Hot Spot

by Jim Carroll

  Afsin”

  His request could not have come at a more difficult time, yet I felt responsible. How could I get him and his family to Kuwait? As an Iranian, he would not be eligible for Kuwaiti citizenship. Only a job would provide him legal residence here. God had given Afsin’s conversion, in part, as a gift to me; and now I freely accepted such gifts. And, thank the Lord, fear had left me.

  My father’s old business, the Kuwait Tool and Electric Company, still existed on paper though my father had not done any real work there in years. Nevertheless, the inactive, but still existing, family business could provide him the contract qualifying him for residence.

  The biggest problem was actually getting him to Kuwait. He was unable to fly from any airport in Iran. Through my old contacts in the Iranian nuclear workforce, I arranged a small boat departing out of the Bushehr port on the night of October 30. Their arrival on the craft Scheherazade in the Kuwait harbor near the center of town went unnoticed two nights later. They pulled in next to the yachts and got off onto the wharf like any Kuwaiti family returning from a day at sea. I had instructed Afsin in the proper dress for such an appearance, and he wore the traditional gray dishdasha and red-and white-checkered keffiyeh as a headdress. I met them by the boats where the small fish swam in the clear water illuminated by the bright lights of the dock.

  Even though years had passed, the bearded, grown man I greeted stunned me. We embraced briefly, both of us concerned about creating a scene. Hibah and I took them to a small hotel near the Hilton.

  Because of their covert arrival, their passports did not have an entry stamp. Hibah was able to clear this problem through friends in the immigration office. The required physical examination for the residency permit required three trips to the Shuwaikh Port office. There the little family received the same torment that most non-Western ex-patriot families had to endure, but finally they had residency permits, and with those, they could purchase a car. Kuwaiti Christians pulled together the necessary funds to get them started. There were finally enough Christians in Kuwait that someone could be called upon to assist others in such surprising circumstances. Afsin was embarrassed and stunned by the help and gifts. “I never hoped for all this.”

  Hibah had done her work with efficiency. “We don’t want anything to interfere with your candidacy. We’ll keep all this quiet,” she commented.

  We thought we could rest on this, but somehow the newspaper got hold of the story, and I was accused of smuggling Christians into the country. When publicly confronted with this charge, I agreed it was true. “Yes, I have assisted political refugees fleeing Iran.” My popularity was only enhanced! How could even this event have worked for my success? The Lord had truly visited me.

  There were thirty-two candidates for parliament in the Ahmadi area. The top ten candidates that gathered the highest votes would gain seats in the parliament. Because I was the only candidate who admitted to being a Christian, the thirty-one other candidates were united against me. The most popular, Al-Hasawi, was selected by the group to debate with me on Kuwait TV. Although not intended by me or stated by others, the main area of debate was religious. The selected debate coordinator was a known Islamist. He had a long, black, furry beard and a severe expression. There would be few smiles from him toward me. Early in the debate it became clear that the ground rules were to be abandoned in favor of a hostile environment. The seat I was given in the TV studio was wobbly and the lights were purposely directed in my eyes. Hasawi got makeup; I got none.

  In order to differentiate myself clearly, and at the suggestion of Hibah, I wore a business suit. Al-Hasawi wore the traditional dishdasha.

  The coordinator began by questioning me. “Mr. Tamimi, let’s set the record straight: Are you a Christian?”

  “Yes, I am a Christian.” Finally, I really was too! I could say this with clarity and pride. “But we are here today, I believe, to discuss the political future of Kuwait. The religious future is under the direction of Allah. Is that not correct?”

  The coordinator then turned smiling to Al-Hasawi, “Mr. Hasawi, do you believe religion affects the politics of Kuwait, and, if so, how?”

  “Our traditions are Islamic and as such, we rely on the precedents set by our forerunners when any outcome of law is decided. The basis for our legal system is Sharia law.”

  Al-Hasawi clearly did not understand the Kuwait legal system. I responded as gently as possible. “I am afraid Mr. Hasawi is incorrect. Our Kuwaiti system of law is actually a combination of civil law, or codified law, and Islamic law. As such, precedents play little role in court decisions. The great wisdom of our Kuwaiti fathers has been the moderation of our system of government, not its strictness. We must stand for both justice and mercy.”

  Seeing the weakness of Al-Hasawi in understanding our country’s legal system, the coordinator redirected the questions to more specific areas relating to government services. “Mr. Hasawi, what area do you think requires the most improvement among the basic needs of our people?”

  “The basic needs of our people lie in the area of religion and ethics. Our lives must be grounded in Islamic principles. Anything that erodes Islam lessens the will and determination of our people.” Once again he attempted to turn the debate to religion. The debate coordinator shook his head at Al-Hasawi when he was off-camera.

  “Mr. Tamimi.”

  “As Mr. Hasawi must know, the behavioral dictates of Islam and Christianity are virtually identical. If these are obeyed; then the outcome, from the standpoint of being a good citizen, should be identical. But we are not in a religious debate.” At that point I looked at Hasawi who was straightening his keffiyeh off-camera. I don’t think he even heard me.

  I went on about the requirements of the people. “To answer your question about the basic needs of our people, I want to focus on more practical matters, which include electricity, water, and food expenses. Allah blesses us here in Kuwait. We have abundant financial and geological resources, and there is no excuse for any Kuwaiti to ever lack any of these basic needs. As members of parliament, we must protect the citizens against diversion of funds from these needs.”

  The coordinator continued, “Mr. Hasawi, what is your biggest concern about the outcome of the coming election?”

  “I’m worried about the influence of women as voters. Will they change the dynamic of the outcome? Can they be trusted with our future?” The coordinator jumped in and cut off Hasawi before he damaged himself any further with half the electorate.

  I took advantage of the blunder. “We must respect the views and participation of all our citizens.” And so it went. The debate was terminated early so that Hasawi would not be completely discredited. He had demonstrated a minimum understanding of the debate process and even the newly enfranchised electorate.

  Both Hasawi and I were elected to the parliament. This achievement was not surprising. I stood third in the voting, thanks primarily to the women’s vote. Hasawi was second. As the first Christian ever elected to office in Kuwait, I understood that my personal qualities had nothing to do with the victory. The Psalms, the Psalms of my mother, reminded me of the certainty of what God ordained. God gave me more than I had requested, more than I prayed for.

  The execution of His plan would not be without strife for me, but I had at last settled to His will.

  CHAPTER 20

  THERE WOULD BE NO REST

  The Kuwait Times and the Kuwait Daily News both made my status as a Christian the main topic of the election. The Kuwait Times editorial read: “The election to parliament of Yusef Al-Tamimi, a known Christian, is a sign of change in Kuwait, a change for the worse. His election represents an erosion of Islamic values. The question for all Muslims is whether this trend can be reversed before it takes hold. We do not wish Mr. Al-Tamimi any ill-will, but we must wonder about his safety and the safety of his family in this situation.” Was this last sentence a threat?

  The Daily News was more forthright. “The election of Mr. Al-Tamimi has
brought impending disaster upon our Islamic state. We are the laughingstock of the Gulf. Our sacred duty requires that we correct the error.” If this had been said about any other member of parliament, the paper would have been sanctioned.

  That evening after midnight there was an explosion outside the wall of our Ahmadi home. The sudden, ground-shaking blast awakened us, and we all hurried into the living room. We inspected each other, thankful there were no injuries. While none of us were harmed, the explosion brought the threat into focus. The explosion was punctuation to the newspaper articles. We agreed we should stay together in the living room and called the police. My father slumped in his chair, head down, fingers folded together and prayed quietly.

  The police pulled up two hours later, no lights or sirens. All that time we had been waiting, wondering, fidgeting, wanting to know if we were under an attack. The investigating officer said, “We will not find those who did this. Perhaps you should leave.” The police departed without investigating, and I went outside the wall myself. The explosives had been a bundle of fireworks contained in a box nearly a meter in all dimensions – large enough to cause a terrific blast, but not enough power to destroy the wooden box, which had been placed so it wouldn’t cause any real damage. It was a warning, meant to frighten us, which it did. I didn’t get back asleep until 7 in the morning.

  At 8 o’clock, there was a phone call from CNN for me. They wanted an interview. No, the caller said, he had not heard about the explosion. The interview request was about my election to the Kuwaiti Parliament and the fact that I was a Christian. I just couldn’t tolerate another invasion of any sort, and I cut the conversation short with a quick, “I’ll get back to you.”

  Thirty minutes later there was a knock at the door. A messenger from Al Jazeera greeted me. “Mr. Al-Tamimi, we want to interview you about your election.” Before I could dismiss the young man, Hibah overheard.

  “Yusef, you must take the interview.” She stepped in front of me and told the messenger I could do the interview that afternoon. I glared at her, but it was too late; the messenger was gone with her acceptance. The Lord used Hibah to give me wise direction.

  “Look, Hibah, I’ve already put off CNN. I just don’t want any more news. I don’t want any more explosions. I want to be left at peace for a while.” But peace, at least not by my standard, was not the Lord’s plan.

  “You must take the interviews. Call CNN back right now. Something important has happened here, and we can’t let the chance go. I know you’re worn out. We all got only an hour of sleep last night, but the time is here and you must take advantage of it.” She was not going to quit, and I was too drained to argue. The Lord gave me the power to comply.

  The first interview was with CNN, and occurred via televised transmission from our home with the questions presented from the CNN headquarters. The questions were sensationalized rather than insightful, and the questioner was more interested in presenting his own views than in collecting information from me. “Mr. Al-Tamimi, I can imagine how fulfilled you must be in your unique election to the Kuwaiti Parliament. Please tell us about your family’s experiences.” Did he want to hear about the bombing?

  “Well, we are of course very happy with the results—” My response was interrupted before I could bring up the bombing. The fake bomb was heavy on my mind, and the interviewer didn’t know about it. His focus was not the same as mine.

  “I’m sure this result means a new day for Kuwait. Your country has begun a trend that sets it apart from the rest of the Gulf. You must be excited and proud your country has shown its new mindset of political freedom.” I considered myself an anomaly and not a trend. Only the Lord knew the trend.

  “Actually, I don’t think we can yet be certain of such a change, but—” By now I was used to being interrupted. I was going to follow my “but” with a “thanks to the Lord,” but CNN was not interested.

  “We at CNN are all impressed by your country’s courage.” What about mine, my new courage?

  Interruption after intrusion. The reporter got his views across effectively, but never heard mine. Hibah observed, “At least he had great hair.” I smiled.

  The Al-Jazeera interview was different. Suddenly, the vision of the beautiful young woman, Tahara Al-Thani, appeared in front of me, this time for real. She arrived at our home in the late afternoon with a cameraman and set up the interview in our living room. She was even more stunning in person, and I was entranced. It was as if she had stepped out of her newsroom, just to see me. She had. She didn’t wear the head covering of the conservative Muslim woman, and her black hair was shining and free of hair spray. Her hair moved when she walked. She was not immodest in any way, but neither did she show the usual inhibitions of the typical Arab woman. She extended her hand to me, gripped my hand firmly, and gave it three shakes. She did this on camera.

  “Mr. Al-Tamimi, congratulations on your recent election to the Kuwaiti Parliament. I’ve read the text of your debate with one of your opponents, and I’m aware of your general political views, but I want to concentrate on your position as a Christian. I’m certain that will be of the greatest interest to our viewers and readers. First, how did you become a Christian?” There was no longer any reason to hide my faith.

  “I was raised in a Christian home. My mother was the first Christian in our family. She became one by reading the Bible. She taught me from my childhood.”

  “How has being a Christian made your life different?”

  This question might have been too difficult for me only a few short months before. I took a deep breath and tried to gather myself. “The Lord is in control of my life. The election has nothing to do with me. I function at His bidding, even though I don’t know what’s coming next.

  The young woman continued on. “How will your religious beliefs influence your political life?”

  “In the main, I don’t think they will, but in matters of freedom of religion, I intend to defend the basic principle that we are free to choose what we believe.”

  “What about changing from one religion to another?”

  “We should be free to do so.”

  “I’m sure you know that view is not shared by all.”

  “A recent court case in Kuwait has addressed this matter. The judge determined that such freedom exists.” This was Hibah’s case, and what I said was not precisely correct. All that the judge determined was that blasphemy had not occurred.

  “Yes, but the real question, as yet unanswered, is apostasy. Where do you stand when the issue is apostasy, not blasphemy?”

  She was already aware of the court case and the subtleties of the decision, and she got right to the heart of the matter. Now, I had to say what I thought about a basic freedom. I was of two minds: on the one hand relieved to say what I thought, and on the other frightened of the consequences. But now I sought the Lord’s protection, not my own. “There should not be such a charge of apostasy available to the court. One’s belief is an individual matter and not a crime.” This was a dangerous statement, and in conflict with cultural norms. Both Al-Thani and I knew it. She continued her questions toward less inflammatory areas and closed the interview. We told her about the explosion outside our home, but she left it out of the interview.

  Afterward we spoke off record, and she looked me in the eyes. “Mr. Al-Tamimi, I’m truly sorry my question led you to such an answer. To say that apostasy is not a crime puts you in great danger, but you’re very brave for saying so. I want you to know I agree with you.”

  “Well, what’s said is said.”

  “If you want, we’ll cut it from the tape.”

  Before I could respond, Hibah joined in, “No, don’t cut it.” Her courage vaulted over mine, and for a change I was thankful. I was glad she answered quickly for me, but I couldn’t speak. After all, the risk was mine, and I was the one in the line of fire. And so the statement would be heard throughout the Gulf and indeed all the Muslim world.

  As she departed, I remarked, �
��I’m struck by your family name.”

  “Yes, I’m a distant member of the Qatari royal family. There are many of us. Mr. Al-Tamimi, if you have occasion to come to Qatar, please contact me though Al-Jazeera.”

  Did she say that? I must have misunderstood. An Arab woman would not say that. Perhaps she meant I could tour the Al-Jazeera headquarters. Had we conducted a romance through the TV? Was this all my fantasy?

  Hibah wouldn’t let me forget the interviewer’s last comment. “Yusef, you must visit her in Doha. I saw how you each looked at the other. And she’s a Christian. I’m certain of it. This has all been God’s provision. He brought a mate to you. And you put the issue of apostasy out there for all to see and hear. I give thanks to Him.”

  But Hibah, what about me? What will this cost me? But I did give thanks for this, nevertheless.

  My sister must have been able to read my mind. I was stunned by that woman and could see myself marrying her. Yes, I too felt there was a good chance she was a Christian… there was just something about her.

  But as for me putting the apostasy issue out there, well, I’d have been happier shutting up about it. But I accepted God’s plan now, and not my own. I was caught in the media spotlight. If someone gunned me down, Hibah would be on TV calling me a Christian martyr. In the past I would have resented her interference, but no longer. I was ready, finally, for God’s plan.

  My Al-Jazeera interview hit the Internet the following morning, and the fallout from it followed. While many Islamic writings call for the death penalty for apostasy, as they define it, the views of Quran and Hadith authorities are not clear on this point. And should someone convert from Judaism or some other religion to Islam, then that conversion also met the general definition of apostasy. These and other ideas were discussed.