Could I protect my father from the Armed Islamic Group with a paring knife? That was the question I faced one Tuesday morning in June of 1993, when I was a law student.
Mogu li da zaštitim oca od Oružane islamske grupe, nožem za povrće? S tim sam se pitanjem suočila jednog jutra, u utorak juna 1993, dok sam bila studentkinja prava.
I woke up early that morning in Dad's apartment on the outskirts of Algiers, Algeria, to an unrelenting pounding on the front door. It was a season as described by a local paper when every Tuesday a scholar fell to the bullets of fundamentalist assassins. My father's university teaching of Darwin had already provoked a classroom visit from the head of the so-called Islamic Salvation Front, who denounced Dad as an advocate of biologism before Dad had ejected the man, and now whoever was outside would neither identify himself nor go away. So my father tried to get the police on the phone, but perhaps terrified by the rising tide of armed extremism that had already claimed the lives of so many Algerian officers, they didn't even answer. And that was when I went to the kitchen, got out a paring knife, and took up a position inside the entryway. It was a ridiculous thing to do, really, but I couldn't think of anything else, and so there I stood.
Probudila sam se rano tog jutra u očevom stanu na periferiji Alžira, u gradu Alžiru, zbog upornog lupanja na ulaznim vratima. Bilo je to razdoblje, kako je opisano u lokalnim novinama, u kome je svakog utorka po jedan učenjak stradao od metaka fundamentalističkih ubica. Predavanje mog oca o Darvinu već je izazvalo da ga u učionici poseti glavni čovek, takozvanog Islamskog fronta spasa, koji je prozvao mog oca zagovornikom biologizma, pre nego što ga je otac izbacio i sad ko god da je bio napolju ne želi ni da se predstavi, ni da ode. Moj otac je pokušao da telefonom dobije policiju, ali valjda preplašeni nadolazećom strujom oružanih ekstremista, koji su već oduzeli živote mnogim alžirskim policajcima, nisu se čak ni javili. I tada sam otišla u kuhinju, izvukla nož za povrće i zauzela položaj u hodniku. Bilo je smešno, zaista, ali nisam se ničeg drugog setila, i tako sam stajala tamo.
When I look back now, I think that that was the moment that set me on the path was to writing a book called "Your Fatwa Does Not Apply Here: Untold Stories from the Fight Against Muslim Fundamentalism." The title comes from a Pakistani play. I think it was actually that moment that sent me on the journey to interview 300 people of Muslim heritage from nearly 30 countries, from Afghanistan to Mali, to find out how they fought fundamentalism peacefully like my father did, and how they coped with the attendant risks.
Kada sad pogledam unazad, mislim da je to bio momenat koji me poslao na staze pisanja knjige pod nazivom: "Tvoja fatva ovde ne važi: neispričane priče iz borbe protiv muslimanskog fundamentalizma." Naslov je uzet iz pakistanske predstave. Mislim da me je baš taj trenutak poslao na putovanje na kom ću intervjuisati 300 ljudi muslimanskog porekla iz skoro 30 država, od Avganistana do Malija, da bih otkrila kako su se borili s fundamentalizmom mirno, poput mog oca i kako su izlazili na kraj s pratećim rizikom.
Luckily, back in June of 1993, our unidentified visitor went away, but other families were so much less lucky, and that was the thought that motivated my research. In any case, someone would return a few months later and leave a note on Dad's kitchen table, which simply said, "Consider yourself dead." Subsequently, Algeria's fundamentalist armed groups would murder as many as 200,000 civilians in what came to be known as the dark decade of the 1990s, including every single one of the women that you see here. In its harsh counterterrorist response, the state resorted to torture and to forced disappearances, and as terrible as all of these events became, the international community largely ignored them. Finally, my father, an Algerian peasant's son turned professor, was forced to stop teaching at the university and to flee his apartment, but what I will never forget about Mahfoud Bennoune, my dad, was that like so many other Algerian intellectuals, he refused to leave the country and he continued to publish pointed criticisms, both of the fundamentalists and sometimes of the government they battled. For example, in a November 1994 series in the newspaper El Watan entitled "How Fundamentalism Produced a Terrorism without Precedent," he denounced what he called the terrorists' radical break with the true Islam as it was lived by our ancestors. These were words that could get you killed.
Srećom, tog juna 1993, naš neidentifikovani posetilac je otišao, ali druge porodice nisu bile te sreće i ta misao je motivisala moje istraživanje. Ipak, neko će se vratiti, nekoliko meseci kasnije, s porukom na očevom kuhinjskom stolu, na kojoj je prosto pisalo: "Smatraj se mrtvim." Kasnije će alžirske oružane grupe fundamentalista ubiti skoro 200 000 civila, u takozvanoj mračnoj deceniji 1990-ih, uključujući i sve žene koje vidite ovde. Okrutnim protivterorističkim odgovorom država je pribegla mučenju i nasilnim nestancima, i koliko god da su užasni ovi događaji postajali, međunarodna zajednica ih je uglavnom ignorisala. Na kraju je moj otac, sin alžirskog seljaka koji je postao profesor, bio prisiljen da napusti univerzitet i pobegne iz stana, ali nikada neću zaboraviti, kada je u pitanju Mahfud Benun, moj otac, kako je, poput mnogih drugih alžirskih intelektualaca, odbio da napusti državu i nastavio je da objavljuje direktne kritike, i protiv fundamentalista, i ponekad vlada protiv kojih su se borili. Na primer, serijalom iz novembra 1994. u novinama El Vatan, naslovljenim: "Kako je fundamentalizam proizveo terorizam bez presedana", osudio je takozvani radikalni otklon terorista od istinskog Islama, kakav su živeli naši preci. Zbog ovih reči ste mogli da izgubite život.
My father's country taught me in that dark decade of the 1990s that the popular struggle against Muslim fundamentalism is one of the most important and overlooked human rights struggles in the world. This remains true today, nearly 20 years later. You see, in every country where you hear about armed jihadis targeting civilians, there are also unarmed people defying those militants that you don't hear about, and those people need our support to succeed.
Država mog oca me je naučila, u mračnoj deceniji 1990-ih, da je narodna borba protiv muslimanskog fundamentalizma jedna od najvažnijih i najzanemarivanijih borbi za ljudska prava u svetu. Tako je i danas, skoro 20 godina kasnije. Vidite, u svakoj zemlji gde čujete za naoružane džihadiste čija su meta civili, postoje takođe i nenaoružani ljudi koji prkose tim militantnim grupama, o kojima ne slušate, a tim ljudima je potrebna naša podrška kako bi uspeli.
In the West, it's often assumed that Muslims generally condone terrorism. Some on the right think this because they view Muslim culture as inherently violent, and some on the left imagine this because they view Muslim violence, fundamentalist violence, solely as a product of legitimate grievances. But both views are dead wrong. In fact, many people of Muslim heritage around the world are staunch opponents both of fundamentalism and of terrorism, and often for very good reason. You see, they're much more likely to be victims of this violence than its perpetrators. Let me just give you one example. According to a 2009 survey of Arabic language media resources, between 2004 and 2008, no more than 15 percent of al Qaeda's victims were Westerners. That's a terrible toll, but the vast majority were people of Muslim heritage, killed by Muslim fundamentalists.
Na Zapadu se obično pretpostavlja da muslimani generalno podržavaju terorizam. Neki desničari misle da je to tako jer vide muslimansku kulturu kao suštinski nasilnu, dok neki levičari zamišljaju da je muslimansko nasilje, fundamentalističko nasilje, u potpunosti proizvod iskonskih nedaća. No oba gledišta su skroz pogrešna. No mnogi ljudi muslimanskog porekla širom sveta su čvrsti protivnici i fundamentalizma i terorizma, a često i s veoma dobrim razlogom. Vidite, izglednije je da će da budu žrtve ovog nasilja, nego njegovi počinioci. Dozvolite da vam dam jedan primer. Prema istraživanju iz 2009. Medijskih izvora na arapskom jeziku, između 2004. i 2008, samo 15 posto Al Kaidinih žrtava su bili zapadnjaci. To je užasan gubitak, ali ogromna većina žrtava su ljudi muslimanskog porekla, ubijeni od strane muslimanskih fundamentalista.
Now I've been talking for the last five minutes about fundamentalism, and you have a right to know exactly what I mean. I cite the definition given by the Algerian sociologist Marieme Helie Lucas, and she says that fundamentalisms, note the "s," so within all of the world's great religious traditions, "fundamentalisms are political movements of the extreme right which in a context of globalization manipulate religion in order to achieve their political aims." Sadia Abbas has called this the radical politicization of theology. Now I want to avoid projecting the notion that there's sort of a monolith out there called Muslim fundamentalism that is the same everywhere, because these movements also have their diversities. Some use and advocate violence. Some do not, though they're often interrelated. They take different forms. Some may be non-governmental organizations, even here in Britain like Cageprisoners. Some may become political parties, like the Muslim Brotherhood, and some may be openly armed groups like the Taliban. But in any case, these are all radical projects. They're not conservative or traditional approaches. They're most often about changing people's relationship with Islam rather than preserving it. What I am talking about is the Muslim extreme right, and the fact that its adherents are or purport to be Muslim makes them no less offensive than the extreme right anywhere else. So in my view, if we consider ourselves liberal or left-wing, human rights-loving or feminist, we must oppose these movements and support their grassroots opponents. Now let me be clear that I support an effective struggle against fundamentalism, but also a struggle that must itself respect international law, so nothing I am saying should be taken as a justification for refusals to democratize, and here I send out a shout-out of support to the pro-democracy movement in Algeria today, Barakat. Nor should anything I say be taken as a justification of violations of human rights, like the mass death sentences handed out in Egypt earlier this week. But what I am saying is that we must challenge these Muslim fundamentalist movements because they threaten human rights across Muslim-majority contexts, and they do this in a range of ways, most obviously with the direct attacks on civilians by the armed groups that carry those out. But that violence is just the tip of the iceberg. These movements as a whole purvey discrimination against religious minorities and sexual minorities. They seek to curtail the freedom of religion of everyone who either practices in a different way or chooses not to practice. And most definingly, they lead an all-out war on the rights of women.
Govorim već pet minuta o fundamentalizmu i imate pravo da znate na šta tačno mislim. Citiraću definiciju koju je dala alžirska sociološkinja Merijeme Eli Lukas, ona je rekla da je fundamentalizam, obratite pažnju: "u svim velikim svetskim verskim tradicijama, fundamentalizmi su politički pokreti ekstremne desnice, koji u kontekstu globalizacije, manipulišu religijom kako bi postigli lične političke ciljeve." Sadija Abas je ovo nazvao radikalnom politizacijom teologije. Ne želim da nagovestim kako postoji negde nekakav monolit koji se zove muslimanski fundamentalizam, koji je svuda isti jer ovi pokreti takođe imaju svoje razlike. Neki koriste i zagovaraju nasilje. Neki ne, iako su često povezani s njima. Oni primaju različita obličja. Neki mogu da budu nevladine organizacije, poput britanskih Kejdžprizonersa. Neki mogu postati političke stranke, poput Muslimanskog bratstva, a neki su otvoreno oružane grupe, poput Talibana. Ali u svakom slučaju, sve su to radikalni projekti. Njihov pristup nije ni konzervativan, ni tradicionalan. Oni se najčešće bave menjanjem odnosa ljudi prema Islamu, umesto njegovim očuvanjem. Ono o čemu govorim je muslimanska ekstremna desnica, a činjenica da su njeni sledbenici, ili bar tako tvrde, muslimani, ne čini ih manje uvredljivim od bilo koje druge ekstremne desnice. Po mom mišljenju, ukoliko se smatramo liberalima ili levičarima, ljubiteljima mira ili feministima, moramo da budemo protiv ovih pokreta i da podržimo njihove okorele protivnike. Želim da budem jasna da ja podržavam efikasnu borbu protiv fundamentalizma, ali takođe i borbu koja, sama po sebi, mora da poštuje međunarodno pravo. Zato ništa što kažem ne sme da bude iskorišteno kao opravdanje za odbijanje demokratizacije i zato ovde šaljem glasnu podršku savremenom prodemokratskom pokretu iz Alžira, Barakatu. Niti bilo šta što kažem sme da se koristi kao opravdanje za kršenje ljudskih prava, poput masovnih smrtnih kazni koje su izvršene u Egiptu ranije ove sedmice. Ali ono o čemu govorim je da moramo da osporavamo ove muslimanske fundamentalističke pokrete jer su pretnja za ljudska prava širom većinsko muslimanskih sredina, a oni to rade na razne načine, najočigledniji od njih je direktni napad na civile, koji izvode oružane grupe. Ali to nasilje je samo vrh ledenog brega. Ovi pokreti u celosti zagovaraju diskriminaciju protiv verskih i seksualnih manjina. Teže da uskrate slobodu veroispovesti svima koji je, ili upražnjavaju drugačije ili biraju da je uopšte ne upražnjavaju. I po pravilu, vode bezrezervni rat protiv prava žena.
Now, faced with these movements in recent years, Western discourse has most often offered two flawed responses. The first that one sometimes finds on the right suggests that most Muslims are fundamentalist or something about Islam is inherently fundamentalist, and this is just offensive and wrong, but unfortunately on the left one sometimes encounters a discourse that is too politically correct to acknowledge the problem of Muslim fundamentalism at all or, even worse, apologizes for it, and this is unacceptable as well. So what I'm seeking is a new way of talking about this all together, which is grounded in the lived experiences and the hope of the people on the front lines. I'm painfully aware that there has been an increase in discrimination against Muslims in recent years in countries like the U.K. and the U.S., and that too is a matter of grave concern, but I firmly believe that telling these counter-stereotypical stories of people of Muslim heritage who have confronted the fundamentalists and been their primary victims is also a great way of countering that discrimination. So now let me introduce you to four people whose stories I had the great honor of telling.
Suočen sa ovim pokretima, skorijih godina, zapadni diskurs je najčešće nudio dva pogrešna odgovora. Prvi, koji često čujemo od desničara, pretpostavlja da su muslimani uglavnom fundamentalisti ili da postoji nešto kod Islama što je suštinski fundamentalističko, ovo je prosto uvredljivo i pogrešno. No, nažalost, kod levičara pronalazimo ponekad isuviše politički korektan diskurs, koji uopšte ne priznaje problem muslimanskog fundamentalizma, ili, što je još gore, izvinjava se zbog njega, ovo je takođe neprihvatljivo. Ja tragam za novim načinom govora o svemu ovome, koji je zasnovan na proživljenom iskustvu i nadi ljudi u prvim redovima. Bolno sam svesna da je poslednjih godina došlo do porasta diskriminacije protiv muslimana u zemljama poput Ujedinjenog Kraljevstva i SAD-a i to je takođe stvar za ozbiljnu zabrinutost, ali ja čvrsto verujem da pričajući ove nestereotipne priče o muslimanima, koji su ustali protiv fundamentalista i bili njihove glavne žrtve, da je takođe dobar način da se suprotstavi toj diskriminaciji. Dozvolite mi da vas sad upoznam s četvoro ljudi čije priče pripovedam s velikom čašću.
Faizan Peerzada and the Rafi Peer Theatre workshop named for his father have for years promoted the performing arts in Pakistan. With the rise of jihadist violence, they began to receive threats to call off their events, which they refused to heed. And so a bomber struck their 2008 eighth world performing arts festival in Lahore, producing rain of glass that fell into the venue injuring nine people, and later that same night, the Peerzadas made a very difficult decision: they announced that their festival would continue as planned the next day. As Faizan said at the time, if we bow down to the Islamists, we'll just be sitting in a dark corner. But they didn't know what would happen. Would anyone come? In fact, thousands of people came out the next day to support the performing arts in Lahore, and this simultaneously thrilled and terrified Faizan, and he ran up to a woman who had come in with her two small children, and he said, "You do know there was a bomb here yesterday, and you do know there's a threat here today." And she said, "I know that, but I came to your festival with my mother when I was their age, and I still have those images in my mind. We have to be here." With stalwart audiences like this, the Peerzadas were able to conclude their festival on schedule.
Fajzan Pirzada i pozorište Rafi Pir, radionica nazvana po njegovom ocu, godinama su promovisali scensku umetnost u Pakistanu. S usponom nasilja džihadista, počeli su da dobijaju pretnje da otkažu svoja dešavanja, na koje su se oglušili. I zato je 2008. bombaš napao njihov Osmi svetski festival scenskih umetnosti u Lahoru, proizvodeći kišu stakla koja je padala po događaju, povredivši devetoro ljudi, a kasnije te iste noći Pirzade su morale da donesu veoma tešku odluku: najavili su da će njihov festival biti nastavljen po planu, sledećeg dana. Kako su Fajzanovi tada rekli, ako se pokorimo Islamistima, bićemo prosto saterani u mračni ugao. Ali nisu znali šta će da se desi. Da li će iko da dođe? Zapravo, hiljade ljudi je došlo sledećeg dana da podrži scensku umetnost u Lahoru i ovo je istovremeno i uzbuđivalo i užasavalo Fajzanove, pa je on odjurio do žene, koja je došla s dvoje male dece i rekao: "Znate da je juče ovde bila bomba, i znate da i danas postoji opasnost." A ona je rekla: "Znam za to, no ja sam išla na vaš festival s majkom, kad sam bila u njihovom uzrastu i danas su mi te slike u glavi. Moramo da budemo ovde." S ovako odlučnom publikom, Pirzade su mogle da nastave sa svojim festivalskim programom.
And then the next year, they lost all of their sponsors due to the security risk. So when I met them in 2010, they were in the middle of the first subsequent event that they were able to have in the same venue, and this was the ninth youth performing arts festival held in Lahore in a year when that city had already experienced 44 terror attacks. This was a time when the Pakistani Taliban had commenced their systematic targeting of girls' schools that would culminate in the attack on Malala Yousafzai. What did the Peerzadas do in that environment? They staged girls' school theater. So I had the privilege of watching "Naang Wal," which was a musical in the Punjabi language, and the girls of Lahore Grammar School played all the parts. They sang and danced, they played the mice and the water buffalo, and I held my breath, wondering, would we get to the end of this amazing show? And when we did, the whole audience collectively exhaled, and a few people actually wept, and then they filled the auditorium with the peaceful boom of their applause. And I remember thinking in that moment that the bombers made headlines here two years before but this night and these people are as important a story.
A sledeće godine, izgubili su sve sponzore zbog sigurnosnog rizika. Kada sam ih srela 2010, bili su na sredini prvog narednog događaja koji su mogli da organizuju na istom mestu i to je bio Deveti omladinski festival scenskih umetnosti koji se održavao u Lahoru, godine kada je taj grad već iskusio 44 teroristička napada. Bilo je to vreme kada su pakistanski Talibani započeli sistematsko ciljanje škola za devojke, koje će kulminirati napadom na Malalu Jusufzai. Šta su Pirzade učinile u takvoj sredini? Postavili su na scenu predstavu s učenicama. Imala sam čast da gledam "Nang Val", mjuzikl na pundžabi jeziku, a učenice iz lahorske gimnazije su bile u svim ulogama. Plesale su i pevale, glumile su miševe i rečnog bizona, a ja sam zadržavala dah, pitajući se da li ćemo stići do kraja ove neverovatne predstave? A kada smo stigli, čitava publika je kolektivno izdahnula, a nekoliko ljudi je čak i zaplakalo, a onda su ispunili auditorijum svojim miroljubivim gromkim aplauzom. Sećam se da sam u tom trenutku mislila kako su bombaši bili glavna vest ovde, pre dve godine, ali ovo veče i ovi ljudi su podjednako važna priča.
Maria Bashir is the first and only woman chief prosecutor in Afghanistan. She's been in the post since 2008 and actually opened an office to investigate cases of violence against women, which she says is the most important area in her mandate. When I meet her in her office in Herat, she enters surrounded by four large men with four huge guns. In fact, she now has 23 bodyguards, because she has weathered bomb attacks that nearly killed her kids, and it took the leg off of one of her guards.
Marija Bašir je prvi i jedini ženski vrhovni tužilac u Avganistanu. U službi je od 2008. i otvorila je kancelariju koja istražuje slučajeve nasilja nad ženama, ona tvrdi da je to najvažnija oblast u njenoj nadležnosti. Kada sam se sastala s njom u njenoj kancelariji u Heratu, ušla je okružena četvoricom krupnih muškaraca s četiri ogromne puške. Zapravo, ona danas ima 23 telohranitelja jer je prebrodila bombaški napad u kom su joj umalo stradala deca i u kome je jedan njen telohranitelj izgubio nogu.
Why does she continue? She says with a smile that that is the question that everyone asks— as she puts it, "Why you risk not living?" And it is simply that for her, a better future for all the Maria Bashirs to come is worth the risk, and she knows that if people like her do not take the risk, there will be no better future. Later on in our interview, Prosecutor Bashir tells me how worried she is about the possible outcome of government negotiations with the Taliban, the people who have been trying to kill her. "If we give them a place in the government," she asks, "Who will protect women's rights?" And she urges the international community not to forget its promise about women because now they want peace with Taliban. A few weeks after I leave Afghanistan, I see a headline on the Internet. An Afghan prosecutor has been assassinated. I google desperately, and thankfully that day I find out that Maria was not the victim, though sadly, another Afghan prosecutor was gunned down on his way to work. And when I hear headlines like that now, I think that as international troops leave Afghanistan this year and beyond, we must continue to care about what happens to people there, to all of the Maria Bashirs. Sometimes I still hear her voice in my head saying, with no bravado whatsoever, "The situation of the women of Afghanistan will be better someday. We should prepare the ground for this, even if we are killed."
Zašto je nastavila da radi? Kaže, uz osmeh, da je to pitanje koje svako postavlja - kako to ona kaže: "Zašto rizikuješ da ne postojiš?" I to je prosto to za nju, bolje sutra za sve Marije Bašir koje će doći, to je vredno rizika. I ona zna da, ako ljudi poput nje ne naprave taj rizik, neće biti boljeg sutra. Kasnije, u toku intervjua, tužiteljka Bašir mi je rekla kako je brine mogući ishod pregovora između vlade i Talibana, ljudi koji pokušavaju da je ubiju. "Ukoliko im damo mesto u vladi", pita se, "Ko će da štiti prava žena?" I ona vrši pritisak na međunarodnu zajednicu da ne zaboravi svoje obećanje po pitanju žena, jer sada žele mir s Talibanima. Nekoliko nedelja nakon odlaska iz Avganistana, videla sam naslov na internetu. Avganistanski tužilac je ubijen. Guglala sam u očaju i srećom saznala sam tog dana da Marija nije bila žrtva, iako je nažalost drugi avganistanski tužilac ubijen na putu do posla. I kada čujem takve vesti, mislim da, kada međunarodne trupe napuste Avganistan, ove godine i kasnije, moramo da nastavimo da brinemo šta će biti sa ljudima tamo, sa svim Marijama Bašir. Ponekad joj još uvek čujem glas u mojoj glavi kako govori, bez trunke razmetljivosti: "Položaj žena u Avganistanu biće bolji jednog dana. Mi moramo da pripremimo tlo za to, čak i ako nas ubiju."
There are no words adequate to denounce the al Shabaab terrorists who attacked the Westgate Mall in Nairobi on the same day as a children's cooking competition in September of 2013. They killed 67, including poets and pregnant women. Far away in the American Midwest, I had the good fortune of meeting Somali-Americans who were working to counter the efforts of al Shabaab to recruit a small number of young people from their city of Minneapolis to take part in atrocities like Westgate. Abdirizak Bihi's studious 17-year-old nephew Burhan Hassan was recruited here in 2008, spirited to Somalia, and then killed when he tried to come home. Since that time, Mr. Bihi, who directs the no-budget Somali Education and Advocacy Center, has been vocally denouncing the recruitment and the failures of government and Somali-American institutions like the Abubakar As-Saddique Islamic Center where he believes his nephew was radicalized during a youth program. But he doesn't just criticize the mosque. He also takes on the government for its failure to do more to prevent poverty in his community. Given his own lack of financial resources, Mr. Bihi has had to be creative. To counter the efforts of al Shabaab to sway more disaffected youth, in the wake of the group's 2010 attack on World Cup viewers in Uganda, he organized a Ramadan basketball tournament in Minneapolis in response. Scores of Somali-American kids came out to embrace sport despite the fatwa against it. They played basketball as Burhan Hassan never would again. For his efforts, Mr. Bihi has been ostracized by the leadership of the Abubakar As-Saddique Islamic Center, with which he used to have good relations. He told me, "One day we saw the imam on TV calling us infidels and saying, 'These families are trying to destroy the mosque.'" This is at complete odds with how Abdirizak Bihi understands what he is trying to do by exposing al Shabaab recruitment, which is to save the religion I love from a small number of extremists.
Ne postoje prave reči kojima bi se osudili al Šabab terorsti, koji su napali tržni centar Vestgejt u Nairobiju na dan kada se održavalo dečje takmičenje u kuvanju septembra 2013. Ubili su 67 ljudi, uključujući pesnike i trudnice. Daleko na američkom srednjem zapadu imala sam sreću da upoznam somalijske amerikance koji su pokušavali da spreče al Šababovce da regrutuju manji broj mladih iz svog grada Miniapolisa i tako počine užase, poput onih u Vestgejtu. Abidrizak Bihijev studiozni 17-ogodišnji nećak, Burhan Hasan je regrutovan ovde 2008, odjurio je u Somaliju, a potom je ubijen, kada je pokušao da se vrati kući. Od tada g. Bihi, koji rukovodi neprofitnim Somalijskim obrazovnim i pravnim centrom, glasno razotkriva regrutovanja i neuspehe vlade i somalijsko američkih institucija, poput Islamskog centra Abubakar As-Sadik, gde veruje da je njegov nećak radikalizovan za vreme omladinskog programa. Ali on ne kritikuje jedino džamiju. On takođe napada vladu jer nije učinila dovoljno da spreči siromaštvo u njegovoj zajednici. Kako nije imao dovoljno finansijskih sredstava, g. Bihi je morao da bude kreativan. Kako bi osujetio nastojanja al Šababa da utiče na još nezadovoljne omladine, u praskozorje napada 2010. na gledaoce Svetskog prvenstva u Ugandi, organizovao je ramadanski košarkaški turnir u Miniapolisu, kao odgovor. Hrpa somalijsko američke dece istupila je da prigrli sport, uprkos fatvi protiv njega. Igrali su košarku kako Burhan Hasan neće igrati nikada više. Zbog svojih napora, g. Bihi je prognan od strane rukovodstva Islamskog centra Abubakar As-Sadik, sa kojim je nekad bio u dobrim odnosima. Rekao mi je: "Jednoga dana videli smo imama na TV-u kako nas naziva nevernicima i govori: 'Ove porodice pokušavaju da unište džamiju.'". Ovo se u potpunosti kosi s time kako Abdirizak Bihi razume ono što pokušava da uradi, da razotkrivanjem al Šababovih regrutovanja spase religiju koju voli od malog broja ekstremista.
Now I want to tell one last story, that of a 22-year-old law student in Algeria named Amel Zenoune-Zouani who had the same dreams of a legal career that I did back in the '90s. She refused to give up her studies, despite the fact that the fundamentalists battling the Algerian state back then threatened all who continued their education. On January 26, 1997, Amel boarded the bus in Algiers where she was studying to go home and spend a Ramadan evening with her family, and would never finish law school. When the bus reached the outskirts of her hometown, it was stopped at a checkpoint manned by men from the Armed Islamic Group. Carrying her schoolbag, Amel was taken off the bus and killed in the street. The men who cut her throat then told everyone else, "If you go to university, the day will come when we will kill all of you just like this."
Sada želim da vam ispričam poslednju priču, onu o 22-ogodišnjoj studentkinji prava iz Alžira po imenu Amel Zenun-Zuani, s istim snovima o pravnoj karijeri poput mojih '90-ih godina. Odbila je da odustane od svojih studija, uprkos činjenici da su fundamentalisti, boreći se protiv alžirske države tada, pretili svima koji su nastavili s obrazovanjem. 26. januara 1997, Amel se ukrcala na autobus u gradu Alžiru, gde je studirala, da bi stigla kući i provela ramadansko veče sa svojom porodicom, i da nikad ne završi studije prava. Kada je autobus stigao nadomak njenog rodnog grada zaustavljen je na kontrolnom punktu, kojim su upravljali ljudi iz Oružane islamske grupe. Noseći njen ruksak, izveli su je iz autobusa i ubili na ulici. Muškarci koji su je zaklali, rekli su potom svima: "Ako budete išli na fakultet, doći će dan kada ćemo vas sve pobiti baš ovako."
Amel died at exactly 5:17 p.m., which we know because when she fell in the street, her watch broke. Her mother showed me the watch with the second hand still aimed optimistically upward towards a 5:18 that would never come. Shortly before her death, Amel had said to her mother of herself and her sisters, "Nothing will happen to us, Inshallah, God willing, but if something happens, you must know that we are dead for knowledge. You and father must keep your heads held high."
Amel je umrla tačno u 17:17 h, ovo znamo, jer kad je pala na ulici, njen sat je polomljen. Njena majka mi je pokazala sat sa sekundarom koja je i dalje ciljala optimistično prema gore, prema 17:18 koje nikada neće doći. Nedugo pred smrt, Amel je rekla majci za sebe i svoje sestre: "Ništa nam se neće dogoditi, inšalah, ako bog da, ali ako se nešto desi, moraš da znaš da smo umrli za znanje. Ti i otac morate da budete ponosni."
The loss of such a young woman is unfathomable, and so as I did my research I found myself searching for Amel's hope again and her name even means "hope" in Arabic. I think I found it in two places. The first is in the strength of her family and all the other families to continue telling their stories and to go on with their lives despite the terrorism. In fact, Amel's sister Lamia overcame her grief, went to law school, and practices as a lawyer in Algiers today, something which is only possible because the armed fundamentalists were largely defeated in the country. And the second place I found Amel's hope was everywhere that women and men continue to defy the jihadis. We must support all of those in honor of Amel who continue this human rights struggle today, like the Network of Women Living Under Muslim Laws. It is not enough, as the victims rights advocate Cherifa Kheddar told me in Algiers, it is not enough just to battle terrorism. We must also challenge fundamentalism, because fundamentalism is the ideology that makes the bed of this terrorism.
Gubitak takve mlade žene je neshvatljiv i dok sam istraživala, zaticala sam sebe kako iznova tragam za Amelinom nadom, čak i njeno ime na arapskom znači "nada". Mislim da sam je pronašla na dva mesta. Prvo je u snazi njene porodice i svih drugih porodica koje su nastavile da pričaju svoje priče i da nastave sa svojim životom, uprkos terorizmu. Zapravo, Amelina sestra Lamija prevazišla je bol, otišla je na pravni fakultet i sada je praktikant prava u gradu Alžiru, nešto što je moguće jedino jer su fundamentalisti uglavnom poraženi u zemlji. I drugo mesto na kom sam našla Amelinu nadu, je svuda gde muškarci i žene nastavljaju da prkose džihadistima. Moramo da podržimo sve njih u Amelino ime, sve koji nastavljaju ovu borbu za ljudska prava, poput Mreže žena koje žive pod muslimanskim zakonima. Nije dovoljno, kako mi kaže advokat za prava žrtava, Šerifa Hadar iz Alžira, nije dovoljno da se samo borimo protiv terorizma. Moramo i da se suprotstavimo fundamentalizmu jer je fundamentalizam ideologija koja prostire krevet ovom terorizmu.
Why is it that people like her, like all of them are not more well known? Why is it that everyone knows who Osama bin Laden was and so few know of all of those standing up to the bin Ladens in their own contexts. We must change that, and so I ask you to please help share these stories through your networks. Look again at Amel Zenoune's watch, forever frozen, and now please look at your own watch and decide this is the moment that you commit to supporting people like Amel. We don't have the right to be silent about them because it is easier or because Western policy is flawed as well, because 5:17 is still coming to too many Amel Zenounes in places like northern Nigeria, where jihadis still kill students. The time to speak up in support of all of those who peacefully challenge fundamentalism and terrorism in their own communities is now.
Kako to da ljudi poput nje, poput svih njih nisu poznati šire? Kako to da svi znaju ko je bio Osama bin Laden, a tako malo ljudi zna za njih koji su ustali protv Bin Ladena na svoj način? Moramo to da promenimo i zato vas molim da pomognete u širenju ovih priča preko svojih mreža. Pogledajte još jednom na Amel Zenunin sat, zauvek zamrznut, a sad pogledajte na svoj sat i odlučite da je ovo trenutak koji ćete posvetiti podržavanju ljudi poput Amele. Nemamo pravo da ćutimo o njima jer je tako lakše, ili zato što je i zapadna politika falična zato što 17:17 i dalje otkucava za previše Amela Zenun, na mestima poput severne Nigerije, gde džihadisti i dalje ubijaju studente. Vreme da govorimo u znak podrške svima onima koji se mirnim putem suprotstavljaju fundamentalizmu i terorizmu u svojim zajednicama je sada.
Thank you.
Hvala.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)