The new face of Islam

The new face of Islam By Nick Compton At first she tried to resist. She did not want this to happen. She was not that sort of person. After all, there were no gaps in her life, no spiritual ache, she did not need support or direction. But she kept reading and it kept making sense. 'I had absolutely no expectation or desire to end up where I am,' she says. 'It was almost with trepidation that I kept turning the pages and the trepidation just increased. I kept thinking: "OK, where's the flaw? Where's the bit that doesn't make sense?" But it never came. And then it was like: "Oh no, I can see where this is leading. This is disastrous. I don't want to be a Muslim!" Caroline Bate is 30 years old, blonde, blue-eyed and pretty, with a soft Home Counties accent. She has a degree from Cambridge. She studied Russian and German before switching to management studies. She is Middle England's dream daughter or daughter-in-law. And though she has yet to make her formal declaration of faith in Allah and Prophet Mohammad (Sall Allaho alaihe wasallam) -- a two-line pledge called the Shahadah or testimony of faith -- she considers herself a Muslim [but in order to actually embrace Islam, one must recite out aloud the Shahadah or the testimony of faith whose meaning is 'there is no God but Allah and Muhammad is the prophet and messenger of Allah]. It felt good, she says. Caroline is not alone. Though data is hard to come by, several London mosques have been reporting an increase in the number of converts to Islam, especially since 11 September. Like Caroline, many of these converts are from solid middle-class backgrounds, have successful careers, enjoy active social lives and are fundamentally happy with their lot. This is not a new trend, however. Matthew Wilkinson, a former head boy of Eton, became Tariq, when he converted to Islam in 1993. Jonathan Birt, son of Lord Birt, late of the BBC and now the government's transport guru, converted in 1997. The son and daughter of Lord Justice Scott also converted and Joe Ahmed Dobson, the 26-year-old son of the former Health Secretary Frank Dobson, has recently and, somewhat reluctantly, emerged as the voice of new Muslim converts in Britain. But it is a trend that has been pushed along by recent events. So far, it has gone largely unnoticed, as the press concentrates on some of the more colourful characters that 11 September has thrown up. A compelling melodrama played out beyond the fringes of Islamic culture in this country. And while it might be stretching a point - and answering caricature with caricature - to insist that a demure English rose is the exemplar of the modern British convert to Islam, Caroline Bate is certainly more representative than anyone else. Talking to recent Muslim converts, it is striking how similar the descriptions of their embrace of Islam are. Most were introduced to Islam, Islamic history and teachings by their friends. And given that Islam is not generally a missionary faith, these were gentle introductions. For most conversion was born of curiosity, an attempt to better understand the people around them. Caroline first started reading about Islam last April. A school friend she has known since she was 11 was marrying a Tunisian, a Muslim. 'My best friend was marrying into a different culture, so, I wanted to know more about it,' she explains. 'I came at it from more of a cultural perspective than a religious one. But the literature that I picked up just stimulated me. And Islamic teaching made perfect logical sense. You can approach it intellectually and there are no gaps, no great leaps of faith that you have to make.' Roger (not his real name) is a doctor in his mid-thirties. About a year and a half ago, he started talking about Islam to Muslim colleagues at work. 'All I had ever heard about Islam in the media was Hezbollah and guerrillas and all of that. And here were these really decent people whom I was beginning to get to know. So, I started to ask a few questions and I was amazed at my own ignorance.' He became a Muslim a couple of months ago. For these new converts, embracing Islam is usually a covert operation. They quietly read, talk, listen and learn. The hard part is coming out, declaring your newly acquired faith to friends and family, and, in some cases at least, facing up to fear, scepticism and even loathing. Caroline insists that the coming-out process has not been too painful. 'The reaction has been pretty much what I expected. I've had everything from "Do you know how they treat women?" to "Wow, great timing!" But your friends are your friends and I expect them to deal with it. Others have had a harder time. Eleanor Martin, now Asya Ali (or some other combination of these names, depending on the circumstance), was a 24-year-old TV actress when she met Mo Sesay. She had a regular role as WPC Georgie Cudworth in BBC's Dangerfield during the mid-Nineties and Sesay, who later starred in Bhaji on the Beach, was also a Dangerfield regular. Sesay is a Muslim. 'Mo was such a kind man, just a good person. He wanted to know me as a person, there was nothing else going on. And I thought, well, here is this really decent guy and he is a Muslim. And the image I had of Islam was of men beating up women and going round in tanks killing people. 'The thing is we both had regular parts on the show, but they weren't very big parts, so we had a lot of time to sit in the caravan and talk. He really opened my eyes.' Eleanor finally converted in 1996. 'I wasn't sure I was going to until the last minute and then it just felt as if everything had fallen into place and there was no other option.' At first she kept her conversion secret. 'I was afraid of an adverse reaction from friends and family. I was really worried about what my father would say.' Her father was a devout Christian. A former radiotherapist, he had taken early retirement to go into the priesthood. But circumstances forced Eleanor's hand. A few months after she converted, she met a Muslim African-American actor, Luqman Ali, and they decided to get married. 'I went home and said: "I've got some news. I'm getting married and I'm a Muslim." My mum was great. My dad said: "I think I'm going to get a drink now." 'It took Dad time. He went to see his spiritual adviser, a nun, whose brother happened to be a convert to Islam, and that helped. And he's great now, too. He's just happy that I'm following a path to God.' Roger, meanwhile, has yet to tell family or work colleagues of his conversion. 'I worry it will affect my career prospects,' he admits. 'I know first-hand how little people understand Islam. I know there is prejudice based on ignorance. A couple of years ago, if someone had told me they had converted, I would have thought they were odd. I don't want people to think I am an oddity or a curiosity because I don't think of myself like that.' Most converts acknowledge that living in an ethnically diverse city has made conversion easier than it might have been elsewhere. Stefania Marchetti was born and raised in Milan but came to London to study in 1997. She converted to Islam from Catholicism in April last year. 'It would have been far more difficult for me to convert in Italy,' she admits. 'The Italian media is very anti-Islam and generally Italians think that Muslim men are all terrorists and all Muslim women are slaves.' Certainly Karen Allen, a 28-year-old scheduler for Sky TV from Stoke Newington, has enjoyed a relatively smooth transition period. She converted to Islam last June and soon started wearing the traditional headscarf or hijab. 'When I first started wearing the hijab to work, there were a few jibes about Afghanistan and stuff, but people are fine now. They say things like: "That's a nice one you're wearing today." 'I think it might be more difficult outside London, but here there are a lot weirder things to look at than me.' What is especially striking about this stream of converts to Islam is that the majority seem to be women. Some suggest that twice as many women as men are turning to Islam. Batool Al Toma, who heads the New Muslim Project at the Leicester-based Islamic Foundation, which offers advice and support to recent converts, suggests this might be exaggeration, but admits that female converts are in the majority. 'A lot of people seem to think that women are more susceptible to Islam. I think it's largely because a lot of people are obsessed with the idea of an educated, liberated British woman converting to Islam, which they feel subjugates and represses them in some way. We just get a lot more attention I suppose and that sparks people's interest.' The lure of Islam for women is surprising, given that the conversion process may be even more problematic for them than for men. There is the commonly held belief that Islam represses women and female converts often have to deal with recrimination from female friends who view their adoption of Islam as some sort of betrayal. Certainly, all the women I spoke to were quick to refute the idea that Islam imposes a women-know-thy-place ideology. 'The perception of how women are treated is completely incorrect,' insists Caroline. 'Women have a fantastic position in Islamic society.' Indeed, many women converts talk about the adoption of the Islamic dress code as a liberation. They see it not as a denial of sex and sexuality but rather as an acknowledgement that these are treasures to be shared with a loved one and them alone. They are not hidden but rather freed from objectification. Asya insists that the trick is to turn preconceptions on their head. She wears a scarf to show she is a Muslim and a smile to prove she is happy being one. One problem for converts is that they are caught between two cultures. 'Young Muslims are very accepting,' says Caroline. 'They are really happy that you have chosen to become Muslim. The older generation are not so accepting. For them, Islam is part of their cultural background, it's about the country they came from and it's what binds their communities together.' One step towards greater acceptance came last October when Reedah Nijabat opened ArRum, an Islamic restaurant/members' bar/ cultural centre/social club in Clerkenwell. Nijabat, a 31-year-old former barrister and management consultant from Walthamstow, originally conceived ArRum as a meeting place and networking venue for professional first- and second-generation London Muslims. But it has also become a focal point for many of London's Muslim converts. It is easy to see why. On any work evening, a mixed bag of middle-aged Pakistani men, young couples (some Muslim, some curious non-Muslim), kids and white British converts chat and tuck into halal 'fusion' food. While the club promotes Islamic culture, the vibe is a Hempel temple of inner calm. Sufi wailing calms the nerves, while the bar specialises in healthy juices. For the new converts I spoke to, ArRum is a place to meet other Muslims and somewhere to bring non-Muslim friends and introduce them to Islam in a way that doesn't scare them. ArRum accents Islam's USP among the major faiths: its openness and lack of hierarchy. And Nijabat has realised that if there is an endemic suspicion of stuffy organised religion among the British (and increasingly, one suspects, second-generation British Muslims) there is great interest in 'spirituality', whatever that might mean. 'I think that the problem has not been with the substance of the major faiths, whatever they are, but a marketing defect,' argues Nijabat. 'Everything we do here is about remembrance of God and Islam, but you can get that across in a cool way. I'm not saying anything that isn't in the Koran (Qur'aan), but you have to talk to people on their level.' 'I'm beginning to see that there is a huge misunderstanding and a bridge that needs to be crossed between ethnic communities, host communities and spiritual communities, and I think we are making a contribution to that. You can get so hung up on the divisions and how different we are, but it is the same God for all of us. And we still feel that loss whether it is an American life or a Palestinian life. A lot of people are going through a period of soul-searching and that can only be a good thing.' For many, that soul-searching has led them to Islam. And, as Dobson points out, ArRum and its new converts do not represent some kind of liberal IslamLite, a media-friendly dilution of the real thing. --The Evening Standard Link

Valson Thampu - Mother Teresa shows the way: Faith in scepticism

Wednesday, September 10, 2008 Deccan Herald Deccan Herald » Edit Page »  MAIN ARTICLE Mother Teresa shows the way: Faith in scepticism By Valson Thampu We have distorted our religious traditions by eroding from them the spirituality of scepticism and seeking. “Where is my faith? Even deep down…there is nothing but emptiness and darkness… If there be God —please forgive me. When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul … How painful is this unknown pain — I have no Faith. Repulsed, empty, no faith, no love, no zeal…what do I labour for?”: Mother Teresa. It shocks many to see these words in Mother Teresa’s diary. Ironically, diehard pietists and dogmatic secularists are apparently one in assuming that saints are not human and that they are untouched by the inner anguish, self-doubt and uncertainties. They seem to assume, further, that religion has no margin for being honest about oneself and that it demands an unthinking conformity to religious stereotypes. What is the truth? Jesus was assailed by doubts of the most agonising kind. “If it is possible,” he prayed, “take this cup away from me.” On the cross he cried, “My Father, why have you forsaken me?”  Given that, Mother Teresa’s words of spiritual bewilderment need not sound unfamiliar! What needs to be recognised is that truth is to spirituality what blind faith is to conventional religiosity. Commitment to truth involves being honest with oneself. That honesty urges us to acknowledge the doubts and uncertainties that stalk us in our journey of faith. That is why we are, at best, only seekers and not smug know-alls. We need to seek because, as of now, we see only in part and we need to find the whole. Truth is a function of the whole and seeking is the pilgrimage of truth. The impetus for this truth-pilgrimage is the awareness of one’s spiritual poverty. The opposite of this is complacency, the offspring of blind faith. It makes us assert what we do not know and absolutise the trivial when the colour or smell of religion is cast upon it. It is the seed of the aberrations that abound in the domain of religion: the intolerance, cruelty, self-deception and manipulation. If only we were a little more sceptical, we would have been humbler and better human beings! The sceptical words of the Mother are far more spiritual than a hundred unthinking endorsements of orthodoxy. Regrettably, religion and reason have been placed in opposition to each other. Truth is the first casualty of this false construct. This is a serious matter because truth is the seed of justice. To compromise truth is, therefore, to promote injustice. Hence it is that communal religion lends itself to violence, cruelty and injustice.   Let us have faith in scepticism! Cocksureness about God is an insult to God. The first truth about God is his transcendence. God, if there is one, cannot be owned, predicted, manipulated and wielded at will as an instrument of parochial or partisan interests. It is instructive to recall the response of the then Archbishop of Canterbury to the request of the Queen to pray for British victory in the Falkland war. The venerable archbishop told the Queen politely that he would have to pray for soldiers on both sides! That is the problem with God. We cannot draw an arbitrary line — geographic, ethnic, religious or cultural, and expect God to play partisan on our side.  We have distorted our religious traditions by eroding from them the spirituality of scepticism and seeking. As a result, religions have become a source of spiritual blindness. Our blind religious loyalties have degraded us into, in the words of Matthew Arnold, “ignorant armies that clash by night,” not knowing who we fight and what we fight for. Honest scepticism, the like of which the Mother exemplified, is a far greater blessing to the world than thick-skinned, hypocritical religiosity whether it presents itself as communal politics or fundamentalist lunacy.  This could offer an alleviating perspective on the vexatious Amarnath shrine issue and the pointless suffering it continues to perpetuate. When will we develop the mental freedom to know that God has no favourite haunts and joints? That, the Creator of the Universe does not dwell in man-made churches, temples, mosques and shrines? That, if there is a temple in this world, it is only your heart and mine? That, Hinduism, Islam and Christianity are all nothing but the clothes we wear to cover our nakedness before God and our fellow human beings, and not the swords we flash against each other? For our eyes to open, we need to develop the spirituality of scepticism as against blind faith whose purveyors, in religion and politics, lead us by the nose to sub-serve their vested interests. Spirituality is a call to truth and freedom, and not an excuse for falsehood, depravity and mental slavery. The courage to say, “I have no Faith” is sweeter to God than the animal cries of blind faith. Mother’s words of anguish -“I have no faith” are, in truth, the slogan of true freedom: freedom from hypocritical and fearful religiosity. Wednesday, September 10, 2008 Deccan Herald

Re-conversions in Orissa -- Tehelka Report by Vijay Simha

 The terror works. In the jungles off Sankarakhol village, one of the first targeted by the militant Hindus, a group of RSS whole-timers are reconverting 18 Christians to Hinduism. It’s a daytime ceremony. The RSS Mandal Mukhiya (head of the Mandal unit) Sudhir Pradhan, a slim bearded man, is in charge. There are 30 Hindus to make sure that the 18 Christians don’t change their mind.

Each of the Christians has brought a Bible, in Oriya, along. They have also brought a coconut each, and some incense sticks, red thread to tie around the wrist, and vermillion for their foreheads. The Christians first burn their Bibles in a small bonfire. They sit in a circle. In the middle are the coconuts, each one signifying a Christian, and the other paraphernalia. The God of the Hills is appeased first in a prayer.

Ashes to ashes This woman’s son is still hiding in the jungles

Then, a Christian rises. He has a coconut in his hand. “I swear that I have become a Hindu today. After today, if I ever become a Christian again, may my dynasty perish,” he says. He breaks the coconut on a stone. The other Christians follow, each one making the same promise. Some murmur, some are loud. A Hindu priest begins to apply vermillion on the foreheads of the Christians-turned-Hindus. One of them protests, but it is too late. There’s a red streak on his forehead as well.

Sudhir Pradhan then takes over. Eyes closed, spine firm, and voice ominous. There is a deep and rhythmic chanting of Om followed by the Gayatri Mantra, a sacred chant of the Hindus. The slogans follow: “Bharat mata ki jai.” “Ganga mata ki jai.” “Gau mata ki jai.” “Sri Ramjanambhoomi ki jai.” They pause for a few moments and the Christians-becoming-Hindus kneel, placing their foreheads on the ground. There’s a final “Jai Shri Ram.” The first stage of reconversion from Christianity to Hinduism is over. The motivation for these Christians to reconvert is life. They want to live in Kandhamal, keep their houses and, maybe, get some regular work.

Months afterward, these Christian-turned- Hindus will be asked to attend a yagya — a Hindu ritual of sacrifice that involves the worship of deities, unity and charity. In the yagya, they will wear saffron clothes and a sacred thread, and get their heads shaved. They will offer a few goats and some rice as fee. They will be given Gau Mutra (cow urine) and Tulsi water to drink. They will take Hindu vows. Then, they will share the mutton and rice (cooked from their offerings) in a small feast. This completes their reconversion. From then on, they will have a Tulsi plant in their homes, have pictures of Hindu gods on their walls, and celebrate Hindu festivals. They will pray only to Hindu gods.

Pradhan is happy. He’s done his job for the day. He explains the difference between a Hindu and a Christian. “They (Christians) eat cows. We (Hindus) worship cows.” Therefore, “people who eat cows should be given the same treatment that they give the cows.” Pradhan says Togadia has laid down the policy. “He has already announced that there is no place for Christians. If Christians don’t become Hindus, they have to go. We don’t care where they go. They must leave Orissa,” he says.

BUTWHAT’S the point in killing and driving a people out, merely to nudge the percentage of Hindus from near 95 percent to 100 percent? Dr Krishan Kumar, the young District Magistrate of Kandhamal, thinks it’s actually about jobs, land, and only then religion. Kumar has studied medicine (hence the Dr prefix), and was given overnight charge of Kandhamal when the Hindu militants began attacking the Christians. Read

The Azadi We Need: Response to Arundhati Roy by UMAIR AHMED MUHAJIR

The Azadi We Need The azadi demanded by the Kashmiri movement, and used by Roy as a rallying cry, is not the answer to that question; the freedom we need is azadi from the mindset that thinks of peoples and communities only in terms of nation-states; and equally, an azadi that demands that the Indian state honour its promise, to itself and to us.  Why does any of this matter? Because nation-states where "second-class" citizenship is implicit -- think the United States prior to de-segregation; I assume Roy would include India; but really one could argue some are always more equal than others in all nation-states -- can be called out on their failures. Such nation-states are guilty of hypocrisy, but hypocrisy is not the worst sin; indeed hypocrisy, by opening up a gap between theory and practice, between promise and reality, makes it possible to hold a mirror up to the state, to try and compel it to honour its own promise to itself; and enables us to argue that the nation-state is only imperfectly itself until it takes a good long look in that mirror.  The nation-state as political Alpha and Omega was problematic in its European birthplaces to begin with; to continue to cling to it as the last best hope of ethnic or religious minorities in milieus like India's (or Africa's, or the Balkans'; pick your poison), in the wake of the man-made disasters that have befallen us over the last century, is nothing short of bankrupt.  The nation-state as political Alpha and Omega was problematic in its European birthplaces to begin with; to continue to cling to it as the last best hope of ethnic or religious minorities in milieus like India's (or Africa's, or the Balkans'; pick your poison), in the wake of the man-made disasters that have befallen us over the last century, is nothing short of bankrupt.  Read more  Arundhat Roy's article in Outlook Sep 1, 2005,"Azadi" 8 Photographs: ALTAF QADRI Azadi It's the only thing the Kashmiri wants. Denial is delusion. ARUNDHATI ROY For the past sixty days or so, since about the end of June, the people of Kashmir have been free. Free in the most profound sense. They have shrugged off the terror of living their lives in the gun-sights of half-a-million heavily-arme The Indian military occupation of Kashmir makes monsters of us all.It allows Hindu chauvinists to target and victimise Muslims in India by holding them hostage to the freedom struggle being waged by Muslims in Kashmir. It's all being stirred into a poisonous brew and administered intravenously, straight into our bloodstream. At the heart of it all is a moral question. Does any government have the right to take away people's liberty with military force? India needs azadi from Kashmir just as much—if not more—than Kashmir needs azadi from India. Read more Click here for more on Arundhati Roy

RAJINDER PURI On Indians Wealthy and Miserable

Eighty per cent of China’s industry is owned by foreigners. Almost a hundred per cent technology that built China is foreign, a great deal from America.  Olympics 2008 was a mega creation. Like the pyramids by the Pharaohs, the coliseum by the Romans, or the autobahns by the Nazis.

According to Forbes magazine, among the eight richest billionaires in the world, four are Indians—Lakshmi Mittal, the Ambani brothers and K.P. Singh. Among the world’s most powerful women, two are Indian politicians—Sonia Gandhi and Mayawati. Wow! Is India a superpower?No, not quite. Forbes is the authentic voice of the corporate world. Big Business, not America or Europe, rules humankind. Big Media is the voice of Big Business. It is the only window open to people for information. It shapes their thinking. It can market almost anything to ram it down the throats of people at large. Last week, a men’s weekly polled a new young Indian actress as the sexiest in the world. Omigosh! In the whole wide world? Without hurting her feelings, that’s pretty sweeping, isn’t it cutie pie? But let’s focus on India. Will India emulate China? Corporate power calls the shots in India. Corporate power calls the shots in China. Olympics 2008 dazzled the world. It was a mega creation. Like the pyramids by the Pharaohs, the coliseum by the Romans, or the autobahns by the Nazis. The Chinese, like the Japanese and the Koreans, are amazing, disciplined people. All credit to them. But eighty per cent of China’s industry is owned by foreigners. Almost a hundred per cent technology that built China is foreign, a great deal from America. So let’s not kid ourselves. Big Business is committed to no one nation. The world is its oyster. It is committed to profit and power from wherever the world provides it with these. So, if corporate power wants to present India as an emerging superpower, that’s great. Let’s not ignore reality, though. According to the latest World Bank estimates, regardless of its richest billionaires and most powerful women, India has one-third of the world’s poor. Forty-two per cent of India’s population is below the international poverty line. After economic reforms, the rich grew richer than during the previous decade. But the percentage of poor people increased. Continue to read

What happened to the India of our dreams?

Cry, my Beloved Country!

Aijaz Zaka Syed (VIEW FROM DUBAI)

4 September 2008

Until recently, many of my Pakistani friends would envy the pluralism and the culture of genuine tolerance in the world’s largest democracy, attributing it to its democratic ethos.  This general worldview of India did not change even after the demolition of Babri mosque (1992) and Gujarat (2002).

The extremist Hindu organisations like RSS, VHP and Bajrang Dal have been concerned by the massive proselytizing by Christian missionaries in the tribal areas of Orissa.  The missionaries have been doing some excellent social work, running schools, clinics and orphanages in interior Orissa where even government officials avoid going.  As a result, low caste Hindus and tribal groups, exploited for thousands of years, have been joining Christ’s flock in thousands every year.

The current wave of violence was sparked by the killing of a leader from the VHP, the militant Hindu organisation that was in the forefront of the Ayodhya mosque demolition and subsequent anti-Muslim riots.

Religious violence is hardly new to Orissa.  In 1999, an Australian missionary Graham Steins who had been working in the state for three decades treating lepers in remote tribal areas, was burnt alive with his two sons as they slept in their jeep.  The children had been visiting their father from Australia.     And the self same demons have come back to haunt Orissa today unleashing a reign of terror across the region where Emperor Ashoka gave up violence to promote Buddha’s message of peace.

And all that the state government and the federal government in Delhi have done so far is pass the buck to each other. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh has rightly called the attacks a “national shame,” just as PM Vajpayee had done in the case of Gujarat in 2002 where his own party was in power and his protégé presided over the carnage.

But is that enough? Is it not the responsibility of governments to protect their people, especially the vulnerable among them?  The Orissa government finds itself helpless in dealing with the murderers and arsonists because they are led by the men who are part of the coalition in the state.  The government in Delhi is busy settling political scores with the Orissa government.  Instead of taking action to stop the carnage, the federal government has suggested a probe by the CBI -– India’s answer to FBI -– into attacks.  

Remarkably, the authorities that look the other way while the mobs ransack Orissa, hunting and killing helpless men and women like some cornered animals, have been extraordinarily efficient in dealing with the ‘Muslim terrorists.’

From the plains of the North India to the Malabar coast down south, hundreds of young Muslims have been swallowed up by India’s jails as the terrorists and ISI agents.   Although there has always been the ominous cloud of ISI and Pakistan hanging over Indian Muslims -- especially if they looked like Muslims – the extent of persecution of Muslims under the secular and liberal UPA government is truly shocking.

Even though one has been reading and hearing about the harassment of Muslims in Indian press from time to time, the big picture revealed by the Tehelka magazine (www.tehelka.com) and the recent open, people’s courts held by human rights groups in Hyderabad is incredibly horrifying. I can’t believe this is happening in my own country.  From fake encounters to torture to old fashioned terror tactics, the world’s biggest religious minority today faces the kind of terror that it did not experience even under the long British rule. Today, the Muslims have become enemies of the state in their own land.

The then BJP-NDA government started the witch-hunt of the Muslims by banning the SIMI (Students Islamic Movement of India) in September 2001 -- days after the 9/11 events in the US.    Not only the offices of the obscure outfit hopelessly dreaming of Muslim glory were shut and sealed but hundreds of innocents from across the country were also thrown behind bars in the name of fighting terror.

  Is this Gandhi’s India? Whatever happened to the India of our dreams, the champion of non-violence and tolerance? And where’s this country headed? I do not know. But I fear and cry for my country.

Read it all

Dr Binayak Sen, My Brother, Our Hero By Dipankar Sen

The courtroom was hushed as the prisoner stood awaiting sentence. The judge donned his black skullcap as he deliberately passed the death sentence. That is the sweat drenched nightmare that I sometimes wake up to. The prisoner is no ordinary man: he is my brother, Dr Binayak Sen. Recently, I went to visit him again in prison in Raipur in Chhattisgarh, just before his last court hearing. I saw him again in court. The courtroom itself was far from the courtrooms that we see in the movies. No pictures of a toothless smiling Gandhi or Subhas Chandra Bose hung from the wall behind the judge, a Sikh, Mr Balinder Singh Saluja. There were just two benches, one for the lawyers and the second for visitors. The dock, a 1.5m x 1.5menclosure, was just enough space for the three standing prisoners while the lawyers argued their case. Binayak stood leaning against the railing of the dock. The expression on his face and his body language did not betray any anxiety or distress of this unnecessary prison experience imposed on him through an intricate web of lies. There, standing within touching distance was my Dada, handsome, dignified, ever driven by the force of conviction, all of which showed up in the gentleness of his composure and the calmness in his eyes. I asked him how he was. "Without a purpose," was his reply. And that, I suspect, must have been one of his weaker moments, because he actually said something about himself. His reply would normally be, "I'm ok, don't worry about me. I am just fine. How is Ma? Tell her not to worry. And how are you?"As the proceedings started, there was a witness in the dock on the other side of the room, closer to the judge. He was identifying the seizure list. The list was long, and the monotonous but hypnotic tapping sound of the typewriter caused my mind to float away. I looked at Dada and my mind drifted to the tune of "Where are the green fields," which he would whistle when we were kids in Pune in 1965. He had just passed his Senior Cambridge exams from Calcutta Boy's School with brilliant results and had every reason to be chirpy. He had a lot of friends and we would go out hiking, which meant a lot of walking through the wild grasslands then surrounding the camp area in Pune. I was just a fat 11-year-old then and often had problems keeping up. Dada often had to carry me piggy back so that the tall grass would not cut me with the sharp blades. By the time he became a doctor, his care for the little brother had been replaced by constant concern for the health of poor Indians, the tribals, workers, the dispossessed or others that are in the process of joining their ranks. Around May 9, 2007, I had called my mother in Kalyani, when I was told by my niece that they had learnt through journalists that their father was supposed to be arrested but was reported to be absconding. Binayak and his entire family were at Kalyani then, spending some of their holidays with my aged mother. My mind did not even register the urgency or the gravity of the situation. I just thought it was some stupid mistake that the police had made. After all, who could have anything against Dada...the poor man's doctor and helping hand? I had even nicknamed him Father Teresa, except that he liked Kingfisher beer. I suddenly realized that I knew very little about The BINAYAK SEN. It had been a long time that we had gone our ways. But the prospect of arrest and prison for Dada were a long way off from anything that we as a family could have imagined. The next day, and everyday after that, I called Kalyani, and realized that Dada's situation was much more serious than I had thought. That is when I started begging him to come to me, in Belgium. Run... do anything but don’t go back to Chhattisgarh. He just said that he could not betray the trust of his patients, who would be waiting for him from the May 14, 2007. He insisted on leaving as scheduled, on May 13.While sitting in an Italian restaurant in Paris on May 14, I heard of his arrest. His older daughter Pranhita first called to say that he was called to the police station in Bilaspur to give a statement, but that the police would not arrest him. About 15 minutes later she called again to say that he had indeed been arrested. It was around 12.45 in Paris that my life turned its page on political innocence. I suddenly grew up. During the course of Dada's year in prison, I read about him in the pres, both national and international. I found him on Wikipedia. I found his name on numerous internet sites. There were the admiring letters that he received in prison, and that must have helped to keep his sanity. Then came the recognition from the Indian Academy of Social Sciences, the Keithan Gold Medal, the Jonathan Mann award, the 21 Nobel Laureates writing to Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, the demonstrations in India and around the world. But I began feeling guilty and embarrassed. Because of my long absence in Europe since the 1970s, I learnt about Dada's greatness, above all about his work, through the press and through the mail of his admirers from distant lands. I did not know about the hospital he helped build in Dalli Rajhara, his work in Ganyari near Bilaspur, the Mitanin project, the Right to Food campaign. Nor had I heard of his work with the People's Union for Civil Liberties(PUCL), or of the dedicated band of people that worked with him. They included doctors, lawyers, journalists, filmmakers and the man on the street. His circle of supporters included doctors from all over the world, the most active among them being his own former teachers and class mates, as well as some who were not his contemporaries at Christian Medical College(CMC), Vellore, but had attended the same college. I learnt details about his career from his former teachers and colleagues at the Christian Medical College, which bestowed on him the Paul Harrison Award to recognize his work that exemplified their best ideals of a doctor. There were two images of my brother - the more familiar one of a fun-loving man who liked good food, good music, and enjoyed horsing around with his family and his many good friends; and the other of a serious doctor with concerns - expressed even while he was a student -- about the health of poorer communities, and its roots in their social and economic deprivation. This is what his former teacher, Dr P Zachariah, wrote in a tribute to his student:" Binayak is a very rare doctor - a man with a deep understanding of the social and political dimensions of health. The governments of the world, the World Bank and other organizations are now worrying about food security and alternative food policies; Binayak was decades ahead of them all."None of this apparently moves the State, which refuses to budge from its position. If you ask someone in the government why Dada is in prison, the reply is standard: "He is a Maoist leader and sympathizer, and we have enough evidence against him."So I asked the DGP of Chhattisgarh, so why is he not returning the computer seized from Dr Binayak Sen over a year ago, especially since forensic examination of the hard disc had failed to turn up any incriminating evidence. He said that the Forensic Institute in Hyderabad could not break into a code. When I reminded him that teenagers are hacking into banks and the Pentagon everyday, his reply was patently evasive. I also reminded him that I had heard that not one of the police witnesses gave any credible witness/evidence against Binayak. He countered with the possibility of a supplementary charge sheet that was in preparation based on some 53 pages of telephone conversations with someone who is a known Maoist. Like an astrologer, he predicted that the lower court would probably convict him but the higher court would release him. Now, how long the process would take is anybody's guess. Common sense tells me that it could be years. Back in the courtroom, my mind suddenly woke up to the noise of some strong protests from defense lawyer Mahindra Dubey. He had just found that a letterhead been planted by the police and had clearly stirred some excitement in court. The insistent tapping of the typewriter had stopped. The judge looked worried. A letter to a senior Maoist party member which the police were claiming had been found among the documents seized from his apartment was printed on a plain sheet of computer paper, and did not even have his signature. Moreover, it did not appear in the list of seized documents that Dada and the police had co-signed at the time they were seized. It was indeed a plant. The old public prosecutor did not bother to look embarrassed, he simply denied any knowledge of it or how it got there. I left the court dejected and heartbroken as he was driven away in the police van. An entire State was conspiring to subject upon my brother a life without a life... without a purpose, without any privacy, without any space of his own, denying him the very means of contributing to society in a way that even the State itself had acknowledged when it had implemented his ideas to start the Mitanin programme. They are imposing a punishment upon an innocent man in the full knowledge that they are doing wrong. Now that we are convinced that his imprisonment is based on false and trumped up charges, we will want to know who would want to inflict such a fate on this man and above all why? Then we could have a possible basis and a clue to engage in a sensible dialogue with them to secure his release. My Dada was one who, at a very early age, wondered why we could not invite the servants in our home to eat with us. At the age of five, he had the sensitivity to write: I saw a bird in the morning sun Flying high up in the sky, A man shot it down with his gun And I began to cry. He does not deserve this fate. But for someone who has withstood more than year-and-four months of prison, solitary confinement, harassment, humiliation but not shame, we have a simple message: Tum akele nahin ho Dada... My brother!
The writer is an options trader in the commodities market based in Antwerp, Belgium. The print version of this article will appear in the September edition of Hard news magazine. The magazine will hit the stands on September 1, 2008
Thanks  to Dr. Jesudas Athyal for sending the news link