The Dangers of Islam: The Imam

Prologue

     "What is the most dangerous aspect of Islam?" The news reporter asked the presidential hopefuls. 

     "Well, that's an easy one, Tony. With Islam being the driving force behind the terrorist attacks in America, I'd have to say that the most dangerous aspect of Islam is the constituents. It's the Muslims," the bald-headed presidential hopeful replied confidently. 

     Nedim sighed before turning the TV off. The level of Islamophobia had skyrocketed in the past ten years. He didn't understand how one of the most peaceful and kind members of his congregation had gone and killed thousands of his fellow countrymen, women, and children. He looked at the newspaper clippings on his desk before taking a raggedy breath. The man portrayed in the paper was a cruel, sadistic killer. They had managed to make his warm, cerulean eyes into cold, distant, and manipulative orbs. The man looked to be of Caucasian descent, but Nedim knew otherwise. His Pakistani parents had spent many tough years raising his siblings and him in the U.S. How could he not know about him, especially after being friends for so long?

     "Dad, someone's broken into the mosque," Nedim's eldest son, Damir called out as he ran into his father's office.

     "What?" Nedim asked in disbelief. He knew how at odds the non-Muslim community was with the Muslims in the city, but never had they trespassed onto the mosque's property. He could only imagine the damage they were causing inside and quickly grabbed his keys to drive to the mosque. He lived only a few minutes away and arrived at the mosque fifteen minutes later.

     Nedim had brought one of Damir's baseball bats on his way out of the house and now wielded it in his hand as he cautiously opened the front door. The hallway was dark, as it should have been, but the door was open to his office. He frowned once he noticed two shadows bouncing off the wall in front of his office. One intruder he could take, but two? Two was questionable. He decided to silently peek into his office. If the intruders were people he couldn't handle himself, he'd call the police. Nedim approached the door deftly and slowly glanced inside. 

     "Khadijah Khan? Ibrahim Hashemi? What are you two doing here?" Nedim asked in disbelief once he recognized the teens who had broken into the mosque. 

     "Imam Nedim, please don't tell my parents. I only came to stop Khadijah Baji," Ibrahim explained while using the Urdu word for sister. He gestured towards the tall teen who sat at the desk and looked at her apologetically. 

     "Khadijah, what are you doing here? Breaking in? That's not like you," Nedim whispered in disappointment.

     "You're not exactly the best judge of character, Imam Nedim," Khadijah scoffed before running a hand through her hair. "Ibrahim, leave us alone. I need to speak with our dear old Islamic leader." 

     The young man nodded and exited the office, but not before quickly apologizing to Nedim. Nedim frowned and looked at the young woman in front of him. He remembered watching her grow up at the mosque. She had always been a kind and bright kid who could make you smile just by saying hello. Now, her icy blue eyes looked as if they could cut steel. The warmth, the life seemed to have disappeared from her eyes.

     "Why did you break in here?" Nedim asked her.

     "I wanted to see you, Imam Nedim. I wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that I saw the first interview you gave about my baba," Khadijah explained.

     "I wasn't prepared for that interview. They ambushed me," Nedim whispered.

     "And the subsequent interviews? What about them? How do you sleep at night, knowing that you are one of the reasons my baba was taken away? He was never given a trial. Did you ever even consider that he wasn't guilty of any crime?" Khadijah asked in anger. The teen picked up a file from the desk and tossed it at Nedim. "Your words. Read them. Read the lies you have painted about my father. I was there, Imam Nedim. I watched them shoot my father as he apprehended the real terrorist. I watched my father bleed out in front of my eyes. You will never know the despair I feel every time I look in the mirror and see his eyes staring back at me."

     Nedim looked at the young teen in front of him and whispered,

     "Khadijah."

     "I know what you're going to say, Imam Nedim. You'll tell me to have patience. You'll tell me that we'll find my father. You'll give me reassurances. You'll tell me that you believe in him, but you know what Imam Nedim?" The blue-eyed, teen whispered in question. 

     Nedim quietly watched as the teen picked up the picture of his family on the table. She looked at it and smiled sarcastically before whispering,

     "I don't believe you, Imam Nedim. Instead of standing up for my father, you condemned him like the rest of the congregation. He isn't a terrorist. He never was. He was your friend who believed you could change our Muslim community for the better, but you betrayed him. You helped destroy my family, while you live happily with yours. While you babbled like an idiot on your first day in our mosque, it was MY father who reassured you. In my eyes, you're as bad as the men who shot him. Please don't try to console me when you are just as bad as them," Khadijah whispered before heading out the door.