Middle East: A Conversation With Osman (cont.)

Furthermore, Osman explained, Islam was the greatest of all the world’s religions because it did not provide for a hierarchy of faith.  He never asked about my religion, but since I came from America, and was drinking alcohol, he assumed me to be/I was a Christian. 
“There is no Islamic Pope, no bishops,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “All men, regardless of their wealth or family, are equal before almighty Allah.” 

Even if I had wanted to, it wouldn't have been possible for me to change Osman’s mind about any of these points, but it didn’t matter.  I was more interested in listening, and reminding him that a number of Shi’a beliefs could be seen as an exception to his hierarchy-free view of Islam, that some Jews and Christians were in fact mistreated or forced to convert under Ottoman rule, or that the Pope is the spiritual head of only one Christian denomination.  Nevertheless, throughout our conversation I was continually reminded of Ali Salem’s metaphor.  This was clearly someone who felt like a dwarf among towers.  He was incredibly bright, spoke flawless English and gave every indication of being a hard-working, determined young man.  Yet he was so grateful to find someone who listened to his words, without dismissing him as just another poor, uneducated Muslim immigrant, that I could see how used to being looked down upon he was. 

Osman was not a violent man, and he saw himself as something between a friend and enemy of the United States—a nation whose government he loathed, but whose citizens he felt had the right to live in peace.  Yet his combination of spiritual vigor, social and economic frustration, and, possibly jealousy, made me question if someone with his love for Islam could ever be manipulated into hatred that burned deep enough to make them a killer. After hearing what he had to say, I was struck by just how thin the line between disaffected young Muslim and fundamentalist might be.  But Osman had no desire to take up arms and join the fight; he would be content to look at the tall buildings of the world and dream of finding a place among them. 

We parted company, and Osman gave me the traditional Arabic farewell, Ma’ Salaama, wished me a pleasant and safe journey, and then turned away. As I watched him go, I could not stop myself from wondering what separated him from the young men who do take up the jihadist struggle.  However, I quickly decided that any attempt to calculate these differences were doomed to failure; for just as every human heart can learn to thrive on hatred and mayhem, it also has the capacity for love and kindness.   But if I learned anything from my conversation with Osman, it is that we should not diminish the importance of reaching those whose harsh existence leaves them vulnerable to hateful, malevolent influences.  At this moment, there are millions of young Muslim men around the world for whom the phrase “You are either with us or against us” does not yet apply.  They have not committed themselves to our destruction, but the combination of our aggressive foreign policy and the proliferation of intellectually dishonest anti-US propaganda leave them unwilling to stand with us against the true enemies of Islam.  In order to make the War on Terror a fight that we can win, we must continue to pursue this latter group to the ends of the earth while taking care not to persuade individuals like Osman that they have to make a choice between their religion and friendship with the United States. 

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