So obviously, today is September 11. This morning I was checking my facebook news feed (and twitter) on my phone before I rolled out of bed, and as I read poignant comments about remembering the day I realized that I do need to stop today and not just carry on like any other lazy Saturday.
Everyone remembers where they were that day. I was in my sophomore year at UMass, about to head to my linguistics class. My roommate, Lindsay, got a call from her parents to turn on the TV. Lindsay and I sat there, stunned, in our pajamas and bathrobes, staring at the small TV perched on top of our dorm fridge. I remember seeing the first tower fall, and then realizing that the second tower would probably fall, too. I remember praying, desperately, that somehow God would keep the second tower from falling. He didn’t.
One of the things I remember most specifically about that day was thinking, “What’s the protocol for this? Do I go to class? Will they cancel classes? Isn’t this the kind of thing they probably should cancel classes for?” (They did, later in the day.) And sitting in class, hearing my professor drone on and on about syntax, I was thinking, “How can life just continue on as normal?”
It didn’t, of course. So many things changed after that day. But in those first few hours, I was both confused and fascinated as I watched and waited for someone to set the tone, for someone to tell us what to do. I watched the TVs in the student union with hundreds of my classmates. Eventually, the media began to frame what had happened in terms that we’re all now very familiar with. But that day, I had never heard of Al-Qaeda or Osama Bin Laden.
Now, nine years later, it’s astonishing to think about the chain of events that the attacks on New York and Washington set off that day. I finished the rest of my undergraduate education with no shortage of commentary about how the media and politicians were framing those attacks and using them to promote their own agendas. I’ve had a hard time taking anything at face value since then unless it’s coming from someone I personally trust. And, as anyone who knows me can attest, I try to avoid politics like the plague.
I generally try to avoid publicly discussing controversial political issues… I’ve been burned a few too many times. But in the last week or so, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about this proposal to build a mosque at Ground Zero. And I’ve found that I actually do have a fairly clear opinion about it, one that I haven’t yet heard articulated.
I’ve heard vehement arguments on both sides of the issue from people I love and respect, and I have to say that at this point, I wouldn’t be joining in the rally on either side. There’s a part of me that grieves that so many Muslims in this country do continue to experience widespread discrimination. I do think the prejudicial attitudes perpetuated against them — sadly, often by Christians — are wrong, period. There is truth in the main argument of those who support the mosque — that by denying peaceful Muslims the right to congregate there, we are as a country continuing to hold a large number of people responsible for the crimes of a very small minority.
On the other hand, I do question the sensitivity of building the mosque so close to Ground Zero. Practically since the week of the attacks, there has been an understanding — a pretty much universal understanding, at that — that whatever will ultimately be rebuilt there will carry significance. If that weren’t the case, this debate would not even be happening. And on the surface, particularly for those who do not carry a particularly nuanced view of Islam, the idea of building a mosque there is tantamount to not only excusing but celebrating the perspective that caused the attacks in the first place. It’s more or less equivalent to erecting a statue of Osama himself where the towers used to stand. And from that perspective, the mere suggestion of such a thing is one of the most offensive, appalling ideas imaginable. No wonder there’s a backlash.
In terms of my own perspective, I’d probably tend to align more with the first group. However, I don’t think moving forward with this project is a good idea.
The reason for this is that despite how much I might disagree with and even be appalled by the attitudes of those who can’t tell the difference between extremist terrorists and your average Muslim American, those who lead rallies and want to burn Korans and react to Islam out of fear and ignorance, I don’t think we as a nation have healed to the point where putting a mosque on this site is going to be a constructive step forward.
It’s human nature, I think, that when we feel like we’ve been wronged, we want desperately to be understood, to be heard, to be validated. The problem is that both sides feel this way. To my understanding, it’s not even primarily Muslims who have pushed for the mosque to be on this site — it’s been those who champion religious tolerance. In their minds, it’s an issue of justice for those Muslims in America who have been falsely blamed for something that was not their fault. Then, of course, you have those who have experienced the fallout of those attacks — the loss of loved ones, the loss of a sense of security and safety — and whether it’s immature or not, many of those people have turned and blamed Islam as a whole because they don’t know who else to blame. When they experienced evil, they needed to identify an enemy. And they want justice, too.
I believe evil is a real thing. I just disagree that Muslims are the real enemy.
If the shoe were on the other foot, and Christian extremists had attacked Saudi Arabia, killing 3,000 or so of their citizens, then no, I wouldn’t want to be associated with those Christians, whether you considered them evil or merely misguided. Would I be afraid of being held responsible for the attacks since I identified as a Christian? Probably. However, would I then, as a way to try to remedy this, demand that Saudi Arabia build a Christian church on the site of those attacks?
No. I wouldn’t dream of it.
I realize this isn’t a perfect analogy. For one thing, America is not a Christian nation in the same way that Saudi Arabia is an Islamic nation. I actually suspect that part of the backlash is precisely because of this; that there are some who are unwilling to accept that things have changed and that Christianity has lost the cultural position of power it once held. Secondly, I’m not sure that it’s Muslim Americans themselves who are demanding that this mosque be built. However, I do think there are parallels that are worth considering.
Whether it’s fair or not, whether misguided or evil, those who hijacked the planes nine years ago did so in the name of Islam. And much as I feel, as a Christian, a responsibility to acknowledge and even apologize, when necessary, on behalf of many who have done atrocious things “in the name of Christ,” I think Muslims in America who desire to be better understood would be better served by taking a position of humility and of seeking to understand more than being understood. No, it’s not their fault. But when you’re seeking peace, it helps to acknowledge someone else’s perspective.
If you consider the movement to make America a safer, more tolerant place for people of all faiths an agenda, then that’s an agenda I’d agree with. I may disagree with elements of an Islamic worldview, but there are elements of most worldviews I disagree with. I don’t think that justifies hatred and discrimination of the people who hold to those worldviews.
Here’s the bottom line for those who want America to be a safer place for Muslim Americans: you’re not going to get there by alienating, disregarding, ignoring, and offending people who don’t see things from your perspective, who are still grieving and angry and confused. You can try to push this through by pure force. Maybe the mosque will be built; maybe it won’t. If it’s built, I think it’s tantamount to shooting yourself in the foot. You’re not winning any friends. You’re deepening the divide, creating more suspicion, and generally contributing to the increased polarization of America.
And to anyone reading who harbors resentment toward those who have proposed and/or support the mosque, I’d just ask this: please bring that resentment to God. Let Him wash away any lingering traces of racism or prejudice or anger that might remain. We are all sinful, broken, hurting people. We need to heal. That can’t be legislated. It has to happen at a heart level.
As I write this, I see a girl in front of me wearing a head covering. I wonder what today will be like for her. It’s my hope that she will not have to live in fear, that she will be able to grieve for whatever she lost on 9/11 without having to defend herself for a crime she did not commit.
I pray, too, for the families who are still grieving, the children growing up without a parent, those who have loved ones serving in the armed forces, trying to make America safe again.
And it makes me grateful for the gospel, that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” In the midst of bitter cultural battle, I take comfort that He showed us a different way to live.
