Though many of my peers say that they barely remember Sept. 11, I can recall that day as if it were yesterday. I was living in Anandpur, a small town in northern India. After returning from our morning prayers, the American staff at my boarding school appeared with grim faces. They told us that radical Muslims had attacked buildings in New York City and Washington, D.C. They did not know the extent of the damage, and they lacked critical information because of our rural location.
The next 36 hours were a harrowing blur: a mix of praying fiercely that my father (who works in the heart of D.C.) had been spared, tears, and trying desperately to get more information from the U.S. about my family’s safety.
The news that Osama bin Laden was killed spread on the social media networks like wildfire. Many people posted comments such as “America, f**ck yeah!!”, “America, we slaughtered him!!!”, “Osama is dead as a door nail!!” and “Osama is dead. Time for shots at the bars!!” I admit that these comments made me a little queasy. The crude celebration of death, no matter how heinous the individual, was rather shocking and arrogant.
In addition, the celebration seemed a bit premature. It appears that many believe that Osama’s death will mean that the likelihood of another terrorist strike has lessened. I hate to rain on their parade, but this view is extremely naïve. Various U.S. government agencies, including the State Department, have warned Americans at home and abroad that a counterattack from al Qaeda is quite possible in light of bin Laden’s death.
I can’t help but think of this story in terms of an epic of large proportions: the showdown between Osama and Obama. President Obama’s victory speech showed remarkable grace, restraint and sensitivity toward Muslims: “Our war is not against Islam. Bin Laden was not a Muslim leader; he was a mass murderer of Muslims. Indeed, al Qaeda has slaughtered scores of Muslims in many countries, including our own. So his demise should be welcomed by all who believe in peace.” Obama’s clarity and compassion contrast sharply with Osama’s violence and insanity.
When one examines bin Laden’s biography, it becomes clear that he was a normal teenager before entering Al Thager Model School in Saudi Arabia. While there, he met and admired a charismatic Syrian education teacher, who turned an after-school sports program into a chance to indoctrinate youth in radical Islam and hatred of the West.
Eboo Patel, the executive director of the Interfaith Youth Core, believes that there is nothing inherently evil or inevitable about the bin Ladens in our world: “When we look back in the lives of young religious terrorists, we find a web of individuals and organizations that shape them.” He continues, “Every time we see a teenager kill someone in the name of God, we should picture a pair of shadowy hands behind him, showing him to make the bomb or point the gun, giving him a manual with the prayers to say while committing murder, steadying his shaking hands with calloused, steely ones, blessing him as he resolves to do the deed.”
I have intimately felt the power of religious zeal. While living in India, I felt a deep connection with God through my intensive daily practice of Sikh yoga, meditation and ritual. At the time, service to God was all that I cared about. I also admit that I believed that Sikhism offered the “best” religious experience. I would regularly wake up at 3 a.m. to go and clean the temple, and spend upwards of two hours each day engaged in deep spiritual meditation and prayer reading. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if religious extremists, not religious pluralists like Eboo Patel, had mentored me.
America deserves better than college students arrogantly celebrating and proclaiming their glee upon hearing of a violent killing. One of the many wonderful things about our country is its melting pot of religious and ethnic diversity, and its tendency to create strong relationships among people of various religions. College students in our country should rather celebrate our great religious diversity and our commitment to religious pluralism.
