Before I begin, I would like to say something about typing in anger. Don't do
it. Anger clouds your vision- it knocks your logic just slightly off in the same
way that if your compass is one degree wrong and you go a hundred miles a minute,
you can't really expect to have stayed on course. That, best beloved, is how
I ended up writing an article that came across as Anti-American Am I Anti-American?
Not conventionally speaking. I still eat hotdogs. But let's begin. I seek refuge
in Allah from the accursed Shaitan. I begin in the name of Allah, Most Merciful,
Most Gracious. Any good that comes from this article is from His Grace and anything
bad comes from my own idiocy (but I'll blame satan) and I seek forgiveness. Exodus:
Five years and counting, Alhamdulillah.
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