Is it Islam that’s ‘Inherently Intolerant’ or is it American Society?

An account of the sentencing of Fahad Hashmi, an American citizen sentenced to 15 years for aiding al-Qaida.

By Madeleine Dubus

June 30, 2010

On June 9 at 3:30 p.m. over a hundred people lined the halls outside a courtroom at the U.S. District Courthouse at 500 Pearl Street in New York City to witness the sentencing of Fahad Hashmi, an American citizen accused of providing support to al-Qaida.

A court clerk paced past the line, occasionally yelling to the crowd that the courtroom could only fit 50 people. Those who stood in line but couldn’t make it into the courtroom had to go to a second room to watch the proceedings on a live video stream. Those that filtered off the elevator to stand in line were an eclectic mix of women in hijaab, college students, and young professionals who left work early to attend. Eventually, a third room was opened to accommodate the overflow of viewers. Some of those who came to Hashmi’s sentencing knew him at one point, before all this began. Others were strangers who came to simply show solidarity.

While Hashmi’s supporters and other viewers waited for the courtroom to open, Faisal Hashmi, Fahad’s older brother, walked up and down the line greeting friends and family. Faisal is a tall man, but on this day he walked with his shoulders slumped, diminishing his stature. He carried his one-year-old son, pausing frequently to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear. Faisal’s son nestled next to his father’s long beard, but since Fahad Hashmi has been in captivity for more than three years, he has never met his nephew.

Hashmi is something of a guinea pig in post-Sept. 11 criminal justice. He has spent the past three years in solitary confinement, the last two–and-a-half under Special Administrative Measures (SAMs), which allow the prison to limit or entirely cut off his communication to other prisoners, his lawyers, and keep him under 24 hour video surveillance. Hashmi decided to plead guilty on April 24 to one count of supplying material support to Al-Qaeda, realizing that pleading guilty would cap his maximum sentence at 15 years compared to the 70 years he could face were he to plead innocent and lose.

Hashmi’s story goes back to 2006, when he was arrested at Heathrow airport. At the time, he was a grad student in London, and he had granted an old acquaintance, Junaid Babar, permission to stay in his flat. The government alleges that Babar brought luggage containing “military gear” used by al-Qaida into Hashmi’s apartment and used his mobile phone to call other conspirators in Pakistan.

Later, Babar was arrested for providing material support to third-ranking al-Qaida members in Pakistan. But in a deal with the FBI to greatly reduce his sentence, Babar became an informant and named numerous acquaintances he had contact with in recent years, including Hashmi. Today, Babar is free and will most likely spend the rest of his life in the Witness Relocation Program.

Meanwhile, Hashmi’s future is grimmer. The severity of his treatment and the extent of his solitary confinement, before his case even went to trial, have called attention to the United States’ ethics in terrorism cases and what constitutes torture.

Eventually, those in the courtroom were seated and quiet. Hashmi, flanked by his two lawyers, entered. He looked gaunt and skinny and wore a long white Kurta shirt. His head was adorned with a simple, embroidered Kufi, the traditional cap worn by Muslim men.

Hashmi’s lawyer, David Ruhnke, spoke first and cited the time Hashmi has already served in prison. Ruhnke argued what occurred in his London flat was not intended conspiracy, and that Babar was the primary player in the case.

While his lawyer spoke, Hashmi hunched at the defendant’s table arranging papers in quick, halted movements. He was preparing to recite his personal statement, waiting to speak publically for the first time in years. Within seconds of beginning, the judge, Loretta A. Preska, asked Hashmi to stop and slow down.

“I have a bad habit of speaking fast,” Hashmi told Preska. “I have no one to talk to because of the [special administrative] measures.”

Hashmi began again. First, he thanked his supporters and asked Allah and his family for forgiveness for the pain he’s caused saying, “I pray inshallahthat I will return to you in a better condition.”

Only a few sentences into his statement, Hashmi broke down in tears.

“I have made many, many mistakes,” he cried.

Once he was able to speak again, Hashmi said he has a better understanding of himself and began to relate what happened in London. When Babar came to his door Hashmi says that at first he told him he could not stay with him, but Babar “imposed himself.”

“I was in a strange land,” Hashmi said, and said that despite not wanting Babar to stay, Hashmi says he felt Babar was a familiar face. Islam teaches the importance of charity, and Hashmi says he felt he was obligated to help a fellow Muslim.

What he didn’t know, Hashmi says, were Babar’s full intentions. Hashmi contends that he believed him when he said that the phone calls Babar made were to Babar’s wife in Pakistan regarding the couple’s sick daughter. He believed Babar’s story of an ailing daughter and lent him a conservative amount of money to help. He says there was only a small amount of clothing with Babar that could be considered gear for terrorists, not the suitcases full that Babar himself alleged.

Ultimately, Hashmi concludes his greatest mistake was being under “the false impression that it was something Islam allowed me to do.” He since realized that Babar was an “evil man” and that he was not obligated to show him charity under Islamic law.

Hashmi emphasized his connection to his American roots and community and his regret for doing anything that opposed American law. He also touched on the oppression facing Muslims in America today, from the extreme treatment in his own experiences to the more widespread surveillance, suspicion, and discrimination Muslim-Americans face daily. He, like many others in the Muslim-American community, hope this will change.

At the end of his speech, as he succumbed to tears once more, his voice faltering, Hashmi said, “The one who is truly imprisoned is the one whose heart is away from Allah.”

Once Hashmi finished his speech, prosecutors argued that he was a product of Islam, an “ideology of intolerance,” and the sentence he receives should serve as a public deterrence.

Loretta A. Preska, the presiding federal trial judge, gave Hashmi the maximum sentence, 15 years in prison with three years supervised probation.

Hashmi’s comments about intolerance toward Muslim-Americans today resonated with many attendees. Hashmi was pleading with Americans to distance themselves from the fear and hatemongering targeting Muslims that has become common since Sept. 11. After all, according to a 2009 survey by the Pew Research Center, 38 percent of Americans believe Islam encourages violence more than other religions, a statistic that is surprisingly higher than it was in 2002, just after Sept. 11, when it was 25 percent.

This expresses an alarming trend that discrimination and misconception of Muslim culture has built since Sept. 11, implying that it did not derive from immediate spite after the attacks, but from subsequent years of creating a society where vilifying Muslims is expected, is even considered a responsibility for the sake of security. Though prosecutors seemed to agree with the 38 percent of Americans, indicating that Islam is an inherently violent religion, Americans should consider whether it is the post-Sept. 11 culture that has become the product of an “ideology of intolerance.”

Today the country we live in is not what America should be, a place where suspicion and prejudice is an excuse to forget that all men are created equal, to torture and depreciate, and to put lives to waste.

Madeleine Dubus is a staff writer for Campus Progress. She graduated from the New School this spring.

http://www.campusprogress.org/opinions/5804/is-it-islam-that-s-inherently-intolerant-or-is-it-american-society