Dennis The Peasant

Regarding Nuradin Abdi…

I've received a number of emails asking me to comment on Nuradin M. Abdi, who yesterday plead guilty to conspiring to support terrorists. According to the government, back in 2002 Abdi joined Pakistani immigrant Iyman Ferris (who plead guilty to providing material support for al-Qaeda in 2003) and Ohioan Christopher Paul (presently awaiting trial and charged with plotting to bomb European tourist resorts) to create a terrorist cell here in Central Ohio. Supposedly Abdi was plotting to bomb a Central Ohio mall - a charge both he and his attorney deny. But, given that Abdi has agreed to a 10 year sentence (less the 4 years already served) and deportation to Somalia, I'd have to say Mr. Abdi was certainly up to no good or he'd have fought it out in court.

In all honesty, I really don't have anything that I can add about either Nuradin Abdi or Somali terrorists that isn't already in the papers, despite the fact that I may have actually met the man. Hassan Omar, the Executive Director of the Somali Community Association, once told me that Abdi had been to the Association's offices often, and that he'd actually introduced me to Abdi back in 2002. Whether that is true or not, I cannot say. I certainly have no recollection of meeting him, so I'll have to take Hassan's word on it when he says we did.

When Abdi was first arrested, I fielded a lot of questions at the Association about how our criminal justice system works and attempted, to the extent that I could, to cure some of the Somalis of the delusion that Abdi was being targeted simply because he was a Muslim. As time passed, much of the initial anti-Muslim paranoia dissipated. Interestingly, as details emerged of what Abdi was actually accused of plotting, a large portion of the Somalis I knew simply stopped talking about him. You can infer from that whatever you like. I assumed they'd come to realize this guy was not an innocent victim of government persecution.

In any event, back in October of 2001 I went to a Blue Jackets game with a friend of mine who was acting as the Association's attorney. For whatever reason, halfway through that game it dawned on me that there was a chance that sooner or later I'd have the FBI at my door ready to ask me some questions about Somalis I knew. I asked my lawyer friend if the same thought had occurred to him and he answered in the affirmative. So, as I've moved through Central Ohio's Somali community, I've always assumed that if I bumped up against a bad guy, I'd be talking to the Feds about it. I haven't, so I guess I haven't. I don't know what else to say other than that.

Dogs And Lions

My plans for that morning were to meet Hassan at the offices of the Association’s law firm, which were in downtown Columbus. If memory serves, it was to wrap the last of the unresolved issues surrounding the rewriting of the Code of Regulations. I was about five minutes away from leaving when Hassan called; his Chrysler minivan wouldn’t start. I agreed to pick him up at his apartment so we could keep the appointment.

It turned out that was only the first of our troubles. Somehow I managed to forget to bring the necessary copies of the Code of Regulations that Hassan and I had marked up several days before. I didn’t realize this until we were half way downtown. So it was a mad dash that ensued to get us up to my house (I work out of a home office) and those documents. Hassan waited in the car as rushed in and out of the house to get them.

In the process of doing this, Hassan managed to catch a good look at (and an earful of) my two Pembroke Welsh Corgis, Ronald and Nancy. They are the self-appointed guardians of Peasant Manor, and therefore any activity at the front door brings a loud and sustained volley of barking. That was to be expected, of course. It is, after all, their house. As I was leaving, both attempted to get outside so as to join us on our journey... they love to ride in our cars.

After getting them back inside and the house locked up, I climbed into the Benz and started to back out.

“So,” Hassan said, “You have dogs.”

“Yes, I love ‘em, “ I replied, “You have any dogs?”

He gave me an Are you crazy? sort of look.

“No, no, no. Somalis do not like dogs.”

“Really? Why?”

“Dogs are a bad animal to Somalis,” he said, “We have wild dogs. They carry off children. You must be careful of them. They are a bad animal.”

After a moment of silence, he asked a simple question:

“Why do you like dogs?”

As Muffy and I are serious dog lovers, I harangued him with every dog loving reason I could think of. By the time I was done, we were on Route 670 and less the five minutes from our destination. Hassan had listened to me more intently that I probably deserved, and he remained quiet once I had finished. Finally I decided to see if I had convinced him...

“Well, what do you think. Are you ready to try an American dog?”

“No...” he replied.

Again, silence.

Then, in a far off voice he said, “Dogs... The only thing they are only good for is telling you when lions are around.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. In Somalia they let you know when lions are nearby.”

"That's not a reason I'd have thought of."

Hassan laughed.

"When you have lions here we will get dogs."

The Election

At the time of the attacks on September 11, 2001, the Somali community in Central Ohio was preparing for an historic first: free and fair elections. When originally incorporated (well over a decade ago), the Somali Community Association of Ohio had been conceived as more of a fraternal organization doing good works within the Somali community. That was when the Somali population in these parts amounted to about 400 people. Those who incorporated the organization never dreamed it would become the hub for distributing essential services to approximately 30,000 Somali immigrants.

The transformation of the Somali Community Association from a small mutual-aid society to large social service agency was both rapid and largely unplanned. The Association got the federal, county and city monies available to assist Somali immigrants largely because there was no other organization available that could provide the same service. As the Association grew larger and more important, the calls for an election for new board of trustee members became more persistent. This was, in part, natural. Each of the various factions (clan and/or family) of the Somali community were eager to gain what representation (and control) they could. However, the subtext of this election was that it would serve as a referendum on the Association’s current management.

I was involved in this to the extent that I was working with the Association’s attorney to update and redraft the Association’s organizational documents to reflect the realities of what the Association had become. As most of the agitation for elections was being directed towards the City of Columbus, which was providing some of the Association’s funding, it was decided that the City would oversee the election to ensure it was open and fair. In August it was decided that the election would be in late December. This meant, of course, that the President of the Association, Hassan, was going to have to get out on the campaign trail.

For a variety of reasons, including the tragedy of September 11, the campaigning didn’t really get started until late October. Besides Hassan, there were two other Somalis running slates of trustees in the election. From my vantage point, this election wasn’t so much about the trustees as it was about the Association president... who would be chosen by those trustees elected. All three ‘presidential candidates’ came from either different clans or from different factions within the same clan (I never really got that part of the election straightened out – factionalism and inter-clan tensions are not something any of the Somalis felt comfortable discussing in any detail with me).

Once the election campaigning began in earnest, the first thing that became apparent to me was that democracy is learned. It is not a part of the natural order. That isn’t much of an insight, but I can tell you that it does gains some considerable force when you start spending time around people who have never actually experienced democracy. You have to watch someone acquire it to understand just how unnatural it is. That’s the way it was for most of the Somalis in Central Ohio in late October, 2001.

Most Somalis had never experienced democracy in the country of their birth. The democratic government of the Somali Republic, formed from British Somaliland and Italian Somaliland in 1960, survived a mere 9 years. In 1969 Mohamed Siad Barre overthrew the government and established a totalitarian dictatorship that lasted until 1991. For all intents and purposes, with Barre’s overthrow Somalia ceased to exit. The country rapidly descended in anarchy and a savage inter-clan civil war which continues to this day. At most, no living Somali could claim living under a democratic Somalian government for more than 9 years of their life.

9 years isn’t all that long.

One of the first issues the City of Columbus had to untangle was the misunderstanding that the election was to be restricted to Somali males. Evidently the Somali men assumed they were the ones who would be doing the voting, and once this became known the City had to step in and explain that women were going to have to be allowed to vote, or there wasn’t going to be a vote (and by implication, City funding). There was some grumbling about that, but since nobody wanted to lose City funding, the decision to allow women the vote was made quite quickly.

Perhaps more serious was the worry of violence. Political rhetoric amongst the Somalis tends to be extreme; imagine your favorite internet ranter and take it to the nth degree. And unfortunately, that rhetoric did cross the line to threats of violence. Just how credible those threats were I cannot say, but the City had to take them seriously. From my own perspective, I felt the City’s caution was warranted; there was no real way for outsiders to gauge what constituted a credible threat. And if Hassan wasn’t threatened, he was subjected to some pretty amazing verbal abuse (mostly accusations – bigamy, warlordism, corruption... you name it).

From my vantage point, the issue of violence was born of a lack of experience with democracy and democratic institutions. Much of the tension surrounding the election seemed to be generated by the persistent belief of many of the Somalis that the election wouldn’t be fair; each faction had supporters convinced that another faction would steal power. Beyond that, when you live in a place like Somalia, politics is not a sport... not even a full contact sport: In Somalia, if you are on the wrong side in a political dispute, you end up dead. There is no next time, and all politics is winner take all. You have to spend some time around people who’ve lived under those circumstances before you start to understand that what you’d at first take to be paranoia is actually the coping/survival skills acquired under another sort of political system.

Happily, as the campaign season progressed, the atmosphere seemed to grow less tense, if not more relaxed. That isn’t to say the intensity of the electioneering diminished. It didn’t. But as the weeks passed and the Somalis saw that the candidates were actually soliciting their votes, that there were no spies, that there were no goons or killings or bombs, it began to dawn on them that this was really going to happen... they were really going to have a voice. And once they began to believe, the anger, distrust and suspicion turned to excitement. It was an amazing transformation to watch.

And watch it I did. Throughout December, whatever excuse I could find for driving down to the Association’s office I took. During normal times the Association’s offices were a beehive of activity. People were always there looking for help with every conceivable problem: language classes, driving classes, housing assistance, interpreters for doctor’s visits... whatever. But in December, the place was an absolute madhouse: Where you’d have 100 Somalis in the offices on a normal day, now there were 200. The parking lot was filled all day long with Somali men milling about and talking in small groups. It got to the point that the Association’s landlord called me for help in clearing the lot so cars could get in and out of the Huntington Bank drive-through. This was in December in Ohio...

On the last payroll day before the election I drove down to the Association offices to deliver checks. When I arrived the place was packed to the rafters. I found Hassan on the second floor; he was talking to what appeared to be a delegation of women... and even though the conversation was in Somali, it was pretty clear there was some serious pre-election schmoozing going on. I managed to catch his eye and motioned that I’d be in his office. He gave me a quick smile of understanding without missing a beat of his schmooze. The man is a serious politician.

It took a few moments, but I managed to weave through the waiting room and the hallway to Hassan’s office. The door was open, so I walked in and then closed the door behind me. Accountants usually don’t like hauling out checks in front of large crowds, and that was exactly what I was doing when the door burst open. For whatever reason, Somalis (or at least the Somalis I have dealt with) consider a closed door to be an invitation to come in unannounced and find if who or what they’re looking for happens to be around. It took a while for me to get used to people barging into whatever room I happened to be in when I was at the Association, but by the time this young Somali man, whom I had never seen before, came barreling through the door, I was used to it enough that I wasn’t really taken by surprise.

“Hello,” I said.

He was a young man, in his 20s, and quite handsome. He was tall and slender, but well built. An athlete. He didn’t respond to my greeting. He just stood there with the most amazing look on his face – a combination of excitement, exuberance and, quite frankly, what appeared to be rapture – and his eyes were as bright as a man’s could be.

He stared at me for a moment, smiled a huge smile and said, “We’re having an election!”

That was it. He turned around and was gone, slamming the door behind him.

I have not seen him since.

..........

The election went well. The turnout was heavy, there was no violence, and despite some concerns about the men informally working to keep the woman away, women showed up and voted in droves. The City considered it a minor triumph, as well they should have. Hassan’s slate of trustees won handily, and because they did he kept his job and I kept a client.

To me, the election marked the second real turning point for the Somalis here. The first was September 11. To be frank, it seemed that a substantial number of them were amazed that they hadn’t been rounded up and either imprisoned or killed. Perhaps for the first time in their lives, they had experienced political tolerance. Then, within a few months of that, they were allowed to have a free and fair election – in fact, they were encouraged to have an election – and had one without intimidation or violence. For most probably their first real experience with the democratic political process. I’m sure many never really believed it would happen. But it did.

Those were heady days, during that election season, and I don’t know if future elections will generate that much excitement. In a way, I hope they don’t. I hope they’ve come to understand that what they had experienced in that election should be expected in every election.

We will see.

September 16, 2001

Memory is a strange beast. I remember every detail of September 11, 2001 up to the moment I got home several hours after the attacks. But other than Hassan’s call on the 12th, I remember very little of the remainder of the 11th, the 12th, 13th, 14th, or 15th... just moments, some small some large, gleaned from the television reports I felt compelled to watch and private moments of grief and anger shared with my wife and friends. I remember forcing myself to immerse myself in work. That, and desperately wanting a cigarette for the first time in three years. I remember not wanting to listen to anything other than Bach’s St. Matthew Passion and, strangely, Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska.

I should remember that phone call from Hassan on the 12th better than I do. I don’t know why I don’t. What I do remember very clearly is the sorrow and the fear in his voice. Hassan is the President of the Somali Community of Ohio, and I do remember him sounding beside himself that day. All he could do was keep saying how horrible it all was and how sorry he was that this should happen. We talked for awhile, but I can’t really remember for how long or what about. All I remember in any detail is a small part of the closing phase of the conversation:

“We’ve closed the offices. Should we keep them closed?”

“Yes.”

“Are we safe?”

“Keep the women inside. The men are OK.”

Amongst the Somali men, Western dress is virtually universal, and given that they are basically indistinguishable from African-Americans. A very few wore the benadiry kufia (a sort of knitted or beaded cap), and even then the benadiry kufia was similar enough to the caps worn by some African-Americans that I didn’t feel it was an easy marker of ‘Otherness’. Somali women are another story. In the five years I’ve dealt with them, I’ve only met one Somali woman who dressed in the Western manner. All other dress in traditional garb, a guntiino (a full length dress of brightly colored cloth) and head scarf, both of which are distinctive and very non-Western. They could have been easily identified as Muslims.

After our telephone call ended, I had the sense I was going to receive another call very soon. I had the strong sense I was going to be asked to come to the Association’s office to answer some questions. This wasn’t terribly unusual. In the previous eight months I had been questioned, both formally and informally by Hassan and countless other Somalis, on a whole range of topics. For most, they had little meaningful contact with ‘real’ Americans (language being a serious barrier at that time), and when they did it was with people they didn’t know in settings less than conducive to dialogue.

My instincts proved me right, for on the 15th, Hassan called and asked me to come down to the Association’s offices the next morning. I knew I was going to quizzed, because he didn’t ask for anything business-related – payroll checks or whatever – to be brought.

When I arrived that morning, there wasn’t a Somali in sight. At that time, the Association was awash in federal TANF dollars for immigrant services, so on any give day there were hundreds of Somalis either in the offices or milling outside in the parking lot. But not on this day. The front door was unlocked, and I walked in feeling I was in a ghost town; there wasn’t a soul in sight. The Association’s offices consist of a first floor classroom used for ESL (English as a second language) classes and a second floor suite that includes a waiting/intake area, three small offices, a computer class room and another class room used for ESL classes. When I came through the door and into the second floor offices I had still not seen anyone.

But evidently Hassan had heard me. The door to his office opened and he stepped out into the hallway to greet me. Hassan is a tall man, easily 6’2”, and thin as a rail. On any normal day his handshake would be accompanied by a wide, toothy smile and an easy laugh. But not that day. That day Hassan was very solemn and very quiet when he took my hand.

“I am glad you have come,” he said as he motioned to his office, “There are people here who wish to ask you questions.”

I walked into Hassan’s office to find ten Somali men in the room. Most sat in chairs along the wall or along the back of Hersi’s desk. Two remained standing, their backs against the office wall. There was a single empty chair in front of Hassan’s desk, which was for me. Other than Hassan, the only two men I recognized were Hersi and Abdi. Both were young (20s), well educated, and fluent in English. The remaining eight men, none of whom I recognized, were all older (late 50s to late 60s) and obviously Elders.

Somali society is organized around the clan and the family. I had read a lot about it, and talked to Hassan about it at length, but I’m not even close to understanding the ins and outs of Somali society. Whenever I really try to figure it all out, I end up feeling like Jack Nicholson’s Jake Gittes in Chinatown; I might get close to understanding the surface of things, but I’ll never come close to getting to what is really going on. What I do understand, though, is that if you want to get Somalis to do something, you need to convince the Elders that it’s a good idea first. Elders are the community’s movers and shakers; they represent their Somalis within the larger Somali community, and act as a conduit of information and opinion.

So it was immediately evident that these eight men would take every word I said and relay it across Central Ohio to every Somali within the community. Not that I was the only source of information for them, mind you, but it still made me uneasy; I’m a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy. Now I was going to have to try and weigh and measure every word I was going to say...

Hassan introduced me to each of the eight Elders. They all shook my hand and nodded, but said nothing. While I sure some of them didn’t understand English, I was also sure at least a few of them did. Nearly all Somali men speak at least two languages and a significant number of them speak either three or four: Somali, usually Arabic, and often either English, Italian and/or another African language. For whatever reason, a lot of Somali men, especially the older men, prefer to act as though they cannot understand English, even when they can.

After I had been seated, a very handsome young man named Hersi began the proceedings by offering a long and sincere expression of sympathy for the death and destruction of September 11. In this it was clear that he was speaking for all in the room, as well as for the Somali community at large. It was clear that he wanted it understood that the Somali community was as shocked and outraged by the actions of the terrorists. As he spoke, Abdi translated into Somali for the benefit of the Elders. When Hersi stated, emphatically, that the events the events of September 11 were the work of “false Muslims” who “profaned Islam and outraged all Muslims”, the Elders nodded their heads in agreement.

To be honest, I hadn’t really been prepared for Hersi’s disavowal of September 11 in religious terms. I was expecting him to cut to the chase, which was simply, “What is going to happen to us?” While I was trying to figure out what to say, Hersi continued on, and in the process he shocked me.

“You know,” he said, “We have bombs going off in Somalia all the time.”

Then he waved his hand in an obvious gesture of distain.

“Just little bombs that kill eight or ten people.”

Then he leaned over in his chair and gazed intently at me.

“We’ve never suffered anything like what you have...”

Understand that Somalia has been in a state of anarchy since 1991. During nearly all the years since then Somalia was in the throes of a vicious civil war... a war that cost between 350,000 and 500,000 lives in a country of 8,000,000. But because Somalis only died eight to ten at a time, their suffering was insignificant to ours. That shocked me.

I managed to express my gratitude to them, and to tell them that I did not believe that September 11 was the work of those who believed in the word of God, be they Christian, Jew or Muslim. Once Abdi had translated this, the Elders shook their heads again and looked at me, and then to each other. There were several small smiles of what I took to be relief.

From here, Abdi took over the conversation, saying that the Elders wished to ask me some questions about the government. Abdi was a young Somali refugee I’d known for about five months, and he was a very intense individual. We’d talked quite a bit over those months about Somalia, America and his refugee experience. At first I had taken him to be negative on America, but over time it started to dawn on me that what Abdi was doing was testing limits with me. He’d say something provocative to see how I’d react... to see what I’d say. But today was different. He was just as intense as ever, but without his usual self-confidence. He knew I’d tell him what I thought to be the truth, and this one time I sensed the idea of that scared him.

Abdi, who was seated directly in front of me, turned to several of the Elders and said something in Somali. One of the Elders replied at some length. When the Elder had finished, Abdi turned to me.

“Do you think the government will blame the Muslims for what has happened here?”

By this I took it he meant Muslims in general, and Somalis in particular, when he said "Muslims".

“No, I don’t think the blame will be placed on Muslims. But understand that many people will be angry that the terrorists were Muslims. They will be angry that there are those who will claim that this has been done in the name of Islam.”

Abdi translated my answer. None of the Elders spoke. None betrayed any emotion.

“Do you think it is safe for us to go out?” Abdi asked.

“I have not heard of any attacks on Somalis in Columbus. Have any of your people been attacked?”

“No. No attacks.”

“Good. Then I think it is probably safe. Most people here understand that your people had nothing to do with the attacks. But make sure your people are careful. Do not let the women go out without an escort.”

Abdi translated this, and my answer seemed to bring a moment of relief. Then one of the Elders looked at me and then turned and said something to Abdi. Several other Elders then chimed in, and for a moment there was an animated discussion. By the time it was done, the facial expressions and the body language told me that the Big One was now coming... they were going to ask what they thought was the critical question.

Now it was my turn to worry; I thought I’d just answered the Big One. What was it they wanted to know? Abdi hemmed and hawed for a moment, searching for the right words.

“What do the American people think about the Japanese?” he finally asked.

The first thing I felt was confusion. The Japanese? The second thing I felt was each of the Elders leaning slightly, ever so slightly, forward... waiting for my answer. I had literally opened my mouth to say, “I don’t understand” went it hit me:

He was asking me what Americans thought about Japanese-Americans being placed in internment camps during World War Two.

Jesus! They think they are going to be sent to internment camps!

All I could think was, “Lord, let me say this Right.”

“I think that the American people have come to the understanding that putting the Japanese-American in camps was wrong. I think most Americans understood that before our government admitted it had done a bad thing.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Do you think they will send us to camps?”

So my September 16, 2001 came down to this... to talking to ten worried men – ten men terrified, if not for themselves, then at the very least for their families – ten men trying to find out if they were going to be put in a prison camp in their new country.

“No. I do not think they will send you to camps. The American people understand that you did not do this. The American people understand what was done to the Japanese-Americans was wrong.”

With that Abdi jumped from his seat, grabbed my right hand with both of his and pumped it hard.

“You are a wise man!” he said in a half-shout.

And with that, the tension broke. Abdi never did give the Elders a translation. He just kept shaking my hand and thanking me for being a wise man. The Elders began talking amongst themselves, each had a smile of relief on his face. Abdi’s handshake told them all they needed to know.

That, for all intents and purposes, ended my meeting with the Somali Elders. There were handshakes and expressions of thanks (mostly in Somali) and smiles as I left. I didn’t go back to the Association for a week, and when I did I posed the one question I had about September 16 to Hassan.

“Where there Somalis who were really worried about being sent to camps.”

Hassan grew very serious.

“Many people... they were in panic,” he said quietly, “Many people were very afraid.”

“Are they afraid now?”

“No. Not so many,” he said.

“But some still are?”

“Yes. But only maybe a hundred. They will hide for a while longer.”

"A hundred?"

"Yes."

And with that I let the subject drop.

The Preamble...

Let’s clear a few things up before we get lost in all the fun.

Point The First:

I’ve received a few emails from persons (that I’ve never met) who state, quite confidently, that the only reason I’ve decided to take up the issue of Charles Johnson’s anti-Muslim crusade is because I hate him. Beyond the fact that truth is independent of impetus that brings it forth, which renders such an argument moot, the fact of the matter is that I don’t hate Charles Johnson. Roger Simon I hate, but Charles Johnson?

Get serious.

I might hate Charles Johnson on a personal level if I thought him truly capable of anything other than being along for the ride. When I was around him it was clear he relying completely on Roger Simon to guide him to glory (and riches). Charles does what he is told. How can you hate a guy who’s got the backbone of a chocolate éclair? That’s why I tagged him Poodle Chaz in the first place... he’s Roger Simon’s faithful little puppy dog. He wags his tail and goes where Roger goes because that’s what little dogs do. In the case of Charles, it’s more a matter of scorn, of small regard, than it is of hate.

This isn't about what Charles did or didn't do to me. This is about what Charles Johnson does on his blog.

Point The Second:

I’ve also received a couple of emails accusing me of abandoning the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy. The take here is that because Lefties are much worse and far more hypocritical about religious tolerance, the War on Terror and the threat of Middle Eastern Fascism, I’m being unfair to my little Right Wing friends by criticizing them for indulging in extended bouts of mindless hating.

Yeah. Whatever.

Look, I fully understand that for every Charles Johnson haranguing the internet on the evil of Islam and savagery of Muslims, there’s some moron like Marc Cooper insulting every Catholic on the planet by comparing the Pope to Joseph Stalin. I’ve given Marc Cooper a certain amount of my attention over the past year, but the bottom line is that I don’t really give a flying handshake about the likes of him. I suppose if I met him I’d take the time to knock him on his fat ass for funzies, but the reality of the matter is that he’s exactly the type of on-the-make suburban Marxist that put me in the Republican camp in the first place. So just how does my objecting to blatant bigotry weaken the VRWC? By enhancing the reputation of jerks like Marc Cooper? You've got to be kidding me. The Marc Coopers of the world are self-leveling... claiming it ain't so to cover for someone like Charles Johnson is disingenuous, to put it mildly.

My concern is, primarily, with my camp. With my tribe. I'm happy to let Marc Cooper act like a fool because nobody can pin his politics or his opinions on me or mine. He’s shitting in his own blighted house. That isn’t the case with morons like Charles Johnson or, for that matter, even bigger morons like Ann Coulter. They’re taking dumps where I live, which means either I live with the shit or I clean it up. I choose the latter. It is just that simple. The argument that I should leave it be because Marc Cooper does the same is the argument of a five year old child: “But he did it, too!” Sorry, fellow VRWC minions, but if we’re supposed to be the adults in the room, then cleaning up after ourselves goes with the territory.

Get over it.

Point The Third:

Having to do this in the first place really pisses me off. We're supposed to be the Good Guys. This is America. I shouldn’t have to worry about whether one of my fellow citizens is going to dehumanize or discriminate against or physically harm another of my fellow citizens for no better reason than the misplaced hatred of one of the major religious faiths on the planet. That's al-Qaeda's job... not ours.

We’re supposed to be the tolerant ones, right?

So if Charles Krauthammer, who I usually like, wants to yammer on about the hypocrisy of moderate Muslims in dealing with the Cartoon Affair, and chooses to do so on the same Fox News channel that features Larry Kudlow playing footsies with Roger Simon and Charles Johnson - both of whom consider all Muslims evil - or Ann Coulter - who considers all Muslim pure evil - running her mouth with Sean Hannity, he may find himself taken less than completely seriously by folks like me. What moderate Muslim is going to stick his neck out for us, if "us" means the wise and tolerant Judeo-Christian moderates such as Ann C., Roger S. or Charles J.? If Abdul The Moderate is going to be hated whether he's moderate or not, what's Abdul's motivation for risking life and limb to take on the stone cold killers of al-Qaeda and save us? Where is his upside in this, Mr. Krauthammer?

Besides, this isn’t about the hypocrisy of others – there’s enough hypocrisy to go all the way around – it’s about us, collectively, as citizens of the United States, doing the right thing. If we do the right thing, the hypocrisy of whomever else is involved will take care of itself.

So... when I see people yucking it up over at Little Green Footballs over the deaths of 300+ religious pilgrims – innocent human beings whose crime was, evidently, that they weren’t Christians and just like us... and whose deaths are therefore something to gloat over – and Charles Johnson doesn’t think it appropriate or necessary to remove those comments and ban those people from his site, then I’ve got one mother of a problem on my hands. That’s because Charles Johnson styles himself as a ‘former Liberal’, which means he thinks of himself as being part of my political party and my political faith... he wants to live in my house.

And the fact of the matter is that I don’t want his dumb ass anywhere near either my party or my politics, period. My political philosophy doesn’t allow me to gloat over the deaths of more than 300 innocents while mourning the deaths of more than 3,000 different innocents on the purely arbitrary basis of religious affiliation. Nor does my moral philosophy. I’m a Republican and a conservative and I’m deeply proud of that. And to continue to be proud, I think it necessary that people like Charles Johnson be shunned and despised by those who take the principles of my party and my political philosophy seriously. Period. We did it with Pat Buchanan for exactly the same reasons, so there is no excuse for not taking exactly the same course with Charles Johnson or Roger Simon or Ann Coulter. And if 'conservatives' and/or 'Republicans' think that group solidarity trumps morality, or that bashing Muslims constitutes either good politics or good business, then they're no better than their despised Lefty Foes who, knowing who and what International ANSWER was, happily chose to march with them in fraternal bliss anyway.

What's good for the goose is just as good for the gander.

Point The Fourth:

One of the big reasons the attacks of September 11, 2001 succeeded was because we, collectively, thoughtlessly, dismissed a growing, and in retrospect, obvious threat. We dismissed it for a number of reasons, but primarily we dismissed it because we did not bother to understand what was happening around us. We didn’t understand the nature the threat because we didn’t understand who our enemies were and why they wished to destroy us. And, collectively, we chose to ignore the accumulating evidence that this enemy would do us grievous harm... and largely for reasons we should be ashamed of. We saw non-Westerners, non-Judeo-Christians and assumed, incorrectly, that we were facing a foe incapable of delivering a hurtful blow. They were the ‘Other’, and as such, they were nothing more than The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight; they were dangerous to an extent, but essentially limited by their ‘Otherness’. We could deal with their threat on our terms and at our leisure because we were white and Judeo-Christian and Western and therefore superior.

Now that it is clear that al-Qaeda can Shoot Straight, it would seem obvious that if we are to protect ourselves we need to drop some of the notions and beliefs that served us so poorly leading up to September 11. This is especially true of those who have believed in and supported the escalation of the War on Terror by backing President Bush’s decision to depose the Ba’athist regime in Iraq. I have not taken the decision to support sending Americans to fight and die in Iraq lightly. It is something I have agonized upon... and still agonize upon. And it seems beyond argument that people who have taken the same position as I have owe it to those in harm’s way that we demand our government to come to a much clearer understanding of our enemy and the threat he poses than either before September 11, 2001 or March 20, 2003. Anything less leads to more dead Americans... both in and out of the military.

If such a demand is reasonable – that our government expend the time, effort and treasure to ferret out the truth of who actually is our enemy – it seems equally reasonable to expect the same of myself. This is not to say that I am, will be or could be an expert in Islam, Middle Eastern culture, politics and history. It is not necessary for every citizen to become any of those things. But what is necessary is to understand what part our pre-September 11 attitudes contributed to that particular disaster. Does anyone want to argue that a collective lack of knowledge of, and a persistent misunderstanding of, of the religion, culture, politics and history of the Middle East didn’t play a huge part in facilitating the success of al-Qaeda on September 11? And if our ignorance of the peoples, religion, history and politics played into the hands of Osama bin Laden and his followers, just how do the actions of “thought leading, tipping point” bloggers like Charles Johnson and columnists like Ann Coulter help to rectify that situation? How does the mocking of the faith of over a billion souls serve our interests in winning the War on Terror? How does the dehumanization of those same billion souls make us stronger - either materially or morally - in the fight against al Qaeda?

Answer? They Don't.

They perpetuate the precise weaknesses we must work to eliminate if we are to win either the War on Terror or the Iraq War. They perpetuate the same sly arrogance that we can and will prevail without effort because we are what we are and they are the ‘Other’; the inferior. Given that al-Qaeda has shown itself willing and able to kill thousands of non-combatants in one fell swoop, just how is our cause served by Charles Johnson when he insists, against all available evidence, that our enemy consists of insane, unthinking, and mindless non-humans. How is our cause served by insisting that our enemy is not, at the most, several thousand committed fascists, but rather over billion people who happen to share exactly one common characteristic? How does reducing the difficult and complex problem of defeating a determined enemy that poses an existential threat to simpleminded hatred of over billion human beings serve our nation and our cause? How does that get us to victory?

Finally:

The charge has already been leveled, and will no doubt be leveled again, so I might as well deal with it right now: I’m a shill for ‘the Muslims’... I am either their witting or unwitting dupe. My response is the same one used to respond to the charge that I’ve been duped by the Left to shill against Roger Simon and Charles Johnson in the first place:

Yeah. Right.

I’ve been working with minority communities on a daily basis for over a decade now. At one time over 70% of my firm’s revenues came from minority owned or run organizations. Today the number is about 50%. I didn’t end of with half my client base being either Somali-American or African-American because I’m a Real Lovable Guy, or because I'm the Big White Daddy. I acquired those clients because I’ve earned the reputation as someone who doesn’t bullshit and won’t patronize. Everyone appreciates being taken seriously, none more so than those who are used to being either ignored and taken for granted.

When I’ve been asked by the Somalians to answer their questions, I’ve done so as honestly as I possibly could. That means I’ve told them things they really didn’t want to hear on more than one occasion. That should become evident as this bit of fun progresses. These people aren't saints, but they certainly are not devils, either. They are alive to good and evil just as we are. And that's all I'm really interested in conveying about them...

That said, I'll be the last person on Earth to deny that there aren't some very serious problems in the Islamic world today. Certainly the lack of any sort of secular tradition has allowed the fascists of the Middle East to use the symbolism of Islam for their own, very non-religious, ends. Certainly some sort of reformation of the sort Christianity went through appears to be in order. But just how mocking Muslims, insulting Islam and encouraging the dehumanization and hatred of over one billion people is supposed to help in reformation or secularization is beyond me. But then again, I don't have the sort of brain power Ann, Roger and Charles have, do I?

From where I stand, it is people like Ann Coulter and Roger Simon and Charles Johnson, rather than my own true self, who are being the shills here.They are the one peddling an Easy Way Out, not me.

My First Muslim Story Comes Tomorrow...

Unlike Just About Every Fool On The Internet...

... Who’s writing about Islam and Muslims, I happen to actually know something about Islam and Muslims. What’s more, that knowledge was gained via 5 years of daily contact with living, breathing, thinking Muslims.

That’s the sort of thing that would separate me from fools like Charles Johnson and Roger Simon, neither of whom knows anything more about Muslims than the fact that hating them out loud generates site traffic.

Actually, having actual contact with actual Muslims is what separates me from most of the fools writing about Islam and Muslims these days. When I have a question about the religion, the culture or the politics I go and ask a real, live Muslim. Most of the time, in fact, I ask more than one real, live Muslim.

When I sat with Roger and Charles at Roger Simon’s dining room table back in October, 2004 I tried to explain to them that they had it wrong, but neither of them was interested. Islam was evil. Period. If you wonder why I didn’t get outraged with them then, all I can say is getting outraged doesn’t help in this sort of situation. I’ve dealt with other immigrant communities in my day (Vietnamese Catholics, ethnic Hmong and Russian Jews), and so I’ve come to the understanding that the best thing one can do when coming up against negativity is patience. So it has been with the Somalis. I’ve heard negativity from the whole spectrum – from retired Columbus firefighters to prominent Central Ohio African-American community activists – so the idea that one can get into the face of everyone who doesn’t like a Muslim (or a Catholic or a Jew) and do good is an idea born of daydreams...

That said, things have progressed to a point beyond what I had expected with those two jerks. It isn't about being wrong anymore... It's about hating for fun and now, profit.

Someone has to say, “Enough”. Someone that is, who doesn’t have some half-assed political axe to grind. There are plenty of folks out there calling Charles a racist or whatever but, and this is with all due apologies to all my little Leftist friends, all that outrage is born, I suspect, of something other than the deep regard for the vast majority of Muslims who want nothing more than a good life for themselves and their children. Let’s face it, most of my little Leftist friends don’t know any Muslims either... they’re playing domestic politics with a Muslim pawn. So before this even gets started, if you guys want to play your little reindeer games with what I'm going to do here, that’s fine... just don’t count on much sympathy or support for me.

In any event, please allow me be the one to say, “Enough”.

And why not? I’m a hard-core conservative Republican. I worship at the Reagan alter. I voted for George W. Bush. Twice. I support the War in Iraq, and consider it to be both necessary and justified. If anyone wants to question my patriotic bona fides or claim I’m a tool of the Left because I’m not into uninformed Muslim-bashing, well, let’s get it on...

This is what I’m going to do: Next week I’m going to put up a series of posts on my experiences with the Somalian Muslims over the past five years. The purpose here is not to lecture but rather to humanize; to pass on some information gathered first-hand. And what it will be is real citizen journalism... the ground level experiences of dealing with people of a very different world than the one you know. I know it isn’t the sort of watershed moment you get when you stick a camera in the face of a Senator... but at some point somebody really should actually sit down and discuss real, live Muslims when they’re talking about Muslims.

Background:

In January, 2001 I received a phone call from a CPA here in town asking me (begging, actually) to take the Somali Community Association of Ohio off his hands. If I’m known around here for much other than being, how shall I say, difficult, it’s for being willing to take on hard-core poor, inner-city nonprofit organizations as clients. Evidently that rep got as far as this particular CPA, because I’d never heard of him prior to his call. Curious as to what exactly about the Somali Community Association of Ohio had freaked out this particular middle-aged, middle-class white boy of a CPA, I headed down to the dreary and somewhat dangerous area known as Northern Lights to visit the Association’s offices.

The Somali Community Association of Ohio is something of a one stop shop for services for Central Ohio’s 30,000+ Somalian Muslims. Only Minneapolis has a greater number of Somalians on this particular continent. When I arrived, the place was a madhouse. There were at least a 100 Somalians crammed into offices of less than 1,900 square feet. There were at least another 200 milling outside the Association's front door. The din was terrific. The Somali language isn’t exactly guttural, but it has a staccato harshness to it that, when allied to the natural exuberance of Somalis in conversation, adds up to a lot of noise very quickly. There was a lot of bustle, too. Folks weren’t there for conversation; they were there for housing assistance, driving lessons, ESL (English as a second language) classes or referrals for lawyers, doctors or whatever.

Once I saw all this, I understood what had freaked out my little white CPA buddy. Most white folks aren’t comfortable being the only white person in a room. Especially when the room has 100 or so people in it. 100 or so loud people. All he wanted was to be back in his little world, and I obliged him by accepting the Association as a client within ten minutes of meeting the Association’s President. That’s how I came to be the CPA for an Association that serves the needs of the largest Muslim population in the state of Ohio and the second largest Somalian population in North America.

The Association has now been my client for just over 5 years. In that space of time I’ve met and talked to several hundred Somalians, observed two elders’ council meetings, been introduced to the Somalian 'Oprah Winfrey', Somalia's national poet and other people of distinction and accomplishment, listened to a thousand hopes and complaints, explained just anything related to how the United States actually works, and offered what assistance and moral support I’ve been able.

I’ve even acquired a nickname: I’m “Mr. Green”, because I’m the guy who writes the checks...

I had refrained from writing about the Somalians because I wasn’t really sure that there couldn’t be some sort of blowback. It’s not like I always think things through before I post them. But I’ve had conversations about this with the President of the Association and he thinks doing this is a good idea. Good or not, it seems to be an idea whose time has come...

Note: Whether I leave comments on next week is still under consideration. The last thing I want to do is have to babysit this site if it ends up getting invaded by the sorts of morons that attacked Ann Althouse's site when Poodle Chaz got his undies in a twist over her posts. So we'll see.