by Tom Corbett
“I agree,” she responded, dropping his hand and giving him a brief hug. “Many of us were not happy to see you run off to America.”
“True, I never did explain, did I?” He gave the tiniest of shrugs but continued quickly before she could respond. “Duty called, which I will explain more fully one of these days. But first, I want to introduce you to…”
At that moment, a side door opened. A tall, angular man of distinguished bearing entered. He held himself with the easy grace one associated with the upper British classes, quickly surveying the scene and satisfying some internal calculation that all was in order. “Ah Christopher, the prodigal son returns. Good to see you. You look none the worse for wear for having spent far too much time in the former colonies. And Amar, how lovely to see you again. Now, the fact that he took you away from us is the sin for which we have never forgiven your husband.”
“Neither have I,” Amar said with a genuine smile.
“Listen everyone,” Chris said as he looked to his group as they stood about not sure what to do. “I want to introduce my favorite Oxford Don, Sir Charles Howard, and this lovely woman is a rising star at this fine institution, Dr. Shahed Al-Hussein.” Chris then went about introducing his entourage before they sat down around the table. More bon mots were exchanged between Chris and the Don while tea and biscuits were served.
Suddenly, Sir Howard cleared his throat. “I suspect we should get started. Let me say a bit about my past, not necessarily because I am an irredeemable egotist, which many of my colleagues believe to be true, but because I believe it is somewhat germane to why we are here.” He rose and walked to several pictures on the wall. “See these fine gentlemen. These are my male ancestors, all Oxford dons, though if you go back far enough, you will find a Cambridge don or two but that was before photography had become popular. Besides, such traitors would never be permitted to grace these walls. My great-grandfather here fought in the war to end all wars, was gassed at Ypres. He never fully recovered but it did not slow him up though he sadly passed too early in life. My father here could have had a safe post during World War II in the war office but volunteered for active flight duty in the RAF. Had a marvelous record and survived two crashes, escaping only with a distinct limp that, again, never slowed him up. Go further back, and you will find a Howard who served under Wellington at Waterloo. You are asking yourself, why is this doddering fool boring us with his family history?”
“I was,” Chris quipped.
“Shush,” Amar chided him.
Sir Howard laughed heartedly. “That is precisely why we miss him, that American irreverence. The point is that these men made real sacrifices for a better world. Their examples of duty and loyalty to something beyond themselves have always stayed with me. On the other hand, I have been fortunate enough never to have been asked for any special commitment. I have spent my life cloistered in this fine place as so many of my lineage before me. Then, when my best years as an active scholar were behind me, they kicked me up into the higher levels of university administration where I could do little harm.”
“Or where you might apply your leadership qualities and vision to greater effect,” Chris interjected.
“Watch out for this one,” The elder man cackled. “He is way too charming.”
“I found out that too late,” Amar added.
“Yes, my dear, you did.” Sir Howard chuckled again before turning serious. “You know, if you go north from here, about an hour or so, you can visit the Howard estate, one of the great houses open to tourists. What made my family somewhat special, in my eyes at least, is that my predecessors remained true to that in which they believed. Many, though not all, stayed within the church of Rome when such an act was viewed as treason. They hid priests and attended the Latin mass when discovery might have led them to the block where they would have met whatever awaited them on the other side.” Then he looked directly at Azita and Deena. “Do you get my point?”
The two girls looked at one another before Azita spoke in a hesitating voice. “I suspect you are telling us to be true to what we believe.”
Sir Howard smiled. “Dr. Masoud, you will not recall me, but I was on the dais when you gave your Profile in Courage talk a number of years ago. In fact, I pushed your candidacy for the award and was most distressed when you ran off to the colonies to do an internship after medical school here. I almost called on you personally to persuade you to remain with us but was informed that such a gesture would do no good. Now, however, I think it is time for me to make a different pitch.”
“To bring me back to Oxford, Sir Howard? Oh, I don’t think…”
The elderly man raised a hand. “I will exercise a prerogative of age and position to suggest that you listen before saying no. May I be permitted that?”
“I am so sorry, Sir, that was very rude of me.” Azita looked mortified.
‘That is quite alright. By the way, please call me Charles. And may I call you Azita…and Deena?” Deena’s head snapped up in surprise. They both nodded affirmatively. “Excellent. Let me start by affirming that I love this institution. I have been very happy here. Yet, I am fully aware of its limitations. We are too cloistered, too removed from the real world. We need more connections to the world outside our college greens, not just in Britain, but in the wider world. While Britannia has enjoyed a remarkable run across the globe, at least for a small island, it also has inflicted pain and mischief in many areas. Alas, our history in Afghanistan, and the Middle East writ large, is not exemplary to say the least. We acted with such unwarranted hubris. I yet recoil at the thought that our foreign office simply drew lines on a map after World War I that became national boundaries. There was no notion of caring about indigenous religious and ethnic affinities. Only the interests of the West mattered. Our sin was to divide people into artificial enclaves with no concept of respecting the deep enmities that existed among them. It was a recipe for disaster and disaster ensued, as anyone with a bit of intelligence and compassion might have foretold. Perhaps there was no perfect solution to the tensions that existed, but we did not even try. Dr. Al-Hussein, that is Shahed, and I have talked about this at some length and I will, much to your relief I would say, turn this over to her in a moment. Of course, we cannot make amends for all our past sins. But we can start. Thus, what Shahed will describe now addresses some of my deeper - how shall I put it? - irritations. This initiative will break down the walls that separate the academy from the world, at least a bit, and perhaps expiate some of our past sins. That is a long-winded way of expressing my support for what Shahed will now explain.”
She looked about the table for a moment as if calculating where to begin. “Chris and Amar know me but let me say a few words about my past for the rest of you, especially Deena and Azita. Much like the Masoud sisters, I was raised as a Muslim, a Sunni Muslim, in Jordon. With respect to our early years, that is where our life experiences depart. You two were raised by the most twisted version of Islam imaginable, that oppressive set of beliefs imposed by the Taliban. I was more fortunate, having been raised in a cosmopolitan family that expected all their children, including the daughters, to succeed. From my last name, you might be wondering whether I am related to the Jordanian royal family. I will confess. Yes, but it is a rather distant connection.”
“Not as distant as she suggests,” Sir Howard interjected, “but all her achievement have been earned on her own.”
Shahed smiled. “Charles and I have different interpretations of a close connection. In any case, my path was easy. I could always wear Western attire, immerse myself in your culture and music and films, study what and where I wanted, and even date whom I wished, though some discretion was demanded on that last matter.” At that point, she glanced at Deena who instinctively looked away. “Thus, I was free to study at a better public school in England, then try Harvard to get a taste of the States, before finishing up my graduate studies here.”
Chris could not resist. “If I had known her then, I would h
ave steered her toward a decent American college - Princeton.”
“Frankly, I am shocked that they let Princeton remain in the Ivy League,” she responded as Chris raised his hands in mock surrender. “My point is this. Though born a Muslim girl in the Middle-East, I was never held back. I had every opportunity denied to so many girls whose potential is thwarted and destroyed. It sickens me that we yet have honor killings and genital mutilations and forced marriages of girls barely reaching puberty to men they do not know. Fanaticism in the name of religion, whether practiced by Muslims or Christians, is the very definition of sin to my mind. We all should execrate such practices. They are an abomination to everything we hold precious and a waste of human potential.”
“On that,” Deena spoke up, “we can surely agree. But why have you brought us here?”
Shahed sighed subtly as she transitioned to the topic at hand. “Sir Howard, myself, and I believe your father here, at least to the extent that I know him, are all motivated by a sense of guilt. We have had all the advantages while others labor under cultural limitations, if not outright oppression. I am not naive, we cannot raise everyone up. There are real differences in talent, disposition, and motivation among people. These differences are real. But we can do better in elevating many of the future generation so that they, in turn, can contribute to their own communities and cultures.” Then Shahed leaned forward. “Listen carefully to me. Chris has told me about the schools you have started back home, the first was in the Panjshir valley I believe, and Amar has filled me in about the pilot programs you wish to start in Afghanistan with Drs. Gupta and Singleton. These are exactly the kinds of initiatives we have in mind to launch our program, but in ways that can use the power of the university to maximize their impact.”
“What program?” Azita looked confused and a bit wary.
“Yes, I am not being direct. You young women can only do so much by yourself, even with the assistance of your father’s organization. Here, at Oxford, with Sir Howard’s strong support, we want to launch a new center of study and innovation dedicated to reaching the young women of the Middle-East, Muslim girls of all persuasions for whom the future is bleak indeed. Momentous change starts with great ideas and universities are the incubator of great ideas. I am convinced that an academic setting is perfect for what we have in mind. In this institutional setting, we can document what young girls are facing, spread that knowledge to the world, devise new strategies and tactics for reaching them, and recruit the best and brightest to advance their educations and help us with this endeavor. You have talked about the power of technology among yourselves, which is our advantage. It will be like a crusade though from the Muslim side and devoted to doing good.”
“I still do not understand. Why are you telling us this?” It was Deena who asked.
“Oh,” Shahed seemed somewhat surprised, “so you can help us run this program of course, be my right-hand women so to speak. We three Muslim women will launch this concept. I believe Deena has a master’s level academic degree, but I think we can find a way to have her finish off her terminal studies. It helps to have a terminal degree in such a classist world as this, especially if you are to teach courses here. The academy is so stuffy about credentials, no offense sir Howard.”
“None taken,” he responded.
“Of course, we will work closely with your father’s operation, well I guess it is Karen Fisher’s now, but I will always associate it with Chris. That always helps in the academy, that one of their own created something. We, members of the academy, are a closed-minded lot. Again, no offense, Charles.”
He now laughed. “None taken, I totally agree with you.”
“Think of it this way,” Shahed was now enthused. “What do you call it, Chris, the ISO?” He nodded. “That will be the operations arm of our initiative while the university-based center will be the incubator of new ideas and the developer of the next generation of talent to carry on the work. One part of this initiative would be to bring the best and brightest of young Muslim women to study at our best universities, become leaders for the next generation like you are becoming. You two, Deena and Azita, are perfect for launching what we have in mind. You lived the very life we want to bring to other girls. You know it better than anyone else, both the challenges and the possibilities. Moreover, you are smart, brave, and share the values we need. Both of you are perfect for what we have in mind.”
“This is rather overwhelming,” Azita mumbled.
“I fear your father did not say anything in advance.”
“No,” Chris admitted, “I am a terrible dad, but I was afraid they would not come. I will explain later.”
Azita looked at Chris, her look of confusion dissipating somewhat. “One question, from where are the resources for this center coming?”
Shahed looked to Sir Howard who answered the query. “The Mary Kelly Foundation. Chris’s mother has created a very generous endowment to support this venture, with additional support having been pledged from her children. There were surprisingly few conditions attached to this gift other than to provide a name. It shall be known as the Pamir and Madeena Masoud Center for the Advancement of Muslim Women.”
“Mary Kelly?” Amar was confused.
Chris leaned toward his wife. “Mother’s maiden name, she is jettisoning her married name, I don’t blame her. I am thinking of doing the same.” Then he smiled. “How does Christopher Singh sound to you?”
Deena fought to control her voice. “This is such an honor to our parents, I am…we are…” She could not quite finish the sentence. “Still, I must ask one thing. I have never considered myself a brain. I am not sure I would fit in here. Are you only asking me because of the money?”
Shahed stood, so suddenly that Deena fell back a bit in her chair. “I will say this once. Wanting you, both of you, has nothing to do with the money, nothing. And do not sell yourself short, young lady.” She looked directly at Deena, “I have checked you out, both of you. I have talked with your professors and those who know you, including associates in Afghanistan. I want you, your talents and your experience and your vision. Is that understood?” Then she returned to her seat, a little chagrined at her outburst.
“Yes,” Azita was the one to respond, “understood. I have many questions but one big one.”
“Please,” Shahed prompted her, now in a soft voice.
“I have struggled with working in my homeland, of going home. In fact, Ahmad and I have talked about returning. This would make it more difficult, I think.”
Azita braced for another strong reaction but Shahed smiled and spoke in measured tones. “Ah, yes, I do want to talk with Mr. Zubair. But listen, why don’t the four of us meet by ourselves for a while, perhaps a half an hour or so? I suspect we can be more open among ourselves. The others can do what they wish while we go over details.”
Chris, Amar, and Kat settled in comfortable chairs in Sir Howard’s luxurious office. Kay lingered to admire his ornate personal desk made of deep mahogany. “Ah,” Sir Charles offered without prompting, “everyone admires the desk and the paintings, which go back to King Charles before he lost his head. The paintings go back to Charles, not the desk. That was a gift from the Duke of Marlborough around the period of the Napoleonic Wars. I suspect it was a bribe to accept one of his less-than-ambitious offspring and give him an undeserved satisfactory at the end of his term. Alas, we are now into the meritocracy thing these days. Today, the bribes must be considerable and in cold cash to support the university.”
Kat spoke first. “How long has this been in the works? I don’t know much about how universities operate but I do realize that they move with glacial slowness. I often complain about how long it takes to make changes in the business world but let’s face it, we move at the speed of light while you…” Her thought ended when she noticed her brother grimace at her directness.
“Molasses,” Sir Charles laughed heartily.
Kat blushed. “Please forgive my directness.”
“Give it not a second thought. This is precisely why we love Americans and so much appreciate your brother’s willingness to remain part of our academic family. We Brits, the upper crust that tend to inhabit the academy that is, are way too indirect. It is not as bad as it used to be yet still can be found among old codgers like myself even to this very day.”
Chris smiled. “I typically do not let my younger sibling join me in polite company, she is a constant embarrassment. It is okay for her to insult her business colleagues but…”
Sir Charles raised a hand. “No, she raises a good point. It has been a while since Christopher came to me with this concept. Obviously, the endowment from the matriarch’s trust jump started the process and permitted me to circumvent some of the usual turf and budget wars. We were expanding the pie and not redistributing existing spoils among the restless crew. You have no idea how protective academics are of their individual fiefdoms.”
“Yes, I think I can. That is where our two worlds probably overlap,” Kat added.
Sir Charles nodded approvingly in her direction. “Yes, I suspect we are talking about universal human traits, are we not? I must note that the resources helped but it was more than that. Personally, my own national sense of guilt, of which I spoke earlier, was important but larger factors were in play. Islam is the fastest growing religion in England. It is now a major cultural force in this land. This institution cannot remain an isolated island dedicated to beliefs and principles long past. We must acknowledge the diversity in our land, embrace it, weave it into our identity and national fabric.”
“Would you mind taking that lesson to our president-elect?” Chris threw out.
