Source & Credit: The New York Times
By Samra Habib | May 30, 2010
TORONTO — “Let’s put our tears into our Sajda and pray that God may give the Taliban hearts,” the leader at my local Toronto Ahmadiyya mosque said during Friday prayer. He was urging the congregation to shed their tears during the critical Sajda step of prayer, while kneeling down and touching their foreheads to the ground.
And that was all we could do as we Ahmadis sat next to each other on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder, seeking comfort just hours after getting the devastating news that Ahmadis in two mosques in Lahore, Pakistan, had been attacked during the sacred Jummah prayer — not unlike the one we were conducting at the moment.
While we at the Toronto mosque had been fortunate enough to flee the country and escape regular violent attacks by militants. But many of our family members and friends were among the victims of Muslim extremists brought grenades and rifles into two mosques and killed 80 and wounded 95 Ahmadi Muslims.
In 1991, I left Pakistan with my family and moved to Canada. We feared attacks by Muslim extremists and packed our bags in the middle of the night and managed to leave. Hiding our religion from non-Ahmadis had become part of our daily lives.
Our sect was founded in 1889 by Mirza Ghulam Ahmed, who wanted to reform Islam and remind Muslims of the beliefs and laws laid out by the Prophet Muhammad. He emphasized non-violence and stressed increased tolerance of other faiths. Ahmadis saw Mirza Ghulam Ahmad as the Promised Messiah, while mainstream Muslims refused to accept this belief and forbade us to call ourselves Muslims. We became the most discriminated-against community in Pakistan.
Ahmadis have had a long history of being treated poorly, especially at the hands of the Pakistani government. In 1974, the Pakistan Peoples Party promised Ahmadis that if they supported the party, the bloc would work to end discrimination against the sect. My grandfather, father and uncles worked tirelessly campaigning and volunteering for the PPP in the hopes that they, along with millions of Ahmadis, would be able to live freely. But when the party won and came into power, the Ahmadis were declared “non-Muslim” after the new leader, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, faced pressure from mullahs. This further escalated the violence and injustice that the sect had been facing for decades.
As I sit here in my Toronto home and news trickles in from family members about who decided to pray at home on Friday and who decided to join the congregation — including news that my cousin managed to gather 40 people and hide in the basement of the Model Town mosque and thus survive — I can’t help but feel the pain and frustration of being unable to help. I fear that this won’t be the last time my friends and family will be subjected to brutal attacks simply because religious extremists don’t accept them as Muslims.
I’ve spent most of my life here in Toronto and have become accustomed to being accepted by my friends and peers and sharing my thoughts and beliefs without fear of repercussion. I often forget that years ago, things were different for me and I, too, feared identifying myself as an Ahmadi. People I love in Pakistan still don’t have the luxury to celebrate their religious differences or even publicly greet friends in a traditional Arabic greeting because they’re considered non-Muslims by religious extremists.
I fear that this won’t be the last time the government fails to heighten security for Ahmadis despite repeated security threats. I fear that this won’t be the last time I wait by the phone, hoping to find out whether or not my family members have been spared death after being attacked simply because of their faith.
Samra Habib is a Toronto-based writer and has written for the Globe and Mail, National Post and Financial Post magazine.
Read original post here: A Tragic Day for a Faith Under Siege
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