Then Why Am I Still Alive? - A Response to the Vitriol Against Syrian Refugees

Some of the more vitriolic rhetoric about the danger of Syrian Refugees has got me thinking:

'Why am I alive?'

I've been thinking of this as a rhetorical question recently in light of the paranoid flurry of social media activity regarding Syrian refugees and the Paris Attacks.

(Never mind that none of the shooters appear to be refugees and seem to be Muslim citizens of Belgium and France.)

I ask this because if certain voices on the right are correct concerning the nature of Muslims, I shouldn't be alive today.

You see I was an American who spent two and half years living in a Muslim majority country. Egypt to be precise.

I did not live in a walled off compound surrounded by guards. I lived in an apartment building near downtown Cairo. My neighbors and practically everyone in the building were Muslim.

Every workday I would grab a taxi (usually driven by a Muslim) to my company where I would work with Muslims and Christians making advertisements. I would eat with Muslim colleagues and would sometimes have discussions with conservative colleagues about US involvement in the region.

After work I would often go to a coffee shop (run by Muslims) and drink coffee having a conversation with the Muslim owner.

I would then walk home past Muslim owned shops and restaurants to my apartment occasionally saying hi to a Muslim neighbor I might see in the hall.

Sometimes I would go out at night with Muslim friends. I would sometimes accompany them into mosques (or restaurants or movie theatres depending on what we wanted to do). Occasionally, I would even have a beer or to with one of them.

 I would celebrate the end of day fast with Muslim friends during Ramadan (I actually fasted the full month one year).

I went to Muslim engagement parties and weddings.

And at times my Muslim friends and I would also have lively discussions and disagreements with each other.

Now, here’s what confuses me about my time there in light of some of the rhetoric about Syrian refugees:

Why was I never threatened with conversion or death once during my two and a half years there?

Why was I never made to feel unwelcome as a Westerner?

Why is it that people treated me the same after learning I was American?

Why could I walk down the streets of Cairo with a cross around my neck and not end of decapitated?

Why is it that I was never kidnapped or held hostage as I walked through the streets after work when I was known in the area as an American?

Why is it that even after having religious disagreements with Muslim colleagues at work they still talked to me and were friendly the next morning?

Why is it that even though I lived in Egypt through the Arab Spring and the election of the Muslim Brotherhood I wasn’t immediately dragged out of my apartment and shot?

All these ‘whys?’ can be summed up with one question.

‘If all 1.6 billion Muslims are so inherently dangerous, intolerant, violent and hellbent on destroying Western civilization- Why am I still alive???’

Why is it that in the two and a half years (and in the midst of political discord and upheaval no less) my Muslim neighbors, colleagues and friends didn’t show their ‘true faces’ and murder me?

The answer is this- The friendly, hospitable, generous and tolerant faces they showed me were their true faces.

A friend and I (I have the long hair.)

It makes me sad that I have to write that.

I do not deny that Islamic Extremism is a problem in the Middle East and many Muslim communities. I don’t deny the tragedy of the victims of terror attacks in the West and in the Muslim world. And there are many different social and cultural practices in Egypt that I don't think are right.

But those who would eagerly judge four million Syrian refugees by the actions of seven men who shared their faith but not their nationality are slandering.

If all the hundreds of Muslims I knew and interacted with daily truly were the knife and Kalashnikov wielding fanatics of ISIS I wouldn’t be writing this.

If that doesn’t somehow show how blind fear is driving the hateful anti-refugee rhetoric coming out of some Western circles, I don’t know what will.  

Paris Bleeds and I Write- But What is the Point?

At the beginning of this year I wrote a post about the Charlie Hebdo attacks in Paris. I wrote about Ahmed Merabet, the Muslim police officer who died on the streets of the French capital after confronting the terrorist attackers. I wrote about the need not to blame all Muslims for the actions of a few. I wrote about my own experiences in Muslim majority countries and the friends I care for who live there.

This wasn't the first time I've written a plea to stop rash, hostile judgements against a large group of people after a terrible terrorist attack.

Yet as I sit here in my bedroom in Kansas, I wonder if what I write here (and what I've written in all the posts advocating for people not to hurt others unjustly) really matter.

Those who believe that Islam and all Muslims are somehow culpable for terrorist attacks like this, will probably not be swayed by these words. People who have actually known Muslim people or understand that 1.5 billion should not be damned for a few who share their religious identity, will agree with me.

So why do I type these words and send them out into an indecipherable maelstrom of tri-color tweets, sympathetic status updates and Paris hashtags? Why do I bother to keep writing?

I would be lying if I said a large part of it wasn't for my own catharsis and a desire to gain attention and feedback for my own internal struggle.

However, there is also this:

When I read about a Congressman tweeting in the aftermath of the attacks that Syrian refugees desperately fleeing war shouldn't be allowed into the US- I see the people I met in that country drowning in the sea before a wall in the ocean.

When I read comments on news pieces about the tragedy in Paris calling for attacks on mosques and deporting those who had nothing to do with these atrocities- I see my Muslim American coworker, a mother of three, leaving the only country she's ever known out of the fear of others.

When I see hashtags saying Killallmuslims - I wonder have we shown the Syrian flag enough in our profile pictures over the past four years as hundreds of thousands died sandwiched between a horrid government and an extremist rebellion?

This is ultimately why I have to write. I can't unsee what I have seen. I can't forget my genuine joyful experiences with Muslims in a Muslim country. I can't stand by while a few disturbed and broken individuals shatter lives and try to erase from my mind all of the friendships and relationships I built in the region.

If I do not write, again and again, when attacks occur then perhaps a person I know will only ever hear about the Muslims who kill.

If I don't remind others and myself that I lived in a Muslim majority country for two and a half years and was treated with nothing but warm hospitality and friendship, then extremism wins.

Terror is not a force whose main goal is to conquer land or cities. It is meant to conquer our hearts. It's meant to scare us into becoming the monsters that groups like ISIS need us to be so that they can sustain themselves. They win, not when they kill unarmed civilians in a theater but when that action prompts us to put signs on our shops that say 'No Muslims'.

They triumph when we play their game and arrest a boy named Mohamed in Texas because he brought a clock to school. We lose when our fear leads us to discriminate as they discriminate, marginalize as they marginalize, detain and torture as they detain and torture, judge and destroy others based only on surface appearance and guilt by association.

To sum it up, we lose they win when we let them turn us into them.

Being silent, knowing what I know, seeing what I've seen, is not an option.

Perhaps my voice will never be heard outside of a few but it will be there and that it is there is what truly matters.