The Dangers of Islam: The Convert

Chapter: Hope

     "That's Baba, right? That's Baba's voice!" Khadijah asked Sam earnestly as the young man paused the DVD. 

"Calm down. There's more," Sam instructed Khadijah. He pressed play again and smiled at Iman. Iman was sure she had a look of disbelief on her face. She had heard her husband's voice after nearly ten years and it was of him being tortured. She watched as the professor was pushed back by two burly students who growled at the educator. A third young man held up a flyer and yelled,

"We DEMAND the truth. You cannot lie to us about the whereabouts of Dawood Khan any longer! We demand due process!" 

Due process was something Dawood had never been given. In fact, he had been whisked away before anyone could get any facts together, before any reporters could get the truth. Iman watched as numerous college students began voicing their displeasure towards the government and administration. Where had these people been when her family had been brought to the brink of poverty due to the same government? If they had spoken out back then, something could have been done earlier. Before Iman could dwell on more hypotheticals, Dawood's voice played again on the projector, this time with subtitles. 

"You've been doing this for five years. Aren't y'all tired yet? You won't break me," Dawood's worn voice whispered. A slam could be heard through the tape and a new voice joined Dawood's. 

"Listen hear, sandnigger. We know you've got connections in Pakistan. Your ex-wife's third cousin's granduncle is a former ISI agent. We know how deep your connections run," the voice growled. 

"Well, fuck, lock me up and throw away the key, Carl. Is your name Carl? I feel like you're a Carl. Carl, I also have a sister that married a K-Pop star. Must mean I know the South Korean president, right?" Dawood chuckled and could be heard spitting. "Thanks for slamming me against the table. The blood in my mouth really brings out the bloodshot in my eyes."

"My name's not fucking CARL," Carl growled.

Another slam could be heard, this one louder than the first, causing both Iman and Khadijah to flinch. They both knew these were sounds of their loved one being beaten. Khadijah let out a shudder and glanced at her mother. Iman gnawed on her cheek and blinked back tears. She knew that Dawood had to have faced unspeakable torture with the way he was whisked away by the government, but to hear her suspicions coming true was something she wished she had never faced. Dawood could be heard laughing in between pants, as if mocking those that were around him. 

"You think you're such a good little Muslim, don't you? Waging jihad on the country that raised you, but what more could we expect from the religion of peace? Hmm? You all are known to practice taqqiya and then attack infidels, kaafirs, when we least expect it. Did you think we wouldn't retaliate? Did you think we'd let you kill our loved ones and let you walk free?" Carl began again. 

"Fuck. Could really use a taqqiya right now. Hell, could you put in a requisition for a taqqiya for me?" Dawood asked with another laugh. 

Iman noticed that nearly everyone that understood Urdu was smiling in their room. Taqqiya literally translated into "pillow" in Urdu, a fact Dawood had always joked about. In fact, the soldier had never heard of the concept of taqqiya that was being spread by misinformed bigots until HE was accused of practicing it.  To the ignorant, taqqiya was the practice of subterfuge supposedly allowed in Islam. In this practice, a Muslim was allowed to deny they were Muslim or disavow their religious beliefs if they felt persecuted.