User talk:Seyar.atmar

Golden ticket: As a teenager growing up in Afghanistan I had many notions of what America was like. My friends and I would buy bootleg VHSs and DVDs of American movies secretly or from street vendors. We would watch with awe, soaking in every little detail of the American way of life—from the cool western clothing donned by the actors, which we would try our best to emulate, to the catch phrases, like “Say hello to my little friend!” which we would practice saying, our unwitting English instructor a gun-wielding Al Pacino, replacing his Cuban accent with our Afghan one—fiercely contesting who had the cleanest delivery.

The “American dream” as it’s often referred to, was a notion that many Afghans guarded. They dreamt of what life in America would be like, and envied those who were lucky enough to land that golden ticket—the American Visa. We welcomed the American troops that came into Afghanistan in 2001, all of us hopeful that if we couldn’t go to America, well then perhaps America could come to us. Perhaps the Americans could bring to our country the security, prosperity, and day-to-day comforts that made America a dreamland in most Afghan’s eyes. Perhaps we could partake in the creativity, Afghan style, fostered by Constitutional guarantees of freedom of speech and the free exchange of ideas, not to mention freedom from the all-consuming mental anguish of daily violence, that ultimately led to great catch phrases like “Hasta la vista, baby.”

Two years ago, I landed my “golden ticket,” and arrived in the United States with the excitement, anticipation, and nervous energy that all immigrants must feel when they set foot in their new homeland. I was incredulous as I took in the lights and commotion of America’s big cities, awe-struck as I visited breathtaking beaches and parks, and overwhelmed as I perused through the plethora of arts, literary, and historical resources one has access to in America—all untainted by the ravages of war, everything pristine.

I have embraced my new home. However, recently that excitement has been tempered by uneasiness. While I have embraced America, I fear America might not have embraced me. More and more, I wonder what the people I meet are thinking—whether there is suspicion or hatred in their eyes or whether I’m just being paranoid. It’s a hard feeling to shake, considering the stories making headlines these days-the furor over the Manhattan mosque, the arson of construction equipment for a proposed Islamic Center in Murfreesboro, TN, and now the church in Gainesville, FL that is planning a Koran burning this September 11th.

What is most distressing to hear is that some Americans blame Muslims for the cowardly acts of a few extremists. I find this particularly offensive because for the past year and a half, I have been working with the US army, briefing army officials and soldiers preparing to deploy to Afghanistan. How can I be an enemy of America when I am helping to defend this country? And why is Islam, a religion of peace, being dragged through the mud? What about the Muslims who died on that awful day? I recently read that about 60 of the 3000 people who lost their lives in the September 11th attacks were Muslim. Are they also not victims? Living in Afghanistan until recently, I also know that we have paid a huge price in the war on terror. Direct civilian deaths since the US led war in Afghanistan is now estimated to be between 11, 000-14, 000 people. I consider them casualties of this war alongside the 1, 985 coalition soldiers, the majority American, who have given their lives to defend our freedom.

What we do with that freedom is directly linked with how we honor their lives. So whether or not we burn Korans, protest over the construction of a mosque, or simply hold our silence, we should remember what America is about, what it was founded on, and what precedent we’re setting for its future.

I, for one, have decided to speak out against the intolerance I see around me. For me, the American dream wasn’t just about having the right to be physically present in this country, willingly fading into the background out of fear and intimidation. As I write these words, I know that I am honoring all those who died—of all faiths—on September 11th and in the war on terror. I also know that a few intolerant and hateful people do not represent all Americans, as a few cowardly extremists do not represent all Muslims.

As I think back about my days in Afghanistan watching those bootleg movies and dreaming of America, part of me thinks that perhaps that was just youthful naivety. The reality is far more complicated. However, despite my disappointments, I am still incredibly hopeful that we can move past our differences and create an atmosphere of dialogue and tolerance as only a free society can. I don’t expect a Hollywood ending, just a chance to live out the American dream.