Kommentar

Ginny Dougary er inne på noen interessante synspunkter på personkontroll, som er et sensitivt tema. Hun sier: Hvis sønnene til Europas muslimer går amok, er det ikke foreldrenes ansvar å gjøre noe med det? Å protestere utenfor moskeene hvor slike ideer spres, og si: -Ikke i vårt navn.

Disse unge menneskene ønsker å ødelegge dette samfunnet. Burde ikke da de moderate muslimene vise at de også mener det er verdt å forsvare? Det er egentlig det mest alvorlige punktet, for taushet, eller klagene, gjør at mange innfødte europeere tviler på nettopp det.

Utgangspunktet for artikkelen var at Ginny Dougary intervjuet Salman Rusdhie etter London-bombene i fjor, og iår etter Heathrow-planene ble avslørt.

There was, for me, an additionally odd, circular sense of disbelief about this particular journey. Last summer, a few days after the terrorists’ July bombings in London, I was interviewing the fatwa-reprieved Salman Rushdie in New York. A year later, on the very day of the Heathrow drama, I was interviewing his great mate Martin Amis, also in New York, albeit in a secluded enclave in the Hamptons. On both occasions, current events inevitably featured in our discussions. If you believe, as I do, that literature can help to make sense of the life we are living, then the response of these guys should certainly command some attention.

I was born and brought up for the first ten years of my life in a Muslim country. I will be returning to that community in a small town in Kuwait — if I’m assured that it’s safe to do so — with my younger son this autumn. I hope to revisit the home I grew up in, and the garden, where I remember seeing the turbaned men, whom my father employed, downing tools and kneeling at regular times of the day, as the wailing muezzin called the faithful to prayer from their minarets. As a child it always struck me as a beautiful if mournful ritual. I never, ever, was inculcated with the sense that these people and their beliefs were in any way less than me and mine — although there must have been something in the ether even then, since I remember my parents spluttering when my eight-year-old self asked the visiting sheikh why he thought his religion was better than ours.

And so — I’m with Rushdie and Amis as I read all the sympathetic coverage in the liberal press about the poor, puzzled Muslims who feel that they are being picked on in airports and flights. If the parents of the young men who are attracted to this murderous martyrdom have lost control of their sons, then they must shoulder part of the blame. If the Muslims who choose to live in our society, with all its so-called tempting freedoms, do not protest against those who wish to destroy it, then how can they expect our tolerance? Why are the moderates not, in their hundreds and thousands, standing outside those mosques that are known to preach hatred, shouting «Not in our name» down their megaphones or «One, two, three, four, no more terror anymore»?

And where are the voices of the ordinary mothers and daughters and aunts from the Muslim community saying, «Enough. No more violence. No more deaths», as did all those courageous women who helped to bring peace to Ireland? And if they, our Muslim sisters, are mute slaves to — or, worse, themselves in thrall to — the siren call of the death-wish culture, is there any hope for the rest of us?

Where are the Muslim mothers for peace?Ginny Dougary

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