Real Differences

by S. L. Lim

  Tony nodded, even though he had not in fact heard anyone say those exact words before. ‘But then I think, why are they the ones who get to decide? I looked it up – it’s not even part of our religion. It pre-dates the Islamic texts – it’s actually a tradition that’s been picked up from the Hindus. That’s the way it always is. The truth is in the Quran and the Hadith, but it always gets perverted by culture along the way.’

  Tony looked away, both wary and amused. He was leery of getting pulled in to this discussion. Hasan had a knack for turning ordinary conversations into arguments about God. One moment you’d be happily chatting about where to get the best hot chips, the next you’d be drawn in to an argument about whether the science of embryology was foretold in the Quran.

  He tried to think of something helpful which wouldn’t lead down that particular road. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to make a decision now, do you? You can just hold them off for a while, till you’re independent and can say no to them without them hurting you too much. Also,’ he added, with his debaterly habit of looking at both sides, ‘you should try not to be so harsh on them. They’re doing the best that they know how. It’s their tradition, like you say – it’s what they’ve always believed. They wouldn’t do it unless they thought it was in your best interest. Even though they’re wrong, of course.’

  Hasan nodded ruefully. ‘You’re right. It’s our culture, not our religion. You mustn’t blame religion. Really, Tony, I think you should come to one of our talks – you would enjoy it. You must be tired of me bringing it up by now. I promise, if you come on Wednesday I’ll never ask you again. Doesn’t matter if you’re not a Muslim – that’s the meaning of dawah, you know? Everybody is welcome.’

  Tony found himself smiling in spite of himself. He liked Hasan’s persistence in raising the topic, the dexterity with which it was accomplished. He wished that he, Tony, could be as fearless about things he believed in. Tony could be forceful on the debating floor, but when the speeches were over he was stuck being himself, which was honestly a pretty weakass condition to be in. What a gift it was, he thought, to care about something so much it took precedence over everything else, even embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, I’ll go,’ he said. ‘You win – you have finally convinced me.’ Hasan beamed at him, a co-conspirator’s smile which shimmered on the ends of his lovely eyelashes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A buzz of boys’ voices, crass and cheerful. Music was playing, something Eminem-esque but not actually Eminem. A few boys awkwardly shifted their shoulders back and forth to the beat. Others more sensibly applied themselves to the refreshments, a mixed selection of baklava, assorted dips and Aldi cookies. Hasan and his friends scurried up and down the room, fiddling with microphones and laptops.

  The crowd, as Hasan had promised, was varied in age and race and for the most part looked decidedly undevout; Tony noticed two boys who were known for cutting pieces off the school’s garden hose in order to make bongs. The hose had gradually shrunk, piece by piece, until only a short stump was left; it spurted water in barely controllable directions, to the amusement of students and not a few teachers, before the school got round to replacing it.

  Two men Tony didn’t know, presumably the speakers, stood to one side talking. One was older, maybe in his early fifties, and sported a tufted beard that was surprisingly robust against gusts of wind blowing in through the windows. His gaze angled upwards, it seemed habitually, as though his eyes were fixed upon something deeply profound no-one else could see. The other was in his late twenties at most, still with a sheen of casual health and vibrancy. Even before he spoke, Tony got the sense that he was highly intelligent. He stood very still but his eyes moved back and forth, scanning the room.

  In the middle of the audience were a pair of Year Twelves, members of the famed state representative debating team: Justin Peters, who was two years older than Tony, and Anna Kwong, from the sister school next door. They were exchanging notes and talking in low voices. When they’d studied Julius Caesar in Year Seven, Cassius had always made Tony think of Anna: that lean and hungry look caused by ambition, probably compounded by an eating disorder. Justin, by contrast, was admittedly a show pony, but a really good one. He brought the style to Anna’s substance. There was a smell of bread and circuses in the air.

  The elder speaker took the stage. His name was Sheikh Walid Wasseem, and he was a convert from America. He had an exceptionally deep voice, and each word reverberated round the room with great power but no hint of aggression. Key words he punctuated with his hands, pointing his index finger at the ceiling and swirling his fist beside his head in small circles while the words rolled out of his mouth in melodious cadences.

  ‘Bismillah Al-hamdu Lillaahi nasta’eenahu wa nastaghfiruhu, wa na’oodhu billaahi min shuroori anfusinaa wa sayi’aati a’maalinaa.’

  ‘Dear brothers and sisters. I appreciate the opportunity to address you young people today. You are the leaders of tomorrow - you are the ones who will be running the country in fifteen, twenty years’ time. You are the ones who will have the power to make a great difference in the world. And therefore I treat it very seriously, this opportunity to communicate with you.’

  The boys rustled their black and white photocopied programs, looking mostly unmoved. (The Islamic Society budget had not stretched to colour.) They were students at an elite Sydney high school - somebody told them they were the leaders of tomorrow about once a week. They sat there placidly, absorbing the praise and waiting for the speaker to move on to something more original.

  ‘Religion has always served as a paradigm: a means by which human beings derive their values. Religion is a consolation during times of tragedy. Science tells us how to do things, but nothing about why. Without the guiding hand of religion – without the restraint, at times, of religion on our behaviour – I see only a dark future for mankind.’

  Anna Kwong mouthed, ‘Oh, mankind, is it?’ Justin Peters smirked.

  ‘Many religions have tried to answer key questions about life: Who are we? Why are we here? What do we do if we want to live a good life – how do we know what is the right thing to do? Islam, like other religions, has addressed these questions. But it has done something distinguished, done something unlike any religion that came before. That is what makes it unique among all the other ideologies existing in the world. If it were not unique, there would be no need for me to come and talk to you today.

  ‘Islam is more than just a religion. It is a whole system, a whole methodology of life. That, paradoxically, is what makes it the truest form of religion. Because life has many facets, and so a system of guidance for life cannot only be confined to a church, within a synagogue, within a place where we only meet once a week, and have no bearing on the rest of our lives. It cannot only be a thing that we hide away in private, without reference to the way we conduct ourselves as we go about in the world. It has to be a part of everything we are.’

  Among the boys and a smattering of girls visiting from next door, several teachers were in attendance. Tony noticed Mrs Hudson, the head of the English department. At the word ‘paradoxically’, she turned around and looked meaningfully at the boys as if she expected them to start taking notes.

  ‘Where do we find this guidance? We find it in the Quran, the book dictated to us by God. All human beings are flawed, but because it is written in the voice of the Divine Creator, the Quran stands beyond our human limitations. We find our guidance in this book, and through the words and doings of Muhammad, peace be upon him. He was a human being, the only human who was called to be the Messenger, the vehicle of the divine right here on this Earth.’

  At this point two of the boys sitting near Tony burst into unrestrained sniggers. Tony watched them snort and heave, shoulders shuddering with insecurity, and discovered to his surprise that they repulsed him. It was not that there was anything so original about what the speaker was saying. It was the way he said it, the deep musicality, phrases circling each other in stately orbi
t, drawn in towards the centre by an invisible gravitational force. Tony glared at the two sniggerers and turned his attention back towards the stage.

  ‘Science and technology, by themselves, are a fount of progress. But a society with only science, without beliefs, without morality, is broken. The Quran is what brings the different parts – the different strands of our existence – together. The Quran has the key to societal reform, for every society, in every time and every place: the political strands, the economic strands, the justice, all in balance and perfect harmony. It is through the Quran, and only through the Quran, that we have been given the means to uplift human society.

  ‘Islam as a system gives to human beings a chance to reform our lives. That is why I say to you young people, you future leaders of this world – at some point in your life, read the Quran! You deserve this opportunity. You deserve to have this source of guidance, of inspiration, in your lives. For if what I say is true – if the Quran is what it claims to be – then what a tragedy it would be if you young people were excluded from its wisdom.

  ‘I thank for inviting me to speak at this presentation. Bless you.’

  A pause, and then clapping began to spread around the room. The applause was enthusiastic in the Muslim section, and wary in the others. Tony had a sense of dizziness, a lightness in his stomach. Thoughts he couldn’t quite name were whirling round his chest.

  There was a rustling sound as Hasan stepped up to the lectern. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attention. I also offer thanks to Sheikh Walid Wasseem, who’s come all the way here from the United States of America. Please may we have a second round of applause.’ More dutiful clapping. ‘And now we will take questions from the audience.’

  Anna Kwong stood up. A ripple of excitement passed through the hall: ‘Oooh, here it co-o-omes!’ She walked deliberately down the aisle, not responding to the derision and encouragement in the catcalls that surrounded her. She cleared her throat and glared down the microphone. ‘We have been asked to consider the Quran as a guide for all human endeavour. Presumably, when he talks about a “system of life”, Sheikh Walid means that Islam should be a tool for publicly shaping our society. Well, there are verses of the Quran which say that it’s acceptable for men to beat their wives. There are verses that state the penalty for apostasy should be death. There are verses which say the proper punishment for adultery is stoning. These measures have been implemented in countries that now have shariah law, for example Nigeria. Right now, a twenty-one-year-old woman is sentenced to flogging for sleeping with a man who was not her husband. Mr Wasseem –’ she turned to face him - ‘do you support these punishments being enacted as part of our criminal law?’

  A storm of catcalls and further ‘Oohs!’ broke out once Anna had finished her question. Anna’s expression did not alter. She glared over the heads of the audience, chin held up like Joan of Arc’s as the sheikh came to take the microphone from her.

  ‘Thank you, young lady. Thank you for taking this issue seriously. Let me say, first of all, that I will answer your question. And I hope -’ this was directed at the Muslim section, which was beginning to mutter and broil with dislike - ‘I hope that there will be respect for all questions asked, because what we seek to do is to educate and learn by communicating with each other. I will say, however, that we come to this event in a spirit of unity rather than division. I request that future questioners keep this spirit in mind.

  ‘Let me say this in the spirit of respect: when I first came to this school, I did not like all that I saw. Walking past the canteen, I saw trash. Soda cans and candy wrappers, Kleenex dropped here and there, some of it trampled into the dirt. It was not, if I may say so, a sign of respect that people had left these things on the ground. It was not a sign of community that no-one had stooped to pick them up.

  ‘Now, I might have stopped there. I might have pre-judged you. I might have said, “Why should I waste my time, speaking to young men and women who are so lacking in respect for their community that they do not even value the environment around them?” But I did not – because what is on the out-side -’ he enunciated the syllable pointedly - ‘is not the same as what is on the in-side! I did not pre-judge! I gave you the respect of coming and hearing what you had to say before I decided who you were and what you were about.

  ‘You young men and women – you’re hearing plenty of things, plenty of messages, about Islam. All kinds of things, through the media, through the news, all of which has its purpose and agenda. And I ask you, before you reach your judgement – read the Quran! Be aware that there are people out there trying to manipulate you. Don’t believe all that you hear – come at it with a critical eye. You must read the Quran and decide what you believe yourself.’

  A storm of clapping, more in response to the spirit and delivery of the words than their actual content. Justin Peters shouted: ‘That’s reprehensible! What about the UN Declaration of Human Rights?’ The boys around him cawed, but they were drowned out by the applause. Several boys turned to point and grin at Anna, who shrugged in acknowledgement of the point. ‘And now our second speaker, Brother Abdul. He’s from a group called the Haqq, which has kindly helped us with planning for this event …’

  The younger speaker came to the microphone. He was quieter than the sheikh, with less obvious gravitas. Yet his voice and his bearing gathered authority as he went along; he spoke softly, so you felt you should lean in to hear him better. Each word was clearly enunciated, so precisely that you sensed he had made his case before and this time he would do it better. There was a disarming earnestness about him: Listen to me, he seemed to say. I’m not better, more special than you, but I will tell you what I believe.

  ‘I thank Sheikh Wasseem for his comments. Let me add a few words of my own.

  ‘You’re noting, quite correctly, that there are certain aspects of Islam that will contravene other values you hold dear in this society. That is both proper and inevitable. Every person with an ideology believes that all other ideologies are wrong by definition. That’s what it means to have a belief.

  ‘You might point out that Islam contradicts certain values. Secular humanism, for example, as exemplified by the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights. Well, let me ask you something. What right do you have to say that your one ideology is the yardstick by which you judge every other way of life? You –’ he pointed at Anna – ‘you think that the laws, the punishments of Islam are inappropriate for your context. But your own values themselves have arisen from their own context. A particular European Christian framework, which may not be appropriate for all people and all situations across the world.’

  Justin Peters snorted. Anna gave him a sharp look and he went quiet.

  ‘An ideology, in and of itself, will seek to carry itself: to impose itself upon everyone in the world. Whether it is by political means, economic means, military means, that is what it will seek to do. This includes your secular liberalism. Look at Afghanistan! Look at Iraq!’ A stifled cheer went up in some parts of the room, more a reflex in response to the word ‘Iraq’ than a sign of agreement with the speaker.

  ‘All ideologies arise from a particular context and are limited by the nature of that context. The question is, which one of them actually has answers? Which one of them is capable of transcending its origins? Which one of them is a solution, not just for its place and time, but for all of the world?

  ‘The answer is Islam. Why? Because Islam was not just created by human beings. Rather, it was given to us by the Creator. It is a source of power to reform all human life. Unique among all ideologies, it stands outside of time and space. It has the power to give guidance to humanity throughout the ages.’ Tony felt himself growing nauseous. It was if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out over an enormous plain with the wind whistling past. For a moment he thought he was falling; overtaken by panic, he imagined that the young man on the stage could see all of his secrets. He felt illuminated against his will, as if a bright
light had pierced his body like an X-ray to reveal the guts of his anger and confusion. He could not say what this new-found conviction was, or how it had seized him by the guts and wrung him out. Later he could barely remember what had happened afterwards.

  Hasan scampered back and forth, apologising compulsively to speakers and teachers, who reassured him that yes, all had gone well; it was an excellent initiative. Anna Kwong glared regally while Justin Peters looked aggrieved the way debaters do when they didn’t get to talk for long enough.

  Tony felt exhausted and dumb, like a pig struck on the back of the head with a club. There was so much in the world he had never thought about. He wondered why, in sixteen years, he had never thought about this simple choice. Either you believed in the Creator, or you did not. Next to the younger speaker, he felt ashamed of himself for his incurious insularity and dull-mindedness. He had known of the existence of Islam for all his life and had never thought to seek it out.

  ‘How boring was that?’ It was his friend Xiaofeng, grinning at him with cheerful and knowing malice. Mostly Tony tolerated the younger boy, who had skipped ahead a year and lagged even further behind in maturity. For a moment he experienced real disgust, a toxic sensation, as if Xiaofeng’s touch physically revolted him. His silly leer, inviting Tony to join him in feeling superior to other people; his clinging hands, pawing at Tony’s jacket: these seemed to represent all that was wrong with the world, all that was puerile and inadequate. This constant mocking of things which did not deserve it, any impulse towards beauty immediately smothered by a torrent of idiotic humour.

  ‘Oh, get off me, why don’t you!’ He shook Xiaofeng away, breaking into a jog as he fled down the hallway. His classmates jumped aside and squawked: ‘What is his problem?’