Blue-Haired Muslim

Chapter 9: Equality

Iman smiled as Sam squirmed in his seat after asking his question. He wasn't sure how she'd react and subconsciously gnawed on his bottom lip. The young woman reached for a candy dish on the desk and offered Sam a lollipop.

"An icebreaker of sorts," Iman explained.

"Oh. Thank you," Sam nodded before taking a blue lollipop.

"You are very welcome, Sam," Iman responded before picking out a red lollipop for herself.

"You don't have to answer my question if you don't want to," Sam said unsurely.

"You don't have to be so fidgety when asking questions, Sam. Even if you ask a difficult question that I may not know the answer to, I will point you in the right direction. Questions are there to be answered," Iman pointed out. "The terrorists in the Middle East are a horrid and strange group. One could spend an entire lifetime studying them and still be at a loss about their thought process. I always say that they are barbarians in husks, posing in skins labeled "Muslim." Their entire drive is to spread their political belief system of oppression and tyranny. They claim to be Muslim because that's the religion so many associate with in that region, but they lack one great aspect of actually being Muslim."

"What's that?" Sam asked in intrigue.

"Empathy. Empathy is a core element of being a practicing Muslim. We are told never to look up at those that are more successful than us. Instead, we are told to look down; to see those that are less fortunate than us. We must embrace the pain and struggles of our sisters and brothers as our own. Our entire essence of Islamic community is to help one another," Iman explained. The woman paused and studied Sam for a minute. "You're a smart young man, Sam."

"Why do you say that?" Sam asked in surprise. Why would the professor say that out of the blue? Did he have something on his face? Was she poking fun at him?

"You asked me why the terrorists CALL themselves Muslim, instead of asking why they ARE Muslims. That means you understand that there is a difference. I have preached and preached to many of my students, that Islam, Muslims, and terrorism can never coincide. Grown men and women have told me to my face that I lie to hide the "true nature" of my faith and here you are, a teenager, understanding that there is a difference between a Muslim and a terrorist calling himself Muslim," Iman discussed with the teenager.

"I didn't realize that I did that," Sam admitted timidly.

"Which is an even more admirable aspect of your personality. You subconsciously realize that there is a difference between a practicing Muslim and a terrorist posing as a Muslim. Your father must be very proud of you," Iman praised.

Sam's cheeks colored at the compliments. He tried his best to maintain his composure while gnawing on his lollipop. He didn't realize that there were so many people out there that did equate Islam with terrorism. College students, who should know better, equated terrorism with Islam. He had seen his father pray five times a day, sometimes half asleep because he forgot to set his alarm. He had watched him calculate the yearly required charity on their minimal savings because there was always someone out there, "who needs it more than us." That was what he believed Islam to be, people striving to be good human beings. Never had he seen anything that would make him afraid of the religion or afraid of his father.

Before Sam could compose himself and find another question to ask Iman, a group of girls walked into the community center. The girls were aged from seven to thirteen and their leader had to be no more than fourteen. With annoyance etched on their faces, they marched towards the reception desk in unison. The leader approached the desk and huffed before crossing her arms across her chest. She didn't wear the hijab, that was the first thing Sam noticed. He had seen many women in the mosque, but had yet to meet someone who didn't wear a hijab. That could be a question I can ask the professor, Sam thought.