Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it --George Bernard Shaw


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Sunday, May 09, 2004
For I am, what I am.

I am sad today. I feel like crying. I feel like screaming. I feel like breaking something. I am so helpless. I am so useless. I am so small. I wish I could change things. I wish I could do something. Something for this pain. This severe pain. This pain, which is making me feel like screaming, crying, breaking,and so
insignificant. I want to fix this pain, but how? HOW?

This pain which is in my heart, my mind, my eyes, my ears and in each and every single cell of my body. This pain which is caused by the humiliation of my brothers. This pain which is caused by the rape of my sisters. This pain which is caused by the murder of my nephews. This pain which is caused by the torture of my father and mother. This pain which is growing as a cancer, but no one can help me. Because no one can see it.

My brother was arrested and beaten up in Abu Gharib, Iraq. His nude pictures were taken and were printed on the cover pages of New York Times. He was deprived of sleep. He wasn't fed properly. He wasn't even allowed to pray. He is trying to cover himself from being watched by a woman. A woman who once wanted to be "a storm-chasing meteorologist." This same woman is holding a dog leash but there is no dog at the other end of the leash. Its my brother. She has a big grin on her face because she is victorious. But my brother is watching helplessy towards her. His eyes wanting mercy from his woman captor. His bloody body lying on the floor while dogs bark at him. They say my brother is a terrorist. He doesn't look like a terrorist. How can he be the terrorist when ninteen guys, five dogs and one girl are smiling at him, while his body lies aching on the floor?

(since 9/11, according to U.S. officials and former prisoners, detainees under U.S. supervision in Iraq, Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and at undisclosed other locations have been stripped naked, covered with hoods, deprived of sleep and light, and made to stand or sit in painful positions for extended periods. Some have been drugged. Sexual humiliation is not unheard of. Even the Federal Bureau of Prisons has lent a hand in this enterprise. According to a Justice Department inspector-general's report, Muslim detainees at the Brooklyn, N.Y., Metropolitan Detention Center after 9/11 were physically and verbally abused by some staff members. --- Time Online Edition)

My sister was raped in Gujrat. The details are violent and pathetically sad. She was also dragged in the streets. My sister, Sabah, mentions: “We ran in different directions and hid in the field. But the mob found some of us and started attacking….I recognised two people from my village Gano Baria and Sunil– pulling away my daughter. She screamed, telling the men to get off her and leave her alone. The screams and cries of Ruqayya, Suhana, Shabana, begging for their izzat [honour] could clearly be heard. I could do nothing to help my daughter from being assaulted sexually and tortured to death."

My nephew was murdered by the Israeli soldiers in Jerusalem. His father, scrambling, tries to save his son but to no avail. My nephew, Rami Jamal al-Durra, was just twelve years old when he was shot dead by Israeli bullets. His father was begging Israeli soldiers from not shooting. I can never forgive myself for what happened to him. I feel so bad for myself for not doing anything for Rami. His eyes had hopes, dreams, fear, and questions when his head rolled into his father's lap. He gave up his life because we don't have the courage to stand up for him. He gave up his life because I am a coward. His hopes, his dreams and his questions will always haunt me. He died in his wounded father's arms, because the ambulance was held up at an Israeli roadblock.

(The Western mainstream news media will always report the devastating effects of an Israeli bus or caf‚ blown up by a Palestinian suicide bomber, with due condemnation by Western political leaders. But we rarely, if ever, see pictures of the young Palestinian girl shot by occupying Israeli soldiers as she walks home from school, or the Palestinian child shot dead in her home by Israeli sniper fire. [Click on images for more

My father was shot dead in his own olive groves because he, mistakenly, was straying too close to an Israeli military checkpoint. Similar others were killed because "the Israeli occupation army said it will continue its policy of extra-judicial killings of the Palestinian activists."

No, all the above were not my bioliogical family members. But they were more than that. They were all muslims. They were a part of a bigger family. They had something common with me. Something that made them my brothers, fathers, mothers, sisters, neices and nephews. I am responsible for their deaths, because I was ignoring them. I was more interested in buying Calvin Klein T-shirts, Tommy belts, Nike shoes, nokia phones, chrysler cars, DKNY pants, nice house in Orange County or Hollywood (or Defence/Clifton). I paid for the humiliation of my brother in Abu Gharib, rape of my sister in Gujrat, death of my nephew in Jerusalem, and death of my father near Israeli military checkpoint. May Allah forgive me, for I have been ignorent from my own people all this time, while they have looked at me for help. For I have been selfish and self-centered. For I wanted better homes for myself but funded for the bullets that killed Rami Jamal al-Durra. For I AM A MURDERER of my own people. For I am a pathetic creature who runs after money and other earthly things. For not doing anything against the murderers of humanity. For allowing these murderers to veto every single resolution in the U.N. which tries to help muslims around the world and still claim they want peace in Palestine/Iraq/Afghanistan. For not being able to "WAKE UP PAKISTAN." For I am, what I am. May Allah have His Mercy on me. Ameen.

(I wrote the above after watching pictures of muslim detainees in Abu Gharib. I just decided to direct my anger into words. When angry, I don't write really well, so please excuse my bad english. Last picture shows some muslims offering prayers in Abu Gharib, Iraq)
(I want to thank the following websites: 1.), 2.), 3.), 4.), 5.), 6.), 7.), and several others. These websites allowed me to be more informative while I share my thoughts and ideas.)

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