General

Muslim Australian kids have it easier now than when I was growing up in the 1980s

Irfan Yusuf, Sbs, 19 Feb 2018 
How
do you go from middle-class Sydney kid to wanting to be a soldier for Islam?
Irfan Yusuf reflects on the dysphoria of growing up Muslim in the 1980’s and
why he’s jealous of the new generation of Muslim kids.

 
“My
understanding of religion was affected by the political prejudices of the day”.
(Getty Images )

 

  

I
was almost sucked into this jihadist stuff. I wanted to go fight in
Afghanistan. 
The
only people who would have stopped me would have been my parents, elders and
imams.
Religion
and politics went hand in hand at that time, as they still do.
My
understanding of religion was affected by the political prejudices of the day.
To make matters worse, we had very few religious books. Most imams could barely
speak English. The only imam I knew who could speak English was the late Shaykh
Fehmi el-Imam, who skilfully talked me out of going for jihad.
That
was the 1980s. I’m seriously jealous of Muslim Aussie kids now.
There
are plenty of local imams who speak English. We even have a gay imam who
provides support to LGBTIQ Muslims.
At
age 16 I hated my parents’ South Asian culture and all the expectations it
carried with it – arranged marriages, studying medicine and a whole heap of
cultural protocols and restrictions I didn’t understand and had no relevance to
my life in Australia.
Mainstream
Islam can be found on the internet. I feel so proud to see women like lawyer
Lydia Shelly, academics Susan Carland and Shakira Hussein and MP’s Anne Aly and
Mehreen Faruqi speaking their minds in public.
At
age 16 I hated my parents’ South Asian culture and all the expectations it
carried with it – arranged marriages, studying medicine and a whole heap of
cultural protocols and restrictions I didn’t understand and had no relevance to
my life in Australia.
I
resented being the cultural guinea pig of my parents’ generation.
I
found the perfect weapon in religion. I read about Islam in books but rarely
saw its reality in my ancestral culture.
Religion
could be used to talk down to and escape South Asian restrictions.
Seriously,
who could argue with religion? All my parents’ generation could say was “Irfan,
you are going to extremes”.
The
political environment of the time encouraged Islamic “extremes”. We were in the
middle of the Cold War.
Media
and politicians made everyone paranoid about communism. The Soviets could then
destroy the Free World, or at least drive it broke.
The
only thing standing in the way were a rag tag militia known as the Mujahideen
(Arabic plural for jihadist) who were considered anti-communist heroes, openly
preaching and raising money for jihad across the Western world.
I
resented being the cultural guinea pig of my parents’ generation.
The
people who today claim to despise jihadists now (usually as a cover for hating
Muslims or refugees or immigrants) were loving jihadists back then. Jihadists visited President Reagan in the White House. The
jihadists were on our side, including the Arab volunteers led by a young Saudi
named Osama bin Ladin.
What
started as an innocent religious rebellion against culture eventually led me to
wanting to fight in Afghanistan, just as some young Croatians I knew wanted to
fight in what was then Yugoslavia.
My
Islam was the Islam of Cold War paranoia. It was also the Islam of foreign
embassies.
Medieval
Arab regimes made wealthy by oil would flood our mosques with free books which
presented an Islam that had little relevance to helping us understand how to
apply our faith in Australia. At one mosque, Colonel Gaddafi’s Green Book was
handed out after Friday prayers.
Our
communities and mosques were divided along ethnic and linguistic lines.
Religion usually came second, and many Aussie Muslim kids were pressured to put
being Indo-Pakistani or Turkish or Yugoslav or Albanian before being Muslim.
Religious
leaders spent most of their time arguing about the income from overseas
governments or halal meat certification. Meanwhile, a small number of kids like
me were almost “radicalised”, while most left both culture and faith.
Today,
mosques are more youth-focused. Many Muslim kids have parents who themselves
were brought up in Australia. They live in Aussie households where everyone
speaks English. I know Muslim mums who wear hijab and swear like troopers.
Islam is an Aussie faith.
Sadly,
however, the link between minority politics and religion is still strong. A
tiny proportion of third-generation Muslim kids think the only way to be Muslim
is to hate their parents’ Australian culture and join some overseas war they
don’t understand. Their parents, their mosques, their imams, their communities
and the broader community are doing everything to stop them.
These
kids imagine that their religion is hated by Australia and the West.
They
hold onto a conspiracy theory that triggers them to join wacko groups like
ISIL.
Every
time a conservative politician, insists extremism is all about Islam and
Muslims and burqas and “modest fashion”, it makes our job of convincing
“radicalised” kids that Australia isn’t out to get them that much harder.
Each
time Muslim figures are pilloried in public for minor infractions, the double
standard is noted.
I’ve
grown up with this double standard, which I know applies not just to Muslims
but also South Sudanese Christians, LGBTIQ people, Indigenous Australians and
so many others.
It
is this constant identity tension, young Muslims kids still navigate.
For
those on the margins or feeling trapped between worlds, creating a space for
inclusivity is the only way to stem the exclusion and dysphoria that feeds
radicalism.