During the summer of 2010, my hometown of Murfreesboro, Tenn., was invaded by a militant terrorist organization, under the command of Sharia Law, intent on establishing a sleeper cell in the heart of a Southern town. At least, that is what an outspoken group of opponents to the mosque thought. In reality, Murfreesboro's Muslim community, present in the area for over two decades, wished to establish a larger community center in order to accommodate their growing congregation. This simple urge to worship sparked a shameful amount of spitting hatred and xenophobia in some residents of my town, revealing undertones of intolerance I had hoped were long since gone. As Aasif Mandvi from "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" quipped, "As you know, opponents say that building a mosque two blocks from Ground Zero is simply too close. But did you know that 18,000 blocks is also too close?" Here, this brings the phrase "too close to home" to an entirely new level.
The opposition was voracious. They held protests, a piece of construction equipment mysteriously caught on fire and a lawsuit was filed in an attempt to stop construction. From congressional candidates to the state's lieutenant governor, many public figures openly opposed the building of the mosque, citing their fear of Sharia Law and extremists as reason to subordinate the group. The faction of dissenters thought that all Muslims, even the neighbors in their community, threatened them just as much as the religiously extreme terrorist organizations in the Middle East. The anti-mosque protestors in our community, while protesting the supposed threat of Islam, were in fact posing much more of a danger to our community than the Muslims ever did. With many of those against the mosque having conservative, fundamentalist Christian backgrounds, I do not think they caught the irony as it was gently tossed in their direction.
I, however, did, which is why I went to the counter-protest. Because I believe that all religions are entitled to free worship, granted by our country's Constitution, I armed myself with a "Love thy Neighbor" sign, quite a bit of smugness and not nearly enough perspective and attended the protest. It was hot that day, about ninety degrees, and I used the sign to fan my sweating face. I giggled at posters that held messages such as "Google the Qur'an," and I thoroughly enjoyed chanting rhymed quips to the angry red faces staring back at me. It reminded me of being in a pep rally in school. It was fun for me, a story I could tell my friends while shaking my head with disappointment, thereby distancing myself from the pathetic, xenophobic nut-jobs.
Unfortunately, my attitude placed me much closer to the protesters than I thought. I faced their unfounded indignation with complacent ridicule. I came for the show the circus of Bible-thumping rednecks obsessed with an imaginary fear of "A-rabs" fueled by Fox News and their narrow-minded pastors. Sure, it was the right thing to do. No one should trample others' constitutional rights, nor should one allow that behavior in others to go unchallenged.
But while I was snickering, some of my fellow residents were worrying about where they were going to worship and their personal safety, just as some of our fellow students face different forms of harassment here. Though I am not willing to admit that I am on par with the protesters, I made the same type of error. This was not about a battle between different ideologies, whether it is Christian vs. Muslim or Ignorant vs. Educated or Activist vs. Traditionalist. This was the struggle of a group of people trying to worship in peace. I should have taken this seriously. I should have realized that what is funny to me means a more difficult life for them. I do believe the things I said, and I am glad I went to the protest. However, I have learned that mocking someone's struggles is not too far from causing them, even when I'm laughing at the guy with a barbecue-stained t-shirt and a "No Sharia Law" poster on the opposing side.
