A man walked into the room where I stood, and we chanced to make eye contact. I smiled. His eyes widened in shock and he hurriedly averted them, as though he'd seen something shameful. From his perspective, maybe he had — I stood alone with uncovered head, the only woman in a room full of strange men, and smiled at them all.
Like most of its counterparts throughout the world, the Baitul Aman ("house of peace") mosque in Meriden generally segregates adults by gender. But as a reporter invited (via a press release sent to the Advocate) to attend the mosque's inaugural event — a mini-symposium called "Islam: The Religion of Peace" — I was allowed into men-only areas, despite having no Y chromosome.
However, my presence in the prayer room seemed to make most congregants uncomfortable. Nobody was rude or unfriendly to me, but their embarrassed glances and averted eyes made their discomfiture obvious.
The prayer room is the largest in the mosque, roughly analogous to a church's fellowship hall. Most of it is reserved for male use, but one corner is hidden behind a floor-to-ceiling curtain of beige muslin (as a temporary measure; the mosque eventually plans to build a permanent partition). That's the section reserved for women and children, who can watch what's happening in the main prayer room over closed-circuit television.
I got to the mosque a few minutes early and found it deserted except for two little boys chasing each other through the women's lounge in their stockinged feet. "Hello!" I called in a Friendly Grown-Up voice. "Do I take my shoes off before I come in?"
"Yes," said the smaller boy, a 7-year-old named Khalid. I kicked off my sneakers, stashed them in a closet and asked if any adults were about. Khalid said his father was getting the prayer room ready.
A series of overlapping screens shields the prayer room from view of the lobby. After a few minutes a man came out from behind the screens: Sohail Husain, Khalid's father and an organizer of the day's events.
We made our introductions and when he noticed my feet he thanked me for removing my shoes. Later he mentioned a couple other points of etiquette: don't photograph any women or offer to shake any hands.
The mosque's congregation belongs to the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community, a branch of Islam founded in 1889. According to the press release, "Over 100 years ago, its founder, his holiness Mirza Ghulam Ahmad … unequivocally condemned violence and terrorism in any form and for any reason." The mosque's sign displays the Ahmadiyya motto "Love for all, hatred for none."
That version of Islam might be a hard sell to Western audiences. Ever since the World Trade Center attacks, Islam has been synonymous with terrorism in many eyes. Baitul Aman hopes to counter this image by saying that Islam is, in fact, a "religion of peace," as the name of the symposium indicated.
"The main theme of this program is to give people an understanding of the true face of Islam," said Yahya Luqman, the imam of Baitul Aman. "The true meaning of Islam is peace and benevolence to mankind." As for terrorists who claim the backing of Allah, "They have hijacked [the religion]," said Luqman. "Islam means peace."
Critics claim "Islam" actually means "submission," I said. Is this the case?
"Arabic is a very vast language," the imam replied. "Islam [the word] means both: 'peace' or 'to submit' … they have a dual relationship with each other. Submit to the will of God [and] be peaceful with one another."
Another point popular with critics of Islam is the principle of "abrogation," which states that if two verses in the Koran or the Hadith (the sayings and traditions of Mohammed) contradict each other, the most recent verse is the correct one.
The Koran and Hadith can be divided into two parts: what Mohammed wrote while living in Mecca, and the part written in Medina. The Mecca verses came first, and say, for instance, that "There is no compulsion in religion."
But the principle of abrogation would seem to say that verse no longer applies, being replaced by harsher Medina verses that would force Islam on all.
What had the imam to say about the charge that abrogation negated the humane verses? "That's another erroneous thing," he said. "The Holy Koran, we believe all the verses are divine guidance revealed to Mohammed." As for the apparent discrepancies between the Mecca and Medina verses: "[Early Muslims] lived 13 years in Mecca under severe persecution. The Mecca verses reflect how to live under authority … the Medina verses reflect how to live in a position of power."
Our conversation ended soon after, so the imam could attend to symposium business. I looked about for someone else to talk to, but couldn't catch anybody's eye for more than a second. It's hard to talk to someone who doesn't want to look at you.
I soon got caught in a runaway feedback loop: I made the men uncomfortable; their discomfort made me nervous; my nervousness made the men even more uncomfortable and finally I gave up and left. (Later, I sent Husain an e-mail apologizing for my early departure and saying I left because I worried my presence made the congregation uncomfortable. He responded: "To my knowledge nobody should have been uncomfortable.")
That night I went online, hoping Ahmadiyya's Web site might answer some of the questions I didn't ask in the mosque. Unfortunately, I was distracted by the essay "The Role of Women in an Islamic Society." Three roles are available to me, said the essay: daughter, wife and mother. As an orphan who wants neither husband nor children, I simply found this depressing.
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