Her children consoled her by showing the CCTV picture from the grocery store that allegedly confused the police. ‘Mother, look, there is no resemblance whatsoever between the two. This is a lie that the police are concocting to cover-up their error.’
After Martin’s death, Nusrat had conducted another Town Hall meeting. Apparently, she was convinced that between Martin Luther King and Mohammad Igal, even if one were to be a white person, Martin would have lived. Minnesota Governor and the state’s Attorney General also attended this meeting.
It was when she was at this Town Hall meeting that her restaurant was vandalized. The next day, Amoka Daily Herald ran the news of the attack on Nusrat’s restaurant on its cover page. In the same edition of the paper, an op-ed column was published. It was written by Amoka’s Mayor, David Wagner.
My Beloved Amoka
My town is a small town on the banks of the Mississippi. My little Amoka, where all the four seasons of the year manifest prominently. My town with a population of mere ten thousand is a white town just like its winter. Fifteen years ago, we were 92 per cent white with Norwegians, people of Scandinavian descent, some Irish and Germans. Three-fourths of the town were catholic. We believed our celebration of Cinco De Mayo was being liberal. Ours is a small town, a small community. In here is one mill, one paper factory, and one hospital. Those young men and women of the town who did not want to work here migrated to Minneapolis and St Paul. A few more adventurous ones moved to Chicago. Our world had not extended beyond Chicago.
Later, everything changed.
Possibly, due to the liberal policies of the Minnesota State, my town that had not seen any non-white faces started witnessing many blacks walking on its streets. That they were Muslims was something we came to know later. To be honest, we came to know about the existence of Muslims only after September 11. We believed that they only lived in cities like New York and Chicago. But now they are right here in our town. Today Amoka has a Sanghaali population of three thousand six hundred. On most of its streets we can see hordes of women wearing hijabs. There is a mosque in the town. The prayer calls of ‘Allah-hu-Akbar’ can be heard three times daily. States like Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, and Nebraska have started seeing Mohammads and Ahmeds in their little towns. Ten years ago, the only high school in the town had one English teacher. Now there are six. A whole herd of Sanghaali translators can be seen in the school’s parent–teacher conferences. This is something new, something that we had never seen in our town before.
By asking for an additional half hour for their prayers, the Sanghaali kids have messed up the school schedule. For the only reason that the pledge must be on ‘god’, our secular school system has not included pledges or prayers of any kind but now we have an exclusive room for Sanghaali students to pray.
Two years ago, a circus was staged in our town: Two Sanghaali women who had their Cesarean sections in our hospital committed suicide. Nobody, till now, knows the reason. They were supposedly jihadi mothers. By their suicides they had cautioned the hospital not to perform any more Cesarean sections on other Sanghaali mothers. If performed, there would be more suicides. I had believed that jihadis take others’ lives but here these women were taking their own lives. It was at this time that Amoka General Hospital, by performing a live Cesarean section on TV, became famous all over the world. By performing the Cesarean sections on two Sanghaali women live on national TV, they sought to demonstrate to other Sanghaali mothers that Cesarean section is a very safe procedure. May god bless Dr Radhika and her team for their courage. More than highlighting that Cesarean section is a safe operation, this was a kick on the ass of those goons who were instigating these suicides and roaming around Amoka calling themselves terrorists. In these two years, there has not been a single suicide of a young mother in the entire state of Minnesota.
But now in our town, we have the notorious Mohammad Igal!
We do not know you all. You write as jihadi mothers in the newspapers. Al Zarqawi from the Islamic State is a friend of this Mohammad Igal. Police kill Martin Luther King for his alleged resemblance to Mohammad Igal. This guy left Amoka a long time ago and currently is on the FBI’s ‘Most Wanted’ list. Fifteen years ago, could anyone imagine that our town would become this notorious?
Since your arrival, our youth have left the town. Their jobs are gone. Are you doing their jobs? No! You have been busy killing others or yourselves.
Please do us a favor. Get out of here. Go to Syria or Iraq. Fight and die there. Or go back to Sanghaala. Allow this small town to be a small town again.
Good Bye.
Can someone who holds a responsible office like a Mayor’s, write in such a way? Can he use words like ‘ass’ in an op-ed? Even if he did, what kind of newspaper publishes it? Isn’t there a time and context for everything?
The moment I read the word ‘goons’, I thought of Kuki. I had totally forgotten about him. Is he alive? If so, where is he? Like Igal, has he also left for Syria or Iraq? I checked if his name also figures on the FBI’s ‘Most Wanted’ list. However much I tried, I could not recall his real name. None of the pictures resembled Kuki’s.
What kind of write-up is this? At a time when a woman like Nusrat from this town has lost her only restaurant, can Amoka’s Mayor write and publish a piece like this? And if a newspaper like Amoka Daily Herald publishes it, what does it convey to its citizenry?
The very next day, the editor apologized and admitted his mistake for publishing this op-ed: ‘Since the op-ed column was written by the Mayor, it was printed in advance. The restaurant was vandalized at midnight and it is cover page news. We will fix this on our website.’
But on the internet, where contents are read by clicking on what one is interested in, who would bother about the sequence of events?
The Mayor also had written a small one-line letter condemning the attack on Nusrat’s restaurant in the ‘Letters to the Editor’ section: ‘Nothing can be accomplished by violence. We regret Nusrat’s losses.’ He had not made any reference to the contents of his column.
Someone had reacted to this news rather poetically. ‘Where a river joins the ocean, the ocean also joins the river. In this union, who can say which the river is and which is the ocean? What’s the nature of this confluence? Union or separation, what should we call people like Mohammad Igal or Kuki? Are they being swept in by the river or are they swimming against the current into the river? Why this swim against the current? Are they domestic terrorists? Or foreign extremists? They are all American citizens. Is there a border for terrorism? Would folks like Kuki and Igal end up as dregs in a big melting pot because of their beliefs?’
I opened Facebook and looked for Mohammad Mohammad’s name. His Facebook account was closed.
27. Afrcan Women’s Voice
It was a cold night in December. Minnesota had its more than usual share of snowfall. Christmas was in the air, and there were celebrations everywhere. Since the snow was heavy, kids played outside in the yard, fighting with snowballs and making snowmen. The snowmen stood there with their frozen smiles, surveying the sea of white around them. Colourful lights could be seen all around.
I was working the night shift in the emergency department. The hospital’s Christmas party was scheduled for the following week. In the corner of the hallway, stood a large Christmas tree. There were twinkling lights everywhere. Santa Claus on his sleigh pulled by reindeers, gift boxes and candy canes scattered all over the festive faux snow inside. There were stars placed on each leaf and branch of the Christmas tree with post-it notes on them. Each post-it note had a staff member’s name on it. The star at the apex of the tree had Dr Smith’s picture. He was retiring that year. Below the picture was a handwritten note, ‘We will miss you Dr Smith.’ In the branches underneath, Radhika, Srikantha and I were also there.
After Smith’s retirement there would be no other doctor in the obstetrics department other than Radhika. Since she would be on call every day after he retires, she may not have much
vacation time left. She had taken a week’s vacation and gone to Florida’s Key West along with Kristina and Saanvi.
I felt that I simply didn’t understand girls. I could see Saanvi and Kristina going together. They were a couple. Why Radhika, though? Srikantha and I never went out together even to a restaurant.
It was an ice cream social day. The entire staff got free ice cream from the hospital. For those working the night-shift, the hospital’s board members showed up at around 10 pm to personally serve them ice cream. Rick Jackson wore a chef’s apron and pushed an ice cream cart around the hospital serving ice cream to all. He was persuasive in his hospitality, ‘Guru, have another scoop. I don’t think you will ever put on much weight.’ He served two scoops and handed me a gift box thanking me for my services to the hospital.
It was a golden coloured box loosely tied around with a blue ribbon. I untied the ribbon and opened the box. In it there was a Movado watch with an inscription on its back that read, ‘For successful completion of five years’.
I kept the watch in my desk drawer. Eleven people were there in the waiting room of the emergency department. I was the only doctor on duty that night. There were two injured in a traffic accident. One had a broken leg. I was putting a cast on him when a nurse asked me to see his girlfriend right away since she had severe difficulty breathing because of a punctured lung. I evaluated her and inserted a small chest tube to help her lung expand. A child was crying from diaper rash. Another one had ear infection. In between this running around, we were preparing to transport a patient who had a heart attack to the Minneapolis Heart Center. Due to bad weather, there was no ambulance available to transport him. When we tried to get a chopper, they too expressed their inability due to poor visibility. Even though his condition was stable, it was important for him to be evaluated by a cardiologist for a stent placement as soon as possible. We had no choice but to keep him in the hospital till the weather improved. That night, Srikantha was the admitting physician. After briefing him about the details of this patient, I convinced Srikantha to manage him till morning. I had the patient admitted to the ICU and informed the patient’s family about the plan. The family was on board.
When Srikantha came to see the patient, he asked me, ‘Did you check your messages?’
‘Not yet,’ I said and looked at my phone. There were two messages. He had sent the link to David Wagner’s letter published in the Amoka Daily Herald and an audio clip of Nusrat’s interview on the public radio. There were also some pictures sent by Radhika from Key West.
I opened the pictures first. She, Saanvi and Kristina were all dressed in bikinis with towels wrapped around the head and another fastened around their waist. They wore large sunglasses. I had never seen Radhika in a bikini before. If I were to guess, she must be around thirty-five. It is not so much of a big deal to have a comely and sexy figure to wear a bikini, but it is important to have the attitude to carry it off. I have seen many Indian girls trying to cover their bare knees even while wearing something like Bermuda shorts. But here, I saw no hesitation or self-consciousness. She held a tender coconut in one hand while showing thumbs up with the other. I was tempted to look once more but being aware that I’m in the hospital, I saved the picture and texted Radhika, ‘You look beautiful.’ The moment I pressed send, I realized that there were Saanvi and Kristina also along with her. Immediately I sent another message, ‘I meant you all.’
The second message I presumed would put the first one in a more proper context, but I realized that the second message would emphasize that the first message was intended only for Radhika. I got a smiley emoji from Radhika and then a mischievous question, ‘Saving lives?’
I responded, ‘One at a time.’
A smiley with another naughty question followed, ‘One Sanghaali at a time?’
I tried to end the chat with a smiley face and the message, ‘Duty calls’.
‘No more gunshot wounds, right? Get them out ASAP. Don’t be a cowboy. Stay away from the TV cameras. Take care.’ She went offline.
Two Sanghaali girls were registering at the front desk almost as if they heard her. I let them continue with their registration and sat there listening to Nusrat’s interview.
‘You are listening to News Hour, from Minnesota Public Radio. Last night there was a town hall meeting in Minneapolis on “Afrcan Women’s Voice”. The meeting was organized by a group called “Moms against Terror Recruitment and Racial Profiling”. Nusrat, a prominent member of Minnesota’s Sanghaali community conducted it at the Town Hall. She is the founder of “Moms against Terror Recruitment”—a voluntary organization of Sanghaali mothers fighting against recruitment by terrorist organizations. She has been doing a phenomenal job of identifying and educating vulnerable young Sanghaali men from getting recruited by terror organizations. This town hall echoed the sentiments of the Minnesota Muslim community, which according to Nusrat was at the center of the nation’s attention for the wrong reasons.
‘Last year Minnesota witnessed the eleventh incident of one of its young Sanghaali men register with the Islamic State. The FBI has alleged that this young man has helped the ISIS with money and other resources. He happens to be Nusrat’s son, Mohammad Igal. Tragically, a black man by the name of Martin Luther King whose facial features were said to resemble that of Igal died in a police shootout. In the melee of protests and unrest that followed, three police officers lost their lives. These events have put Amoka, this small town in Minnesota, at the center stage of media attention. Mohammad Igal’s mother Nusrat has been running a restaurant in Amoka for several years now. We spoke to her a little while ago.’
Interviewer: ‘Welcome to News hour. Were you ever suspicious that your son Mohammad Igal had contacts with terrorists?’
Nusrat: ‘No. Never.’
Interviewer: ‘Isn’t your son an American citizen?’
Nusrat: ‘All my children were born here.’
Interviewer: ‘Now another is on its way. Congratulations!’
Nusrat: ‘Yes. Thank you.’
Interviewer: ‘Whenever we speak of Amoka and pregnant Sanghaali women in the same sentence, people always ask this question. Before I do so, I would like to remind our listeners that most of the news media has dismissed this as a non-issue. Did you have Cesarean sections for all of your other babies and if so, is the next one also going to be a Cesarean?’
Nusrat: ‘I had my last three babies by Cesarean section. My doctor, Radhika, has said that this one is also most likely going to be one.’
Interviewer: ‘Is this the same Dr Radhika who did the live Cesarean section on TV?’
Nusrat: ‘Yes, very much. Don’t you worry. I’ll not commit suicide (laughs).’
Interviewer: ‘Let me directly come to the heart of the issue. Sanghaalis quite understandably oppose racial profiling. But now there is an allegation about your son being associated with terror organizations. And you are aware that these allegations are not without any basis. There are enough reasons to profile him. Of course, I don’t need to spell them out. In such a situation how can Sanghaalis get away from being racially profiled? In this fight against terrorism, what strong reasons do Sanghaali mothers like you have, to oppose profiling?’
Nusrat: ‘It’s a good question. Thank you for asking it. Sanghaalis share three general characteristics. We are all immigrants, we are all Muslims and all of us are blacks. The moment we step into America, we are profiled. The finger of suspicion of any wrongdoing or illegal acts always points at our children. I consider myself a good mother and I believe I’ve raised my children well. But, Igal failed me. I wish that nobody in the world goes through this kind of turmoil. If there is any evidence that my son is a terrorist, I believe that he should be punished appropriately. If, in fact, he comes to my house, I will hand him over to the authorities. I have also raised nine other children and they are all good citizens. But the joy of raising these nine to their full potential is negated by one Igal. My family is a perfect example of why racial pro
filing is wrong. Our family has only one Igal. Apart from him there are his brothers, sisters and his mother. We are all Sanghaalis, Muslims and Blacks too, but that does not make us Igal. A person is more than a sum of his parts and acknowledging them just by colour and physical appearance can be tragic. Take the example of Martin Luther King. You have seen his pictures. Is there any resemblance whatsoever between him and my son? If he were to be a white person, would the police have shot him?’
Interviewer: ‘Do you know why young men like Igal are radicalized this way? Why are they influenced, in fact brainwashed, into making these life choices especially when they are nurtured by good mothers like you. FBI has declared that another ten young men just from Minnesota alone have registered with terrorist organizations in countries like Syria, Iraq and Sanghaala. FBI does not publish statements like these or post the list on its website with your son in it without enough evidence. Why do Sanghaali American kids like Igal have to make this devil’s choice between making a future for themselves here or die in countries like Syria as terrorists? What drives them to this stage, to this point of inflexion?’
Nusrat: ‘Our organization is not just working with the state’s Attorney General. We also work with the local police. We should all join hands and try to find the root cause of why kids like Igal get into this fatal courtship with terrorism. According to the FBI all these kids get recruited through social media. It’s been seven years since Igal abandoned us. Who knows when he went to Syria and when he turned into a terrorist? What’s the point in blaming Facebook? We have a lot of work to do in our community. Our community has a small presence in Minnesota. We are not in millions but just about twenty to thirty thousand. Whenever there is news of a suspicious death in our community or news of a young man running away to the Islamic state, I personally go to their family and talk to them. Everyone tells me the same thing—that they had no clue about it. I did not believe them. I suspected that the mothers and the other family members were not telling me the whole truth. Now that the story has played out in my own family. I must believe these mothers.’
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