Take a break from the pundits and try reading a book for a change. I pray your patience will survive the journey.
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...The Americans gave the slender young woman from Fallujah a job as an interpreter and a room to live in. She earned $1,050 a month, more money than she had ever seen before. But she would never go home to see her family again.
قَالَ رَبِّ اشْرَحْ لِي صَدْرِي
20:26 and make my task easy for me, |
20:27 and loosen the knot from my tongue |
20:28 so that they might fully understand my speech, يَفْقَهُوا قَوْلِي |
20:29 and appoint for me, out of my kinsfolk, one who will help me to bear my burden: وَاجْعَل لِّي وَزِيرًا مِّنْ أَهْلِي |
"I live less than fifteen blocks from the Sean Bell crime scene. Where today Friday April 25th the police officers have been acquitted on all charges. My limbs feel paralyzed and my body is numb. Although I know the power of not living one life in fear, I admit to feeling kind of nervous about going to the gym this morning, knowing the police and undercover presence will be at terrorist level. One of the superiors of the N.Y.C. detectives stated, "these police officers did not wake up that morning to commit a crime", but on the flip side of that, Sean Bell on the eve of his wedding did not go out that night to be killed. Every time a tragedy like this occurs it cuts deep. People know how big a sports fan I am, and I often use sports analogies in my writing. So here we go, this one goes out to preverbal hood! The system has adjusted its defense and its offense in accordance to your everyday game plan. Our objective is obvious, WIN THE GAME OF LIFE AT ALL COST! Healthy, free of sickness and depression, poverty. Happy with love in your heart for your family and your seeds. Inspired to show your kids how to succeed by example. Free, free to walk, free to think clearly free to hug your children. But sadly, WE ARE GETTING BLOWN OUT! It's not even close. Let me speak for myself. I struggle to stay optimistic because its not only about me I have compassion for all those in the struggle. Up until last year this time I just got my health insurance situation straight and was paying out of pocket for asthma medication and I'm sure most of the people out here who will read this blog can relate. At least to the point where you remember not having health insurance if you do now. You don't know stress until your contemplating going to the hospital during an asthma attack because you don't have insurance. We are losing in all facets of the game my dude, and I'm pissed, I'm ten times the soar loser that Kobe Bryant is. I HATE TO LOSE! As an emcee I feel like one of the many coaches in the game right now, we have to change the game plan. It's only halftime. We have to (hustle) smarter.
We have to encourage education in our children so that if they're called to take the stand at a trial they can express their sentiment clearly and articulately. I guess this is an outcry to all the other coaches and managers out there, any ideas on how we can at least get the tie for overtime."
In February 2003, the FBI arrested university professor and political activist Sami Al-Arian in Tampa, Florida. Charged with supporting terrorism, he was placed in solitary confinement for 2 1/2 years before he received a trial.
The film follows Sami, his wife Nahla and their five children through the 6 month long trial and the difficult period after the verdict. It is a personal story of a family, who like many Muslims in the USA today, are fighting against increasing stigmatization and discrimination in a post 911-climate.
The film deals with themes of freedom of speech, and the right to a fair trial. It also shows how the media influence public opinion and how the USA`s fear of and fight against terrorism can threaten civil liberties.
“Most of the reports I have written on people have been ok but a few have been bad. A few people ...,” he paused remembering those cases, “Let's just say they didn't go home.”
Officer T then asked me about every name that was associated with my papers asking me the ages, locations, and education levels of each in addition to whether any of them had ever been in the US or wanted to come to the US. The languages I speak eventually came up in the interview.
“Would you ever consider doing this?” he said, meaning working for Homeland Security.
“Never.” I said confidently.
“Not even if they paid you $80,000 a year.”
“They could never pay me enough to work for them.”
“You don't really like the government do you?”
“Can you tell?” After I said this an awkward silence fell in the room. “How much longer is this gonna take and where am I gonna sleep in here?”
“How long does it take to fast forward through each of those tapes?”
“Probably about 5 minutes.”
“You said there was 15 so times that by 15 minutes. I'll be back.” He stood up and left the office in the direction that he left before.
He returned in 5 minutes with a grim face. “I got some bad news for you. I know I told you that we were going to review the footage here but my supervisor is not having it. I'm sorry. He really thinks there is more to this.”
I looked at him with the attempt to express how angry I was without making sound.
“I know your pissed,” he said in consolation. “If you want to punch a hole in the wall I won't say anything.”
“Putting a hole in the wall won't help me keep my tapes. I know I should probably call a lawyer but I want to ask you that if I start making noise about wanting a lawyer will it help me keep the tapes?”
“You don't want to do that. Your case is not closed. Like I said before, your whole case can be flipped against you, easily. You might never get them back.” That statement chilled me to the bone.
“Well you may just be saying that to shut me up but it seems like your giving me sincere advice.”
“I am,” he said.
Officer T opened his desk drawer to find a plastic seizure bag with a zip top and various lines and numbers.
“This is a seizure bag. Most things that are put in these are destroyed but I'm writing here that these are being held for review. Okay?” He put the tapes into the bag and made me sign a chain of custody receipt releasing the tapes to him.
“These will stay in your hands?”
“No, but whenever the custody changes you should be notified at the number you leave on the form”
Officer T separated the receipt from it's white page and gave me the yellow carbon copy page.
I was released along with both of my passports at 10:30 pm.
“Who did you stay with in Iran?”
“My uncle.”
“What's his name and where does he live?”
“Houshang Mashouf, Sarhang Sakhai and Hafez St. Building ...”
“How old is he? Has he ever been to the US?”
“He's 68 I think. He's never been to the US.”
“Why not?”
“He can't get a visa. He tried for a few years but could only get a visa to Canada so everyone went there to visit him. I never met him until I went to Iran in 2006.”
“I'm sorry to hear about that.”
“I'm surprised you wouldn't know that it is very hard for Iranians to get visas to the US.”
“Let me tell you something. We don't know very much. We are given something called 'cultural sensitivity training.' It's actually a packet about this big.” He took his thumb and forefinger and displayed the size of the packet, which from how wide his fingers were was probably around 20 pages.
He continued, “I know that when I handle your Koran, that I shouldn't put anything else on top of it and that if I'm sitting with my legs crossed, I shouldn't face the sole of my foot towards you.”
“That's unfortunate, because if you knew a little more you may be able to understand what is normal behavior and what is suspicious... which is your job.”
“So what's in the film?” He asked obviously changing the subject.
“A lot of stuff. Me with my family, me break dancing with kids in Iran, some footage from the Zurkhoone, which is a traditional exercise or martial art.”
“It says here you went to a military base.”
I did not remember visiting a base but was reminded when he slid me a copy of my expense records with the entry "Taxi to Zurkhune Qasr Firuze on military base- 3000 Toman." I regretted writing those two words that were intended to remind me of which Zurkune I went to.
“Yes but I only went to work out. You know how military bases have gyms that guests can come work out? That's what I did.”
“Where was it?”
“I have no idea. It was in Tehran. We went there at night.”
“You understand how this could be flipped on you?” He said.
“I don't understand. Because I went to a military base?”
“You went to a military base and received para military martial arts training.”
I laughed to myself at how ridiculous that sounded and then feared the actual notion of that being made into a case.
With fear in my heart and a condescending tone I said, “Are you serious?"
I returned to the general holding area where I made small talk with a man from Brazil and another man from Iran. When talking with the Iranian man we both silently acknowledged the routine matter of our situation as Iranians returning to the US even though mine was a bit exceptional. After another half an hour of waiting, Officer T returned with all of my other belongings and a binder filled with xeroxed copies of my documents.
We moved into a small disorganized office with two desks with computers and a few chairs. I sat across from his desk.
“Now we have a lot of questions,” he said. “But before we get started do you have any questions?”
“No,” I said in my best poker face.
“Most people ask us why they are here.”
“I guess that's a good question,” I replied.
“Our other departments view travel histories, backgrounds, occupations and then tell us who we should be talking to. What we do is interview and do an initial evaluation. So let's get started. First of all what were you doing in Iran?”
“I was there to visit family and work on my documentary film.”
“You said you were staying in Tehran. Did you go anywhere else?”
“I went to Qom which is about an hour away,” I said preparing for the onslaught of new questions.
“What did you do there?” He said this while starting a new page in his notebook made for my file.
“I was there to visit a religious shrine and do some shopping. I can tell you what I bought there but you already saw all of it.”
“You didn't visit any training camps while you were there?”
“No, nor did I see any 'training camps.' I didn't go to Pakistan.”
He looked at me and saw that I was visibly offended of the notion of going to the kinds of terrorist training camps shown on television at any mention of Al Qaeda.
“Are you working with the Iranian government in any capacity? Did you meet anyone in high levels of the Iranian government?”
“No.”
“Who is Alexander Kluge?”
“Who?”
“Alexander Kluge. We found his name in your things.”
“Where in my things?”
“In your notebook. Who is he?” He said this while showing me the copy of the pages in my notebook.
“You see, I'm a filmmaker and I use that notebook to write down ideas. So anything you see in there might not make any sense to you. Alexander Kluge is the name of a filmmaker that one of my professors recommended.”
“Ok. But now you see how this is going to work.”
“This is going to take forever,” I whined.
My luggage was all taken out and searched by Officer T who was now wearing latex gloves while sorting through my belongings. After sorting my things into three main piles, Officer T instructed me to pack up my belongings in the pile containing clothing. The other two piles consisted of CDs, DVDs, my laptop, cell phone, Ipod, and digital still camera. The other pile consisted of my magazines, papers, notebooks, and film documents. Officer T collected both piles with difficulty and carried them to another area in which I never saw.
I was made to wait in a general holding area where others were being singled out from the customs line. I sat there for about two hours while Officer T, backed up data and made photo copies.
About 45 minutes into my waiting I asked another Homeland Security agent whether I could use a bathroom or not. A blank face fell on this agent.
“Let me check,” he said. I wondered how many people were denied this request and hope I wasn't one of them. A few minutes of waiting inspired me to display to this man that I had a plastic water bottle and I was ready to use it. I got his attention and shook the bottle over my head.
“Any word yet on the potty break?” I said sounding like Ward Cleaver.
After checking with my holding officer who was in an undisclosed location at the time the other agent instructed me to use the bathroom within the customs area. I was given a foot long red plastic square with the words “BATHROOM PASS” on it to take with me to the lavatory.
I was instructed to collect my luggage from the carousel and bring it to a table and to include all of my carry on and items on my person. This area was in plain view of the baggage carousels and a general holding area for those being singled out by customs. I asked Officer T if there was anyway I could make my connecting flight to Tucson in an hour and he said that I wouldn't be making my plane.
“Can I make a phone call to my folks to tell them I won't be making my flight.”
“We'll see,” he said.
The two officers began removing the contents of my bags and separating clothing from papers and any electronic and optical media.
The other officer asked me a question as he opened the camera case. “What religion are you?”
“I'm a Muslim,” I said.
“Did you go to any religious schools when you were there?”
I sarcastically replied “Of course.”
“Oh boy,” he sighed. After this comment the officer was called away by another officer and I never saw him again.
“A camera. I'm a film student.”
He followed that response with “Oh yea? Have you ever seen that movie The Kingdom” in a semi threatening tone.
I replied, “No.”