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 Diary >> Affan Chowdhry The New Statesman suffers from historical amnesia The Height of Opulence in Abu Dhabi Where the wine flows like lassi Q in the News Iran's mystery DJ Women slipping thru’ the gaps >> Samira Ahmed The Rock Star and the Mullah >> Fareena Alam "A modern day hippie in search of love" >> Abdul-Rehman Malik Handing Victory to the Terrorists >> Shami Chakrabarti and Megan Addis Who is Sania Mirza? >> Siraj Wahab Democracy Inside Out: The Case of Egypt >> Louay Safi Turks: A Journey of a Thousand Years >> Isla Rosser-Owen Raising Aspirations >> Raihan Alfaradhi Bleedin' Islamophobia >> Yakoub Islam Disappeared in America The Muslim Blogosphere >> Shahed Amanullah Blogger's Manifesto >> Haroon Moghul The politics of common purpose >> Ian McCartney Waking up to Progressive Muslims >> Nazim Baksh The Shariah Firestorm in Canada >> Faisal Kutty Renewing Our Faith in Common Ground >> James Abdulaziz Brown Hafiz Gulammohammed Bora >> Fuad Nahdi Chicken Soup for the Muslim Soul >> Sana Khatib Mourning the Unknown >> Abu Anon Youssou N'Dour wins world music award Fun times for Oxbridge Muslim Alumni Deenport Mania Book views |
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Bleedin’
Islamophobia Page 12 “Why would anyone follow a dead prophet
instead of the living Christ?” Yakoub
Islam froze. This is not what he expected when he responded to a
call for more donors to the National Blood Service. That was over five years ago. Since then, and despite my sporting a beard and shalwar kameez, the only Islamophobia I have experienced is in the press. That was, until 3pm on Monday, 7th February, 2005, when I arrived at a centre run by the National Blood Service (NBS) in Huddersfield with the intention of giving blood for Allah. I had made an appointment several weeks before over the phone, specifying the preferred location. I arrived as arranged, with my glossy leaflets and appointment letter. I filled in the necessary forms, read the necessary booklet, answered the necessary embarrassing questions about my sexual behaviour, took the necessary blood test and then sat down to wait to donate. A few minutes later, I was called to a bench by a person I assumed was a phlebotomist. A short, middle aged, Irish woman, I surmised straight away from her demeanour that she was a Roman Catholic. Having spent most of my life around Catholics, my nerves quickly dissipated and we were soon talking. And so it wasn’t long before I announced that I had come to give blood as a result of a call for more Muslim donors in Q-News. Her response to my proclamation - ‘You’re Muslim?’ - was ominous. Maybe I should have changed the topic of conversation there and then. The needle seemed to hurt more than it should when she stuck it in my arm - or did I imagine that? There was no offer of a local anaesthetic as promised in the booklet. Perhaps one needed to ask the nurse about that? Then the questions started - not curious questions, but stony-faced interrogation, with only taciturn responses to my polite, reciprocal enquiries. Why was I Muslim? Were my children Muslim? How long have you been…? Are your family…? Then she asked, “Is your wife going to become Muslim?” “No,” I answered, smiling. My wife, oddly enough, is Roman Catholic. “She’s happy as she is.” “She’s not going to become a Muslim, then.” “No.” I kept smiling, wanting to be friendly. I wanted her to see that Muslims are reasonable, peaceful people. I had no idea what was coming next. “I don’t blame her!” She sneered, and in the same malicious tone, added: “Why would anyone want to follow a dead Prophet when they could follow the living Christ?” Her words were like a slap. I turned numb. Someone in a position of trust, who had put a needle in my arm and was now taking blood out of me, had just derided my religious faith to my face. I was shocked, too, because her comments were utterly at odds with the avowed aims of the NBS, who I gather are seeking to recruit more donors from minority communities. And indeed, it was not the flagrantly denigration of my faith that wounded me the most. It was her dereliction of duty. This person’s callous and deeply insulting comments spoke of a hostility that was liable to drive Muslims away from donating. I politely but firmly demanded an explanation as to how she could reconcile expressing such views with the NBS’s aims of recruiting ethnic minority donors, including Muslims. “Well, they don’t come! We even run clinics in Bradford for them. Still they don’t come.” Not an apology nor a denial. Simply a pathetic attempt to deceive herself that it was acceptable to insult Muslims, even though her employer wants more such donors, because Muslims don’t want to donate! Perhaps the NBS don’t really want donors from ethnic minorities. Sifting through their glossy PR, I soon found things didn’t add up. For example, their claim to have surpassed their 2004 goal for ethnic minority bone marrow donors was true in terms of numbers only. They actually fell short of their own 3.75% target. But then nearly 8% of Britons are non-white. Their PR doesn’t mention that. And this incident took place just off Huddersfield town centre, not a stone’s throw away from several substantial Muslim, Sikh and Afro-Caribbean communities. Indeed, one of the things that struck me as I walked out of Huddersfield’s multicultural shopping precincts and into the donation centre was how white the centre seemed. In contrast to the NBS’s claim to setting up ‘special clinics’ for Muslims, there seemed to be no attempt to create an inclusive environment - there were no non-white staff on duty, no acceptable food, private areas for women to donate or translators. That’s more than bad PR, surely? |