THE BROTHERHOOD Read Free Page A

around the world, like Latin or English is used by Christians,’ Rami explained. ‘People from Arabic backgrounds, for example, have slightly different traditions to those from India or Indonesia, but Arabic is a binding language and that of the Quran.’
    He led Aazim through a door at the back of the building that took them outside the mosque and into an adjoining room that was smaller and more intimate. Before they were allowed in, Rami whispered something in the ear of the grave-looking man guarding the small room. They sat down in a far-end corner and observed. Everyone was involved in their own conversations and showed no interest in the newcomers. The carpets lacked the colour and extravagance of the main building and the room was bare, save for a few tables covered with religious reading material that was all in Arabic. A group of younger men were sitting on the floor cross-legged, some dressed in traditional robes. They were involved in a debate hosted by an older man positioned in front of them.
    ‘Who’s that?’ Aazim pointed discreetly at the old man.
    ‘That’s Hanif. He’s been around for years and he’s a close friend of Sam’s. He serves as a mentor to a lot of the younger worshippers on their path to Islamic teachings.’
    Rami directed Aazim’s attention to the cleric, who was dressed in traditional Pakistani garments. Due to the number of different nationalities in the room the debate was conducted in English. Everyone was considered an equal and had a right to voice their opinion. They were discussing the recent case of five Muslim youths who had been jailed for gang-raping a girl in a Sydney suburb. Daily coverage of the incident on television and in newspapers had incited a number of violent attacks on mosques, schools, and individuals dressed in anything resembling Islamic garb. The Islamic Council of New South Wales and prominent religious leaders delivered a statement condemning the youths and distancing themselves from what they called ‘a radical element of our society’. The radical element referred to Sheik El Balagi, who transferred the blame onto ‘indecently dressed women’ and spoke of an ‘understandable lack of restraint’ by the youths.
    A young member in the group was particularly infuriated at the media for sensationalising the case and highlighting the youth’s religion. ‘It happens all the time, so why don’t we hear about it in every newspaper and TV channel?’ he asked.
    Around the room heads nodded in agreement.
    ‘We can’t go through airport security without everyone staring at us, our bags are always searched, they ask stupid questions and our women are told to reveal their faces. They think we’re all terrorists and rapists!’ another said.
    ‘We have more right to be in this country than they do,’ a younger man commented. ‘I came here with a passport and money, and their ancestors were convicts brought on boats. What does that tell you?’
    Laughter erupted around the room.
    Aazim was taken aback by the anger and frustration written on the young faces. While observing their intense expressions, he couldn’t help but be a little swept up by the energy of the group, especially when the topic of all Arabs being terrorists was raised. It went on and on, and he found himself absorbed in a political banter that was close to his own heart. They were blaming the ‘infidels of the West’ for all the trouble and stagnation in the Arab world, and singling out the United States as the worst perpetrator and the root of all evil.
    ‘It’s every Muslim’s right and obligation to stand up to them,’ one young man said.
    Aazim was curious about the fact that no one mentioned the Australian government, almost as if the walls had ears and no one could be trusted. Someone behind him yelled out the word jihad , which grabbed the attention of the cleric, who raised his hand. Everyone fell silent and listened intently.
    His eyes scanning the group, hand rubbing his