Replies to post #2908 on Poet's Corner

[alexed]

The Evil Isn't Islam



by Daniel Pipes
New York Post
July 30, 2002



"Islam is evil." That's the message a U.S. Secret Service agent illicitly left on an Islamic prayer calendar on July 18 as he was raiding a suspected al Qaeda operative in Dearborn, Mich.

His crude graffito sums up a point of view increasingly heard since 9/11 in the United States. It's also one that is troubling and wrong.

Here is the rub: It is a mistake to blame Islam (a religion 14 centuries old) for the evil that should be ascribed to militant Islam (a totalitarian ideology less than a century old). The terrorism of al Qaeda, Hamas, the Iranian government and other Islamists results from the ideas of such contemporary radicals as Osama bin Laden and Ayatollah Khomeini, not from the Koran.

To which you might respond: But bin Laden and Khomeini get their ideas from the Koran. And they are only continuing a pattern of Muslim aggression that is centuries old.

Not exactly. Let's look closer at both points:

* Aggressive Islam: The Koran and other authoritative Islamic scriptures do contain incitements against non-Muslims. The eminent historian Paul Johnson, for example, cites two Koranic verses: "Strongest among men in enmity to the Believers will you find the Jews and Pagans" (Sura 5, verse 85) and "Then fight and slay the pagans wherever you find them. And seize them, beleaguer them and lie in wait for them." (9:5).

* Aggressive Muslims: Fourteen centuries of Islam have witnessed a long history of Muslims engaged in jihad (holy war) to expand the area under Islamic rule, from the early conquests of the caliphs to what Samuel Huntington terms Islam's "bloody borders" today.

Yes, these points are accurate. But they are one side of the story.

* Mild Islam: Like other sacred writings, the Koran can be mined for quotes to support opposing arguments. In this case, Karen Armstrong, a bestselling apologist for Islam, quotes two gentler passages from the Koran: "There must be no coercion in matters of faith!" (2:256) and "O people! We have formed you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another." (49:13).

* Mild Muslims: There have been occasions of Muslim moderation and tolerance, such as those in long-ago Sicily and Spain. And in one telling example, Mark R. Cohen notes that "The Jews of Islam, especially during the formative and classical centuries (up to the 13th century), experienced much less persecution than did the Jews of Christendom."

In other words, Islam's scriptures and history show variation.

At present, admittedly, it is hard to recall the positive side, at a moment when backwardness, resentment, extremism and violence prevail in so much of the Muslim world. But the present is not typical of Islam's long history; indeed, it may be the worst era in that entire history.

Things can get better. But it will not be easy. That requires that Muslims tackle the huge challenge of adapting their faith to the realities of modern life.

What does that mean in practical terms? Here are some examples:

Five hundred years ago, Jews, Christians and Muslims agreed that owning slaves was acceptable but paying interest on money was not. After bitter, protracted debates, Jews and Christians changed their minds. Today, no Jewish or Christian body endorses slavery or has religious qualms about paying reasonable interest.

Muslims, in contrast, still think the old way. Slavery still exists in a host of majority-Muslim countries (especially Sudan and Mauritania, also Saudi Arabia and Pakistan) and it is a taboo subject. To enable pious Muslims to avoid interest, an Islamic financial industry worth an estimated $150 billion has developed.

The challenge ahead is clear: Muslims must emulate their fellow monotheists by modernizing their religion with regard to slavery, interest and much else. No more fighting jihad to impose Muslim rule. No more endorsement of suicide terrorism. No more second-class citizenship for non-Muslims.

No more death penalty for adultery or "honor" killings of women. No more death sentences for blasphemy or apostasy.

Rather than rail on about Islam's alleged "evil," it behooves everyone - Muslim and non-Muslim alike - to help modernize this civilization.

That is the ultimate message of 9/11. It is much deeper and more ambitious than Western governments presently seem to realize.



http://www.danielpipes.org/article/437
http://www.nypost.com/postopinion/opedcolumnists/53624.htm

[alexed]

Teacher at Last
By Eugene Edwards


As told to Gloria Cassity Stargel
That January afternoon, I pulled on my black overcoat, stepped outside and paused. Well, Atlas Plumbing Company, I've spent thirty years of my life turning you into a successful business. Now I must follow my heart. I shut the door for the last time and hung the sign: "Gone Out of Business."

Climbing into my 1991 burgundy Explorer, at age fifty, I turned all thoughts toward my lifelong dream of being a schoolteacher. Lord, you've brought me this far, I pleaded, please don't leave me now.

While driving home, I wished Mr. Roy was still alive so we could discuss it. Mr. Roy was my mentor, my role model. Mr. Roy talked with me, asked me questions. Just like I was somebody instead of a scrawny little black kid.

I was about six when we found each other in Mayfield, South Carolina, where I was born. There was a little family-run store in the neighborhood. Out front, the American flag waved right next to the Coca-Cola sign above the screen door. Mr. Roy and some other old-timers usually were there, propped on upside-down nail kegs next to the pot-bellied stove, playing a round of checkers and swapping yarns.

Every day after school I sidled up by the checkerboard to "help out" Mr. Roy with his game. And it was there, at Mr. Roy's elbow, that many of my values were born. Not that my parents didn't teach me things. They did. But as there were seventeen of us children at home, individual attention was hard to come by.

"Eugene," Mr. Roy said one day, "whatta you want to be when you grow up?"

"A teacher," I fairly blurted out.

In a tone that left no room for doubt, Mr. Roy responded, "Then be one!"

Mr. Roy could see the pitfalls ahead. "Eugene," he said, dead serious as he wrapped one bony arm around my equally thin shoulders, "there will be times when folks will say, 'You can't do that.' Just take that in stride. Then set out to prove 'em wrong."

During my junior year of high school, Mom passed away and Dad needed me to help take care of the younger children. As college now was out of the question, I put aside my teacher dream and took up a trade instead – plumbing.

I recalled another of Mr. Roy's admonitions. "One more thing, Eugene," he'd said. "Whatever you become, whether you're a ditch-digger or a schoolteacher, you be the best you can be. That's all the good Lord asks of us."

So I told myself, If I can't be a teacher, I'll be the best plumber in the business. I learned all I could about the trade. Practiced what I believed – do it right the first time, and you don't have to go back. Eventually I had my own business.

Meanwhile, Annette and I married and reared two fine children. Now Michael was completing his Ph.D., and Monique was a college senior, while Annette had gone back to school several years earlier and made a fine teacher.

Now that day had come when my dream no longer would be denied. Four days after I closed my shop, I started work at Hendrix Drive Elementary School. Not as a teacher, mind you, but as a custodian. I traded my wrenches and pipe fittings for brooms and paint brushes. And a 40 percent reduction in pay. I figured the job would be a good way to test the waters – to see if I could even relate to the youngsters of today.

I hit it off with the students. In the hallways while running the floor polisher, I'd throw them a big high five and each responded with a wide grin and a "five back-at-you."

Often, I found a youngster propped up against the wall outside his classroom, having been banished there for misbehavior. "What'za matter, son?" I'd ask him, truly concerned. After he had related his current infraction of rules and I had emphasized his need to comply, I'd go in and talk with his teacher, smoothing the way for a return to the classroom.

Surprisingly, I made a very fine mediator. Maybe because I could put myself in the mind-set of these youngsters. So many – like my young friend Jeffrey – came from broken homes, being raised by their single moms or by a grandmother. They were hungry for a positive male role model, someone who would show genuine interest in them, show them they are loved. They desperately needed a Mr. Roy in their lives. I wanted to be that one.

Sometimes, too, that meant being strict. More than once I pulled a young man over to the side of the hallway and reprimanded him about his baggy pants with no belt, the waist dragging down around his knees and underwear showing. In fact, that's how I met Jeffrey.

"Wait right here," I told him. From my supply closet I brought a length of venetian-blind cord to run through his belt loops. The next day, Jeffrey came to school wearing a belt. So did the other boys when it came their turn for correction. Unorthodox behavior for a custodian? Maybe. But the kids respected my opinion because they knew I cared.

I did a lot of thinking and praying while I polished those floors. I have a ministry right here as a custodian, I rationalized. Maybe I don't need to put myself through the rigors of college courses in order to help students.

All the while, I could hear Mr. Roy saying, "Never settle for second best, Eugene. Whatever you become, you be the best you can be."

One night I ventured to the family, "Looks like I'm gonna have to go to college after all."

They said, "Go for it!"

So I did. In the fall, I registered for night and weekend courses at the Norcross branch of Brenau University. I plain had the jitters when I approached those first classes. Would I be the oldest student there? Was I too old, too tired to learn those tough subjects?

On top of those worries, working all day then studying until 2:00 A.M. only to get up at 5:30 was rough. While cleaning those floors, I carried on a running dialogue with God. Lord, I'm bone weary. Remind me again that this is something you want me to do. 'Cause I tell you the truth, if it's just my wanting it, I'm about ready to quit.

In answer, I believe God sent Jeffrey back to me. Jeffrey had graduated our school the year before; now he came to visit and found me about to replace a fluorescent bulb in a hallway. "Jeffrey, I am so glad to see you!" I said, while giving him a big bear hug. "How're you doing, Son?"

"Fine, Sir," he responded, his good manners impressing me beyond measure. "Mr. Edwards," he went on, "I want to thank you for the time you spent with me here, for caring about me. I never would have made it through sixth grade if it had not been for you."

"Jeffrey, I am so proud of you," I responded. "And you're going to finish high school, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," he said, his face breaking into a huge smile. "I'm even going to college, Mr. Edwards! Like you!"

I almost cried. I determined to stick it out with my studies. Jeffrey was counting on me.

Now it is early morning – May 3, 1997 – a day that will go down in history. Today is graduation day!

At Gainesville's Georgia Mountain Center, I am almost overcome with emotion. Standing outside in my black robe, mortarboard with tassel atop my head, I glance at the blue-stoned college class ring on my fifty-five-year-old plumber's work-worn hand. Tears threaten to run down my cheeks.

As the music swells, the processional begins with Brenau University's president and faculty in full academic regalia looking impressive indeed, along with trustees and guest speaker: the Honorable Edward E. Elson, United States ambassador to the kingdom of Denmark.

All those dignitaries remain standing to honor us as we file in – 350 evening and weekend college undergraduates, candidates for degrees. When I hear my name echoing throughout the huge hall – EUGENE EDWARDS – somehow I get on the stage, never feeling my feet touch the floor!

I float back to my seat, beaming like a lit-up Christmas tree, clutching the tangible evidence of a long-cherished dream come true: a square of parchment with those all-important words, "Bachelor of Science Degree in Middle Grades Education."

Yessiree, my inner self is thinking, just goes to show you. If you dream long enough – and work hard enough – the good Lord will help make your dream come true.

A teacher at last!

Mr. Roy would be proud.