#islmaphobia

 Stop talking about Islam the way you have been doing so, especially by insisting they plan to conquer the world or that time you said they’re connected to the Antichrist or the horsemen of the apocalypse. 

 Stop demonizing so many people and inciting fear and a sense of superiority in your congregation.

 This is not love.

 This is influencing your members the same way you influenced them how to vote last year.

 My pastor said to invite Muslim people to this service and I can’t see how this will make them feel loved/respected/safe considering what’s coming this week.

 Please never do this again!!!!!!

I was on tinder for a while, it was fun. Flick flick match flick flick match. Adult Candy Crush. Present your best selfies, write something witty, or not, then lay back and peruse in your leisurewear whilst Q&A is on. Flick flick match flick flick match.

Just before the labour day long weekend I matched with a kid from the Western suburbs. We exchanged a series of messages before we could schedule a real life date. There was the public holiday, then Easter followed closely as the Paschal Full Moon blessed us early this year. At some stage I sent him a picture of my recently deceased cat (absolutely not a euphemism).

Meanwhile, I attended Easter mass for the first time, with my Catholic mother and grandmother. I mentioned my holy sojourn to my match over a burst of texting. He mentioned that one of his brothers had converted to Islam. Messages shot back and forth, here and there. I would smile when my phone lit up with a message at work, brightening the grinding minutia of corporate life.

Finally, we met in person one Friday night after work, for a drink in the CBD. He seemed a shy fellow, four years my junior, tall with dark hair and grey green eyes. He thought before he spoke. We chatted easily about history, books and family. He did indeed have a Muslim brother, the rest of his family being Catholic. My thoughts trailed tipsy on beers, and as I failed at pinball. A fun date.

A couple of weeks later we went to the movies at the Nova in Carlton to see The Witch, a film chronicling the battle between good and evil faced by a Puritan family in 17th Century New England. The devil lurks throughout the film, dancing secretly about the austere farm, provoking and enchanting the pious milky-skinned family.

Following the film, we went to The Lincoln, a proud old pub skirted in gleaming green and yellow tiles, in Carlton. Over pints we talked more about family. 

The conversation turned to his Muslim brother. 

He’s 30 years old, he had his passport cancelled the previous year. Why? Not sure, he hasn’t committed any crimes. He is a YouTube star in Egypt, because Muslims love Muslims with blue eyes.

Why did he convert? Because he wanted to, it appealed to him. Is he extreme?  No, if you spoke with him you would find him friendly and unremarkable.

Fair enough, I thought, people are entitled to their own spiritual journeys. Namaste and all that. Let’s not get all Reclaim Australia.

My date lent me a book The Fifth Head of Cerberus by Gene Wolf, a chimera of a text that can be read as three short stories or a novel. It is a science fiction piece that explores reality versus perception, authenticity and identity, as well as other post-colonial themes. I lent him Wake in Fright.

11 am on a Wednesday my phone buzzed at work. Was his brother one of the people trying to get to Syria in a dingy? Sorry, I couldn't resist. Joked my sister in a message. haha lol should I ask? I immediately turned to an online news site to see what the fuss was about. There was his brother.  Right there, on the front page of The Age and The Herald Sun.

The brother, not extreme, just ordinary, was allegedly the mastermind of an Cohen Brothers-esque plot. I closed the browser, ever the professional and pretended nothing was happening, best to let it all blow over (but not to Syria, evidently).

Charges were laid. The paper newspapers in Melbourne ran with it on the front page. I hit google. 

There he was, preaching to a vast audience about his conversion to Islam, in a glib affected tone, no trace of an Aussie accent. Why didn’t I look this up earlier? I thought of the snapchat I had received of a very cute cat, owned by his mother. It was taken outside her suburban home, the one that was raided by the AFP.

You can vet for age, gender, sexuality, to some extent socio economics, and definitely for race on tinder, even if it is vulgar to say so. Simply profile a person’s profile. How do you say my brother is a terrorist in emojis? Perhaps my outrage was unfair, he was not, strictly speaking a terrorist.

Or perhaps it is a matter of not yet. I read a report, “Australian foreign fighters: Risks and responses” from April 2015 by Andrew Zammit, published by the Lowy Institute for International Policy. The report, which studies returned foreign fighters across the globe, suggests that they pose a real but ultimately unquantifiable risk to their society of origin. Dear God, or Allah, this is serious, but nebulous.

I consult the Australian Government. According to the National Terrorism Threat Advisory System, the current Terrorism Threat Level is PROBABLE (their capitalisation). It is difficult to gauge how alarmed to be, however, as this sits below EXPECTED but above POSSIBLE (again their emphasis).  I feel confused by this obfuscation of the english language, and alarmed by the caps lock.

His brother fronts court. On the 6pm news he is seen leaving, bearded and wearing a flannelette shirt, praising Allah. Photographers’ flashes light his face. He is post-modern Australia, a homage to Islam and bogan. Their lawyer questions why the plot was allowed to advance, why they were not foiled earlier, if they are under ASIO surveillance. There is an election, he proffers, national security always polls well for an incumbent government, it’s a setup to make the government look in control.

Your brother is in trouble. I finally broach the subject over dumplings, because he does not. Yeah. He shrugs his shoulders. Does this mean ASIO watches your phone? Yeah probably. I can’t help but feel he underestimates how shocking this is. Though, maybe this is his normal.

My irritation simmers within me. Surely it would be pertinent to let someone you are messaging know that their electronic communication is in all likelihood being monitored by ASIO. I hate the though of a sweaty public servant thumbing through my texts.

One Friday morning, a couple of weeks later I wake up and read the paper. There is an extract of a speech given by Edward Snowden hosted by Think Inc in Melbourne, featured in The Age newspaper. It concerns Australian individuals’ loss of privacy. They know when you are sleeping, they know when you are awake it is titled ominously. 

I try to piece together these events. To find a narrative, make meaning. I think of The Witch, and then Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and McCarthyism. I think of our own overbearing state, compiling our metadata.

Then I think about what if he did make it to Syria, and back again. I think about Paris, London, Madrid, Nice. I think about what it is to be an Australian, part of a country of migrants.

Then I think about my date. I imagine he has been spending the last 10 years confronting or avoiding people’s attitudes to his brother. I don’t even really know my date. I have never met his brother.