by Jim Carroll
I came under fire for my Christian testimony; but in addition to the anger against me, the staunch defenders of Islam argued among themselves. The flare-up of the apostasy controversy served to display the unrest intrinsic in the Islam of the day. Should a Muslim kill an unbeliever, a kefer? Part of the Quran said yes. Another part of the text called Christians the “People of the Book.” I did not know what the future held, but now I knew at last that the Lord was on my side.
My first day in parliament was marked by religious controversy focused on the apostasy question with me in the starring role. Mohammed Al-Fadul rose to speak. “We have among us today one who is an enemy of Islam, and an enemy of our system of law, the great Sharia, one who denies the illegality of apostasy, one who is an enemy of our way of life, a way that has served us well in the Gulf for decades.” Kuwait was not actually under the entirety of Sharia law: there were no heads off in the public square, no chopping of hands. “This man comes to us as one who says he defends the rights of our people, but in fact he is a traitor to Islam and a traitor to Kuwait. I call on this assembly and indeed on the people of Kuwait to rid us of this dog in our midst, the son of a traitor.” Once again my father was brought into the discussion. Why did my father get hit when they should have been aiming only at me?
Others in the parliament rose with similar messages. While there was not an explicit call for violence against me, the speeches contained barely veiled threats. My greatest regret was the comment against my father.
Finally, when they had exhausted their ire, all delivered for political effect, I was compelled to present a defense. It was late afternoon, and I was tired from the harangue. My arms swung freely as I approached the podium. “Citizens of Kuwait, I have the greatest respect for my colleagues here in the assembly. I love Kuwait. Kuwait has a long history of respect for the views of all its citizens. Our custom of discussion and reconciliation that is seen in our dīwāniyas is the envy of all other Arab countries. Nowhere is there such unfettered discussion in a forgiving atmosphere. Let us continue to observe the freedom our constitution promises. Let us preserve the peace of Kuwait.” The Lord gave me mettle. A photograph of me speaking in Parliament was published widely the next day. CNN interviewed other members of the assembly, and I was accused of sabotaging the country. My mother’s psalms defended me when I couldn’t defend myself. “Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me” (Psalm 35:1).
Rather than dealing with questions related to the business of running the country, a bill was introduced dealing with both blasphemy and apostasy. Blasphemy was specifically defined as defaming Islam. Apostasy was defined as leaving Islam. The penalty for both was death. An amendment that it was illegal for a Kuwaiti to be a Christian was narrowly defeated, and without the amendment the bill passed by a wide majority. A bill of the same ilk had been passed by parliament years earlier, and the Emir had quashed it. All involved expected the same outcome, and as expected, the Emir acted to dispose of the measure.
Those in parliament who had spoken out or voted against Christianity had achieved their political aim nevertheless. I had tried to make things better, but believers would suffer. I could only pray He would give them the same courage he had given me.
Two days after the threats in parliament, the physical assault came. Driving back to Ahmadi on King Fahad Bin Abdulaziz Road, two black Lexus sedans passed me. Then, the two vehicles slowed down and blocked both lanes in front of me. A third vehicle pulled up behind and tried to block my exit from the back. My Jeep Patriot was equipped with four-wheel drive, so I turned to the right and into the desert sand. My wheels spun for traction for a moment as two men exited the vehicle in front to my left. Sand flew up into their eyes. They carried pistols with extended clips. Suddenly I heard several rapidly fired rounds of gunfire as they penetrated the side of my car. One round came through the window, striking me in the left shoulder.
It all happened so fast, that at first there was no pain. Thank God I hadn’t been too paralyzed by fear to remain on the road. As I drove through the desert, blood oozed through the dishdasha I had on that day, and onto the seat. I was glad I had leather upholstery rather than cloth. The blood would come off the leather without soaking in. What a peculiar thought. Could I stay awake until I got to Ahmadi? Were they trying to follow me through the sand?
I phoned Hibah on the car phone and drove as quickly as possible over the desert sand. On arrival at our home, she drove me to the Ahmadi hospital where several reporters and a TV crew awaited my arrival. Hibah had been efficient in making both the medical and the news arrangements. By that time the wound had become painful, and blood loss and shock were beginning to dull my thoughts. Hibah jumped full force on the whole experience and made the most out of telling the news media about my plight. “My brother was attacked by assassins in the name of Islam. The true nature of this religion is revealed. We expected this, and my brave brother has suffered for the religious rights of all Kuwaitis.” I was still alert enough to be concerned about her safety, but she wouldn’t soften her tone or comments. I was proud of her, but still afraid for both of us. Hibah fluttered around me like a surrogate mother. She was aflame.
The wound didn’t turn out to be serious. It was what the doctor called a through-and-through wound. I was released from the hospital that evening with pain meds and antibiotics. As my mind cleared, I recalled the first three numbers of one of the attacker’s license plates, 672. I called the police thinking that a black Lexus with the plate number beginning 672 would not be difficult to locate in the computer system. We never heard any report from the police. The Emir assigned police to accompany me to and from the parliament, but this practice was discontinued after two weeks.
My next encounter with Al-Fadul in parliament pulled me closer to the edge of just getting out of the whole thing. At first, he would not make eye contact. Why was he even approaching me? What was he trying to tell me? That he had no ill intent? The mongrel knew what he was doing. Finally, he came near. I muttered, “Ya kalb” (you dog). He acted as if he didn’t hear me. God kept me from striking him.
“Yusef, I’m truly sorry for your recent experience. I never intended personal harm to you. My comments were for political purposes. I’m sure you know that.” Actually, I did not know this. I felt like knocking him down. He was my enemy. I was sure of it. But the Lord mediated in my still raucous mind.
“Certainly, Mohammed, I know we’re all colleagues in this house of government. I bear you no rancor. Perhaps you can come to our home in Ahmadi for a meal tomorrow evening.” He never came. He told others he was afraid to be in the same place with me because of the threats against me. I did not repeat the invitation.
My shoulder healed quickly, but the scar remained. I’m sure God protected me many more times than I know. I varied the route when I drove to parliament. I tied a mirror on a cane I found in my father’s closet, and every time I went anywhere, I used this contraption to check for a bomb under my car. I did this only when no one was looking.
Hibah, in contrast, came to breakfast each morning with exhilaration over the day. She thrived on the country’s focus on the religious conflict. She went with relish to the paper and TV news each morning. She sprang from one duty to another with oomph, and I was both miffed and thankful for my sister’s attitude at the same time. I was the one with the bullet hole.
But Kuwaitis love peace and the pleasure of enjoying their material possessions. Their desire for personal amity and control was their dominant motivation. When I least expected it, everything calmed. I still felt the threat of violence over me, but events did not recur, at least for a time. At a state function the Emir gave me special accord with an eye-to-eye welcome and a nod. I knew the Lord was in all this, a thought I had never experienced at Kashan or Evin.
In January 2022 the Emir appointed me to a committee to seek out a cooperative educational agreement for our graduate students with Qatar. The stated purpose of the visit, the educational agreement, was a subterfuge. The real purpose w
as a discussion of the Sunni-Shia conflict. Their clash had steadily become more bellicose throughout the Gulf and indeed the whole Muslim world. Would my visit to Doha bring unanticipated changes for me?
Much was unsettled. The bomb we had discovered and disabled had disappeared. No one in the government would speak of it. How was this possible right before our eyes in Kuwait? Khadim, I suspected, was still at the heart of all this, along with Esau. I even doubted Thawab.
With all the questions – the whereabouts of the bomb, the bomb of my own doing; the presence and eventual deportation of Esau from Kuwait; and this crazy Sunni-Shia conflict, a matter for which I was wholly unprepared – I was still out of Evin Prison and free in Kuwait, and by some miracle elected to the Kuwait Parliament. Sure, the snags between Hibah and me still persisted, but there would be healing. And Binyamin was now a joy to me. How could I be anything but thankful to Him who had brought me this far?
For the time, peace reigned.
And there was my upcoming visit to Doha. Despite the undesirable political aspects of the assignment, Tahara was there.
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ENJOY THESE OTHER BOOKS BY JIM CARROLL
Faith in Crisis – How God Shows Up When You Need Him Most, Kuwaiti Seeker, Diwaniya Stories
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