It's been nearly five years, Alhamdulillah, since I left America. I came here, to Pakistan, and life changed. I'm not the angry 20 year old I once was. I'm now a politely jaded 25. This introduction, however irrelevant seeming, does serve a purpose. It introduces Pakistan. I want us all to look at Pakistan.

Go on. Look. It has pros and cons. But at this point in the article we don't care. So look away. Forget Pakistan, because this is not about how cool/uncool Pakistan is, it's about why I left the US and why, even after five years in a third world country, the idea of returning to live in the US still gives me the heebie-jeebies. Yeah, yeah, it's not all bad. I suppose America's nice in it's own way. It's shiny. Shiny is not inherently evil. It's rich. Rich is a myriad of possibilities, some of which are charitably beautiful. It's powerful, but then so is a lawn mower. It's not evil. It's not the great satan. But it's not all fine and dandy either. My beef with the place is two-fold. Beefo Uno: America is a war machine. We are the cogs.A machine has many parts. Some machines have many functions. Think of America as a big tank, a huge, powerful, indiscriminate tank that provides marvellous facilities for those on the inside. Yeah, it's comfy in here.

There's central air. That way, when the war heats up outside, we're still cool. We can do whatever we want inside. We can say whatever we want. In this country/tank, we have freedom of speech and freedom of religion, unlike those poor suckahs on the outside of the tank. We can organize MSA meetings to our heart's content, we can hold rallies, we can have fund raising dinners and send our kids to Islamic schools. We, the citizens of this tank are blessed to live in so free a place. It's a smooth ride, and because the shocks are so good, you can barely even feel the crush and pop of human skulls as we drive over them.

Ok, so you interrupt me and say wait a minute! America is not just a tank! I say ok. Here. I'll tell you what I once told a man who worked for the American embassy. He told me that although he didn't agree with America's aggressive foreign policy, he would still never be ashamed to work for the government because of all the relief work they did. He, specifically, worked installing wells in rural Pakistan for the benefit of the poor. That's all well I good, I said, but if someone killed your brother, would him digging a well for you make it all better? Ah, the resounding sound of silence.Yes, America may be comfortable for Muslims. Somewhat. For now we'll ignore that they're infringing on our civil liberties. I'm arguing from concordance here. I agree. It's very comfortable, but at what expense best beloved?

If your landlord runs a nice apartment but also murders a member of your family, do you still rent from him? So you may say, I live here but I hate this place! How could they bomb Iraq! How could they punish all of Afghanistan to hunt for one man? What they heck are they planning for the rest of the Middle East? Quick, there's a protest next door, let's go!So you go and protest. You rage, you scream. You go home and turn on the tv. And you still pay your taxes.

I used to watch the news and see piles of Muslim bodies and wonder, Allah, wonder how many of the bullets in their bodies I paid for. Have you ever wondered how much a bullet costs?Did I shoot them myself? No, of course not, and I highly disapproved of their UN-opposed deaths, yet I was doing nothing to stem the flow from my wallet to their gunshot wounds. Actions, not words, are the best indicator of character, and if I do nothing to stop my part in murder, can I honestly say that I'm fighting it in any way?Don't kill my brother! Here's a dollar. Go buy a knifeWhy I am never going back to America

By Zeba Khan