amidst the geopolitical shift, however, one player found itself left out in the cold: al-Qaeda. For much of the past decade, its leader, Osama bin Laden, had cultivated a singular narrative for disaffected Arabs, ‘If you strike at America, the distant enemy, you will hurt the near enemy, the corrupt governments that have oppressed you. So take up
jihad
. I will show you how.’

After 9/11, it seemed as if bin Laden’s vision was the only vision worth buying into. Washington’s long-time support for repressive Arab regimes and tinpot dictators had escalated into a more aggressive stance under the Bush administration, spawning twin wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. And as America’s moral standing floundered in the quagmire, so too did bin Laden’s reputation flourish. He had styled himself as the new Saladin, the anti-Crusader who had baited a superpower, eluded capture and ploughed the venomous environment necessary for terrorism and insurgency. One that would set the dominoes falling and lead to a new
caliph
, a transnational Islamist empire.

What al-Qaeda had not counted on, however, was the birth of a strikingly different narrative. The narrative that Muhammad Bouazizi’s death had sparked, Arab society had embraced and the Obama administration had supported: inclusive democracy over exclusive
jihad
.

This ideological shift was a game changer. It isolated al-Qaeda. Shrank its operational space. Starved it of financial and logistical support. And allowed America to close in and neutralise bin Laden himself.

The death of al-Qaeda’s founding father, though, doesn’t necessarily mean the end of the organization itself. Already, the giddiness and excitement of the Arab Spring is fading, and citizens are coming to terms with sober realities. The rich have all but fled, taking their money with them, leaving the poor to deal with spiralling inflation and unemployment. Street crime and rioting is intensifying. The infrastructure and social services are shattered. Perhaps worse of all is the power vacuum and political instability that threatens to cripple the region.

With the collapse of the old guard, the West—and in particular Israel—has clearly lost the intelligence and counterterrorism assets it has traditionally depended upon to keep
jihadism
in check. There is now little choice but to turn to richer Arab states such as Saudi Arabia and Qatar, hoping against hope that they can act as bulwarks amidst the turbulence. But these states are neither democratic nor devoid of self-interest, and they are likely to exercise their own power plays.

Exactly what this means for the long-term future is anyone’s guess. But one thing is for sure—chaos and fundamentalism sit comfortably together, and al-Qaeda, under the leadership of former number two Ayman al-Zawahiri, is almost certainly finding a way to rewrite the narrative, rejuvenate itself and make a comeback.

EXCERPT: Righteous Fire

Author’s Note: ‘When the favoured son of the Chang family dies, it is up to his outcast sister to unravel the truth.’ I originally submitted this for a first-chapter contest, and I won an honourable mention. It even led to a publisher asking to take a look at the full manuscript. However, I aborted the story early on because I felt it didn’t have the legs to go the full distance as a novel.

***

Benjamin Chang died suddenly, violently.

It happened when his tyre blew out and went flat on the way home. He stopped at the side of the road and got down, braving the growl of passing vehicles, blinking away the grogginess in his eyes.

‘Benjy?’ His wife Emma lowered her window, yawning as she did. ‘It’s not safe, dear. Come back inside. We’ll call for a tow truck.’

He knelt and fumbled with the tyre. ‘No, it’s alright. I think I can handle—’

And that’s when he got sideswiped by a drifting SUV.

In the predawn darkness, Emma never saw its number plate or its model. All she saw was poor Benjy being flung by the bone cracking impact, his arms and legs twisting.