<< Back 7/24/02 Don’t paint all Muslims with same brush By Art Martin Have you ever walked along Main Street in Waynesville and spotted a penny on the ground? Was it “heads” or “tails?” It is suppose to be good luck to find a penny “heads” up, but there is another side to it nonetheless. I read Marshal Frank’s column about Muslim children, and he definitely has a point. There is, however another side to that coin. During my professional career I’ve been fortunate to work not just in the United States but pretty much around the world. Over a four-year period I traveled back and forth between the United States and Malaysia. I still do work for people there thanks to modern technology and the Internet. Malaysia, for those of you who don’t know, is a Muslim country. They have also embraced a somewhat market economy, making them a bit unique. There was an Indian (Hindu) lady in my apartment building who taught English at a Muslim elementary school located in the Brickfields section of Kuala Lumpur. She was one of a group of us at the complex who had a twice-weekly Scrabble session down by the pool in the evening. That group was composed of some Brits, a few Chinese, some native Malays and several Muslims. I was the lone “Mat Salleh,” or westerner. Ms. Uma Rani was in the middle of a geography session about the mountains in the USA and was asking me a lot of questions. Before I knew it I had been enlisted into being her “show and tell” to the class. What followed has been more than seven years of friendship and exchange. I got to have two pen pals from her class and acted (and still do) as the source of information on anything associated with the USA. On Sept. 12 of last year my e-mail box was literally jammed full. These kids were all worried that something terrible had happened to me. One little girl, Sazilah Zolkilfi, sent me a key chain made with colored beads similar to what they use for baby bracelets in the hospital. It was suppose to “protect me from harm” if I kept it with me. It sits in a curio cabinet in my office with other mementos from there. The most heart-wrenching thing that happened after 9/11 was receiving an American Express Money Order in the amount of $75.50 from the kids for donation to the Red Cross to help the victims in New York. The exchange rate at that time hovered around 3.8 to 1 which meant they raised nearly 300 Ringitt (Malaysian dollars) in an effort to help people they never met. I did some quick calculations, and based on 20 kids in the class that was an average of about RM$15 each. I would have to believe that it came from their own spending money and perhaps from their homes as well. The important fact is that it did come. These children were not being programmed to kill us, except maybe with kindness. Their concern was genuine and deep. It was also appreciated. Marshall Frank’s column points out some salient facts. It misses what I believe is the root cause of the hatred. Poverty and despair are the catalysts to anarchy and hatred. Unlike Afghanistan or Pakistan, Malaysia has a market economy and is attempting to be a player in international trade. They are far from perfect. The system of “baksheesh” still exists. A rough translation of that is “grease the wheels” more commonly called the “payoff.” Hey, progress comes slowly. In Malaysia there is some hope that everyone has a chance to rise above poverty and despair and better themselves. It certainly isn’t easy, but it is possible. The government encourages entrepreneurship. A division of opportunity exists based on ethnicity that definitely needs changing. It is a Muslim government. The Chinese control the majority of the business, and the Indian people occupy the bottom rung of the ladder. Each in their own way has managed to integrate into the other sections of the system but change is slow. I can’t say that there are no schools in some of the more fundamental areas of the country preaching hatred. I have had the opportunity to travel around most of the country, and I was always treated well. Perhaps it’s because I was somewhat of an oddity being a true westerner. I would like to believe that all people want the same things in life. They want to prosper, have some freedom from fear of government intrusion, have the ability to associate with whomever they please and be able to see their children have more opportunity than they do. The ability to talk to each other and discuss problems and possible solutions is the big key. I often think of my Muslim friend of nearly eight years, Hasnan Jaffar. We didn’t speak to each other for months. It was out of shyness perhaps or even out of lack of trust. We finally got around to it in a most unusual way. My apartment was on the fifth floor. Most mornings when the elevator came down from above and opened on my floor, Hasnan was there dressed in his black slacks, crisp white shirt and sandals. The only variation of his dress was his tie. It ranged from a simple black to bright backgrounds covered with flowers in different hues. The simple nod of the head as acknowledgement of my presence never changed. One morning I got up the courage to say, “good morning” and was pleasantly surprised to receive the same response. The next morning after attempting another “good morning” I was met with, “Are you from the UK?” “No.” I answered “I’m from the US.” This was followed by a deep sound that I had trouble identifying the source of until it exploded from his lips as a laugh! “I guess we shouldn’t be talking,” he said. “I’m from Iraq.” Well we both laughed at that. It turned out that he was a mathematics professor at the university. He had left Iraq because he wanted something better for his family. Hasnan invited me to dinner, and I met his wonderful wife, tasted some great food that I dearly miss today, and we’ve become friends. I went as his guest to a Mosque. I had to wear the “sokol,” or traditional head covering to enter but I was allowed in. My running joke with Hasnan is that I call it a “Pork-Pie” hat. You might have to give that one a little thought before you get it! His children were well mannered, well behaved, respectful and quite inquisitive. They never forget my birthday or Christmas, which by the way is a Christian holiday, and I often find a simple card from them. Hasnan and I play Scrabble by e-mail these days. The group has spread out from around the pool in Kuala Lumpur to Singapore, Korea, China, South Africa, Hong Kong, and little ole me here in the USA. It isn’t Scrabble that binds us. It’s mutual respect of each other’s ideas and beliefs. It’s a mutual belief that each of us wants to see the other prosper and be safe. It’s a mutual understanding that seeking to better one’s self and having an opportunity to do that is the best cure for hatred. It’s a basic belief that we have to do it as individuals and not rely on higher-ups (government) to do it for us. It starts as one to one. So the next time you walk down Main Street and pick up that penny, don’t just marvel at the side kissed by the sun. Turn it over and polish off the other side. You might be surprised what you find. (Art Martin lives in Waynesville and can be reached at info@avmassoc.com)