Once Were Radicals (26 page)

I soon realised that I was probably more fearful of the wrath of my Indo-Pakistani family elders than of God Almighty. This whole idea of dedicating myself to establishing God's law on earth wasn't so easy. I'd read stories of the Prophet Muhammad and his companions being tortured and subjected to social and economic boycotts and having to face armies between three and twenty times their size. And here I was, fourteen centuries later, unable to convince my believing sister that she might believe in a more proper manner. Reading about the Islamic movement was clearly much easier than implementing it.

My parents were quite concerned about the books I was reading and the people I was mixing with. It was one thing to debate divinity teachers about doctrine but something else to openly try to impose restrictions on the behaviour of one's elders. My parents were on the verge of imposing some restrictions of their own. The arrival of my HSC results provided the perfect opportunity.

Before sitting for my HSC, I often boasted to my parents that I'd definitely get enough marks to get into medicine. After the exams, I realised it was time to reduce their expectations. I knew I must have bombed out in my Physics exam, but couldn't have predicted bombing out in Chemistry as well. However, I still boasted that I'd at least get enough marks to get into law at the University of Sydney.

The envelope finally arrived. I had a casual job at the time, and Mum telephoned me at work in tears.

That afternoon when I got home, Dad was talking my marks up, but I could tell he was extremely disappointed. I'd only managed 408 out of 500.

Only? My best mate from school, Don, couldn't believe my parents and I were upset I'd ‘only' achieved 81.6 per cent while he and his parents were happy he'd managed to scrape a pass. Don had also done some intelligence work and discovered I had only been beaten by seven other guys in our school year.

My parents were not appeased by this information. My sister who sat the HSC immediately before me had scored well over 430 and had almost finished medicine. Faced with my parents' disenchantment I plunged into a state of near depression. Dad and I drove to Taylor Square at 11 p.m. where the next day's paper showing university placements would be published so we could find out early. Dad was hoping I'd at least get into dentistry so that I might then transfer to medicine. No such luck. I missed out by three marks. I didn't even get into law at Sydney Uni. The best choices I had were law at Macquarie or ANU in Canberra.

I remembered what my English teacher had told me at the end of Year 11 about considering a career in journalism. The cut-off mark for mass communications was exactly 408, the same as for law. I spoke to Dad. He gave me the best advice in the worst possible manner: ‘You must do law. If you want to do journalism, do it under someone else's roof.'

Later, he softened the blow by explaining his reasoning. ‘I know you are an excellent writer and an excellent debater. It shows in your English results. My father studied law, and he died early in life when I was only sixteen. He never wanted me to do law. He always wanted me to do medicine. I failed my matriculation exam the first time and he was very disappointed. But the next time around, I did really well and got into a pre-medical course. I tried doing it for a year, but I just couldn't stand the sight of blood. So I switched to mathematics.'

From medicine to mathematics? It didn't make much sense to me. I tried to understand what he was getting at. I took a stab in the dark.

‘Dad, do you want me to repeat the HSC?'

‘No way. You will waste a year of your life. I want you to do law at Macquarie. Try your best and work really hard. You might end up getting a transfer to medicine or even to law at Sydney University. Don't do mass communications. If you become a lawyer, you can always change to journalism or writing later in life. But doing journalism and then trying to make the transition to law will be much harder. And try to reduce your interest in Islam. Religion isn't everything in life. No one will employ you if you are a
fanatic. And no woman wants to have a fanatic for a boyfriend or a husband.'

It was excellent advice, only part of which I followed. I enrolled in law, but didn't study too hard. Instead, I immersed myself in sorting out exactly what kind of Muslim I wanted to be. Instead of attending lectures and tutorials, I would drive to religious gatherings or have religious discussions with fellow Muslim students. Instead of reading my course notes or preparing assignments, I was preparing lessons to give at the IYA study circles on Saturday afternoons where I was reminding myself as well as those listening of the need to find God and spread His word.

Looking back now, it sounds just so silly that we were so absorbed in my Year 12 marks. At just about every school reunion, I meet guys who didn't make it to uni and yet have paid off houses and investment properties. Academic achievement isn't the sure road to financial security my parents and Indian uncles and aunties made it out to be.

Some interesting developments were taking place in the Islamic movement around this time. Imam Chami was wrong about Islamic movement leaders not wanting to change their host countries. In the United Kingdom, a rather eccentric former journalist named Kalim Siddiqui had gone to the extent of forming his own Muslim Parliament. I often heard Dad and his more secular friends mutter about Kalim Siddiqui. The whole idea of English Muslims having a separate parliament to England's House of Commons and House of Lords seemed absurd and unnecessarily provocative. Dad would later find Kalim
Siddiqui particularly offensive after he supported Ayatollah Khomeini's fatwa (religious ruling, though in Rushdie's case it was really a death sentence) for Salman Rushdie to be murdered for writing
The Satanic Verses
.

Kalim Siddiqui was criticised by some Sunni Muslims for being too pro-Iran. But in this regard Siddiqui did have a fan club in Sydney in the form of a small elite group, a motley mix of Sunni and Shia Muslims calling themselves the Senior Usrah Group. Their ideas were controversial, even revolutionary for their time. Yet they were individuals who commanded enormous influence in various sectors of ethnic Muslim communities and in various religious institutions.

Among the Senior Usrah crowd was a rather jovial Indian chap named Zia. Also among their number was one pious-looking Arab Shia, Dr T, as well as an architect and Australian representative of the Afghan Jamiat-i-Islami mujahideen faction in Australia named Mahmud Saikal. Then there was an Anglo-Australian convert, Damien, and a Canberra student and ex-socialist of Malay origin named Imran. There was a handful of other people, including a Palestinian chap named Jamal. And on one occasion there was even an undergraduate Macquarie law student who probably should have been at home studying.

It felt exciting to be part of such an elite group. They held secret meetings (called
shura
or consultative management) early on Sunday mornings just after sunrise, gathering at a small hut the University of NSW had allocated to its Muslim Students' Association. The meetings apparently all had the same format—at least that's what I was told. I only ever attended one of these secret meetings. When I was first
invited to a meeting, I was warned not to tell anyone. But I was so excited about this invitation that I blurted it out to my old camp buddy Shaf. I expected him to be suitably impressed, perhaps even jealous. What I learned instead was that Shaf was part of the broad anti-Shia coalition which I called the supersonic Sunni faction.

Shaf warned me against attending as the Senior Usrah engaged in
bidah
. The first time I heard this word, I imagined it referred to some dark, secret religious arts and ceremonies. But after hearing Shaf's explanation, I learned it had a more benign meaning. ‘Bro, these Shia practise
bidah
, which means they do things that the Prophet never did.'

Like what? Drive cars instead of camels? Use telephones instead of telepathy? ‘No. I mean they practise the religion in a way the Prophet never did,' Shaf explained. This kind of supersonic Sunni sectarian prejudice laced as guidance proved about as clear as the contents of the sewage pipes of the Saudi embassy. Which was where it all came from anyway.

Shaf told me that Shia Muslims apparently rejected anything from the Prophet's first three caliphs and only followed the fourth one. Hence, they rejected the
sunna
and engaged in
bidah
. And now they wanted to get Sunni Muslims to also engage in
bidah
, hoping to take over the Muslim world by convincing well-meaning Muslims like me to act as their useful idiots. I didn't believe him. As if I'd believe anyone who called me an idiot!

The Senior Usra
shura
meeting started with the appointment of a chairman (known as a
naqeeb
). Different meetings would have a different
naqeeb
. This practice of
having a rotating
naqeeb
proved particularly contentious among the supersonic Sunni faction. Apparently Sunni Muslims follow the
sunna
(example of the Prophet and his four caliphs or successors) and select one leader (called an
amir
) who runs the show for … well … pretty much until he drops dead. I thought it was so cool that the Senior Usrah were being all touchy-feely-ecumenicky in allowing ourselves to incorporate Shia principles of administration.

The
naqeeb
on this occasion was Zia. He started by going around the room and seeing who had memorised and could recite a set of verses of the Koran assigned at the previous meeting. None of the more politically minded people (such as the Canberra student, Imran, and myself) were interested in this kind of devotional stuff. It shouldn't come as a revelation to readers that here we were, a bunch of young activists, discussing the establishment of an international Koranic social order without being bothered to memorise, recite and understand around ten or so verses of the Koran. It wasn't the first time ideology would get in the way of logic.

After this, Zia then passed the microphone to the Afghan jihad rep Mahmud Saikal, who delivered the latest instalment of analysis on prominent figures from the Islamic movement. Saikal chose a passage from Maududi's book,
Four Basic Terms of the Koran
. He then opened the floor for discussion. Each person would give one or two insights that they gained from the reading.

After this, the microphone was handed to Jamal, who would talk about preparations for the next event. The Senior Usrah Group organised quarterly events called
‘Islamic Unity Seminars'. They chose a particular cause and invited speakers (including imams) to speak on the topic and its relevance to the worldwide Islamic movement and to Muslims in Australia. Jamal spoke about preparations for the next seminar which would explore the Intifada or Palestinian uprising in the West Bank and Gaza.

So why was the Senior Usrah so controversial, both in the Muslim community and in the broader community? Was it because we were reading the works of political Islamists? Was it because we included a known representative of an overseas jihad?